I Heart Huckabee's Name

Hehe. From today's paper:

DES MOINES — In an act of political jujitsu, Mike Huckabee has halted a negative ad that he was about to broadcast on television Monday against his Republican rival, Mitt Romney. But while claiming the moral high ground, he proceeded to show the ad to a roomful of reporters, photographers and television cameras who are repeating his anti-Romney message for free while Mr. Huckabee declares that his hands are clean.

This is sooooooo season 3 West Wing.

Annnnnd We're Back

T'was the night before Christmas and Meghan was bored...
Dan had left, Schmindsey'd gone, hunger galore,
When out on the table I spied such a bump,
A gift all wrapped prettily--a big orange lump!


I squealed with delight and decided right then
To cook myself dinner, but what where or when?
Practicality = stupid, thought myself to me.
Let's make fried rice balls! Arancini!



Mmmmmmm. Deep-fried leftover risotto.

Hope you all had a nice Christmas. Lindsey got me a sweet new teapot, and the rents got me a vegetable slicer, just like I asked for!

Next up will have to be a meat slicer, so I can make myself pastrami.

For now, we'll just have to go to Katz's.



(Before)


(After)

Bhutto

Benazir Bhutto, whoa.

I started writing a post about Bhutto a few months ago when the host of the show I work on announced over headset that Benazir had been voted the Hottie of Eliot House in 1972, or something like that (other famous Eliot House dwellers: T.S. Eliot, Leonard Bernstein). Unable to confirm that fact, I never finished it.

I've found her very interesting over the past year. I guess we'll have to see what happens next.

Ho ho ho!

Merry Christmas!

Oh, Fugs

So it's fairly common knowledge that I really adore the Fug Girls, Heather and Jessica. I send their links to people all the time, even though they hit their peak around the time I left Los Angeles. It doesn't matter, because their denouement has turned out to be more like a plateau of hilarity. I've even sent them fan mail, people.

However, they have one sub-par feature. It's called "Ask Aunt Fugly," and is some kind of mock advice column, and it usually sucks. It pains me to say that, kind of the way it pains Jessica to fug Wallace Shawn. But this week's kind of perfectly capsulates my feelings towards this whole media circus surrounding Spears the Younger. Check it out.

Ew

I'm sick. It's gross.

I feel like the alter ego of Ferris Bueller, who moans and acts woozy and leans over and licks his palms, as "cold, clammy hands" is a good nonspecific symptom. I'm sure you recall. Except that MY palms are cold and clammy with no spit,* and I feel woozy, my mouth has a coating of invisible fuzz, and I'm at work. It's like Ferris Bueller's lie took on a parasitic life and floated about through the 90s until it settled in my sinuses.

I need to go gargle.



*The other night we went to Congee Village with B., who is from China. We wondered why "Bird's Nest Soup" is $40 a bowl. She explained that the nests are very special and expensive. Because they are made from bird saliva.

I No Longer Trust Oprah

My mother suggested, as a Christmas gift, that I might like a new pair of Uggs. At first I sighed no.

"I have those knockoffs I got for $35US in Australia in 2003," I said. "They're fine. Don't worry about it."

But then I started thinking about it, and also started wearing these Ugg slippers I got for my birthday and going into dreamlike trances every time I took a step forward because they coddle the feet so, and reconsidered.

"Maybe black ones," I thought, because that's what Rashida Jones would do. "Maybe short ones, so they can fit over my pants without making me look like Janet O' Stumpsforlegs, or under my pants without straining the fabric into weird bulges."

THEN I talked to my friend Jammy, who is a little fashion plate, and she suggested the crochet Uggs, which are just as snuggly but actually borderline attractive (let's be honest, with these things you generally shoot for not-hideous), AND they come in several styles, one of which is downright cute.

Of course, you cannot get the cute kind. Oprah featured it on her Favorite Things episode, and they are sold out until Biz graduates college.

This would be fine; I can live without them. But in my search for black-market crochet Uggs, I happened upon Oprah's Favorite Things website, and saw what else she'd recommended this season.


Am I to believe that this shit is sold out, too?

Aimee is The Mann

Went to Aimee Mann's Christmas Show last night at the Grand Ballroom. If you've never been to the Grand Ballroom, it's a large, half-heartedly ornate (as in the designers were like, "let's make this look the the Grand Ballrooms of yesteryore" and ran out money 1/5 of the way through) room with temporary seating. It says, as Aimee puts it, "seminar."

Who cares?! Not I! The show was one of the best things I've seen in a while. First off, it was a Christmas show. "I hate saying 'Happy Holidays,'" said Aimee. "It makes me feel so PC. But I guess I want to be PC, so... happy holidays." There was a rapping Hanukkah fairy to make up for it.

"I'm the motherfuckin' Hanukkah Fairy!" she would cry.

"She's the motherfuckin' Hanukkah Fairyyyyyyyy..." crooned the backup.




(That's the Hanukkah Fairy. Also, when she came onstage, she said, "I say Loehman's, you say Ishopthere." YEAH).

Nellie McKay did a bit with a Rudolph puppet, who no longer wants to pull Santa's sleigh (Nellie McKay, who I am documented as loving, is very into animal rights). Ben Lee did some songs, as did Josh Ritter. Mrs. Mann's emcee helped her out on a truly sick version of "The Grinch" (why is that not a Christmas standard? So good!).

Plus, she did all her best songs. It was a best of breed kind of thing.

But wait, you're thinking. Aimee Mann was in The Big Lebowski. She wrote all the music for Magnolia. Clearly, she has a lot of insanely cool and famous friends. Where were they for this alleged Christmas show?

In the video! There was a rather hilarious three-part movie about Aimee Mann trying to get famous friends to do her Christmas show, featuring John Krasinski, Fred Armisen, Ben Stiller ("You know what song you should do at your kid's show? That soung about being depressed. Do that one!") (come to think of it, this is the third time I've seen Ben Stiller parody himself as a giant jerkwad... I'm thinking he might be kind of a dick), Patton Oswalt, Weird Al, Will Ferrell ("your music is so inspiring, Jewel"), and others.

Basically, 15 minutes into the show I was really excited to go again next year. You should, too.

I Hang Out With Prepubescents

It's my fault. Dan and I were loafing around, being our general useless selves, and he jokingly asked if they made Heelys in adult sizes and I, (stupid! stupid!) mentioned reading somewhere that they do. He and J.Lo were completing their Zappos order about six minutes later.






They came last night.It also seems that "heeling" is a lot harder than 8-year-olds make it look. Don't let Justin's grin of delight fool you. He'd gone three inches. Awwww I can't keep go on hating. I'm sure they'll get the hang of it. Hopefully before someone breaks a femur. Those things bleed.

Fattitude at Fette Sau

Helloooooooooooo barbecue. The delicious smoked meats below were consumed this past weekend at Fette Sau, a Williamsburg eatery meaning, from the German, "FAT PIG."



I guess the delicious spice rub does make it look kind of carcinogenic and, you know... burned. Let me assure you it was NOT. Except for the baked beans, which included "burnt ends" and were "fucking awesome." Bottom middle? Smoked pork butt. Butt! We ate butt! Ribs to the right, shanks to the left, pastrami up top.

Ohhhhh I should not have come here. I sense an impending short-term addiction and fatness coming soon.

Rupert Was Good

Ho Boy: UPDATE

So after posting about the deliciously public Jakob and Julia trainwreck, I did a little Internet stalking and stumbled upon Mr. Lodwick's blog (I don't know why I'm acting like this is all a big discovery. The folks at Gawker Media have been all over this for eons. Also, I don't really like Gawker anymore. Sad). And what do I find?

Friday, Dec 7th, 2007
Flashforward, Part II

themarkpike, after reading my earlier post on property, said,

(blah blah blah blah whatever, text isn't the point)

Mark's a friend of mine from college. Weird!

Also, I really don't get this whole "Tumblr" thing. Is it different from Blogger? I am old and square. Oh, and go outside sometimes.

Ho Boy

So... as many of you know, about a year and a half ago I went from a daily/almost-daily blogger to a more sporadic schedule, and a lot of that was because now I spend most of my time working, and isn't very bloggable... I mean, I still do cool stuff, but I don't want to get fired. The other thing is that I got a boyfriend, and unless your name is "Isabelle," relationship blogs are boring. Dan is wonderful, but do you really want to read about how we ordered some Thai food and it was just all right? Oh. Really? Ummmm... okay, I'll fill you in next time. Point is, I am all about quality over quantity, and my old life as a partycrasher was way more thrilling online than any BS relationship blog could hope to be.

Or so I thought.

Jakob and Julia. Go quick, because they're going to break up in about 15 minutes. Julia Allison is a dating columnist (I know. Memo that Carrie Bradshaw is NOW OVER 40 never went into wide release, I guess) for Time Out who--fascinating!-- was apparently the white girl featured in that racist miscegenation attack ad on Henry Ford. She also works for Star and "reports" on Fox Business a lot. Jakob Lodwick is one of the founders of CollegeHumor and is involved in Vimeo? maybe?, so they are very new media darling. They started dating and decided to "experiment" by posting about it on a collective blog.

This is them.

And they hate each other.

It's awesome.

SantaLand

Part of my job involves giving tours in a blue uniform. I know.

It reminds me, rather sadly, of The SantaLand Diaries, an essay by David Sedaris, detailing his seasonal stint as an elf at Macy's SantaLand in Herald Square. You can listen to him read it here. I thought I was so brilliant the last like, three years, giving the printed version to everyone as a Christmas present. And I was, except now everyone I know has one, and I have to think of something else.

Tonight

I know you guys are clawing at each other to find out how the Rupert-poaching went, but my camera battery died, so that'll have to wait. But TONIGHT:

Rock 'n' Roll.

Oh, God I am so excited. Thank you, Local 1, for ending your stupid stagehand strike and allowing me, for the third (!) time, to see the first American run of a soon-to-be classic Tom Stoppard play. Here's what it's about:

The play is concerned with the significance of rock and roll in the emergence of the democratic movement in Eastern Bloc Czechoslovakia between the Prague Spring of 1968 and the Velvet Revolution of 1989. Taking place at Cambridge University, England, and in Prague, the play contrasts the attitudes of a young Czech Ph.D student and rock music fan who becomes appalled by the repressive regime in his home country with those of his British Marxist professor who unrepentantly continues to believe in the Soviet ideal.

It's his most autobiographical work yet! (Which isn't hard. Most of his work isn't autobiographical in the least. That makes it even cooler, I think). How do I deserve such riches? Also, I don't think Dan's ever seen a Stoppard play before, so that makes it a double treat.

Dial L For Murder

Ever killed a lobster? I have. Dan's birthday is today and I am cooking him an epic feast. So that I do not serve him this magnificence with a glazed scowl, I made most of it last night. Thank you, Ina Garten, for teaching me to plan ahead.

The centerpiece: Lobster Poached in Butter. Yes. The sweetest, tenderest, most cholesterol-laden fruit of the sea will get even sweeter, more tender, and increase its lipid count by a brief boil in dairy fat. The method, developed by Thomas Keller of The French Laundry, involves a brief hot-water bath to kill the lobster and cook it just enough to get the delicious innards out of its shell before the final butter poach, and you can do the first part the night before! So here's how you do that.

First, you boil up a Pot of Death.





The steam adds a sinister touch.

Then you take your extremely expensive sea roach out of the freezer, where it has been "desensitizing" for 30 minutes, and put it in a different pot.




Then you see that it is still kind of moving and freak out. But if I am going to eat it, I should be able to kill it. That is what Thomas Keller says, as does the meth-head from Friday Night Lights, and they know their stuff. You contemplate leaving it in the freezer for another like, day, change your mind, pour the Pot of Death over the crustacean, cover it with a very heavy cast-iron lid, and run away to your computer to gchat your nerves and compromised morality away.

Although dear Rupert (yeah, I named it) still had some movement when I removed him from the freezer, the deep-freeze thing seemed to work, because the pot didn't clatter and there was no horrible screaming sound. After 3 minutes I pulled him out and used my hands, kitchen shears, a Leatherman, AND a hammer to dismember the delicious fucker.

At this point I was pretty much over the whole killing conflict. I don't know. I must be hardened.

Mmmmmmmmmmmm.

I'll let you know how the rest goes tomorrow.

Happy Birthday, Dan!

I killed for you!

Zoomzoom

CB invited us to a NASCAR party at Marquee. I don't think I ever blogged about the last party at Marquee, which was for Cosmo!'s 50 Hottest Bachelors Issue, where I got shadeball drunk-- determined to avoid a recurrence, I avoided another bottomless margarita preparty, and brought Dan.

The party was awesome. Open bar, open mini-paninis, open mini-cheeseburgers, open mini-macncheese balls, open disregard for fire codes, open DJ AM... you get the idea.

Dan stared David Spade down over that shimmy shake he did in all the promos for Rules of Engagement, and Richard Hayden of Callahan Motors was quaking in his boots.

(I know you want pictures of the mini-macncheese balls, Dennis, but I just couldn't do it. I was too busy stuffing my face).

We had to leave shortly after DJ AM went on, but I was digging it. I felt like DANCING! We were also standing about 5 inches from his turntables and deck and Dan was very impressed when I told him that he used to maybe date Mandy Moore (less so on Nicole Richie).

Oh and also there were a million people waiting to get in but we were ushered in like mid-rated sitcom stars. I love my friends.

Nikke Finke = Badass

Still looks like wishful thinking to have the strike over by Friday, but Nikki's got the goods.

I don't know how she gets her sources, but the woman knows everything.

Razor

I had semi-firm plans to get blasted with a bunch of work people. Cuh-razy, right? We have to work all weekend and were going to blow off steam. Par-tay!

Um... but I blew off the blowing off...

...to watch the new Battlestar Galactica: Razor with Ameet.




Ameet, typically, declared it the greatest night of his life before deciding it was actually mediocre.

He was wrong. It was no BSG Season 1 finale, Season 2 finale, "Resurrection" two-parter, or third episode of Season 3, but it was a solid holdover until the new episodes premiere in (be still, my heart, brace for the pain) March 2008.

I'm aware that trying to convince you it is not that dorky that I stayed in on a Saturday to watch a Sci-fi Channel Special Event just makes it dorkier, but really, it's so good! I was just doing something I enjoy! The worst part is that as soon as I remembered that Razor premiered tonight, I dropped my plans like a hot potato. I was so excited.

Whatever. Ameet was excited too.

Mmmmmmmmmm

From this:


Comes this:


Once we learned how to keep the turkey moist I learned to looooooove Thanksgiving.

Secret Thoughts That Occur While Cooking Thanksgiving Food All Day With The Tube On In The Background

I'm not saying that I want to actually see August Rush, but that stupid preview with Freddie Highmore looking all orphan-angelic and Keri Russell looking even better than in her Felicity days makes me (almost cry) every damn time.

Also, The Hills is probably comparable to Curb Your Enthusiasm in terms of reality. I know comparing the two is kind of mean to LD, but I think he can take it. Do you see my point here? They probably start off with this little paragraph of plot, deliver it to the um... participants... at the last minute, and then they spiel off some bon mots, complete with ums and ahs.

Dan and I saw LD interviewed by Susie Essman at the 92nd Street Y a few months ago because we are awesome kosher-keeping 50somethings sometimes, and LD told us that Curb's unscripted banter stems from the idea that scripted dialogue cannot ever sound spontaneous. To do a fake mockumentary, improvisation is key.

I would like to remind LC and her segment producer ("I want to forgive you and I want to forget you," like that seriously just popped into your head at that very moment, Lauren, come on) of LD's sage advice.

The Clap

Speaking of concerts, Dan and I went to Clap Your Hands Say Yeah the other week at the Bowery Ballroom. It was excellent for several reasons--- first, the venue is like 7 feet from the JMZ stop, which is right near my house, so that's convenient. And the opener was good, which is alawys heartening. Dan hadn't eaten dinner, so 2 beers got him sloshed: amusing, and of course Clap Your Hands played an excellent set and we were about 4 feet from Alec Ounsworth's shoes.

But I have a question. CYHSY has a red-haired keyboardist/ guitarist/ jack-of-all-instruments who gets like, really into performing. So did the opening band, who I liked but had just changed their name and I don't remember it. So does, say, the Arcade Fire.

Is this a new thing? What if you're a ginger keyboardist/guitarist/j-o-a-i who's kind of shy, and doesn't want to dance around the stage during bass solos? What if you only play the keyboard, but play it very well? What if you are obviously not a natural ginger? Do you take a pay cut?

These are the things that keep me up at night.

The Something Awesome

STEVIE WONDER AT THE GARDEN.

Look at how close we were:




I know, right???

Ok, that was the screen.

But it was amazing. I felt like Tim Riggins at Lyla Garrity's megachurch, as the Stevie Wonder acolytes were in full force, crying and cheering and speaking in tongues.

Stevie told us to have love in our hearts and I instantly let go of all my hate. I love you. You. I do.

Then Prince came onstage.

Yeah. That Prince.

Harvard-Yale

So New Haven was fun. We ate at Louis' Lunch, which serves one of my new top-5 burgers of all time (I tearfully remove Santa Monica's Corner Burger from the list), served on sandwich bread, a revelation. Then we got some Rudy's fries, went to an on-campus party and were those sketchy random alums in the corner, saw the line at New Haven's premiere sleazy club and decided I did not in fact need the full Toad's experience, went to some new bar called Hula Hanks that featured an extremely unsafe swing on which drunk girls can pendulate unnervingly high over the bar, and stayed at the Tallywhacker's brother's house. The brother has two toddlers and they are the cutest children ever who aren't related to me.

The tailgate was fun. One very rich alum sponsored a tailgate-in-name-only (is it really a tailgate when it involves a free-standing structure?) that had bartenders and some very delicious fried chicken, among other delicacies.

It's kind of weird being at Yale. I think my high school wish to go there was one of the strongest, most intense desires I've ever had, since there weren't boys to distract me and teenagers are stupid. So it's unnerving being in a crowd made up exclusively of people who the admissions staff deemed worthier, including that dude in the Santa suit and that girl who can't stand up straight, like, what?

Then I remember that I went to Duke, like, hello.



Then we went back to New York, and something awesome happened.

Mango Chutney Mayommmmmmmm

Panicky suggested we go to Pommes Frites last night.

Pommes Frites is a teeny tiny weensy bitty little hole-in-the-wall on 2nd and 9th that serves fries. I thought maybe they were purveyors of all kinds of greasy food, specializing in Begian frites, but no. They serve fries. The menu is extensive in its array of dipping sauces. No bathroom. Of course, it was awesome: a feeling of basically obligation to eat deep-fried potato bits and mayonnaise for dinner. Who cares that it's hell on my arteries? It was all they had! Besides, it's not like you do that every day.

Then I got home. Dan was like, "New Haven this weekend! [NB: Harvard-Yale game] We can go to Rudy's!"

Rudy's serves fries. With dipping sauces.

My hypothetical cardiologist is not gonna like this.

Overdue

So... I never blog anymore. Whatever, I'm not apologizing. You choose to check this page, peeps, and that's all I can say!

No, don't go. Stay. I'm sorry. I'll do better. Maybe. I'll try, in any case. I have this whole post about the incredibly dorky Good Day New York ad campaign planned, and I think you're gonna like it.

In the meantime, pictures and commentary I never shared from Austin.

I'd never been to a huge music festival before, and I finally get the hype, and why people spend hundreds of dollars and personal days to sit in a field and watch concerts all day. It's fucking fun, people! And relaxing! It's like a day spa! At one point we went to an actual swimming hole with Dan's friends Hoagie and Bonesaw and a dog that peed on G.'s bag.

The weekend brought along some old favorites.

Win Butler:




(See how close we were? It was religious).

Katie!:




Dan's hyperactive sweat glands (hello, Texas in summer):




Bjork dressed like a Zulu warrior:




And it also brought new treasures.

Breakfast tacos:




Non-price-gauged beer:



Deer jerky:



Thank you, Texas.

After, After

In light of a likely WGA strike starting tomorrow and cancelling late-night television for an unforeseen period, last night's afterparty was open bar.

We took advantage.






I don't usually hit the after-after but due to several martinis ("I CAN DRINKMARTINISIFIALSO GETALOTOFWATERS CANIHAVEADIRTYMARTINIANDAWATERPLEASE") was talked into a cab and whisked to Professor Tom's downtown.

Have you been there? It's pretty awesome.

For once, I was just lubed enough that I actually talked to some of the writers and famouses. I mean, you can do that at these things. Lots of people do. And I never knew how. Now I know they just drink more. (Or are douches).

Had some conversations about comedy clubs and the marathon, and then hit the jackpot:

KENNETH THE PAGE.

Like, a whole semi-meaningful convo. He said he would try and remember my name.

It was amazing.

I got home at 5.

Today was kind of a waste.

Ahoy, Stumpy!

I have these sailor pants that I really like, but they're too long. They also have a super-wide leg, so when I wear them I look as though I'd been afflicted with gangrene out at sea, and should you press your face to the ground and lift the hem of my pants, you would see the two little wooden pegs on which I balance. Also I fall a lot, so that adds to the effect.

Anyway I hate hemming stuff, so I don't wear the pants too often.

Except for today, because I made a clever discovery.

If your shoes are covered all day at work...

...you can totally wear slippers.


SLIPPERS AT WORK, MOTHERFUCKERS!!!

The Saturday Before Halloween Is Sooooo A Holiday

First off, our Jack and Meg costumes were a monstrous success, as was the Tallywhacker's Waldo.




I found him!

But before Stripe-ifying, the host of the show I work for was having a party at the Brooklyn Brewery, and Dan and I went five blocks out of our way to stop by. You all know my feelings on the Brewery: it is manna, heaven-sent. Now imagine that same ideal friend's-basement feeling all classed up with tea lights, make all the beer free, and cater it from Blue Smoke. Add classy people to spot and then feel superior about being able to spot; ie Maureen Dowd. Smug and full from an eighteen-pound plate of pulled pork, wings, ribs, smoked pork butt, mashed potato and the best vinegary-mustard seedy-tangy coleslaw ever, we ran home to dress in red and white and smear white clown makeup all over our faces. I also got to put eyeliner on Dan and he was a big baby about it.




I still needed black hair, though. We stopped by the Halloween Outpost in Union Square, which was hopping. And huge. I picked up a spray can and disappeared into the Most Disgusting Starbucks Bathroom on Earth to Goth up. Honestly, I had been secretly indifferent towards doing the hair, because our party was in Park Slope, which is far, and I wanted to keep my Brewery buzz going, and that spray makes your hair feel like a wig, but Dan's Jack turned out so uncannily that it really required a full-out Meg. So, black hair. I kind of like it, actually.





(We're performing. Imagine the instruments).

People were singing Stripes songs to us on the street. It was awesome.

The party was fun, too. A Colbert intern showed up uninvited with eighteen friends, including a very drunk Large Brite.




Kate was not amused.

In Rainbows (Cheap Rainbows)

Just downloaded the new Radiohead album, In Rainbows. In case you've been living under a stone, the band decided to offer the new album via "disc set," which is a million dollars and includes lots of spiffy extras, or a pay-as-you-wish download. That's it. You can't get it at Best Buy or Scotty's. You can't have them tell you how much to pay. You just go to their website... and get it.

And however much I try to support the arts, dude, it's pay what you want. And they don't even have any guilt-inducing pop-ups that make you feel all shady about taking something free.

Not that it has to be free.

It was free to me, though.


Oh, and if you taped tonight's 30 Rock, pause it just as Jenna's leaving the Page Pit. If you look in the background, you can see some douchey signs that are... taken from the actual office.

Halloween

So Halloween is my favorite holiday. It ages so well.

Halloween at 1: your parents dress you up as a pumpkin. You are adorable.

Halloween at 5: unlimited candy.

Halloween at 15: you're too old to trick-or-treat, but do anyway, AND take petty revenge in the form of TPing on those for whom you don't care. Double whammy!

Halloween at 19: candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker.

Halloween at 25: um... see previous. Except now you have a job and dressing up as an iPod ad also acts as sweet release.


So this year, Dan and I are taking that all-important step of the Couples Costume. Last year the iPod dancer and Mahmoud Ahmedinejad of Iran got along fine (yes, last year. Dan was very ahead of the curve), but this coming 31st, we want people to know we are an ITEM.

Ideas included lederhosen, George & Martha Washington, ketchup and mustard, until j.Lo hit the jackpot:




Can Dan obtain a shady goatee and porkpie top hat by this Saturday? I'm thinking definitely.

I Am A Ratings Powerhouse, Therefore I Am...

...a CBS procedural that you have never seen.

So I've been paying more attention to ratings, b'duh. Here's what I've learned: Criminal Minds, NCIS, CSI: Anyhere, Dancing With The Stars, House, Law & Order: SVU, and Heroes are reliable (kind of. Heroes has only been ok). Sports are reliable. The Office is reliable. American Idol is a ratings juggernaut.

OH! SPEAKING of The Office, I stood next to Ricky Gervais last weekend. Eddie thanked him for having an idea that has saved our network (kind of). It was REALLY EXCITING. Ummmmm anyway. Maybe we should do a network Extras.

I guess my point is, we are in a Golden Age of Television. Reality shows force regular shows to be better (it's a lot cheaper to make a reality show than a crappy low-budget sitcom = your idea for a scripted show will not get off the ground if it sucks). But I find it odd that good shows with what I would assume to be broad appeal-- How I Met Your Mother and Friday Night Lights come to mind-- don't get watched at all. And that slightly quirkier shows like Dirty Sexy Money and Pushing Daisies (even Life) started out strong and have fallen off in the ratings, which means people gave them a chance and then decided to watch NCIS instead, which totally bakes my noodle.

Ummmmm... that's it. I guess I didn't have much of a point after all. Oh wait! I know-- commitment-phobia extends to TV viewing, because no big show requires regular viewership! And that the shows asking only a casual commitment command a committed audience is kind of strange.

Also, I went to Moustache with Dennis Tash Dan TL last night and it was awesome.

It's Here! It's Here!

My new camera! It arrived! Oh my goodness this is so exciting. Now when I run into ck on the L I can document it, along with proof of why Drunken Biking = Bad Idea.




Also it has sweet "Color Accent" and "Color Swap" features, which mean I can make Dan's apartment look like an acid trip.

Or make Jessio look alternately like a Gap jeans ad/Oompa Loompa.

Or take arty pictures of 80s memorabilia!!!!

Woo hoo!