Perhaps it's because I'm a Cancerian myself--we Crabs do stick together. But I can't WAIT for the new season of Deadliest Catch, starting April 3, on The Discovery Channel.
Just look at him. He's got game and he knows it, beyotch. I'll play.
I am all set to sit in my living room in my rubber rain jacket and galoshes, and yank the series of ropes attached to pulleys while screaming "SECURE THE POTS!" and throwing myself around the room. Or maybe I'll just sit in my jammies and eat ice cream and imagine the cold sensation is from kissing Edgar's lips after he's been out in the cold. I can smell him now, all sea water and fishiness and "out-at-sea-for-a-month" stink.
I have written about my love for Deadliest Catch before. It's the sexiest show on TV. Those modern-day Vikings, throwing themselves around the boat...love it.
Are they too aware of their own TV-ness to give a good second season? These downfalls have happened before. We'll see.
I am at work and I have 2 minutes to be dealing with this but I my head is SPINNING after American Idol last night.
LaKisha: The first performer...a.k.a., Welcome to Gay Pride (insert name of every city in America) 2012. Please enjoy the mainstage performance. She'll be singing disco. Again.
Chris Sligh: Dunzo. If he makes it another week, he's just the walking dead. He sings three notes over and over and I'm sick of them.
Gina Glockson: Where the hell has she been? By far the best performance of the night. That was beauuuuutiful, I say better than the original. She deserves to last longer, too bad she has such an annoying personality.
Haley Scarnato: "Oh wait, this is American Idol auditions? I thought I was trying out to be in Miss America, I could totally win that."
Blake Lewis: Love him. But Blake Lewis singing The Cure is like taking a Tylenol PM.
Phil Stacey: Good job. I don't care.
Sanjaya: He's just my little baby bird. I want to protect him in my nest. It must be hard, with America making fun of you on a CNN-level. It's bound to drive you a little nuts, your nerves would be shot. Which is what clearly drove him to walk onto that stage, already defeated and singing all deflated-like. And clearly the stylists want him gone as they are purposely trying to embarrass him even more. Just defeated. As Randy said...he can sing, why isn't he?
Melinda Doolittle: Didn't she just sing a disco song at the beginning of the show?
Chris Richardson: If he looks over his shoulder while singing one more time I will scream. Why does he keep singing ballads???
I entered some pictures in a photo contest--including the image in the upper left corner, second from the left. It's the man walking with a camel. Click on it to see the details of the pic, it's pretty cool. (You can vote once per page; I'm on page 4, you can scroll back-and-forth to see the others.)
I might win a safari. And I would LOVE that prize.
I think I have a good shot on my page, judging by the other pics on the page. Fingers crossed.
The place: Older Brother's house, beige-and-grey suburbs, USA
Brother and his wife are attending a cancer benefit, semi-formal attire required. She is wearing the ubiquitous black dress; he has shined his shoes. Neither are speaking to each other. Sometimes these getting-ready squabbles happen.
As luck would have it, Uncle Dan is in town this very weekend for a quick visit, and is therefore available to babysit their Three Daughters All 6 Years Old Or Younger. So with a spritz of perfume and multiple rounds of teary good-bye kisses from the girls, they left me in charge.
All is going well; T (age: one year old) is still in one piece, having suffered only four face-plants while playing in the back yard. So that's a success. A quick bath will get rid of the resulting dirt on her face and her parents will never be the wiser. She's sitting here on my lap right now, actually. j5r0l jk;l <--- she typed those, aren't they beautiful letters? She is a genius.
Speaking of geniuses: play Memory with a 6-year-old? It's a nightmare of humbling-ness. P's score: 16 matches. My father: 4. Me: 3. And we were really trying.
After dinner, we were playing soccer--a skill on which I pride myself, after I took lessons from Mia Hamm on an MTV Challenge--
...I just stubbed a toe on that name I just dropped, sorry. BACK TO THE STORY!--
--I was cracking the ball all around the yard, running to-and-fro with the neighborhood kids. I impressed myself, playing all this sporty stuff and keeping up with the endless-energy-reserves of the little ones.
And then P looked at me. "Why are you running like a girl?"
I have to go. R just walked in. "I need to get on when you're done," she whispered. "I need to get on Barbie.com." And she said the word "dot."
First: I am giving a lecture at MacMurray College in Jacksonville, IL. As of last week, American Airlines cancelled all flights to their local airport--CANCELLED ALL FLIGHTS AND PULLED OUT OF THE MARKET, what a bunch of assholes--so in my last-minute ticket-purchasing scramble I had to fly into the gorgeous airport at Normal, IL, and drive the rest of the way.
I've been enjoying all the local attractions and sites (sights?), soaking in the culture. If I may say something about my observations:
1) If you're looking for the perfect shade of beige to match in your home, just come to the city of Normal and look around. There are at least 10,000 shades of beige here. Trees? Beige. Sky? Beige. Everything? Some sort of beige. Who knew there were so many choices?
2) You know those hideous Pontiacs Gran Prixs or Cheverolet Whatevers that they make you drive when you rent a car? That come in incomprehensible shades of purple-brown? People here drive them ON PURPOSE.
3) I can confirm the fact that A&W Root Beer does, in fact, have That Frosty Mug Taste.
4) Speaking of deliciousness: I just ate this. I partook in it simply out of morbid curiousity; we have no such items in South Beach. When I want fast food, I eat rice and beans. And seriously, I just ate half my daily fat, in about 8 bites. I know this by the Nutrition Calculator on the site. I say this because I find it extremely satisfying.
Second: I would like to say something about Sanjaya.
Please be advised that I am voting for him because I actually like him and I hope he wins. Not that he will. Or he should. Because he won't, and he shouldn't. But I love The Sanjaya THIS MUCH and I very much enjoy his singing.
I am also certain he has lived his entire life with cruel children referring to him as SanGAYa. And when I say "cruel children," I really mean myself.
My ex-boyfriend is in Miami, performing as a dancer with the Club Papi tour. He is dancing for the singer who recorded the cover of that song "Runaway...you better not hesitate...better hurry, don't wait now..." etc. It was big in the '90's. Who is that? I forget. Anyway--it costs $15. I don't want to pay $15 to see him dance in his underwear to a song from the '90's, I used to see all of him naked for free in the '90's. My, how times change.
His profile is on Myspace -- http://myspace.com/e_daniel -- it's a little naughty, be careful if you're at work. I recommend hitting the pause button on the song, and playing the YouTube video of his photoshoot of the Latin Men 2008 calendar. Scandalous.
Several years ago I found a porn movie starring my college boyfriend. I was at a movie store where my friend worked, just wandering around, and back in the "adult section" there it was, right at eye level, the box with him on the cover. The whole room went into an Alfred Hitchcock zoom as I stared at him, standing there with his thumb hooked into his belt loop. He would never stand like that in real-life, I thought. He was much too cool for that. I loved this guy. I was head-over-heels in puppy love with him. He wore organic fiber clothing, and weird little hats, and his eyes were so bright blue they glowed in the dark. Beautiful. We would hang out in his 5-floor walk-up apartment, with his homemade orange curtains, and we'd lay on his futon on the floor and listen to Bjork, and talk about gay oppression and the meaning of life and other subjects much bigger than we could realistically handle. Or he would talk, and I would listen, as he laid on his back and I laid on my side next to him. And we'd eat falafel or some other food I considered "exotic" and have sex and sleep through all my classes the next day. It's a miracle I passed anything that semester.
He was a senior when I was a sophomore; when he graduated he moved to the woods of Tennessee and joined an all-gay commune called the Radical Faries, where he practiced Pagan rituals and danced around a campfire in the moonlight. It was around then when we lost touch. But I went out and bought a hat just like he would wear, a little black skullcap that made me look artsy and alternative. Or so I thought. In retrospect, it just made me look like an artsy Jew.
So it was years later when I found that movie. I, of course, rented it immediately, told my friend I couldn't wait for him to close the store and go out as we planned, and ran home to watch it. I thought it would be funny; really it was just creepy and sad. His eyes were bloodshot, he stumbled around a little, obviously completely high on some drug. I just turned off the TV and brought the tape back that same night, clattering it through the drop box and out of my sight.
Some time after that I saw him, a chance meeting at the beach; he looked much better, yet still terrible. His face aged well beyond his years, he smiled a little. I asked him how things were. He had a job, he had a boyfriend, he had a life. I said "Things change." His eyes focused out of range as he stared back into the depths of his brain, and he nodded. "Yes, they definitely do," he said. And he glanced at his boyfriend, nervously, the look of secrets not yet told. So...I walked away, never saw him again.
My ex dancing in the Club Papi tour is totally not the same thing. He's having a lovely time, actually. It just reminded me of that story.
I joked around about this a little while ago--but seriously, the Anna Nicole Smith movie must certainly be made.
She was totally murdered. Howard was mad that she was screwing Larry Bragman, and when she gave birth he freaked out and wanted the baby for himself. So he killed her--and her son Daniel, to get him out of the way of any entitlements to the money or her daughter--and that way he could keep it all--the money, and his pride.
So the cast:
Larry Birkhead: Ryan Phillipe
Who is Larry? A hot guy, who seems nice in a vapid sort of way, who is good in bed. And Ryan (a) is, (b) seems to be, and (b) is, in my imagination.
Howard K Stern: either Adam Sandler or Mike Meyers
Adam Sandler more looks the part--but let us not forget Mike Meyers (is that how you spell his name) in Studio 54. He was genius. And that movie was pointless. Imagine if he had a story to work with!
Anna Nicole's mother: Delta Burke
Roseanne Barr is the queen of white trash, but Delta Burke is having a bit of a resurgence these days. She has long been undervalued as a legit actress. She could play the anger, the sadness, the soullessness, and be fantastic.
Anna Nicole's son: Jack's son from Will & Grace
...although he might be too old by the time it's made. But I love that kid.
Anna Nicole's assistant, Kymmie: Natasha Lyonne
Natasha has been in rehab for heroin addiction, so she hasn't appeared in much of anything since the American Pie movies. She had a guest role on Will & Grace, she had a small part in Party Monster...but nothing to show her stuff. But she is depressing enough, she's gritty, and her strength is in strong character acting. Kymmie is pathetic. Perfect.
...and the final choice, Anna Nicole herself: Courtney Love
Speaking of heroin addicts--Courtney Love proved herself with The People vs. Larry Flynt, and she was amazing. And now, she's broke. She needs to do something, and this part could be it. She'd never get cast, she's ruined herself, but it's still fun to dream.