being jennifer garrett
Every day an adventure in mediocrity
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Friday, September 30    

Well, since you asked
We're on day 39 of the 100 blogs project. Believe it, people. I knew 100 was way too fucking ambitious. Luckily, I have a plethora of blogs to choose from, but I don't have a grand scheme in place here. I like to go with the prevailing mood of the day, and today's mood really suits Rock Star Boyfriend.

As usual, you nosy bitches want to know why. What is it with you? I'll tell you what it is with this guy: Cars are cool. Ink? Cool. Road rage? You know I'm digging that: "To my friends out there commuting in your Jettas, Jaguars, Corollas and the odd Chrysler LeBaron: Iíd like to invite each of you to a fight. Donít worry, SUV-people -- I didnít forget about you. Your ridiculously aggressive driving and gas-guzzling ways make you a shoe-in for an invite. I havenít forgotten you either, Soccer Mom."

  posted @ 5:35 PM |

Thursday, September 29    

The other side of the coin
Since yesterday's blog took us inside the mind of a mommy, I thought today we should get the male perspective: Entertainment Propaganda. Yes, he's a screenwriter, too. Shut it. One more complaint from you, and I'm posting another football blog.

Matt is no ordinary screenwriter-about-to-be-father, no. He's an English bastard. Yes, that's right: He can swear with authority. You know I love that shit. He's also paranoid and neurotic, and he writes notes to his unborn child: "But still Daddy worried. I didn't want to involve your Mum in the neurotic, fucked up machinations of Daddy's diseased mind; I tried hard to suppress my selfish impulse to blurt out what had been plaguing me for weeks. But in the end I couldn't help myself." In addition to the (actual) baby, he's working on his other baby, the screenplay of Autumn Twins.

  posted @ 1:13 PM |

 

Some days, I just love my job
"Capitalize hurricane when it is part of the name that weather forecasters assign to a storm: Hurricane Hazel.

"But use it and its -- not she, her or hers or he, him or his -- in pronoun references.

"And do not use the presence of a woman's name as an excuse to attribute sexist images of women's behavior to a storm."

How can you not love The Associated Press Stylebook?

  posted @ 10:45 AM |

Wednesday, September 28    

I brought you into this world
Whose mom didn't use that stellar threat, "I brought you into this world, and I can take you out of it"? Actually, my favorite was "I'll give you something to cry about!" Well, that one may have been special for me, because my mother claims there was an entire year when all I did was cry. I maintain that it only seemed like a year. Not everyone can be Wonder Mom, not even the Wonder herself.

Tonight, after having one of those moments that you can only have when you're nearing 30 and you still want to kill your mother, somehow, a mom blog seemed wholly appropriate. Plus, Kris is taking this whole mommy thing in stride and with a healthy dose of humor, and she's just like the rest of us (or maybe just me when Jen and Sammy leave me for the night and I'm all alone): "What I really hate is when I start getting all paranoid, checking closets and locking the basement door." No, no, she's really like the rest of us: "Since we're not having any more children, I demanded to know what definition of 'great,' he was referring to. I think I even got the dictionary and stood there with my arms crossed, waiting for an answer, because it appears that PMS no longer ends when the 'M' begins." Though I am pretty sure that reading this has effectively ended whatever slim hope my mom had for a grandchild from me.

  posted @ 7:08 PM |

 

I'll let you be in my dream if I can be in yours
I've been watching the Scorsese documentary, No Direction Home, the last two nights on PBS. I know it doesn't sound like me, but I love Bob Dylan, and I will watch just about anything about him. Plus, this just happened to be really good.

I've never really been able to explain why Dylan appeals to me so; his music certainly isn't of my generation. In fact, most of his well-known songs were recorded long before I was born. (I do like his current stuff as well, particularly Time Out of Mind.) There's just something about his music that speaks to me -- more than likely, it's the lyrics. (It's almost always the lyrics with me.) I started listening to him because my first girlfriend was a fan, but I only started really liking him when she broke up with me. Oh, yeah, I listened to Don't Think Twice, It's All Right way too many times in that period. There is something about the way he writes, but watching the documentary, it is clear that he is one weird, weird dude. Which, I suppose, most geniuses are. One of my favorite moments of the film was a clip from the Royal Albert Hall concert. The people of England were quite displeased with his artistic decision to go electric and he was receiving death threats. He said, "I don't mind being shot, man, but I don't like being told about it." That's all I'm saying.

  posted @ 12:44 PM |

Tuesday, September 27    

Once more, with feeling
Today was officially one of the strangest days ever, though remarkably a lot of fun. I went to work (as usual), did the working thing, and then received a phone call around noon. And it was an offer I couldn't refuse: tickets to the Sox/Blue Jays make-up game at 1. Sure, we had very little time to get there, but we're talking free tickets. To Fenway. I really couldn't think of a reason on god's green earth not to go, but I checked with my boss just to be sure. Away we went -- me and two students. And if that didn't make me feel old enough, I had to go to the game in my work clothes, which included heels, black pants, and a blue sweater. Blue sweater? Blue Jays? Unacceptable. Luckily, Melanie had emergency Sox gear on hand for me to change into -- so I ended up wearing a red Mueller shirt and Sox hat ... and black pants and heels. It wasn't the best look I've ever sported, but it was appropriate.

We sped to the game, knowing full well we're going to be late, but still somehow hoping that a magical parking spot will appear somewhere remotely close to the Fens. Needless to say, no, it did not. We finally snag a spot less than 12 miles away, and we haul ass to the park. Dogs, beer, and nachos in hand, we finally sit down, and it's the fifth inning. No matter, because any time spent at Fenway is quality time. And it's true. We got to see the win, and we got to see that tall drink of water Mike Timlin warming up. We also saw Craig Hansen, who is apparently incapable of sitting down.

I'm glad I got in one last time at Fenway before the end of the season. No matter what happens, I love this game, these guys.

  posted @ 8:40 PM |

 

Begging will ... actually get you somewhere
Today's blog is I Guess We'll Just Have to Adjust. Mostly I picked it so Sharelle wouldn't cry. Because I don't like to make girls cry. Well, not all the time, anyway.

She's a dork, just like the rest of us, and not afraid to admit it: "I know this makes my dork status official but I'm willing to make that sacrifice on the off chance that fellow dorks are among my readership." (Oh believe me, they are.) She also likes to point out the random in the blogosphere, including but not limited to highly suspect crochet projects. While you're over there, don't forget to check out Jellyfish Fridays, because who doesn't need a weekly blobby-floaty-thing fix?

  posted @ 8:19 PM |

 

Don't scare me like that!
My web site was down for several hours this morning, and it just about gave me a heart attack. I didn't know what to do with myself. Which blogs do I visit? What are my site stats? I had nothing. Sad, I know, but true.

  posted @ 7:31 AM |

Monday, September 26    

Second verse, same as the first
I fought it. I wrestled with the ethics of the situation. I questioned my purpose. But, in the end, I had to choose a football blog for today -- I know. Just like yesterday. In my meager defense, this isn't strictly a Patriots' blog. And it's written by chicks. What could be better than Chicks Talk Football? I really can't think of anything -- other than, say, getting trapped in a very small room with Tom Brady for several hours. You know, to discuss the game plan.

While we're asking questions, here's a few to ponder: "Have the San Francisco 49ers actually been given lesbian stripper performances in the locker room? Will it improve or weaken their performance? Discuss. What is the over/under on instances of the Peyton Manning Face? How long will it take Brady to live down the infamous goat picture?" (The lesbian strippers actually happened, and I feel this will only strengthen their resolve to suck. I don't bet, but with 0 TD passes so far this season, I suspect we're going to see the Peyton Manning face almost as much as we saw the D-Lowe face. And Brady will never, never live down the goat picture.) These chicks talk serious football, people: "The word 'pretty' has no place in a discussion of football, unless it's describing the interception Ty Law just yanked out of thin air." (I'm fairly certain they would disagree with my lucky pink Pats' shirt, but I don't care. You don't mess with a streak!)

  posted @ 4:34 PM |

Sunday, September 25    

Whatever it takes

The look of victory

Witness: 13-10, Steelers, before the shirt and pigtails; 23-20, Pats, after. You know I'm here for you, boys. Anytime.

  posted @ 5:11 PM |

 

I can't wait one minute more
Okay, the Pats just turned it over in the red zone. I will resist from pulling out my hair, banging my head against the wall, and otherwise disparaging the lineage of all those who play for the Patriots. We've had three injuries in the first half, the most concerning of which is the loss of Rodney Harrison. (Okay, Matt Light worries me, too.) I can't wait any longer. The blog of the day is New England Patriots' Pulpit. Clearly, I need to reverse the Steelers' fan mojo from the other day. Check it out for previews (I'm afraid he's going to be right on this one), picks, and intelligent analysis and commentary.

  posted @ 3:17 PM |

Saturday, September 24    

Grumpy old woman
Today's blog is Hrmph. Now did I pick it because it sounds inherently cranky, like me? Or perhaps because she's a Boston ex-pat who moved to Florida, like my little sister? Or perhaps because (of course!) she's a Sox fan? It doesn't matter. This shit is good times, people.

She tells it like it is: from smiling like crazy in an attempt to overcome her anti-social nature and make new friends to the hardships of vacationing: "It's the havoc we love and remember. It's the havoc that makes the memories that we'll share over bland lunches for years to come." But let's face it: I just really enjoyed reading about the time she had ants in her pants.

  posted @ 8:26 PM |

Friday, September 23    

In pursuit of better health and a nice ass
Hey, who doesn't want a nice booty? Unfortunately, it's not in the cards for me. What I wouldn't give for just some of J-Lo's fine ass. Bygones. It's not about me. It's about Kerri over at Kallipugos. (That apparently means "beautifully shaped buttocks" in Greek. Who knew? I am all about the foreign languages. Though I'm not reviewing anything I can't read, people.)

Kerri is on a quest to lose weight and get healthy -- and to get that fine ass. She writes with honesty about her struggles with all of it, from vacation weight gain to work-out hell. In the end, it's all okay, because she knows the scale is a motherfucker. (So true, people, so true.) So, go join her as she recounts "the struggles and the joys -- the yin and yang, if you will -- of my quest for health and a nice ass."

  posted @ 1:37 PM |

Thursday, September 22    

Ghost of a chance
Today's blog is Gone Ronin. Why, you ask? Well, for one, I like any reference to ancient samurai ways. Who doesn't? Also, it reminds me of that movie and the un-fucking-believable car chase. I love cars. Bygones. In reality, I appreciate anyone who realizes the inherent charm of das pit bull. And I'm not just saying that because of Sammy. (But look at his face! Look at their faces!) I also like a man with the appropriate amount of pessimism regarding the status of California. He is a Steelers fan, but I understand that not everyone believes that Tom Brady has been touched by the hand of god and that three Super Bowl wins are not nearly enough. (Nor is one World Series, but bygones.) We'll let that one slide because he likes to fuck with people's heads, which I think we all know is my favorite pastime.

  posted @ 2:59 PM |

 

Tweakage
Due to the some truly annoying pop-up ads, I had to switch site counters, which you know, totally bummed me out because my hits were high, man, high! It's okay. I'm dealing with the new system; we'll see how long this one lasts. In addition, I've created a blogroll for the 100 blogs project (on the right, below the archives). And someday, when I find the time, money, and inclination, I'm going to completely redesign. For now, I'm getting breakfast.

  posted @ 5:39 AM |

Wednesday, September 21    

The more things change
The more I pick the same damn thing. I can't help it, okay? I like writers. I like movies. I like movie writers, apparently, because today's blog is Living the Romantic Comedy. Yes, Billy is, indeed, a writer, and yes, if you have that much free time, you can go back to all the blogs I've visited and count how many of them are by writers, screenwriters, movie fans, and their ilk. Shut it.

I'll admit to a short attention span when it comes to blogs, but his posts are worth the time. He gets what makes writing good and what makes it bad: "It occurred to me that what I had in John was a writer who was scared of emotions, just as in Jane I'd been talking to a writer who was scared of herself. And I was reminded again of how much I love Lolita." And he has a healthy appreciation for the joys of the blogosphere: "When I'm blog-trolling, what I enjoy most is the tacitly voyeuristic thrill of falling into someone else's world." Yeah, me, too, but I'm just a dirty perv that way. And, as usual, my kryptonite comes into play. Yes, that's right: The man makes jokes about great literature: "You've bored me shitless, Ulysses, and I am out of here."

  posted @ 3:13 PM |

 

The fact that I adore you is but one of my truths
Katie has suggested that perhaps this man should be my new boyfriend. I'd like to point out that there is nothing wrong with my old boyfriend. And while this young upstart certainly has the stats to make my heart flutter (6'6" and 210!), there is now, and ever shall be, only one skinny bastard in my life.

  posted @ 12:44 PM |

Tuesday, September 20    

Explain it to me like I'm a 2-year-old
There is nothing I hate more in the world than someone condescendingly telling me what a play-action fake is. Hello? Do I look like a girl? Okay, wait. Do I look like an idiot? Clearly, I am a woman who watches football. Clearly, I obsessively check stats and subscribe to SI, and ESPN is my church, man. Bygones. There are some things I like explained to me, which is why the Please Explain series over at Dup's Blog caught my eye. And it earned Dup the blog of the day honors.

Also, he's just a "man who is doing the best that he can. Unless I'm tired. Then I'm taking a nap." I'd give my left arm for a nap right now. But that's not the point, people. He's also a man who appreciates Johnny Cash and horrible biopics (I have a bizarre fascination with that Quaid picture, too). And he likes ice cream. What more needs to be said? No, wait, please explain to me how golf is a sport. And why blatantly fake boobs are attractive.

  posted @ 5:31 PM |

 

Warning: Women in heels may be shorter than they appear
Let's face facts, people. A towering giant I am not. I'd love to go for willowy, but the most polite way to describe me is "petite." (Which brings to mind wee cute women, a category I most definitely do not fit into. "Fighting midget," however, suits me well.) Bygones. I was describing my recent Gap nightmare to my co-workers today (you know, the one wherein you pick up the "ankle" length jeans because you just know that "regular" isn't going to cut it today, and then the fucking short jeans are still too long for you), when my co-worker turns to me with a puzzled look and asks, "How tall are you? Because I would have said 5'7." God bless her heart. I think we should all mark the day that someone thought my clinging-to-5'4-with-both-hands body was a real height. And I'll send a personal thank you to the Payless gods that made the surprisingly comfortable boots with the 3-inch heel.

  posted @ 2:47 PM |

Monday, September 19    

The stubborn bitch keeps blogging; more at 11
You know what we haven't had? A Jen blogger. A Sox blogger? Sure. A golfer? You betcha. But some chick named Jen blogging about her life? Not until now: Run, Jen, Run.

Now, as a Jen myself, I would think that my people would shy away from Forrest Gump references. Because if I hear one more idiot drawl, "I luuuuv you, Jenny," I will commit serious bodily harm. And not just to myself. Bygones. This Jen, obviously, is not afraid. Oh, no. Perhaps it's because she's met Cockroach in person. Or perhaps it's because, like all women, she's faced some truly death-defying things. Either way, she's obviously intelligent because a third eyelid freaks me right the fuck out, too.

  posted @ 7:41 PM |

 

Empty and cheated
I was worried after I began my quest for 100 blogs in 100 days that my regular readers would feel, well, cheated. For whatever reason, they read my site (perhaps because I pay them, perhaps because, well, hi, Mom!), so they must be here for idiotic ramblings about my life, right? Which, I admit, have been few and far between lately. But to be honest, people, if I weren't such a stubborn bitch and determined to stick to the 100, I don't know how much I'd be blogging at all right now. Because I am really, really tired. The kind of tired where sleep doesn't change anything. Nothing does. And I know I just have to keep getting through the days until I don't notice anymore.

  posted @ 7:07 PM |

Sunday, September 18    

Outside the box, on the green
I've recently decided to cut down on my sports-watching, as it is beginning to affect my sanity in an adverse fashion. And my roommate is one more "That was a STRIKE, motherfucker!" away from killing me. That said, I started watching the Pats game this afternoon anyway. My boys! But, that, uh, didn't go so well ("Touchdown my ass!"), so I switched over to the Sox. Sweet baby Jesus, that was even worse. I was so upset, I had to watch golf to calm down. That's right, I said golf, which I think we all know I mock at every turn. And not just because I came in third out of three the last time I played putt-putt. Okay, maybe it's because I suck. No, it's because it's not a sport! Where's the D? When some guy gets to stand near the hole and catch fly balls or players can deliberately send an opponent's ball into the water hazard, then it becomes a sport. Until then, it's the subject of my ridicule and scorn. And the subject of today's blog. See how broad-minded I am? I mock and I love all in the same post. So, if you're only going to visit one golfing blog today, make it the Golf Bandit.

Besides, I think golf lessons can be applied to life, too: "The first and often most difficult point to learn, is to trust your own judgment. Most often your body knows what to do. It is when you try to out-think your body that you come to grief." People, this is so fucking true. Your body says swing, swing. If you body says chocolate-covered Oreo, don't over think it. Just do it.

  posted @ 8:39 PM |

Saturday, September 17    

Cry havoc
Today's blog is T-Shirt Wars. Why? Because why the fuck not, you crazy bitches. (Okay, I just played two rounds of Scene It, the TV edition, and I've been talking trash all night. Yeah, that's right, Jeremy, I kicked your ass. Twice. And Leigh, I took pity on you and let you into the winner's circle!)

Really, I just have to link to this blog for sheer fucking originality. Also, how much time do you have to have on your hands before you create an exhaustive sets of rules? And a blog? And a graph? (Okay, I am kind of cheap for graphs.) Also, based on the sheer number and variety of t-shirts I own (I think y'all know what I'm talking about), I feel I could be a real player in this game. If I, you know, lived anywhere in the vicinity and actually knew these people. Bygones.

  posted @ 8:37 PM |

Friday, September 16    

Spoon fed
Today's blog is Egg in Spoon. Again, I think it's clear that I'm a sucker for a good title. I'm also pretty cheap for those that manage to both make me laugh like an idiot and feel like I'm totally there at the same time. But mostly the laughing. What was she doing exactly? "'I'm sitting on my couch watching TV and eating sliced salami,' I told her. Because that was what I was doing. Because that's the sort of thing I do when other plans have been thwarted and I feel too demoralized by the thwarting to do anything else productive with my day." I do that even when I haven't been thwarted. It's okay, Jill. There's no need to rationalize. However, can we talk about the Jake thing? Because I don't think that's a good idea. Having the same first name and last name (essentially) only leaves you open for unrelenting mocking. Much like being my friend. Bygones. I hear you, and I, too, am just interested in competing.

  posted @ 6:37 PM |

 

Does it get any worse than this?
I am now, officially, the "back-up skanky whore." People, I'm not even the first-string skanky whore! My life is going down the toilet.

  posted @ 12:21 PM |

Thursday, September 15    

Any two points can make a line
While some may believe that the "longest distance between two points is made longer by having an annoying American journeying with you," I'm glad that y'all are on this voyage through the blogosphere with me. Otherwise, I would be lonely and have no one to mock, and that would be wrong. Today, I bring you Ramblings of the Fatman, fresh from Australia.

I could give you a variety of reasons why I picked this blog today (perhaps because I ate too much cake?), but it's really because of this post: "I honestly think people who embrace spirituality need to counterbalance their meditation time with alcohol, women, cigars and poker." And I'm am right there with him, except for the cigars part. Also, he said "boobies." Okay, and he describes his life straight-up and with a solid dash of humor, which I support wholeheartedly. And I hope the chicas stop stalking him, though it's damn funny to the rest of us: "It has seriously been a police lineup of lost loves, Aphrodite's macabre sense of humour being drenched on the Fatman in these last fourteen days. If revenge, like oysters or gazpacho soup, is a dish best served cold then this fortnight ... er ... still f-cking sucks."

  posted @ 7:19 PM |

Wednesday, September 14    

Ye old bait and switch
Today's blog is Open Switch. Okay, who had day 23 as my first Christian ministry blog in the betting pool? What? Nobody? Hah! Told y'all I was broadening my horizons. You people never listen.

Besides, Ben isn't all about the ministry; he watches TNG like the rest of us geeks. (And who didn't love Wesley Crusher? Okay, a lot of people didn't. But I don't like those people.) There are also the requisite cute baby pictures and comments on various ministry styles: "When a pastor wears old cowboy boots with his nice three piece suit, I just can't pay attention to what he's saying." Um, me neither. Oh, yeah, and he helps people: "All I really did was listen and ask questions. There's not a whole lot I can do or say that will make these people feel any better about losing everything they own." Sometimes, listening is the most important thing you can do, because people need to tell their stories. And it's a privilege to hear them.

  posted @ 7:22 PM |

 

I'm out of it for a little while, and everyone gets delusions of grandeur
Son of a bitch, I missed the premiere of Gilmore Girls last night. I can't believe it. I knew I should have never canceled my subscription to TV Guide. I'm completely out of the loop. I have no idea what's going on it the world. I'm missing tons of quality television, and I don't even know it. I just had to print out the premiere schedule so I won't miss anything else -- like the premieres of Nip/Tuck and Lost next week.

  posted @ 6:39 AM |

Tuesday, September 13    

I hate everything about you
There are days, people, when you find that you are not the most miserable being on earth; when you realize that you have not yet raised misanthropy, though a way of life for you, to an art form; and when you know, you just know, that you are a sick fuck. And damn, those are good days, because you are now laughing hysterically at someone even more bitter than you. I give you: The 16mm Shrine, "An examination, exploration, and celebration of what drives society to create things like Rocky and expect us to watch them. God, I hate movies. And now you will, too."

I love movies, but I also have quickly fallen in love with the way this man dissects them. On The Brothers Grimm: "Terry Gilliam and I have never really gotten along. I find his comedy too broad, his metaphors too obvious, and his pacing too panicked and frantic, like the last few seconds of a homemade sex tape after the condom breaks. He, in turn, finds me crude, endlessly repetitive, and rigidly formal in my deliberate soullessness, like an engineer running trains to Buchenwald. I donít think heís met a wide-angle lens he hasnít liked, and heís been known to comment that I go through similes like a junkie collapsing veins."

He liked (relatively) The 40-Year-Old Virgin, which I just saw this weekend. I came home and was going to blog about it, but then I realized all the details of the movie had fallen right out of my brain. I remember laughing, but I don't know why. That's why I have to say I enjoyed Wedding Crashers more (though our boy Ash did not). I'd post more links, but just read the archives your damn self, you lazy bastards. (Okay, wait, read this one about Sin City. And this one about Star Wars.)

  posted @ 3:47 PM |

 

The surreal life
My friend and I just compared french fries to cocaine. And determined that they were, in fact, disturbingly similar.

Anyone for McDonald's? Fries are on me.

  posted @ 10:38 AM |

Monday, September 12    

Speechless
I'm sick of words. Let's talk pictures. Tim over at A Photo a Day makes with the simple, yet ambitious, notion of posting a picture a day. (Much like posting about a new blog every day, it's harder than it seems.) He started the blog to put some of the fun back into photography: "I remember when I started at Brooks me and my friends would head out shooting every moment we had the chance. We were always excited to go shoot. As we got deeper and deeper into our studies at school, we began to shoot less and less for fun." From weddings to landscapes to friends just goofing around, he's out there on the front lines, shooting for you, people.

This shot of the train tracks is my favorite, but he's only just begun.

  posted @ 7:12 PM |

Sunday, September 11    

Very superstitious
My boys did not like my choosing a Yankees fan as the blog of the day. Did. Not. Like. It. At. All. And thusly, today's blog is from amongst the Fenway Faithful: Touching All the Bases. (Sounds dirty, doesn't it?) Look, it was either a Sox blog or I had to go back to the lucky pigtails. And I think those would be hard to explain at work.

Besides, this is no drooling idiot fanboy (though I like those, too); Chad is clearly an intelligent man with well thought-out opinions and commentary on the boys. Plus, did I mention he's a Sox fan? And, as important as it is to love the boys, it's equally important to know who to hate, including, but not limited to: "Jason Giambi, swollen tick, Yankees: If his redemption is legit, then it's a great story. But the two homers he hit off Pedro in Game 7 in 2003 were not legit. And for that I won't forgive him." Dude, a Yankee never deserves forgiveness. Never. Chad also talks about my other boys, the mighty Patriots.

Okay, now that we've spread the Sox love, who's hitting the first homer in Toronto?

  posted @ 7:02 PM |

Saturday, September 10    

The one where she finally loses her mind
Today's blog is Memoirs of a New York Denizen. See how broad-minded I'm being? I'm picking a New Yorker, for chrissakes. And a Yankees fan. Am I just taking this opportunity to rub his nose in the Sox victory today? With Schilling on the mound? Maybe.

Or maybe I just like the fact that he mocks grammar ineptitude. And that he knows that any day is a better day with liquor: "What this commercial teaches me is that, according to Captain Morgan, life would be better if I was tanked by noon. Well thanks, Captain, but I don't need a commercial to learn that." Yeah, me neither. He also recognizes the value in a life soundtrack. Man, I really need an iPod. Bygones. The truth is, the dude likes Barq's Red Creme Soda. So, I know, at heart, he's not evil. You give me 20 minutes, a dark alley, and a case of Barq's, and he will come out a Red Sox fan. Trust me.

  posted @ 7:23 PM |

Friday, September 9    

Choices
There's so much of who we are that we do not choose: The color of our eyes, the slant of our smiles, who we love. I don't choose to share my coming out story with the internet (mostly because it's not that interesting), but I try not to hide who I am (either here or in the world at large). But I do choose to share this with you: Chris is Coming Out at 48, which I can't even imagine. Luckily for me, he writes about it at length and with great skill: "I'm beginning this blog because my heart is overflowing. It has been overflowing for a long time, but its taken awhile to figure out where to let it flow. So maybe I can create a place, a really open and honest place, a place where what is in one's heart gets expressed, a place where a married man who comes out at age 48 can tell his story. And those of you who hear this story can tell one back. Or argue a point. Or ask a question. Or remind us something that we need to be reminded of."

He's already reminded me of the time when I didn't know who I was, or who I was becoming, and it was scary and lonely. But perhaps necessary.

  posted @ 6:01 PM |

 

The wide world of sports
People, last night was hectic. The Sox were playing the Angels (let's not speak of it). The Pats had their season opener against the Raiders, and Tommy boy was on the field in all his helmeted glory. The WNBA had two conference final games, back-to-back. I was swamped. I'm not sure if my remote control has seen that much of a workout since America's Next Top Model was on opposite Lost.

Sure, I didn't get much sleep and I'm not sure if my heart will ever recover from being a sports fan, but it was worth it. The night was pretty much a split decision: The Sox lost, but the Pats won (Tommy was en fuego, people). Indiana lost (how can you not root for Catch?), but Sacramento won.

Tonight, the Yankees. May they go down in flames, the bastards.

  posted @ 7:10 AM |

Thursday, September 8    

Edify your mind
I'm losing track; what day are we on? It doesn't matter. Edify is going home with the link today.

I know, I know, I tried going with blogs that were different from my usual for awhile there, but I'm back to what I like. And what I like is writing. And movies. And books. Eric writes about all of them, but picks really good shit, like A Widow for One Year (one of my favorite John Irving books) and Bookmark Now (which is seriously on my wishlist). He also knows the importance of a good popcorn flick and how Rachel McAdams is becoming one of those actresses you inexplicably really, really like. But besides blatantly appealing to all my weaknesses, the writing is thoughtful: "I came out here to pursue a career in -- yes, showbusiness. I'm a screenwriter. Although I'm not sure if pursue is the right term. The word makes me think of a man or woman chasing after something. But how does one chase after a career? Really, you can only work at accomplishing what you want. You go to a job interview to get a job, but you don't chase it around like a dog." (You actually can chase a career around like a dog, but usually all it gets you is a bop on the nose.)

  posted @ 3:07 PM |

 

Electric cigarette love baby
As I am wont to do, I pulled out a random CD this morning to listen to, and today's choice just happened to be Morphine's Yes. Which is neither here nor there (though it's an awesome disc and y'all should own everything Mark Sandman ever touched with his god-like hands), except that it contains the classic Super Sex, which informs us that the president is super, super sexy. And while nothing on godís green earth could ever move me to do the deed with our current commander-in-chief, while talking with a friend last night, I admitted that I would sleep with Clinton. And you canít mention Clinton and sex in the same breath without Monica coming up, so my friend took this opportunity to blast Clinton for sleeping with her. He claims that the Pres should have screwed someone better looking, to which I said, "You would have fucked her." And he paused, then said, "Yeah, I probably would."

  posted @ 1:34 PM |

Wednesday, September 7    

Run away!
Is it cheating to look for a blog of the day? Because I went for a run this afternoon, came back, realized I needed to blog, and decided today's theme was running. Which was kind of hard, since I'm really not into detailed running reports. I mean, I really don't like running that much. Whilst searching for the perfect running blog, I found All Out of Angst, which has just enough fitness to qualify.

I have to admit I picked it because I am never out of angst. And neither is our faithful blogger. Other than that, I'm not sure why I picked this one. True, he likes Drew. And fine booty. And I always appreciate anyone who can recognize when someone needs a beat down. But besides those things? I don't know. I'm finding more and more that what I like in a blog is undefinable, even to myself.

  posted @ 3:20 PM |

Tuesday, September 6    

B is for blogs, blogs, blogs
But A ... my name is Allison is the only blog that counts today. (Well, okay, the other blogs count, and in fact, I'm coming to love them, so go visit them again.)

At first, I just liked that all her posts started with the Sue-Grafton-esque titles. And then I actually read the posts, and I liked those, too. And it's not like I can identify with Operation Boyfriend or anything, no. Or with any of her many addictions. Or with the fact that she is completely insane: "I have grey hairs, punks. DON'T USE THAT AGAINST ME IN AN ARGUMENT EVER OR I WILL BASH YOUR KNEECAPS WITH MY PARTICULARLY COARSE GRAY HAIR STRANDS. I will Tonya Harding your ass." Dude, I think she's serious.

  posted @ 7:15 PM |

 

Brushes with greatness
Apparently, something special happens when I drink margaritas in large chain restaurants (aside from getting wasted): Sox players appear like magic. And not because I'm hallucinating. Last night, Leigh, Jeremy, and I followed up an intense round of miniature golf with some fine beverages at the Cheesecake Factory. (Leigh won, and I lost miserably, for those keeping track at home.)

Whilst sipping an Ultimate Margarita and pondering whether or not it was, in fact, a good idea to drink heavily after going for a run earlier and not eating anything all day, a strange thing happened. Jeremy kept tugging on my arm like a 3 year old, and I kept ignoring him like a good mommy who's busy drinking would. When I finally gave Jeremy my attention, he said, "Gabe Kapler and Tony Graffanino just came in." To which I promptly replied, "Shut up!" But, people, it was true: the Hebrew Hammer and the Graf were, in fact, sitting two tables away from me at the Cheesecake Factory.

First, let me say this: Tony Graffanino, if I ever see you drink a strawberry daiquiri in public again, I'm getting you drummed out of the corps. Second, Gabe, dude, you're huge. So, we all take turns making unnecessary trips to the bathroom to check out the boys, and whilst we're still stunned by this turn of events, guess who walks in? Yes, that's right, El Capitan himself: Jason Varitek. And, Gabe, step back, baby, because the Tek just muscled you out. Those arms! That chest! Those powerful man thighs! Leigh and I barely remained conscious. Especially because the Tek kept walking back and forth on his cell phone. And I got to the see the Powerful Man Thighs up close and ... not really personal, but who cares? I saw Jason Varitek at the Cheesecake Factory. I'm eating there every night.

(And just so this report is complete: Gabe had a Corona, and Tek drank water. And all the boys took cheesecake home with them.)

  posted @ 8:05 AM |

Monday, September 5    

Running away with the circus
Okay, we all thought it was a good idea when we were kids, but who ever actually did it? Trish did. And her Journal of the Unintelligent details life on the move and under the Big Top.

She posts pictures of what she sees, including some interesting food signs: "How do you chop beer? This some funky kungfu shit." And she tells you about life as a nomad: "It's rather tiring to keep moving around like this. The moment you get settled in one town, you have to start packing everything to move again." Plus, check out those nails. That's some crazy shit right there.

  posted @ 7:36 PM |

Sunday, September 4    

I made fire
Toasting marshmallows is the greatest thing in the world.

(Okay. Marshmallows and the Sox winning the Series.)

  posted @ 10:39 PM |

 

It's all Greek to me
Picking a blog a day requires discipline, people. I totally suck at that. Regardless, today's blog is Life Is Sweet, Baby.

I just like the title. And she, like, writes in Latin and shit, which seems smart to me. Also, she knows exactly where we're going. She claims to do things other than blogging and brooding, but I don't buy it. Why would you want to do more than that? Usually, that's my steady regime. Okay, throw in some "watch teen TV" and "yell at sporting events," and you've pretty much got my life.

  posted @ 8:28 PM |

Saturday, September 3    

Let's hug it out, bitch
I'm seriously, sickly addicted to Entourage. It's either because of my strange love of the dork boy or my undying love for Jeremy Piven (which can really be traced back to his roots with John Cusack). Also, this show is just ridiculously good. I'm totally sucked in. I watched the first season on DVD, and I just finished watching the entire second season OnDemand -- well, except for the finale, which is tomorrow night. DVDs are messing with my TV-watching habits -- I want instant gratification all the time now. How am I going to wait months for more Entourage? How will E manage to fuck up, fall for some girl who's wrong for him, and yet still come out on top? How will Ari manage to say the most offensive things yet make me want him all the more?

Entourage just entered my life, and I'm already missing it. I am really going to have to work on getting a life. Or something.

  posted @ 10:31 PM |

 

Six of one, half a dozen of the other
Hamish is Foreign in Frankfurt. He has modest ambitions for his blog: "I'll achieve god-like status with a loyal, if not overzealous, group of fans. Fueled by their unwavering devotion to myself and my writings, their grass roots movement to propel me into the mainstream will ultimately result in book deals, movie deals, TV shows and, of course, a spinoff for Thor. My empire will continue to grow and eventually plateau after I enter rehab for the second time, this time for sex addiction."

And I am here to help him achieve these goals, people. Also, he suggests an awesome nickname formula: Just insert "fucking" between your first and last names. Yeah, so that'll be Jen "Fucking" Garrett to you, bitches.

  posted @ 8:50 PM |

 

Officially speaking
The WNBA playoffs are well in hand, so I went to see my first-ever playoff game: Game 2 of the first-round match-up between Detroit and Connecticut last night. (I'm not a huge Sun fan, so I really went just to see Detroit lose.) It was a great game on the Sun's home court, and despite Pam rooting for the Tweet, the Sun won, 75-67. Lindsay Whalen had a monster of a game: 27 points, 4 boards, 3 assists, 2 steals.

But my favorite moment of the night had to be when Nolan was "defending" Whalen: Lindsay was dribbling with her back to Tweety, and the Tweet just wraps her arms around her like she's bear-hugging her (or trying to deliberately foul). My jaw dropped when the ref called a "jump ball." The crowd went crazy, and despite the fact that the Sun enjoyed a decent lead at that point, I just lost it. A jump ball? You have to be joking! For the rest of the game, my friends and I started outlining what are, apparently, the new rules in the WNBA. Hug = jump ball, hack = steal. It was one of the worst officiating calls I have ever seen, and I watch a lot of women's basketball, people. I'm going to let it go, and enjoy the fact that the Sun killed the Shock, and the Fever eliminated the Liberty. Good times.

  posted @ 11:06 AM |

Friday, September 2    

And now for something completely different
Well, it's another blog, so I guess it's not all that different: It's Raining Noodles! But it's also written by a teenager in Singapore, so hah! I told you I was going to broaden my horizons. And I went halfway around the world to do it (without leaving my chair).

Here's where she got me though: She refuses to regret. Do you know how long it took me to come to that decision? She's wiser than her years, people: "I think having regrets makes life tragic; it's just awful, really, to feel like you could have done all those things instead and could have been happier. So now before I make decisions I'll ask myself just one question: Would it make me happier eventually if I did this? And I refuse to regret." Also, she cracked me up with this one: "I shall seek out whoever told me that crazy people thought themselves sane, and I shall brutally stab him/her to death with my metaphorical blunt tuning spoon." Not that I ever talk to myself and have that exact same conversation, no.

  posted @ 8:47 PM |

Thursday, September 1    

Thinner thighs in 10 days
Okay, I actually can't deliver on the thigh-thinning action, but I can give you blog 10* in the great experiment: Absolutely Ordinary.

But did you think I actually picked an ordinary blog? Hell, no. She's a baseball fan. And, sadly for her, she's a Giants fan, which means she understands pain, which I can appreciate. To top it all off, she has a category named, "I Like Carbs," which is good, because I seriously distrust those who don't love bread and pasta and other carb-loaded yummy goodness. Mocking Jessica Simpson works for me, too.

*That means I'm 1/10 of the way to my goal! And that I can still do math.

  posted @ 7:32 PM |

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