« February 2007 | Main | April 2007 »
Like many of you, I've been reading a lot about the Kathy Sierra debacle the past few days. And because I've been asked more than a few times how I managed to continue forward here on Sweetney after my own (melo)dramatic troll-related incident(s), I just wanted to pass on what could be loosely described as my private, previously unwritten methodology of sane blogging, 2007 A.T. (After Troll):
I've been far too busy recently to have many deep thoughts about much of anything, but if there's been one Big, Weighty Matter I've been mulling over in my head at all of late, its most certainly this: I am utterly horrified by what's become of Dennis Miller.
Soon after the death of Jim Henson, Kermit the Frog turned to a life full of drugs, alcohol and sex. His fall to rock-bottom was quick and unrelenting.
I am equal parts disturbed and amused... Okay, maybe that's more like a 60/40 split.
Courtesy of sadkermit.com
Question: When exactly did I become such a pussy?
I ask this in light of an event that took place this weekend. On Saturday night Jamie wanted to watch a movie, and we quickly skimmed through the available TiVoed options: King Kong, which is something like three-and-a-half hours long, and who has time for three-and-a-half hours worth of a ginormous lovelorn aircraft-swatting ape? Pass. A History of Violence, which I nixed as too intense for Saturday night film viewing, and Walk The Line, which Jamie for some reason wasn't in the mood for. This left the Bruce Willis/Mos Def vehicle 16 Blocks. Perhaps you're by chance one of the, oh, five freakin' people on planet earth who've seen this film? If not, a quick plot summary courtesy of IMDB:
Bruce Willis plays Jack Mosley, a burnt-out detective assigned the unenviable task of transporting a fast-talking convict (Mos Def) from jail to a courthouse 16 blocks away. However, along the way he learns that the man is supposed to testify against Mosley's colleagues, and the entire NYPD wants him dead. Mosley must choose between loyalty to his colleagues and protecting the witness, and never has such a short distance seemed so long...
Which sounds, I don't know, passable? Perhaps not something you'll want to one day share with your children as an example of fine filmmaking, but certainly worthy of a lazy date-night-at-home looksee? And I've always had a soft spot for Mos Def quite frankly, if only because his name is Mos Def, and I firmly believe the world would be a better place if we all likewise shortened our given monikers to three-letter-abbreviations. I mean, think of how much more you'd get done in a day, not having to mouth all those extra, superfluous syllables. Who needs em'? ANYWAY, both Jamie and I agreed 16 Blocks was the night's winner, and settled in on the couch together to partake of its televisualized wonders.
I lasted about twenty-five whole minutes.
Continue reading "Somehow all of this is Bruce Willis's fault" »
I spent most of the weekend digging out our front garden, excavating the dead remains of last year's blooms to make room for the new growth. A few photos of Spring's recent progress:
Who's there?
Preschooler humor
Preschooler humor who?
Preschooler humor you glad I didn't say banana?
Think that makes no sense? Woah nelly, have a I got a video for you:
As Steve Martin rightly noted, comedy is not pretty, folks.
Some of you may have noticed that I haven't been around these parts as much as I used to -- that my posting has been lighter (and “lite”-r), and I guess there are several reasons for that. The first being that I've been throwing myself headlong into MamaPop -- building and tinkering and adjusting and organizing, trying to make it super mega awesome and something that stands on its own two feet, beyond even my own identity or that of any of the individual writers. We're getting there, even after only being up and running five short months, and I honestly couldn't be prouder of it or the work we're doing. And, to be completely frank, its incredibly refreshing to have a space dedicated to writing about things beyond me and my life, things external to the daily ins-and-outs of living and my sense of self. Anyway, its been and continues to be a lot of work, but its also ridiculously fun and immensely gratifying, particularly when I see people responding so enthusiastically to it. So there's that.
But there's also something deeper going on, which I've been hesitant to write about. Partially because it falls into the 'blogging about blogging' category, and OMFG how ludicrous and mind-numbing is that? But I've also been hesitant because its really something I haven't completely wrapped my head around, and how do you write lucidly about something you can't think clearly about? Urrm... have I lost you yet? SEE!
So my (loved her) long-time friend Joy -- perhaps you know her? -- had the audacity to publicly challenge me to participate in this music meme thingy she's hawking. She was all “I bet you won't do it. Too good for memes, are we?” (said in that finely-tuned British lilt of hers, which somehow makes everything she says sound like a razor-sharp Oscar Wildean witticism), and I was all “Bring it, limey! I WILL BURY YOU, IMPERIALIST LAND-GRABBING SWINE!” And then she goes “Hey, we earned those Falkland Islands, dammit!”, and I was all “Huh? Oh yeah, and you needed those to advance your vital global strategic sheep-herding, yarn-spinning, and moist-rock-mining initiatives. Right.” And then she got all “In YOUR FACE, Pilgrim!” To which I retorted “Your Queen is a filthy mullosk!”
You get the idea.
Past experience tells me there are some Smiths fans in the hiz-ouse. This one's for all y'all.
Casiotone for the Painfully Alone, “Toby Take A Bow”
We spent three freakin' hours at Stride Rite yesterday (NO EXAGGERATION), battling parent-child throngs who were, like us, hellbent on taking advantage of the last day of their Spring sale. But, as you'll see below, I think its safe to say that our epic Mall-bound suffering was worthwhile and not in vain:
Cutest. Shoes. EVAH.
Its like a whole cadre of clowns puked a rainbow on her feet.
Reason number 5,382 why I love my husband and find him hilarious: He helped engineer a Top Secret Suit Day at his very dressed-down workplace yesterday, wherein a select number of covert operatives would show up to work dressed, for absolutely no reason whatsoever, to the monkey-suit nines.
Continue reading "“Gentlemen, your jacket matches your pants.”" »
I have nothing of any import or interest to say today, so why not go see what happened 100 years ago?
Alternately, you could always twirl-a-squirrel.
And there's always SEXYDROWNWATCH. Just sayin'.
Jamie emailed this to me while I was in Austin, and I am not ashamed to say that I OPENLY WEPT upon viewing it, despite being wholly unable to make out a single goddamn word of it (I think the song is supposed to be something Tweety Bird of Looney Tunes sings in some video we have? Perhaps one that was translated into some ancient, dead dialect? And then retranslated back into Engrish (but not English)? Or something? [shrugs]).
Continue reading "What reduced me to tears at SXSW this weekend" »
A music video from my friend Bob Massey, aka the righteous Gena Rowlands Band, aka one my favorite people in the whole entire universe:
That's one helluva long scarf.
PS: GO BOB!!!
Though honestly, there are likely many pictures out there gunning for that particular title at this point, the one accompanying this Austin Chronicle piece at the very least claims the Most Bloated/Bug-eyed Version of Myself prize. Yay! Goooo fat ass!
Oh yes, and the thrust of our whole panel is probably best articulated by that quote they pulled from me. Don't quit your day jobs, ya'll.
That there's a three armadillo bus stop, pardner.
I could not be more burned out on the presence of my fellow humans. I mean, I like all ya'll, but really, being with people constantly is a bit exhausting. I may need a few days to detox from all the, you know, togetherness.
The garden, yesterday morning:
Heh. (Inspired by)
Poor budlets never had a chance. Nature, she is a heartless wench.
Anyway ya'll, I'm finally getting outta the snow and heading south(xsw), flying the friendly skies this morning with my spouse-for-the-weekend. Who's gunning to dye my hair red/pink. As if things weren't weird enough already on the Tracey hair front.
And to answer the question surely on all of your filthy, filthy minds: no, spouse-for-the-weekend ain't gettin' any.
Send good vibes for us to survive the plane ride (think 9am is too early for shots?), the panel, and -- perhaps most frightening of all -- the danny.
During a little pre-SXSW trip provisions-gathering jaunt yesterday, M spied this little number at the Tar-shay and demanded I purchase it for her:
Its HELLO KITTY PIRATE. Because clearly the people at Target have somehow tapped my brain stem, and are funneling my deepest unspoken consumer desires directly into the design and production departments for their retail outlets. Its almost spooky. GET OUT OF MY UNCONSCIOUS MIND AND STOP MAKING ME BUY THINGS, TARGET.
(Yes, its conspicuous consumption week here on Sweetney. Shut up.)
But having any sort of life outside the computer to speak of is probably pretty much over now, right?
[shakes fist at Danny]
We interrupt this torrents-of-poop infused day (thankfully not my own poop... not that this fact makes the entire ordeal any less repulsive) to bring you this special report: my husband loves me, and proves it with sparkly, shiny things:
That's how ya'll talk, right? Pardners?
It seems there's an Austin blogger meet-up in the works for this coming weekend that'll feature yours truly, Amy, and Danny. From the sounds of it, there will be food, and you're welcome to bring booze. And by “welcome” I mean REQUIRED. Because seriously, please understand that you're dealing with three fairly socially anxious people here (umm, hello? There's a reason bloggers are bloggers and not, say, PR people), and we'll probably all need to get pretty liquored up to stop with the, you know, trembling and stuttering.
I kid. About the trembling and stuttering. But not about the required booze.
Over the weekend I had a bit of a internal hair crisis because of the upcoming SXSW speaking thingy (Aarrgh! Whee!), and as you'll see below, my resultant fancy-schmancy salon-guided forary into Major Hair Overhauling made one thing absolutely clear: I need to start up an emo band.
(Wistfully looking off into the distance, thinking
about my pain, my feeeeelings.)
I don't know what was more painful and depressing: spending an hour and a half this morning at the dentist's, having the final, permanent crown for my root canal installed, or spending an hour and a half after that out shopping for clothes for SXSW (which is in a week! and I'm on a panel! HOLY FUCKING CRAP!), trying to find something that a) fit me, and b) didn't look like giant flaming turds.
Alright. Let's call it a draw.
Guess noon is too early to start drinkin', huh?
« February 2007 | Main | April 2007 »
I'm an imperfect Gen-X Parental Unit from Baltimore. I believe in early afternoon cocktails, the greatness of Jon Stewart, and that being a smartass is a virtue. More about me...
