Holy shit, no posts for two weeks? What the hell is wrong with me? I have no excuses, other than that I've been a bit preoccupied with my jewelry and other assorted artsy shit lately (I'm in another craft sale this week). My latest creation (and addiction) are duct tape purses. I've made two and I'm working on another. Seriously. Duct tape comes in different colors now (red, black, white, etc.) and you can make really cool shit out of it (the finished product comes out looking like vinyl). One duct tape manufacturer holds a contest for the best prom dress made out of duct tape, which, in red or black (maybe even white?) would totally rock. You'd definitely have to line that sucker with some kind of fabric, though, because unless you have nipples of steel, the chafage (is that a word?) would kill you. I'd totally wear a duct tape prom dress. Too bad I'm not in high school. I should start trolling, like, shopping malls and Taco Bells for cute high school boys so that next year I can be someone's 31-year-old prom date and wear a bad-ass duct tape prom dress. Come to think of it though, it'd probably be pretty hard to find a high school kid cool enough to appreciate a duct tape prom dress. He'd have to be as perverted as I am, and that's saying something.

Can I just talk about my cats for a sec? They rock. I woke up yesterday morning to find Riley (fluffy Maine Coon) and Shelby (little gray and white kitty) all curled up together; Riley was lying behind Shelby, totally spooning her. It was so cute I nearly pissed myself with delight. I love my cats. In fact, I am dangerously obsessed with them. I'll probably be committed for it one day (but at least I'll have a lot of time to make my duct tape purses!) Seriously, though. I make up nicknames for my cats, I sing to them, and I hold lengthy one-sided conversations with them. Skeptical? Here are some nicknames I've come up with for Riley (just a few): Mr. Cat, H.R. Fluff n' Puff, Big Guy, Big Boy, Rile Cat, Big Rile, Rile Dawg, Fluff Daddy, Mr. Big Fluff, and holy shit I need serious professional help. I've also walked around my apartment singing (to the tune of Christina Auguilera's What a Skank Wants): "What a cat wants, what a cat needs, whatever keeps you purring sets me free..." I don't know what's scarier--the fact that I sing bad pop songs to my cats, or the fact that I'm freely admitting it, right here in front of God and everyone. I would blame the copious amounts of marijuana I've been inhaling over the past year, but I've always been like this about my cats. They just have that effect on me.

Okay, here are some obscure movies that you need to check out:

New Waterford Girl Good movie, although it's a bit slow. It's really funny and well-acted, if you can get past the leisurely pacing. Andrew McCarthy is in it, playing a high school English teacher. Since the story is set in the 70's, however, his character sports some unfortunate-bordering-on-pork-choppy sideburns, but he's still cute.

Blue Car Another coming-of-age, losing your virginity/innocence, blahblahblah movie, but a good one. It's much "heavier" than New Waterford Girl, though, and a bit on the depressing side. If you rent the DVD, be sure to watch the director's commentary.

Lost and Delirious Sigh. Love this one. It's about lesbians, it's set in a boarding school, and the three lead actresses are extremely cute...especially Piper Perabo. She does such an amazing job in this movie, it's hard to believe she was the same chick skankin' it up in a big ol' turd of a flick like Coyote Ugly. Oh, and my buddy Graham Greene is in it! If you know me and I've never bored you with the story about the time I met him at the Denver airport a few years back, email me and I'll give you the full scoop.

That is all!

The word for the day...decoupage! I've spent most of the day glued (ha) to craftster looking for ideas for new stuff to make. I am literally salivating over the decoupage tables (my favorite is the second one pictured), as well as the vinyl record clocks, the microbead mosaics, the recycled Dr. Suess journals, the comic book art--it's all too much for me. I'm hyperventilating. I'm selling at a craft fair this weekend and in addition to my jewelry I am going to try my hand at making some funky little bubble magnets and a few coaster sets and see who bites.

I've been buying so many supplies for this weekend (while still managing to keep my costs down, thankfully) that I'm now firmly ensconced in Shopping Mode. I took some stuff to the consignment store today and while I was there I had to physically restrain myself from buying the coolest little powder blue bowling ball bag/purse I've ever laid eyes on. The cost? Five dollars. The amount of money in my pocket? Five dollars. Channeling the will power to overcome my handbag addiction? Priceless.

Okay, here's my useless website for the day--(this won't be a regular feature or anything, so don't get excited)...and the winner is: www.wackyadvice.com It's both hilarious and utterly nonsensical, which is what I appreciate most in a useless website. It reminds me of the Bold Type column that ran in the '80s music mag Star Hits (which became Smash Hits, after they combined with their British counterpart. Smash Hits, incidentally, was the magazine started by Neil Tennant of The Pet Shop Boys, back in the days before he had a music career. Jeez, I'm babbling...) Anyhoo, the Bold Type column was funny. Bold Type was the pseudonym of the columnist who gave "advice" to readers (or snarky editors posing as readers) who wrote in with truly pointless questions. One that I remember was a letter (supposedly) sent in by a reader who wanted B.T. to address the eerie resemblance between Peter Cetera (former lead singer of Chicago and mid-80's lite rock mainstay) and Herman Munster from, y'know, The Munsters. In response, B.T. ran pictures of Herman and Peter, with the captions under the photos identifying Peter as Herman and Herman as Peter. I laughed my thirteen-year-old ass off at that one.

Maybe you had to be there.

Dude, I need to do better than these once-a-week posts. I'll work on that. Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it. (That was dumb, but I just felt that a Ferris Bueller quote was appropo. I'll try to throw in those John Hughes references whenever possible).

Willie Nelson's younger brother is in the office today. He probably isn't his brother, I'm kidding of course, but some wiry dude with craggly features, strawberry blond hair and a big long braid is here and he won't leave me alone. He needs to talk to someone in the training class. It involves a fax that he sent and some equipment that he needs to get back from the instructor. He keeps asking me exactly when the training class will be out and if the guy got the fax and what he's doing about the fax and a bunch of other stuff that I will never care about. It is sort of refreshing to hear a southern accent, though. I never thought I'd say that, but I'm getting a bit tired of "the Minnesota O" or whatever they call the strange Scandanavian brogue everyone seems to be afflicted with in this fair state.

I shouldn't talk about this, since I tend to be annoyingly superstitious and I don't want to jinx it, but here goes anyway: I got a call today from a bona fide arts organization that I sent a cold cover letter and resume to back in February. They have a position open that (I think) they want me to interview for. I had a short, bullshit phone interview today, (which I was totally unprepared for), but I did my best and when the lady said that she'd "definitely" be calling me back (presumably for a real interview?) I don't think she was jerking my chain. So anyway, yay! She did ask me if I plan to settle in the Twin Cities long-term (at this point, no) but of course I said yes. (Lying to a potential employer. Isn't that illegal?) I'm such a renegade.

Okay, I read a little blurb on msn today naming some of Blender magazine's Top 50 Worst Songs of All Time. It sort of inspired me, but no way I'm going to come up with 50 (I don't want to put that much effort into this), so here goes my list:

My Top, Uh, I Dunno--14 Suckiest Songs

14. The Bangles -- Walk Like An Egyptian Hated! This! Song!

13. Puff Daddy/P. Diddy/Whatever -- Every Breath You Take (remake) Thanks for shitting all over a good song, dumbass. He recorded it as a tribute to his friend, the fat rapper who bought the farm--yeah, that was sad and all, but if Puffy was going to capitalize on the poor guy's death anyway, couldn't he have just written his own damn song? What a tool.

12. Eminem -- Lose Yourself The misogynistic homophobe trying to get all deep and inspirational on us. Fuck off, Eminem.

11. Crash Test Dummies -- Mmmm, Mmmm, Mmmm I didn't smoke enough weed in the early 90's for this song to sound cool. But I tried. Really, I did.

10. Toni Basil -- Mickey Dammit, why is this piece of shit song considered a classic? It sucked then, it sucks now, it will continue to suck forevermore.

9. Benny Mardones -- Into the Night Otherwise known as The Child Molester Song, it begins "She's just sixteen years old, leave her alone they say." If you don't remember this one, consider yourself lucky.

8. Color Me Badd -- I Wanna Sex You Up My sister liked this song. I still make fun of her for it.

7. Jennifer Lopez -- Jenny From the Block She's an easy target, but that doesn't mean that I can't snark on her. I mean, come on..."Don't be fooled by the rocks that I got, I'm still, I'm still Jenny from the block"(!) If you want a good laugh, check out out her lyrics. Any of them.

6. Christina Aguilera -- Anything she fucking records I hate it when people say "But at least she can sing!" You know what? So can my dad. But he doesn't prance around with fugly hair extensions and his butt crack hanging out.

5. Jewel -- Intuition This was supposed to be a joke, right?

4. Guns n' Roses -- Sweet Child of Mine I know he's somewhat of a sacred cow in heavy metal circles, but I think it's high time that people face up to the fact that Axl Rose sucks. I mean, his voice is worse than that guy from the Scorpions. I'd rather be woken up by two cats doing the nasty outside my window at 4am than to hear W. Axl "sing" this one ever again. Which is why I don't listen to classic rock stations.

3. Kid Rock -- Bawitdaba Pardon?

2. New Kids on the Block/N'Sync/Backstreet Boys/Yadayadayada -- Hangin' Tough/Bye Bye Bye/The Shape of My Heart/Whateverwhatever First of all, NKOTB? Hilarious. Maybe I shouldn't even pick on them, because they went away and never came back. So thank you, Donny, Marky, Biff, etc. Second of all, N'Sync? I've read several music critics actually singing their praises, which proves that 1.) music critics are stoopid, 2.) the critics in question are twenty years old, and 3.) have got to be severely doped up on a cocktail of Ritalin, crack cocaine and Nyquil. Thirdly, that Backstreet Boys song? Sounds like something rejected by Richard Marx.

1. Hit Me One More Time -- Britney Spears Oh Britney, don't tempt me.

Dude, WTF? Where have I been? What happened?

I was on a journey. A journey not of sight and sound, but of mind. Ironic, because my mind is definitely not sound. Ignore me, I'll be okay in a bit.

I just took this cool quiz and found out that I'm a 1970's geek! It's due to my hippie leanings and concern for the environment. Here is my official geek stamp:

I'm A 1970s Geek

You've decided for the world that it's time for a change. JOIN THE GEEK REVOLUTION!

find your geek decade at spacefem.com

Cool, huh?

Okay, I'll update tomorrow, and I promise to be less weird.

Here are some prints from despair.com, which pretty much sum up my mood today (and they make me laugh)...

Risks

Flattery

Teamwork

Power

Discovery

Nepotism

Persistence

Okay, I'm done for a while.

Angela and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Movie

Woah. I just (voluntarily) watched the worst movie ever made. And keep in mind that I've seen Modern Girls, Under the Cherry Moon, Lady Beware, From Justin To Kelly, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, Mr. Deeds, and Coyote Ugly (those last two were accidental). But nothing compares to the horror that I witnessed today. It was hideous. Ghastly. Appalling. Deplorable. Shit, was it bad. I'm talking about Liquid Sky.

My friend Mike warned me about this movie. He described the plot. I thought it sounded hilarious, and decided that I had to see it. I looked all over, and finally found a copy at the St. Paul Library. I wish fate had been kinder, and kept it out of my reach. Here is a synopsis of this "film," which I've copied from another site since my brain hurts too much to attempt to describe its "plot." I've bolded the gist of it, in case you're too afraid to read the whole thing. Believe me, I'd understand.

From badmovies.org:
Few movies are specifically tailored for appeal to those on controlled substances, here's one film though. Heralded as a great work in science fiction and so on... ...well, my ass. There is no damn way this thing sits alongside Alien, Bladerunner, or The Thing. What you have is a great number of lifeless and disturbed people having sex with Margaret then dying. Aliens come to Earth looking for heroin but find that the chemicals produced by human brains during orgasm are even better. So they park their flying saucer, it's about two feet wide, on top of Margaret's apartment and begin killing everyone who has sex with her. Then we have a barely understandable German scientist who is studying the aliens, at least he describes the plot to us. Throw in a crazy girlfriend and a few other weirdos to fill gaps. Margaret finally goes completely bonkers, it's difficult to find that special someone when everybody you sleep with dies, and gets vaporized. In addition, her face is always covered with smudged makeup, probably to disguise that the actress played Jimmy as well. My main problem with this movie wasn't that there are aliens. Nor that these aliens were after heroin or human brains. You just have all these dysfunctional relationships between the characters and nobody ever goes postal. Even talking to most of these people would be like getting beaten in the head with a sock full of quarters.

...Okay, that's putting it mildly. This movie hurts. Seriously. It caused me pain. And I think it's fair to say that I'm no amateur when it comes to bad movies. I've seen a lot. And this is the worst of the worst. Bottom of the shitheap.

Here are some random thoughts and lines of dialogue that I managed to scribble down while viewing this monstrosity. Enjoy.

(The following is a dialogue between Jimmy, played by Anne Carlisle, and Margaret, played by Anne Carlisle. No, that's not a typo. Same actress. Male and female roles. I shit you not).
Jimmy (taunting Margaret): One day the Chickenwoman had chicks and everybody stepped on 'em, because they were so ugly. Cluck, cluck.
Margaret: Such a sweet boy, Jimmy.
Jimmy: Cluck, cluck.
Margaret: Don't make me hate you, Jimmy!

Here's more, because I feel the need to share my pain.

Margaret (after screwing Jimmy to death in front of a crowd of people): I killed him.
Random on-looker #1: Where's the body?
Random on-looker #2: Somebody go look on the roof!
Random on-looker #3: If we think clearly, this can all be explained.

Same scene--
Adrian: I'll bet you $300 I can fuck Margaret and not die!

I have to have a mild rant here about the chick who plays Adrian (Margaret's lesbian lover). I hate her. She wears an eye/sleep mask thingie on her forehead through most of the movie. I don't know why. But that's not why I hate her. She is easily the worst actor of the entire lot (and believe me, that's saying something). Every time she opened her mouth to speak I wanted to give up and switch off the movie (and that's also saying something). She sucks so hard she blows. Like a hurricane. Christ Almighty, she's bad. I really, really wanted to see her die. Thankfully, she does when she has sex with Margaret (in front of the same crowd of on-lookers). She mounts Margaret, fakes an orgasm, then turns into a wad of tinfoil and vanishes. It's the only high point of the movie.

And then there's the music. Yes, Mike warned me about the music. The music is wretched, but it pales in comparison to the acting. And the hair. And the clothes. And the makeup. And the sets. And the dancing. Yes, there is dancing. And it made my eyes bleed. I'll put it this way...ever seen the video for Blondie's "Dreaming"? Remember the extras dancing on the sidelines? Worse than that. Much, much worse.

The only part of Liquid Sky that made me laugh were the quotes from critics on the video box. Here are some of them:

"A triumph of originality!" --The Washington Post

"Smash of the year!" --Rolling Stone

"...perversely beautiful!" --New York Magazine

Okay, I can buy that quote from Rolling Stone, a publication that I used to respect before it began slapping Britney Spears on its cover every other week. But the other ones? Those critics (if they indeed wrote that), should be rounded up and shot.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, this movie sucks.

I forgot to mention...I'm a redhead now! I got bored Saturday and spent the evening dyeing my dark rooted blonde hair a nice, deep shade of red. (Nice n' Easy #110 Natural Light Auburn). It turned out pretty well--I've gotten positive feedback from co-workers. The only problem is that the color faded a bit when I washed it this morning--the roots are still red, but the ends are now a vague, blondish hue. (It's hard to dye over hair that's already dyed, or so I've heard). The good thing is, though--at only 7 bucks a pop, I can just keep buying boxes of the stuff and redo it whenever this happens...I figure sooner or later it's gotta take. Hopefully it won't make my hair fall out though, because a decent wig would probably be pretty expensive.

I'm not feeling the movie list today (the one that I started last week), so here is a list of some cool ezines I've come across:

smallspiralnotebook Great writing, especially the non-fiction.

Bust Electronic version of the print magazine.

3am magazine My favorite of the lot, mostly for the story about the porn writer.

All Things Girl A zine created for women, by women--featuring art, photography, poetry, prose...a little bit of everything.

Fishheads Actually just a random archive of stuff culled from the brilliant (now defunct) Fishheads magazine...the coolest publication ever to come out of Indianapolis.

If I could create the perfect man, I swear he would be a carbon copy of Steve Martin. He's funny, smart, handsome, self-effacing, and he can write! I just finished his novella The Pleasure of My Company, and it was exquisite. I haven't loved a book this much since Wonder Boys. I read Shopgirl, his other novella (Ugh. I don't like the word novella. It sounds pretentious) last year while I was on a plane to Vegas. It was cute, but I didn't like it nearly as much as this one. I just finished the book, and I've already started re-reading it. I've also ordered the audio version from the library (read by Mr. Martin himself). Yes, I'm a little obsessive.

And speaking of odiferous eruptions of intestinal gas, here is someone defending Britney Spears and her "talent." I don't think this is a joke. I think discotrash1119 is actually serious. That makes it even funnier.

"She def has some talent!" Uh, talent for what, exactly? Also, "def"?

"...it wouldn't kill all you people who hate Britney to give the girl a little bit of a chance." I beg to differ. I think that it would kill me. And it would be a very gruesome, very painful death.

"I dare you to download 'Don't Let Me Be the Last To Know'..." Is that a double-dog dare?

"Listen to this and then tell me she can't sing." I'll do you one better. I won't listen to it, and I'll still tell you she can't sing.

"I'm sure some people will tell me she can't sing after they hear this anyway, but those people are just being mean for the sake of being mean." Well, nobody said life is fair, princess.

"Give the girl a chance before you tear her down. It's the nice human, American thing to do." That's what Dubya said.

Heh, heh. This is from my beloved engrish site. It's a "smoker's courtesy" sign from Japan. I like the little arrow thingie coming out of the guy's butt, and how the stench from the fart or the cigarette smoke (I can't tell which), seems to have taken the other guy's head off.

I'm such an ugly American--I didn't know I was supposed to look behind me first. I just let it fly!

I was lying in bed at 6:30 this morning, trying to muster the strength to get my ass up, and turned on the TV for some noise so I wouldn't fall back to sleep. I didn't notice what was on, just flipped on the TV and cranked up the volume. It turned out to be Reading Rainbow. They still have the same theme song they had when I was a kid! I used to love that show. I felt kinda dorky lying in bed watching it this morning. But I did learn a lot about trains.

I thought of a new idea for a list today, this time having to do with movies. I'm going to have to split it up, because I came up with way too many for one list (I want to keep it at a manageable length), so I'll keep adding to this periodically.

Movies that most people haven't heard of or seen, but should:

All the Real Girls This movie was recommended by a friend, and aside from her, I don't know anyone else who has seen it. (I'd never heard of it before she mentioned it). It's a sweet, low-key movie about a group of--well, for lack of a nicer word--hicks in a small southern town. The great thing about it is how well it treats each character. Even the ones who initially come across as dim or obnoxious are given a certain amount of depth and something interesting to say. The love story at the centerpiece is beautifully played by the two leads in performances that are so authentic they don't even seem like performances. Be forewarned--the ending doesn't come giftwrapped and leaves several loose ends. I liked that about it though--it has an almost poetic feel.

Racing With the Moon Anyone who doesn't believe Sean Penn worthy of his recent Oscar win should take a look at this 1984 film, because he's excellent in it. And so is Nicolas Cage, another actor who's been accused of being hammy and over-actory in recent years. (It's also interesting to see Nic before the receding hairline and bulgy eyes, because he was once quite the dish).

Threesome "To me, sex is like pizza. Even when it's bad, it's still pretty good." This movie was unfairly overlooked, probably dismissed as another generic college sex comedy when it came out, but it's actually very funny and has some surprising depth to it. It's about how the lines between friendship, infatuation, and even sexuality can be blurred and crossed in close relationships. (I also posted about this on Fametracker, if any of this sounds familiar. I'm stealing from myself). And the soundtrack (featuring vintage B-side Duran Duran and U2, among others) totally kicks ass!

Shag Okay, this movie is adorable. And I mean that in the best possible way. It's like Dirty Dancing without the power ballads and veiled social messages. Don't get me wrong, I like D.D. okay. I just like this one tons better. It's much more fun, and everyone in it (the guys, the girls--everyone) is just so durn cute. Great eye and brain candy.

Me Myself I Great Austrailian comedy about a single thirty-ish woman who gets a glimpse into what her life would have been like had she married an old boyfriend and settled down in the 'burbs. The eerily similar Family Man came out the very next year...I can't decide if it was a remake, a rip-off, or an homage to this one.

Five should be enough for today--I'll continue the list next week.

I just went on amazon and ordered Beavis and Butthead's Chicken Soup for the Butt. See, I'm an intellectual, and I need reading material that challenges and stimulates. Most people don't understand this.

I miss B&B.

I saw Something's Gotta Give last night. I liked Diane Keaton's character and the fact that she was a writer. (I like "writer" movies). And I liked Jack Nicholson sort of making fun of his lechorous reputation. I just wish the film had been, like, an hour shorter. Seriously. There's no reason for a comedy to be that long. The imdb lists the running time as 128 minutes, but it felt like they stretched it out to at least 3 hours. I thought the seemingly endless 'make-up/break-up' love triangle thingie with Keanu Reeves and Jack was totally uneccesary. I also really disliked the "they lived happily ever after" scene tacked on at the very end. It's insulting when movies do that. I mean, we see the two leads get together at the end, most of us are smart enough to draw our own conclusions. But then the writers have to connect the dots for us, in case we're too stupid. And I know the point of the movie was two older people falling in love, etc., but I kept hoping for an unconventional ending with Diane Keaton ending up with Keanu. I mean, I know I would have. It's like, "Gee, who do I pick--a 36- year-old, gorgeous, well-read, kind, sensitive doctor who worships me, or a 63-year-old womanizer with a heart condition?" I mean, I like Jack Nicholson and all, but in real life, that decision would have taken me about three seconds to make.

There's this guy I work with. I'll just call him Pree-vert, to protect his privacy. (I know it's spelled and pronounced pervert, but pree-vert sounds funnier). I call him that because he's the office pree-vert. There's usually one in every office. Sometimes they are amusing. Sometimes they are offensive. Sometimes they are just sad. Pree-vert fits into that last category. He just ran in here brandishing a can of whipped cream. I'm serious. He was in the kitchen (you have to pass my desk to go into the kitchen) and I heard him let out a cry of delight. After a few moments, he trotted out to my desk with the aforementioned can o' cream.

"Who brought the whipped cream?" he asked excitedly.

"Uh, I think it's left over from the caterers yesterday. From dessert." I answered.

"That's great!" said Pree-vert.

"Yeah, you can put some on your coffee and pretend you're at Starbucks," I replied, refusing to play his sexual innuendo game.

"Well, I can think of some better things to do with it, but I won't go there," he said, as he turned and headed back to the kitchen.

Okay, a little background on Pree-vert. He's around 45, recently divorced, and, (I suspect), lonely. So I do feel sorry for him. It's hard not to. All that aside though, he's a dick. An inappropriate dick. He's made numerous sexual comments to certain women (and men) around the office. He's been written up three different times for sexual harrassment. And he hasn't been fired, which I find mystifying. (I heard someone defend him once by saying, "But he's good at what he does," like that excuses everything. And I don't even know what it is he "does," besides wander around the workplace making bad sex jokes and rude comments. I think he's in good with Bossman, which says a lot about both of them). And he's a massive dork, to boot. I don't have anything against dorks, really. Sometimes I like dorks. But this guy is a DORK. He complained to me once that Minneapolis was "too liberal." Now what kind of a dork complains that a city is too liberal? Even people who aren't liberal usually don't complain about a place being too liberal. Whatever, hombre.

There's also another guy here who we'll call Troll. He works out of the office most of the time, but once a week or so he'll come in here just to annoy me. He has a Porsche. Don't ask him about it. Don't comment on it. Don't even look at it. If you do, you'll get stuck talking to him for an hour. And he'll go apeshit if you pronounce it "Porsh." It's "POR-shah." Two syllables. As in Di Rossi. And don't you forget it!

I use Troll to illustrate my point that as bad as Pree-vert is, there's someone even worse. And that would be Troll. Troll has it in his head that Pree-vert is gay. You see, there was an incident where Pree-vert grabbed another guy's butt. Here at the office. He did it jokingly. But still. It was creepy. And the butt-grabee did not appreciate it. So news of the butt grabbing spread around the office, as it tends to do, thus leading Troll to believe that Pree-vert is gay. Not only does he suspect that Pree-vert is gay, but that Pree-vert (for some UNGODLY reason), wants him. To which I say, come the fuck ON! Troll looks like a troll. He is short. He is squat. He is butt-ugly. And most importantly, he is unbearably obnoxious. I don't care how many POR-shahs he buys. The dude ain't getting any. Not from men, women, or anything in between. So why the hell would he assume that Pree-vert (if he is gay, which I don't think he is. I think he's just desperate, and has no concept of socially appropriate behavior) would want HIM, of all people?

See what I'm dealing with, here?

Happy St. Patrick's Day! From me to you. I love St. Patty's. I remembered to wear green today, but unfortunately it's sort of a pukey baby-shit green instead of a healthy Irish green.

Bossman is in the Wisconsin Dells today for business meetings, which rules. I heard that he's sick too--so maybe he won't be in tomorrow.

The meetings in the Dells (I'm starting to talk like a Minnesotan) have to do with the "restructuring" that's been going on in some of the regional offices, which (according to my sources) means that Corporate Big Cheese at the Milwaukee headquarters is canning some people he doesn't like. He's already "released" two of his employees this past week; one of the guys had taken the day off the same day that Cheese was planning to fire him. (The employee's reason for taking a personal day was that his dog was dying. Okay, it may have been bullshit, but being an animal lover, I can totally understand. Hell, I'd understand a leave of absence for something like that. But I'm a posey-sniffin' treehugger). Anyhoo, instead of waiting til the next day when the guy came in for work to give him the boot, Cheese went to the guy's house to fire him. Yeah, that's what I said. If I'd been in the unfortunate dying-dog owner employee's position when the dickhead showed up at my door to can me, I'd have stuck my foot so far up his ass he'd need to have it surgically removed. And then I'd sic my dying dog on him. What an asshole!

I must link to this blog. It is fabulous.

N is for Neville

I'll set up a permanent link when I figure out how to manipulate the thingie to the right.

I won't forget this, either.

While I'm on my "favorites" kick, I've decided to link to all my favorite articles from The Onion. Here they are, in no particular order.

Marijuana Linked To Sitting Around and Getting High

Gore Camp Denies Putting Bush Camp's Canoe In Treetop

U.N. Orders Wonka To Submit To Chocolate Factory Inspections

Stoner Uncle All the Kids' Favorite

Aging Gen-Xer Doesn't Find Bad Movies Funny Anymore

Area Daughter Wearing Next To Nothing

Fun Toy Banned Because of Three Stupid Dead Kids

New Wonder Drug Enables Users To Get Higher Than Hell

I forgot to add an update about the Liz Phair concert on Thursday night. Shame on me!

As I mentioned before, it was held at the infamous First Avenue club in downtown Minneapolis, where most of the movie Purple Rain was shot. They have a new sign out front, but for the most part, it looks about the same inside. Except it's a little smaller than it looks on the big screen, which is usually the case. The acoustics were actually pretty good, and it's a fairly intimate venue--definitely a plus, since Liz Phair is one of those artists where it's better to be up close and personal.

I went with my friend Jay from work, who is a new "Phair phan" (hey, did I just make up a cool handle for her followers? I think I did! I'm probably not the first to come up with it, though, so whatever). Liz had two opening acts, but we missed them because we decided to hang out at the Irish bar across the street until it was closer to showtime. After some greasy pub food and a few beers, we arrived at the club about 20 minutes before she took the stage. Jay decided to wander around the club to try to find the best angle to watch the show, but I stationed myself up front and to the far right of the stage. I had a pretty good view of her, even if it was just of her left side. And I was close, so that was cool. While she was performing, I kept trying to will her over to my side of the stage so she could slap hands with me or something like the rock stars do on TV. No such luck. She pretty much just stayed center stage during most of the show. She also switched guitars a lot, more than I remember her doing the first time I saw her back in Indy last August. Jay had a theory that the guitar switching was a power trip thing, because she had this cute little younger guy come out to wait on her and dutifully hand her guitars and adjust the strap for her. He said that she probably just did that "because she can." I argued that maybe she wanted a certain sound for each song, and wanted to acheive that using different guitars. Or maybe it was a power trip. (If so, what's the problem? I'd probably do the same thing!)

As for the music, she did a pretty balanced mix of stuff from all four albums, (in contrast to the show in August, where at least half of the material she performed was from her latest CD). I think my favorite this time around was the encore, where she did two of her "dirty" songs, "Fuck and Run" and "H.W.C." (short for Hot White Cum. Yeah, she's naughty). It was a good show overall; she seemed more confident and relaxed than last time.

I didn't get her autograph, but that was okay since Marcus and I met her in Indy after the Vogue show and she signed my Liz Phair promotional sticker. This time around, I wanted to bring one of her CDs that she could sign for me, but I forgot. I didn't see her outside doing the meet-n-greet thing on Thursday, probably because it was butt-clenching cold, and she didn't want to freeze (she was just wearing a little camisole thingie and jeans). I did get another souvenier, however--after the show we were standing around while her roadies were loading up her equipment, and I ripped off a huge piece of masking tape that was stuck on one of her instrument cases that said Marco -- Liz Phair on it. One of her roadies, this dreadlocked hippie guy, saw me do it and said "That wasn't very nice." I tried to give him the doe-eyes and said, "I'm sorry. No--I mean, I'm really sorry." He just shook his head and said again, "That wasn't nice." No, it wasn't. And I felt so bad about it that I went home that night and cried myself to sleep.

Oh, except that I didn't.

Okay, I'm sitting here trying to get some writing done and work on my resume and cover letters, but I keep getting distracted by the damn internet. It's evil. Here is something I've just come across that about made me piss myself. I wish I had thought of it, but I don't have Photoshop.

Go here and enter a bizarre parallel universe where Alanis sings "I love my life!" Christina Aguilera covers up her ass (in a nun's habit and a burqa), Rob Zombie sings his favorite alpine yodels, Eminem sings about Jesus, Michael Bolton is a gangsta rapper and Yanni is a pimp. Pure comic gold.

In the "oh shit, I forgot about these" category (addendum to yesterday's list).

Honorable Mention

Talk Show - The Go-Go's

Stunt - Barenaked Ladies

Disintegration - The Cure

Black Celebration - Depeche Mode

This Year's Model - Elvis Costello

Screw it! I'm not waiting til Tuesday to post my latest list.

Okay, this could change in five years, but probably not much--the only albums that risk getting bumped are the ones currently occupying spots eight through ten. So without further ado...

My All-Time Top-10 Favorite Albums

10. Central Reservation - Beth Orton
This is my favorite Beth Orton album (Trailer Park is a close second). It's one of those CDs I can play continuously for an entire day and not get sick of. Best tracks: Central Reservation (both versions), Sweetest Decline, Stolen Car.

9. The Joshua Tree - U2
I tried to resist picking this one as my favorite U2 offering, mostly because everyone seems to pick it as their favorite. But when I mentally ran though the track listings of Achtung Baby and The Unforgettable Fire (my two runners-up), I had to admit--this one kicks ass. Best tracks: Where the Streets Have No Name, I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For, Red Hill Mining Town, Trip Through Your Wires.

8. On My Way, Don't Know Where I'm Goin' - Paul Simon
Is it lame to have a "best of" compilation on my list? I don't give a crap. This is the only Paul Simon that has all my favorites. And the title is cool, too (although I wanted to pick There Goes Rhymin' Simon, another cool title, but it doesn't have much on it that I really like besides Kodachrome). Best tracks: Mother and Child Reunion, Me and Julio Down By the Schoolyard, Late In the Evening, Graceland, Slip Slidin' Away. (I can't listen to that last one too much though, because it makes me sad. Yes, I am a sensitive soul).

7. The Best of Blondie - Blondie (duh)
Yeah, another best of. Sue me. This is the only Blondie album that has the version of Rapture with the cool intro. (Even Auto American, the album that Rapture originally appeared on, doesn't have the cool intro version. Not the copy I own, anyway). But I digress. This one rocks. Best Tracks: All of them! Okay, I never liked (I'm Always Touched By Your) Presence Dear. But everything else is stellar.

6. Footsteps In The Dark - Cat Stevens
Okay, this is also a best of. But it's the only Cat Stevens release I've been able to locate that has all the Harold and Maude songs (there was never an official soundtrack album for the movie). Best tracks: The Wind, On the Road To Find Out, Father and Son, The Hurt, Trouble.

5. Rubber Soul - The Beatles
I'm a pretty big Beatles fan. Not a Beatlemaniac, but close. This album is from my favorite Beatles era, after I Wanna Hold Your Hand but before Strawberry Fields. Best tracks: Drive My Car, You Won't See Me, Michelle, I'm Looking Through You, In My Life. (And in case you're wondering, my favorite Beatle is Paul).

4. Blood On the Tracks - Bob Dylan
Not much to say about this one, except that it's the greatest Dylan album ever. The overall tone is pretty melancholy; I think I read that he was going through a divorce during the recording. Best tracks: Tangled Up In Blue, If You See Her Say Hello, Shelter From the Storm, You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go.

3. whitechocolatespaceegg - Liz Phair
This is the album that turned me on Ms. Liz and her music. This one's more melodic than her first two, and the arrangements and lyrics are kick-ass. Best tracks: Perfect World, Polyester Bride, Johnny Feelgood, Go On Ahead, What Makes You Happy, Headache, Fantasize---hell, the whole damn thing rocks.

2. Temple of Low Men - Crowded House & Every Picture Tells A Story - Rod Stewart (tie)
Okay, I had to make it a tie because I just couldn't decide between the two, and I didn't want to bump any of the others. To this day, I can't believe how little success Crowded House had in the U.S. (compared their native New Zealand). Maybe I should move down there, where music like this is more appreciated. Anyhoo, this album is considered the darkest and most contemplative of their works, which makes it all the better (good thing Prozac wasn't as widely used in 1988...it may have made it a different album entirely). And as for Rod, c'mon--this one is definitely his greatest. Best tracks (Temple): I Feel Posessed, When You Come, Into Temptation, Never Be the Same, Better Be Home Soon. Best tracks (Picture): Reason To Believe, Every Picture Tells A Story, Mandolin Wind, Maggie May.

1. Rio - Duran Duran
Was there any doubt that they'd be number one? And choosing among their albums was a difficult task. Notorious is my alternate number one choice, but since that one was the "pared-down" DD, and Rio features The Original Fab Five in all their glory, I had to go with that one. Best tracks: New Religion, The Chauffer, Save A Prayer, Hold Back the Rain, Rio.

I've been thinking...maybe link day should be list day? Anyway, I thought of a list today:

Cool Women That I Like

Anais Nin. I've been sort of obsessed with her lately. I checked out some of her writings from the library, which included excerpts from her Diaries and a few short stories. I also bought an audiotape of a reading that she gave in NYC in the early 70's, not long before she died. I think she's my new hero.

Beth Orton, because I'm in love with her voice and her lyrics.

Liz Phair. No matter what anyone says about her new album, I still love it. (She's been criticized lately for "selling out," but I don't agree). I know that the popular opinion is that she went downhill after Exile In Guyville (her first album), but I think it's completely the opposite. Although Guyville has its charms, I think she's actually gotten better with each album. And I'm seeing her for the second time this Thursday in Minneapolis (at First Avenue-- "the Purple Rain club")!

Deborah Harry, because she's the coolest.

Catherine Keener. I can't find a decent website for her, so here's the imdb link to her film Walking and Talking, my favorite chick flick ever.

Of course, all my female friends are on this list as well, because they're awesome, but they don't have their own websites, (at least, none that I know of). Someday I'll figure out how to post your photos on here, though!

I'm in such a Girl Power mood today! (Ugh, I really wish that term didn't conjure up images of The Spice Girls).

More to come....

I've been dilligently working on a bad movie review for Purple Rain, but who knows how long that will take me, so I decided to do a "mini" review on another one that Marcus and I watched, The Incredible Shrinking Woman.

First of all, this is a movie that I saw when I was around 8 years old. I remember watching it at my friend Lisa Doerr's house--her parents had a Betamax, or, as I excitedly told my mom, "one of those things where you can watch a movie anytime you want!" (I was so up on technology, even then). There were repeated viewings of this movie, along with The Black Stallion and The Wizard of Oz. I remember having a fondness for TISW--particularly due to the scene where Lily Tomlin gets to live in her daughter's dollhouse with Ken. (I used to want to shrink myself down so I could ride my model horses...Christ, I was an odd kid). Anyhoo, that and the scene where she falls down the garbage disposal (komedy!) were my favorite parts, and the only ones that stood out in my mind before Marcus and I rented this for one of our Bad Movie Nights a while back.

Seriously, though--looking at this movie twenty-some odd years later--man, does it SUCK. Lily Tomlin stars as a housewife who, due to exposure from some chemical compound in household cleaning products (or something), begins to shrink. And the wackiness ensues! Except not. This movie made no sense whatsoever, and I'm not talking about the plot, (what little of it there is). First of all, Lily Tomlin plays two characters--the housewife and the nosy neighbor. And it's not like an Eddie Murphy/Nutty Professor thing, where he plays multiple characters under heavy makeup. The difference between Lily Tomlin's housewife and Lily Tomlin's nosy neighbor is....a pair of glasses. The characters are not supposed to be related or anything, so why the dual role? The movie is full of shit like this that doesn't make any sense. All the scenes look like they were shot (on really cheap film), and just slapped together randomly. About twenty minutes in, there's a "hilarious" scene where Lily Tomlin (as the housewife), is doing dishes and gets her hands stuck to the plates with "Galaxy Glue" (which is, BTW, the big account her ad exec husband is working on. I think this was a major plot point, but I can't remember). Her kids come running in, and they all end up in a pile on the laundry room floor, as the jingle for "Galaxy Glue" plays. They roll around on the floor, stuck to one another, and the scene goes on for like 10 minutes. At this point, I turned to Marcus, confused, and asked, "What's going on here?" Marcus grimaced and said, "I think it's supposed to be a spoof on advertising, but they're not doing a very good job." The rest of the movie is about as coherent. Another "what the fuck?" moment: after Lily Tomlin shrinks, her Spanish maid (who had appeared in earlier scenes demurely dressed in school-marmish outfits, hair in a bun) suddenly begins wearing florescent tube tops and hot pants, dancing around the house to bad mariachi music. She completely changes personalities, and it's never explained! At the "funeral" for Lily Tomlin, (her family mistakenly believes she was ground up after falling in the garbage disposal, see--komedy!) the maid is back to her previous demure, school-marm threads and hair. Again, it's never explained! Lily Tomlin's family finds her again, but then she gets captured by mad scientists, or something (at the risk of sounding redundant--this movie makes no sense), and is locked in a cage with a guy in a really bad gorilla suit. She escapes, with the help of the "gorilla." Then more stuff happens, and she returns to normal size. At the very end, the process reverses itself somehow, and she begins growing. Did I mention the whole thing makes no sense? The director, the "esteemed" Joel Schumacher (who went on to direct other instant classics like D.C. Cab, St. Elmo's Fire, and Dying Young), was either on some serious psychotropic drugs, or suffering from ADHD. As Marcus commented during our screening of Shrinking Woman, "Joel Schumacher couldn't direct his way out of a paper bag."

I don't reccommend this film, even for a laugh. It's not a fun bad movie, like Xanadu or Six Pack. It's just bad. It may be fun to watch stoned. Then again, it may suck even worse.

Okay, I feel like I must weigh in on all this brou-ha-ha concerning Mel Gibson's new movie--of course, I'm talking about The Passion of the Christ. I don't really have anything against the film, I just don't feel a strong need to be subjected to Mel Gibson's "vision." From what I've read, he's not really bringing anything new to the table, aside from the violence shock factor. I attended Sunday school growing up, had four years of Catholic school, and I still go to church, so I think it's fair to say that I'm familiar with the story of the crucifixion. I don't need the star of Bird On a Wire to explain it to me.

Happy Fat Tuesday!

Here are some links:

KiKi makes and sells quirky, retro items ranging from jewelry to journals to toilet seats. I want the space girl toilet seat so bad I can taste it! It takes all of my willpower not to whip out my credit card and buy, buy, buy! I'm totally serious. When I have a little more money in the bank, that toilet seat is mine.

One-hit wonders! Ever 'wonder' what happened to 'em? This site has an extensive list of one-trick ponies and their songs, arranged by decade from the '50s to the '90s. While the lists are impressive, they need to do a little more research on the artists to provide more bio information (many of them have none available). Still, it's fun to look through and see how many you remember. One conspicuous omission, however, is Martika's Toy Soldiers. Okay, I admit it, I kinda like that one. The site more than makes up for it, though, by listing artists that are a lot more obscure, like Alison Moyet, Regina, and Hipsway. It scared me when I realized how many of these I remember.

Click here to go to the animal rescue site and make a free donation. Good site, good cause, and it's free.

The corporate trainer at work ordered pizza today for the sales class. After lunch, I ventured into the kitchen to scope out the leftovers, and was disgusted to find the remaining slices of pizza piled high with pepperoni, sausage and other assorted pigstuff. Which brings me to this wonderful site, which is chock full of information about becoming a vegetarian, the health benefits of going veggie, and even highlights the different types of vegetarian diets, (ovo-lacto, vegan, etc.) so that you may choose the lifestyle that's right for you.

Take this quiz and see if, (based on your vernacular), you are more Yankee, Dixie, or somewhere in between. I scored roughly 60% Dixie--pretty typical for someone from Indiana, I think. Of course, it could also be the influence of all the Dixie Chicks CD's that I listen to in my car. :-)

Edited to add....

Read someone else singing the praises of About Last Night.

It's link day, so here ya go. And I'm running out of ideas on this, so if my regular readers (and you know who you are) could send me some links to post, I'd be much obliged.

I'm not sure how accurate some of the stuff on this site is, but it's entertaining anyway. The section on weird laws is my favorite. Apparently, in my adopted home state of Minnesota, it's illegal to mock a skunk. This begs the obvious question--how would one go about mocking a skunk? By painting a white stripe down your back and farting a lot? I guess I could see why it would be a bad idea to piss off a skunk, so maybe that's the rationale behind it.

Here are some more bad movie sites that I've come across Oh, The Humanity! and The Stinkers. Neither are as good as Jabootu, but I was pleased to see that both sites mentioned The Forbidden Dance, which is fast becoming one of my favorite bad movies of all time (well, it's probably in my Top 5, anyway). Speaking of which, I might have to do another bad movie review, stat. I'll need to ask Marcus for his input, though (hint, hint).

Okay, this is apropo of nothing, but who the hell is this little Clay Aiken butt-dart, and why is he famous? I mean, I know he came in second place after the fat guy on American Idol, and ordinarily I'd take this opportunity to make a cheap joke about how he must've blown that snotty British judge, but...he didn't even win. So, again--why is he famous? Is he considered talented? Attractive? I mean, is this what the little girls are drooling over these days? If so, then the whole Justin Timberlake phenomenon is starting to make a little more sense. Not much, but a little. And speaking of Justin Timberlake, I heard one of his songs today on the crappy internet radio station at work. I don't know the title (and I'm not looking it up), but I know it features a "rap" with Nelly and a sample of AC/DC's Back In Black. This guy is trying really hard to convince everyone of his "street cred" now that he's supposedly finished with the pussy Boy Band scene, but I ain't buying it. He was on the Mickey freakin' Mouse Club. He does MacDonald's commercials. Okay, you could make the argument here that I'm old and I just don't "get it." But come on, already. The guy looks like Screech. Seriously.

I am happy to report that I've now seen several episodes of The Surreal Life, thanks to the marathon that the WB ran the other day. I knew I'd love that show. It's got to be one of the greatest programs ever created. I mean, it's not in the same league as Mystery Science Theater 3000 or anything, but it's a damn sight better than whatever passes for comedy on the networks these days. It's just so durn entertaining. I'm actually not ashamed to admit that I find Vanilla Ice sort of attractive, despite his frequent tantrums. (Well, okay--I'm a little ashamed). And is it wrong that I'm developing a strange affinity for Tammy Faye Bakker? I guess that's the whole point of the show--to brainwash you into caring about people that (on the surface) aren't all that likeable. It makes me wish I'd seen the first season, when Webster and Corey Feldman were on. I can't wait to see who they'll put on next season. You just know that Pauly Shore will wind up on it at some point. Unlike Vanilla Ice and Tammy Faye, who I couldn't have cared less about in their respective heydays, back in like, '90-'91 I really dug Pauly Shore. I thought he was hot. And I watched Totally Pauly on MTV every day during summer break. Of course, I also watched Beverly Hills, 90210 each week (without irony) and thought Married...With Children was hilarious, so that should give you some idea of my mental state at the time (or lack thereof). Ah, the nineties. Thank God they're over.

But seriously, watch The Surreal Life. It's brilliant.

Links for today....

I can't get enough of this crazy shit. It's a good thing the internet is so chock full of this sort of weirdness, otherwise, what the hell would I do all day? And I've only made it through the Halloween cards and the Valentines. While this is my favorite in the latter category, this one looks eerily familiar to me. I think I got it from one of my exes. Seems appropriate, anyway.

You know those stupid "Successories" posters usually found adorning the walls of soul-crushing, cubicle-filled hellholes? Someone else hates 'em, too.

I was going to post more about Lost In Translation, but I need to go home before the cleaning personnel kick me out of the building.

Okay people! Listen up! I have an announcement. Are you ready?

Here it is: Go see Lost In Translation. It's still at the dollar movies, and it might be out on DVD--uh, now, actually. It's brilliant. See it. Now.

I'm serious.

Go!

(More tomorrow on this, BTW)...

Okay. I can't sleep, so I'm having a bowl of Rice Krispies and drinking Chamomile tea and trying to make myself drowsy without resorting to stronger chemical substances. I'm browsing through The Onion and some of my other usual haunts, and I suddenly get a wild hair up my ass and decide to look for solid proof that I did not hallucinate a '70s Saturday morning cartoon that I've been trying to convince people for years really existed. (awkward sentence, I know, but I'm getting tired--I think the tea is finally kicking in). Seriously though, I've had this come up in conversation so many times, usually when engaging in intellectual discussions with fellow Gen-Xers regarding Scooby-Doo, Josie and the Pussycats, Land of the Lost, and other compelling evidence that the people behind children's programming in the '70s were high, high, HIGH. And I'll be like, "You guys remember Goober and the Ghost Chasers?" And everyone invariably just responds with blank stares and a lot of "huh?"s. And I go, "Yeah, it was like a Scooby-Doo rip-off with a big ugly green dog and these kids that went around solving mysteries and, y'know, chasing ghosts." And everyone's like, "Nope, never heard of it." And the conversation usually turns back to the old "Shaggy and Scooby toking up in the Mystery Machine" and the sexual orientation of Velma. (or is it Thelma? I can never remember). So, the point of this post is this: There really was a cheap Scooby-Doo knock-off called Goober and the Ghost Chasers.

See? Told ya!

Now maybe I can get some sleep.

Nice, juicy, delicious tasting links.

A cool one I just found in the last week is Bitter Waitress. It's a fun site overall, but if you click on the gossip button at the top left, you can read stories submitted by restaurant workers who dish the dirt on celebrities they've served, and whether or not they were assholes and/or lousy tippers.

T-shirt hell rocks! And I know first-hand, because I'm the proud owner of one of their sarcastic tees. Can you guess which one?

The Book of Ratings is brought to you by half of the duo that created brunching.com, which was one of my favorite sites ever. (I say "was" because, sadly, they are no longer updating it, although you can browse the archives here).

Whenever you come across any odd or interesting links, forward them to me. If I end up posting them, you'll receive....um, a gracious and heartfelt "thank you." I promise.

This weather sucks.

I've spent most of the morning reading the recaps of The Surreal Life over at TWOP. I really need to start tuning in to that show. For those of you who are unfamiliar with The Surreal Life, it's basically a reality show where they throw together a bunch of C-List has-beens (the previous season featured Vince Neil, the kid from Webster, Corey Feldman, a third-rate Pamela Anderson knock-off and some other losers I can't remember; this season it's Tammy Faye Bakker, Vanilla Ice, some Baywatch bimbo, Ponch from CHiPs, Ron Jeremy and other assorted "celebrities"), set them up in a house for two weeks, and give them assignments where they have to work together, like baking brownies for their neighbors, putting on plays for children, working at a diner for a day, and other odd jobs. It sounds just bad enough to warrant regular viewing--I'll have to check the local listings to see when it's on.

The Surreal Life recaps got me thinking--who would be in my version of The Surreal Life? If I followed the show's format, it'd be a half-dozen or so people who once had significance in my life, but have since vanished in the mists of time. This is who I came up with:

Trent--my sophomore year boyfriend and the first guy I was ever "in love" with (I use the term loosely in his case). He was a total pothead drunk who cheated on me, lied his ass off and stole money from me to buy weed. A real winner, that one. He's probably in jail now or dead in a pool of his own vomit, but for the sake of the show, let's say he's alive and on parole.

Rachel--my best friend in 8th grade who I never saw again after the last day of school. She was really into running and was on the cross-country team. I have no idea of her whereabouts now, but I'm sure she's not in jail or dead. Although, I haven't seen her in 16 years, so anything's possible.

Paula--obnoxious, scary behemoth of a girl from my bus stop in junior high. She was obsessed with Kirk Cameron and used to tell me that I was going to hell because I wasn't "saved" and--more importantly--because I didn't attend her podunk church. She would then invite me to go to Sunday services with her (which I declined). She'd be a good one to have on the show. Come to think of it, she and Rachel totally hated each other, so that would create some inevitable conflict that would be good for ratings. I'm starting to think like a reality show producer!

Melody--a girl from high school that I loathed. She was an evil, angry, bitter shell of a human being, and this was at age 15. I shudder to think of what she's like now. Thankfully, I only had to deal with her my freshman year. The first day of sophomore year, when I found out that she wouldn't be returning to my high school, I practically got down on my knees and belted out "Amazing Grace." Lordy, I despised her.

Dick--(yep, that was really his name)--my former micro-managing, denture-wearing, sexist, fascist boss from the insurance company. Melody would totally eat him for breakfast! (He should be so lucky).

My neighbor from Sherman Drive--a nice older lady who lived next door with her preacher husband. She'd be like the Tammy Faye of the group, except she'd have better fashion sense and a lot less makeup.

My elementary school principal--just for good measure, and because I can't think of anyone else to round out the cast.

I think Andie's Surreal Life would go something like this:

The setting is a remote farmhouse in rural Indiana. The group is to live together in the house with no phone, no television, no internet--nothing to entertain themselves except each other--and a massive stockpile of booze. I will be monitoring their actions from my control room in an undisclosed location several miles away. From there I will occasionally assign them random tasks like cleaning roadkill from the highway and shoveling cow dung. Mostly, though, I'll just sit back and watch them all slowly go insane.

Day 1: Melody immediately throws herself at Trent, who shrinks away in horror--having correctly assessed that there is not enough alcohol in the house to get him drunk enough to even kiss her. He then locks himself in the bathroom with the bong he smuggled in his pants and a bottle of Wild Turkey. Meanwhile, Preacher's Wife drinks tea and reads her Bible. Paula asks her if she's been "saved." Rachel tells Paula to shut the fuck up, then goes out for a jog. Paula whines that she's missing her Growing Pains re-runs and then heads off to her room to cry. Dick cracks open a Schlitz, shaking his head and muttering something about "sending these uppity womenfolk back to the kitchen." He tries to bond with the other elderly white male, The Principal, but he's hard of hearing and just smiles and remarks "Is that so?" after everything Dick says.

Holy shit, I'm pretty good at this.

Day 5: Melody is huddled on the front porch, chain-smoking Winstons and hugging herself as she rocks herself back and forth like Rain Man. She is despondant over her unrequited lust for Trent. She's in luck, though, because Trent suddenly wanders out on the porch, plunks himself down next to her and, with tears in his eyes, announces that he's smoked the last of his stash. Seeing her chance, Melody springs to life and eagerly tells him that she'll find a way to scare up some more weed for him, if he'll agree to do her a little favor....Inside the house, The Principal naps on the couch as Preacher's Wife and Rachel sit at the kitchen table, pounding shots of Jaeger and laughing at Paula, who's in the corner reading through back issues of Tiger Beat. Paula tells them that they're both going to hell. Preacher's Wife sweetly calls Paula over and asks her if she's familiar with the "judge not lest ye be judged" passage in the Bible, then sucker-punches her. Paula runs away crying and Preacher's Wife and Rachel just laugh and laugh.

Day 7: Dick is upstairs in his room, plotting. He's dissatisfied with Trent's performance at the dung shoveling project that he oversaw yesterday, and is planning to petition the rest of the cast to have Trent's slacker ass "voted off," like on Survivor. Melody soon catches wind of this and leaves her new loverboy Trent to go stomping up to Dick's room to give him the what-for. (The what-for? Did I just type that?) "Listen you ugly toothless bastard," she spits, grabbing him by the tie, "leave my man alone!" She turns on her heel and Dick, still reeling from the stench of her breath, removes a small flask from his suit pocket. His hands shake as he unscrews the lid and takes a swig. (Okay, that's overly dramatic, but this is a reality show. We want uncomfortable, unnecessary drama).

Day 10: Trent is unsure how to get rid of Melody, who has blackmailed him into being her sex slave and still hasn't come through with the ganja. He goes to The Principal for advice, and ends up spilling his guts about his childhood, his self-esteem issues, and his small penis. The Principal looks up from his newspaper. "Is that so?" he says. Trent is so moved, he bursts into tears. "You're the only one who understands me man," he tells The Principal, who just smiles and nods.

Day 14: The footage is in the can, and the cast packs up and prepares to leave. Paula goes back to handing out religious pamphlets on the street and stalking Kirk Cameron; Dick and The Principal look for a place together (having finally forged an alliance during the last few days); Preacher's Wife goes home to her husband; Rachel goes back to, uh, whatever she was doing before; Melody tricks Trent into accompanying her back to the trailer park.

One year later...Andie's Surreal Life is a hit, and Preacher's Wife now has her own afternoon talk show, a la Sharon Osbourne. One of her frequent guests is Rachel, who has just released her own line of running shoes. Dick and The Principal are still living together--a Felix and Oscar for the 21st Century; Kirk Cameron issues a restraining order against Paula; Trent's back in the slammer (his probation officer watched the show and saw him blazing up, right on TV). He has finally found love with his new cellmate, Juan. As for Melody, nine months after the show, she gives birth to a baby girl she names Butch, the product of her unholy union with Trent. The kid runs away from home before the age of 5.

Wow. I can't believe I just spent two hours coming up with all that.

I just heard the greatest news on the radio...

...Rod Stewart is coming to Minneapolis on April 16th!!! Tix on sale Saturday!!! I know he is considered grossly uncool, but I don't give a rat's. I'll never apologize for my Rod love. He was, is and will always be The Man. This will be my seventh time seeing him. Yep, seventh.

1st--1989, at Deer Creek (in Noblesville, IN)
2nd--1993, Deer Creek
3rd--1996 at Market Square Arena (R.I.P) in Indy
4th--1998, Deer Creek (10th row!)
5th--1999 at a crappy free concert (bad seats and it rained) at Military Park in Indy.
6th--2001, Deer Creek--3rd row!! During the song "Angel" (a little-known Jimi Hendrix tune Rod covered in the early '70s) Rod was scanning the crowd, looking (I guess) to see if anyone recognized the song he was singing. His eyes landed on me and he saw that I was singing along, and he gave me a nod and sort of bowed. I nearly fainted. That was a rather eventful show, come to think of it. At one point, someone chucked a pair of weird-looking undies at his feet, and Rod and his backup singers had fun surreptitiously kicking it around the stage until Rod--in the middle of a song--snatched it up and tossed it offstage without skipping a beat. And during the encore, these two Evil Yuppie Bitches in the row in front of me got into a fight and one of them threw a beer at the other one, missed by a country mile, and splattered it all over me. I was like, thanks, Evil Yuppie Bitches. But it was still an amazing night.

Link day!

First up is bookcrossing. It's a sort of serendipitous book club that you can join for free. The idea is to read, tag, and then "release" books "into the wild" (i.e. in a coffee shop or someplace else where a random book lover is likely to find it). You can print out "tags" on the website that you use to mark the book with a registration number and information about the bookcrossing website. The lucky person who finds the book can then go to the website and enter the book registration number (so that the person who released it knows where it went), and then read the book and (hopefully) release it into the wild again! I'm a member (my id is kittencat), and since joining last year I've registered 8 books and released 2 into the wild (still waiting to see who "caught" them). It's a fun way to pass along books that you don't want anymore, and there's even a section on places that books were recently released--you can look up your town and see if there are any current releases out in the wild, so you can go "hunting" for them. Can you tell I am way into this? :-)

The Institute of Official Cheer is awesome! Check out the fascinating Story of Bread, peruse the Big Little Books, and marvel at my favorite--a pictorial on a failed clothing line for men called the Dorcus Collection. And if you're brave enough, take a look at The Grooviest Motel in Wisconsin. I confess--I tried to look, but the hideous decor made my eyes all hurty.

I am hopelessly addicted to rathergood.com, because nothing's more fun than rock star kittens! Josh and I nearly pissed ourselves one time laughing at this site. Well, I nearly pissed myself laughing at it. Josh was laughing at me laughing at it. There may have been drugs involved.

Finally, did you know that Corey "Sunglasses At Night" Hart has an official website? Well, he does. It appears not to have been updated since 2002, but it does have a detailed bio, disc- and videography. Cool!

Oops, a friend just emailed me to say that Michael Douglas thanked Catherine Zeta-Jones at the very end of his speech--he said something like "This award means nothing if you can't share it with anyone; Catherine--I share this with you." Whatever, though. He still didn't kiss her when he went up to the stage, and she still looked pissed during the pre-show festivities.

I'm sticking by my story.

Okay, this week has been too hectic and stressful. This is why my posts have consisted of crap pulled off other sites on the internet. Maybe next week I will feel up to discussing everything that went on, but for now I don't, so here comes some more crap out of a dream journal that I've been keeping sporadically for the past year or so.

The funny thing about this is, once I write down these dreams, I completely forget about them. It makes reading past entries more interesting, I guess.

Entry dated 1-23-03

This was another multi-faceted dream, but the part I remember involved George Clooney. I was back working at Travelers (ugh). I recognized a few Travelers people, like (name of past co-worker). Anyway, all of us grunts were working in this big main area, on this long table, doing some grunt paperwork. Periodically, one of the bigwigs would come into the room and there would be a lot of commotion; people talking, looking busy, etc. Turns out that George Clooney was one of the bigwigs. And he was HOT in person. Every time he came in, I made a point to make some suggestive comment to him (I wish I could remember them--they were good!) I don't remember if he ever acknowledged me or even heard me, but I really wanted him to notice me. (At the same time, I didn't want to be too obvious). Some fat guy heard something I said to George, and was acting all shocked about it. I just kind of blew him off, thinking to myself: "Dude, it's George fucking Clooney! Of course I'm going to come onto him!" But alas, George and I never did end up making a connection that time. Now that I think about it, he probably would have made a good insurance salesman. The only sexy insurance salesman in the world.

Entry dated 1-24-03 (a year ago today! woah).

I remember sketches of this one--most of all I just remember the feelings I was having.

(Name of former boss) was there and I was hanging out with her and her family. There was a lot going on, and she seemed distracted. Anyway, a ghost kept appearing to me. It was a really hideous, disturbing sight (some fucked-up looking lady, her face covered in blood. Someone referred to her as "Bloody Mary"). Anyway, I was the only one that could see her, and the more I told everyone about these "visions," the more I freaked them out. Towards the end, I was thinking that maybe I was crazy. The ghost was definitely targeting me and tormenting me, and following me from room to room in this house. I was terrified, and woke up all sweaty.

Entry dated 2-20-03

I was either a.) a 17-year old girl, or b.) playing one in a movie. I was a brunette and looked like a young Jennifer Connelly. Harrison Ford was either my dad or my stepdad, and I had a younger sister (just a few years younger). I suddenly realized that I was in love with my dad/stepdad (ewwww! But it was Harrison Ford). Anyway, he and I had one or two trysts, and it was VERY exciting, very dirty, and I was totally lusting after him--my dad/stepdad, whatever he was--and he was trying to put the brakes on it and we were both trying to hide what was going on from my mom (who I think was Jessica Lange) and the rest of the family. Then, it was weird because I was suddenly at a mall in Tulsa, shopping with Eileen (my real life oldest sister), and looking for things that she and I bought when I was 15 and staying with her. We went to Claire's (or a store like it) where I bought that black hat, and I was gushing over everything and telling Eileen how I still wore/used all the earrings, accessories that I had back then. (!) I remember the whole time wanting to return back to my step-father/lover Harrison Ford, but I couldn't tell anyone--I had to be sly about it. I never got to go back to him, though.

Entry dated 4-16-03

I was working at a strip club. Like in the other dreams, (?) it was daylight out, but very dim and musty in the club. It was my turn to get on one of the little stages (more like just some small wooden platforms) and dance. I decided at the last minute to dress up, though--and started going through all the teddys, negligees, and feather boas that were in this little closet. There were also a bunch of silk scarves hanging up, and I was trying to figure out what to do with them. I was also going through these stockings, trying to find some that fit (most of them were way too big). When I finally got ready to go dance, the music on the jukebox had already stopped, and most of the crowd had already gone to another section of the club (on the other side of the wall that was behind me). Someone said that Robin Williams had shown up there, and everyone was all excited and they went over to see him. There was only this table of two people, a woman and (I think) a man. I was going to try to dance for them and get money from them, but the prospect seemed pretty grim--they didn't act very interested.

I am always full of appetite. Then, it is fine.

Holy shit. I think I've just stumbled upon something brilliant. Check this out. The simplicity is profound. This may have changed my life forever.

I'll post more later--my brain needs to recover.

I'm back to report that my inner 14-year-old is alive and well and...horny. I've just been over at trust the process. Click on the photo of the red shirt. Holy shit. I mean, I don't even have to have hot nasty sex with him. I'd sell the gold out of my mother's mouth if I could just get close enough to, like, bite him on the elbow or something.

They don't make 'em like that anymore.

It's Link Day! Here are some good ones to entertain and enlighten:

The official website of my first love.

Courtesey of Marcus...sing along!

I've posted these links before, but since my earlier entries were obliterated: here's disgruntled housewife (fabulous) and not without my handbag . When you're done perusing her handbags and coasters, check out the bad baby names.

And finally....in Mr. Cranky's world, every movie sucks.

Enjoy! I may be back later.

Okay, I screwed that one up pretty bad. But the link still works! If you click on that thing below, it will take you to blog girls, a website for girls who blog. (duh) I think the idea is that my blog listing will be on the site at one point, if the people at the site are okay with me screwing up the link that badly. Go check it out, anyway. There's cool stuff there. http://blog.gerl.org

I'm still pissed about those archives biting the dust. My posts on Sweater Guy, sex bracelets, etc.? Gone. All gone.

Oh well, fuck it.

I am wearing a dangerously see-through black lace blouse today. It's not because I'm trying to hook up with anyone at work; it's because I got dressed in the dark this morning and didn't realize how sheer this top is. Thank God I'm wearing a fairly modest bra underneath, 'cause you can see from here to Nebraska. Good thing the boss man's in Milwaukee this week. He's missing out on my breasts, poor guy.

We just got a whole buttload of Sharpies delivered from Office Depot today. I got a whole pack of rainbow Sharpies, one in every color! Yay! Sharpies make me happy. I'll have to think of some creative uses for them--I can't let all these pretty colors go to waste.

Good God, it's a slow day.

Oops! Here all this time I thought that my archives were being saved and neatly filed in the links to the right, when all along I had it set for No Archive. So all the posts that aren't on this page went bye-bye. Off into the internet stratosphere somewhere, never to be seen again.

I changed the settings, so from now on my posts should be archived. If not, I will have to hurt someone.

Okay, I'll stop ragging on Britney for a while.

I've decided that Tuesday will be link day. Email me your favorite weird or interesting links and I'll post them here if I like them. Here are some that I've recently come across:

Sea Monkeys! I had those. Then they died and started smelling, so my mom flushed 'em.

Bad movie links: check out Bad Movie Night or, for more in-depth reviews, go to Jabootu's Bad Movie Dimension

Bob Dylan lyrics (some of them are in Japanese! Cool!) If you're unfamiliar with his work, read some of his lyrics and see why he was dubbed "the poet of a generation." One of the best songs ever written has to be "You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go."

Vegetarian recipes and info

You know, I've been thinking about the differences between Generation X (mine) and the new one, which the media has apparently dubbed Generation Y. I believe that everything about the aforementioned age groups can be summed up in the background and songs of two of the biggest pop culture icons of their respective generations: Madonna and Britney Spears. Now, aside from swapping spit at an awards show and Madonna becoming a disappointing musical whore who hasn't recorded anything worthwhile since "Justify My Love" in 1990, the two have less in common than the casual observer may realize. Let's take a look at the evidence, shall we?

Madonna--pays her dues as a dancer and starving artist in New York; fucks and claws her way to the top.
Britney--lands a recording deal through a stint on The Mickey Mouse Club.

Madonna--recorded "Like A Virgin," tongue firmly in cheek, knowing she's not fooling anyone.
Britney--records "Oops! I Did It Again" without an ounce of irony, swears she's a virgin, fools no one but herself.

Madonna--her contemporaries included Deborah Harry and Annie Lennox.
Britney--her contemporaries include Christina Aguilera and Jessica Simpson.

Madonna--implant-free.
Britney--"But guys, these aren't implants! I don't know where they came from, but they're real. See?"

Madonna--accused of sending the Women's Movement back to the '50s.
Britney--really does send the Women's Movement back to the '50s.

Madonna--married Sean Penn, star of The Falcon and the Snowman, Dead Man Walking; director of The Crossing Guard and The Pledge.
Britney--married, uh, some dude.

Madonna--fucked Warren Beatty, star of Splendor in the Grass and Reds.
Britney--fucked Colin Farrell, star of, um--S.W.A.T., is it?

Madonna--probably fucked Prince.
Britney--definitely fucked Justin Timberlake of The Mickey Mouse Club and N'Sync.

Madonna--"I'm tough, I'm ambitious, and I know exactly what I want. If that makes me a bitch, fine."
Britney--"But they're really not implants. See? Look!"

I rest my case.

Why do some people talking on cell phones feel the need to yell in my ear? I just got a call from some jackoff, and it was like a scene from that show on Comedy Central (shit, the name escapes me now) where that British guy is walking around in the park, screaming into an oversized cell phone. I literally had to hold the phone two feet away from my ear, or suffer acute hearing loss.

I was reading Wing Chun's journal on hissyfit. Her topic was Dumb Ass Things I Did As A Kid. It inspired me to write something similar (or, let's be honest--totally rip off her idea). So, without further ado, here are some dumb things I did as a wee one.

Age 5, circa 1978: Let's break stuff!

We had just moved to Indianapolis, and the old people who had the house before us had all this shit laying around the yard that they didn't take with them. One of the things they left was an assortment of empty terra cotta flower pots, which lay in a pile against the side of the detached garage. I was outside playing with Ridley (my next door neighbor and frequent partner-in-crime), one day and decided it would be fun to smash the flower pots against the side of the garage. Ridley was skeptical, so I had to convince him by picking up one of the pots and hurling it against the side of the garage, where it shattered into several pieces. Ridley thought this was hilarious, so we spent the next hour or so smashing each pot against the side of the garage, giggling hysterically all the while. When I went inside for the day, my mother asked me what I had been doing. I answered "breaking jars" (she thought I said "breaking Jaws"--I had a little trouble with my r's back then), and since I was a weird kid anyway, she just sort of laughed and forgot about it. When she discovered what I had actually done, she was plenty pissed, but didn't punish me, I guess because she didn't feel strongly enough about the pots one way or another. I think in parenting, this is called "picking your battles."

Age 5, circa 1978: Little Digger

One day I got the bright idea, all on my own, of building a see-saw in the backyard. I grabbed some of the discarded two-by-fours that were behind the garage (again, junk left over from the previous owners). I then used one of the boards to begin digging up the backyard, right underneath one of the apple trees. (I don't know how digging a hole would have helped me to build a see-saw, then again--I wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer). I think it had recently rained, so the ground was all soft and mushy, making my task a bit easier (and messier, as it turned out). I'd been at it for a while when my mom spied me from the back window and came running outside to see what the hell was going on. She was a tad upset, and she put a halt to my excavation project by hauling my ass inside and locking me in my bedroom for the rest of the day. She must've calmed down, because she let me off the hook later by telling me that if I cleaned up all the wood from the yard, she wouldn't tell my father when he got home from work. Shortly after that incident I got a brand new swing set in the backyard. I guess my mom got smart and realized that I needed a distraction to curb my destructive tendencies.

Age 11, 1985: Crank Yankin'

Ridley and I were watching TV one day and came across a live telethon for the public television station. We decided to call in a few contributions. I actually have the calls on an old audiotape somewhere (I had the foresight to record our antics for posterity--they'll probably be unearthed years from now, and cited as another telling example of my early deliquency). Here are a few calls that I remember (from playing the tape repeatedly):

Volunteer: WTIU, may I take your pledge?
Me: I pledge allegiance, to the flag--
Volunteer: click!
Me: (astonished) She hung up on me!


Volunteer: WTIU, may I take your pledge?
Ridley: I wanna talk to Big Bird!
Volunteer: (under the impression that she has a very young child on the line) Big Bird isn't here, honey--is your mom or dad there that I could talk to?
Ridley: My mommy's on the tinkle and my da--my daddy's at work.
Volunteer: click!
Ridley: (astonished) She hung up on me!


Volunteer: WTIU, may I take your pledge?
Ridley: I wanna talk to Big--
Me: (whispering furiously) No! Say Ernie this time!
Ridley: --I wanna talk to Ernie.
Volunteer: click!
Me: I told you to say Ernie!

And it went on and on. Unfortunately, as we were too dim to realize, we were making long distance calls to Bloomington (where WTIU was headquartered--I guess we didn't think anything of having to dial 10 numbers instead of 7), so when the phone bill came, my parents freaked. I was grounded from using the phone and had to pay the phone bill with my allowance, and I got a big talk about how wrong it was for Ridley and me to crank call a public television station, which relies on funds from the public (duh), and waste their time just because we were bored. I wasn't that sorry for having done it, I was just sorry for getting caught.

I could probably recall more of these little anecdotes if I hadn't killed so many brain cells in the years that followed.

More odd stuff from Barnes and Noble...

I was there last night and noticed that they had one of my favorite books on display: The Mysteries of Pittsburgh by Michael Chabon. I was surprised, because it's not as well known as some of his other works (he also wrote the excellent Wonder Boys, which was later made into a movie starring Michael Douglas, and The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, which won the 2000 Pulitzer Prize for fiction). On closer inspection, however, I saw that they had The Mysteries of Pittsburgh out as part of a display of mystery novels. Now, despite the title, TMOP is not a mystery novel. In fact, it is SO not a mystery novel that I'm actually embarassed for the genius at Barnes and Noble who decided to include it in the display. How hard is it to read the blurb on the back of the book (or the synopsis at amazon) or...shit, they're a bookstore---how could they not know this? It's pretty damn pathetic.

I'm in a complaining kind of mood, so excuse me while I rant.

I hate TV. It sucks. I can't believe how low it's sunk. And I'm not even talking about the obvious examples of suckocity, like reality TV shows a la American Idol, Survivor, ad nauseum. I'm thinking in particular of the one channel that I used to enjoy--VH-1. I mean, okay, in the old days it sucked. They played shite like Michael Bolton and stand-up 'comedy' from Rosie O'Donnell. But sometime in the mid-90's it got cool. I loved Pop-Up Video and even the back-to-back eps of Behind the Music. I even liked the one about K.C. & the Sunshine Band. And shows like Storytellers were often watchable; sort of an Unplugged for people who don't listen to hip-hop. They still didn't play too many music videos, but it didn't matter a whole lot, since popular music blows. But turn on VH-1 lately and it's like the E! Channel for people who occasionally read books. It's all stupid shows about how rich Sharon Osbourne is, or Driven: Kelly Clarkson (puh-leeze!) or an exclusive peek into the private life of P. Diddy. If you don't believe me, check out the website. And if you're so inclined, drop them an email and ask them why they suck now.

And here's an idea, email me too at beadchick73@yahoo.com
It would be interesting to see how many people are reading this. Someday I'll put up one of those counter thingies, but only when I have more than like, five readers. I don't want to depress myself.

I noticed something interesting about the banner at the top of my blog. Whatever I write about in my entries, a link will appear to advertise one of my subjects--even stuff that I've just mentioned in passing (I'm guessing that they scan the blog for keywords, and link to whatever they find). I've seen stuff so far advertising links to Russell Crowe and Yoga Teacher training, which is funny. I've decided to do a little experiment with some random subjects....

See if they link to these: ostriches, cable-knit sweaters, Pauly Shore.

It is unbelievably ball-shrinking cold in the Twin Cities, and it's supposedly the third warmest winter in history (!) The temperature is currently something insane like 5 below zero with windchill at 29 below. I always thought I'd do fine in a cold climate, but temperatures this extreme are making me seriously consider moving someplace really tropical with no seasons, like Hawaii or the Virgin Islands.

So I'm thinking about becoming a yoga instructor. I've been looking up info on the web about it--apparently, to be eligible to enroll in an instructor certification program, you need to have some serious yoga classes already under your belt (picky bastards!) I took once-a-week hatha yoga classes off and on from 1996-1998, and have since practiced it sporadically at home. I'm guessing that this doesn't make me a serious yoga student, so I've decided to enroll in some classes at a yoga school in Minneapolis. I'm going to a free class this Sunday to learn about the institute, and to get some general information. I'm thinking that if I were to embark on an exciting and rewarding career as a yoga instructor, it would a.) be good for me healthwise, since I'd be practicing yoga daily; b.) promote good mental health and keep my mind centered, which in turn would benefit my writing; c.) provide me with a marketable skill and flexible work hours that in turn would enable me to support myself and my writing career.

It's brilliant! I can't believe I didn't think of this before!