Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Digital Invisible Ink ala Soul Pancake

Following celebrities on twitter has proved worthwhile. Rainn Wilson led me to Soul Pancake, a website which encourages readers to particpate in a "spiritual and artistic jouney."

Here's a recent prompt, effective at baring your true colors and shedding off writer's block:

Let’s type blind to find out what the uncensored you really wants to say.
1. Choose a topic that’s important to you. If you have 'topic-block,' just pick a random word from the dictionary.
2. Open up your favorite text editor.
3. Change the font color to white, so you can’t see what you’re typing.
4. Set a timer for 5 minutes, and start typing blind.
5. Copy the results into the comments section. (P.S. Don't spell check. Don't re-read. Just copy and paste.)

Here's mine:

I randomly generated the word audacity, which I am certain I just mis typed. I typeveryquickly and I backspace a LOT. I am, therfore, not digging this assignment. I clearly would have backspaced to edit the following sentence to say "self given assignment" and would have backspaced yet again to put a hyphen between self and given. I can't wait to see how this turns out, grammatically speaking.

I digress. I will attempt to type more slowly henceforth, just so this tirade might be legible. Ledgible? I digressed again:

When I drive home from work, there is a spot at a busy interscetion where two lanes must merge into one. Without fail, people get into the left lane at the stoplight in an effort to cut-off those in teh right lane when the light changes. The people in the left lane know that their lane will end, but they just want to get in front of the right laners. Usually they are middle aged rich folk driving nicer cars than me. What really pisses me off about this situation is that 90% of these assholes mmake a left turn at the next light, headed off to therir fancy neighborhoods. I an a right-laner and I have been known to flick a cigarette or two in the direction of the left-laners as I pass them, since they are now stuck in left turn lanes.

The best part is that my office window overlooks this intersection. I spend all day listening to horn honkers and shake my head at the all to frequent fender benders. It increases my road rage by 400%.

Last night on my way home, I sat in the right lane at saidintersection. To my left, there sat a little convertible. I know not the make or model, but the license plate read T-RACER. "oh, hell NO," I thought. This guy is not cutting me off to slide in front me. The light turned green, and off we went, me, riding the tail of the rightlaner in front of me. T-RACER was ready. He pulled up along side me as the lane ended and tried to slide in. It all happened so fast, there was the oncoming traffic and he had no where to go. Ibacked off -- had no choice but to tap my brakes and let him in. My middle finger let him know of my displeasure. The audicity! He didn't turn lefft at the next light. I followed him a couple of miles. He went 65 mph in a 45 mph zone. I stayed right on his entitled little tail. 

If I see T-RACERs car parked at Target or something, I will totally key it.

Monday, September 28, 2009

Musical Monday

Someday you will find me, caught beneath the landslide, in a champagnge supernova in the sky...

I've never been a huge fan of Oasis, though I did once shout "play Wonderwall!" to a patio guitarist taking requests. (The song was featured in an episode of LOST, and it was stuck in my head that day or something.)

However, I heard Champagne Supernova on the radio last night, just as I was pulling into my parking space, running ten thirty minutes late to meet my friends for dinner. I didn't care that I was tardy. I just sat there and listened. What a lovely little song. I'm a sucker for a crafty hook -- like Blues Traveler famously observed, the hook brings you back -- and Champagne Supernova certainly obliges. I wanted to hold up my lighter, flick that bic, and have myself one hell of a sing-song. (Okay, who am I kidding. I totally did that. But the lighter got hot and I was afraid one of my friends might see me from their table on the restaurant patio and since they really need no more ammunition for making fun of me, I didn't do it for long.)

I've had the song stuck in my head all day. I'm trying to figure out why I dig it so much. It certainly isn't for the brillance of the lyrics -- slowly walking down the hall/ faster than a cannonball... I think it has something to do with chord progression.

Whatever the reason, I've got a serious case of earworm.

So, what songs are you humming under your breath today?

Sunday, September 27, 2009

Staycation Comes to a Close

I wonder if it's against the rules to blog on Sunday. It seems that no one really does, or at least not with regularity. Where are you, blog world? You must be attending church or football games or spending time with your family or catching up on housework.

Where I am? Right here, at my laptop, surfing the internet, writing, popping my head up over the screen to catch a minute or two of the 1:00 football games.

Per usual, I am avoiding the housework like the plague. Really need to start laundry, though, and complete it before my girl's dinner tonight at the Tequila Factory. We're celebrating the birthday of one of my teacher friends, who swears the evening will be tame, as she has to be present at middle school math classes in the morning.

It is my last day of my staycation, and the thought of heading into work tomorrow has my proverbial panties in a bunch... especially when there is Tequila in my near future. Nothing says "I'm ready to get back to work" like showing up at the bank reeking of lime and and salt.  

Friday, September 25, 2009

Ten Reasons Flash Forward Rocks

10.) The premise is cool: A mysterious global event causes everyone to black out simultaneously for two minutes and seventeen seconds, and each person sees a glimpse of their lives six months from now. When they wake up, everyone is left wondering if what they saw will actually happen.

09.) Joseph Fiennes. Sigh. I want to pull out my VHS copy of Shakespeare in Love and listen to him say "You will never age for me, nor fade, nor die. "

 08.) The series was adapted for the small screen; it is based on the 1999 novel of the same name by Canadian author Robert J. Sawyer. Sawyer's work is said to "frequently explore the intersection between science and religion, with rationalism always winning out over mysticism." (wikipedia.) Yeah, I'm going to be reading this book!

07.) Actors from Lost! Sonya Walger (Penelope Widmore) soars as trauma surgeon Olivia Benford,  and I can't wait to see Dominic Monaghan's (Charlie Pace, RIP) character Simon revealed in the next episode. It looks like he might be the bad guy!

06.) The ABC discussion boards probably haven't been this busy since the last season of Lost ended. I certaintly haven't been over there in awhile. (I don't post anything, I just read.)

05.) The rest of the cast, including John Cho and Seth MacFarlane. What a great ensemble!

04.) I am offically obsessed!

03.) Kangaroos. 'Nuff said.

02.)  The Mosiac Collective is another interactive fan website.

01.) Is the Oceanic Airlines billboard an easter egg or foreshadowing?! Will Flash Forward somehow tie in with Lost, or is that only my pipedream?

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

sloth and froth

It's four in the afternoon, and I am still in my pajamas. My hair is a mess. I haven't eaten breakfast. Or lunch. I just got up off the couch to let my dog (Carson) back inside. I feel a little lightheaded.

So far today I've indulged in guilty pleasures, catching up on missed episodes of America's Next Top Model and 90210. I'm gearing up to watch Oprah. Who can resist a good incest tell-all? I live in Kentucky, after all.


I've spent the whole day writing, feverishly. I am emotionally drained, emptier than my coffee pot, which contained ten cups eight hours ago.

My novel is coming along, but the story takes me into dark places. I feel like the victim in a horror movie, stupidly running up the stairs as the man with the machete chases her. Still, I don't feel sad, I don't feel scared. I feel a sense of craving for it all, an urgency to go to there. (30 Rock reference. Anyone?!)

If writing is theraputic, it makes sense that I'm on the couch. I've just completed the equivalent of five free sessions.

seussical, my muse-ical

I feel a kinship with people who share my early March arrival.

I have the same birthday as Dr. Seuss and Jon Bon Jovi. I celebrate the latter via karaoke, but realized today that I haven't fed my Seussaddiction in years. Visiting my four year old niece makes my heart happy. She is the most imaginative, creative, special, intelligent... yes, I am completely biased, so I'll stop. But, seriously, she is awesome.

It's a real treat when Carley lets me read to her. Usually, she wants to sit in front on me, indian style (or criss-cross, applesauce, as she calls it) and read aloud to me, holding up the book and licking her finger before turning each page, like her preschool teacher, my sister explained. (Note, she doesn't actually read yet. She makes up a story based on the pictures in the book. I'm one hundred percent in love with this. I think she's going to grow up to be a writer!)

We sat down to read And to Think That I Saw it All on Mulberry Street. I actually wasn't familiar with this Seuss story, his first children's book, which was rejected by 25-30 publishers. (Take heart, writer-friends!) This treat of a tale follows a boy named Marco, who observes people and vehicles traveling along Mulberry Street. Marco dreams up an elaborate story to tell to his father at the end of his walk, but decides instead to simply tell him what he actually saw.

The book is said to be a commetary on the way adults stifle the imagination of children.

I vow here and now to never stifle Carley, and to eat green eggs and ham for breakfast.

Monday, September 21, 2009

vacation day one

I love not going to work. I'm sure the novelty of staying home would wear off, but today... nah.

I slept late. I caught up on corespondence (okay, I facebooked.) I watched a minute of The View (sooo annoyingly wonderful!) I read a little. I wrote a lot.

It was three in the afternoon before I knew it. I had smoked the better part of a pack of cigarettes. Where did the day go? I had to hurry to get to the bank to make my car payment. My husband called from work to ask if I would take our comforter or bedspread or whatever you call it, to the laundromat because it is too big to go in our washing machine, and did I remember that our dog puked on it the other day? Yes, I remembered, but I was trying to ignore it, to pretend it wasn't balled up in a corner in our bedroom, starting to smell a little funny. (In my defense, I had taken a couple of swipes at the pukey area with some wet paper towels, and it wasn't a ton of puppy puke or anything... don't get overly grossed out for no reason.)

So, I went, detergent in tow, and read an old issue of Louisville Magazine while my favorite purple blanket went round and round in the soap suds. I thought about how it might have been nice of my husband to wash the thing over the weekend while I was out of town visiting my grandma. I thought about what it would be like to be a housewife, to know I was expected to do this kind of laundrying on a regular basis, to have a husband who expected to come home to a house that was spic-and-span. That would suck. 

After the laundomat, I hurried home to start normal laundry and do the dishes. I was still unloading the dishwasher when my husband got home from work.

"What's for dinner, dear?"

Very funny. He knows I never cook -- especially not when I'm on vacation. I've sent him to hunt and gather dinner. I'm supposed to be folding socks right now.

Friday, September 18, 2009

finally friday!

I did it.

I faithfully blogged every day this week, because I am the most awesome person you know.

Most people love Fridays; it's the last day of the work week, sometimes it's payday, it's the start of the weekend if you work a nine-to-five, it might be date night, blah. Etc.

TGI- eff-ing F.

Bankers do not love Fridays, because it's always somebody's payday. On Fridays many of these somebodies want to cash their paychecks although they do not have a checking account and they are no more interested in opening a checking account than they were when you asked them last Friday, when they got their last paycheck and, really? There's a $10.00 check cashing fee? That's bullshit. You mean to tell me that you are going to charge me ten entire dollars to cash a check drawn on your own god damn bank?

Yes, sir. We can cash it for you as a courtesy, since the check is drawn on our bank and we can verify that the funds are available, but we charge you ten entire dollars because our clients in line behind you are waiting to deposit their checks, and non-account holders like you are making that line longer. Additionally, we do not operate as a non-profit check cashing service. Morever, please do not use any more profanity while you are standing in front of my teller station or I will punch you in the fucking face have to ask you to leave.

In all fairness, since I am a bank office manager I usually don't sit at a teller station. I sit in my office. I override holds on large deposits. I take loan applications and follow up with new customers. I try to set appointments with companies who offer direct deposit so that I can encouarge their employees to set up accounts with direct deposit. I'm the one you call when there is fraudulent activity on your checkcard because you ordered porn or whatever from a website of ill repute.

Ohh, and I refund overdraft fees. Be nice to me; I have the power. Muhahaha.

Some Fridays, however, when we are short handed of tellers and when I'm feeling generous, I pull out my till (we totally don't call it a till, we call it a drawer) and set up shop along with the peons. (Kidding, Jayme!) And when the non-customers come calling, I put on my friendly voice, and give 'em my best apply-for-a-credit-card eyes. I'll waive the ten dollar check cashing fee, just for you, whether you're approved or not.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

tell-all thursday

Ahh, I'm off work early today to make up for early morning conference calls which would put me into overtime, and there is no working more than 40 hours a week for me!

I've been reading about novel structure and debating the way I want to put together my book. I found an interesting site site that reccomends writing a one sentence summary of your novel.

Here's mine:

A narcissistic woman copes with her ex-boyfriend's apparent suicide.

Next, the author of the website suggests that you take an hour and expand that sentence into "a full paragraph describing the story setup, major disasters, and ending of the novel." (The sentence itself was supposed to take an hour as well. I wonder if you think I spent an hour on mine.)

The paragraph is supposed to have five sentences and should read like back-cover copy.

This is fun.

Louivillian Laurel Lancaster's charmed southern world is quickly coming apart at the seams. After an alledged bout of mania, she spends two weeks in a mental health care facility. While battling to reintegrate herself back into everyday life, she receives news that her ex-boyfriend is dead. Laurel must cope with a death she believes she caused, and she discovers that the only redemption -- or perhaps the only punishment -- is to keep on living.

My paragraph is only four sentences long.

The structure is supposed to be:
1. story set-up
2. disaster one
3. disaster two
4. disaster three
5. end

I only have four sentences, because I only have two disasters so far. Well, three, if you count my perpetual avoidance of actually writing the damn novel.

WTF Wednesday

I had a goal to blog every day this week. My quest was almost thwarted by my husband's addiction to online gaming. Grr, I'm irritated again, as much as I was on Monday.

I did, however, get to watch whatever I wanted on t.v. This leads me to the following list of items that all beg the question: WTF?

I DVR-ed The Vampire Diaries last week, and just got around to watching it tonight. I'm a little bit disturbed by it and a little bit in love with it. WTF? I was hesitant to begin the Twilight saga, to be one of thoooose, but after picking up the first book I was, of course, hooked. Yes, I've admitted it now, and it's a weight of my chest. Whew.

I caught a minute of Jay Leno's new 10:00 slot, and he did this little bit about "back to school" tools. After stating that books on tape are out -- oh, and that books on paper are, too -- he pulled out a twitter book idea. Classics are condensed to fit the 140 character limit. Hardy-har. However, his example was as follows:

Hamlet - Guy hooks up with ultimate MILF and realizes that it's his own mom. (...paraphrased, unless I happened to remember it correctly word for word...)

WTF? That isn't Hamlet, it's Oedipus.

I was in the middle of watching America's Next Top Short Model and the CW pooped out. I'm sure Insight is to blame, but I wanted my Nigel Barker fix, and perhaps a Tyra-tirade. Did I get it? Nope. WTF? "This channel will be available shortly..." Shortly my ass!

I channel surfed my way to a new episode of Toddlers and Tiaras and almost threw up in my mouth a little bit. This one fugly mom promised her daughter a new video gaming system if she won the top prize of $500.00 in the beauty paegant and then admitted that she only promised her this new toy because she knew that her little daughter wouldn't win. Disgusting! WTF?

Josh Groban cameod on Glee and he didn't sing. WTF?

I finally caught the VMA's at a convenient time for my DVR and fast forwarded solely to watch Lady Gaga's avant-garde-wannabe performance. WTF? It was bloody and painful to watch and stupid. Pink's performance was, however, phenom! FY -- which henceforth stands for fuck, yeah.

Kevin Skinner, the (unemployed) chicken catcher from Kentucky won America's Got Talent, and I have to give this a big FY. I have several friends from Mayfield, KY and feel like I almost know him. Yes, the town is that small!

It's almost midnight, so I must publish this entry, so that I can come in under deadline. It's 11:59 p.m.

p.s. I blogged today, even though I just posted it and it says 12:00 a.m. It totally counts as Wednesday, because it isn't the next day if you haven't been to bed yet. The only exception to that rule is New Years.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

thumb-twiddling tuesday

It has been one week and four days since I've last written a word.

Well, I have written plenty of words -- on this blog, on facebook, at work, in my checkbook register, and with the electronic pens at Speedway and Kroger and Walgreens and such, after entering my pin number.

But I have not written a word of my yet-to-be-titled-and-properly-worked-out novel in eleven days, or two hundred and sixty four hours.

I do, however, have the perfect opening line of what will some day become my query letter when I look to get an agent; you know, the moment in time just before I'm published and bankrupted by libel.

So... here it is, the opening line:

Laurel Lancaster's closet is over-full of skeletons.

Damn. It sounds so much cooler in my head than it looks on the page.

Laurel Lancaster's closet is overly full of skeletons?
Laurel Lancaster's closet is overflowing of skeletons?
Laurel Lancaster's cloest is overflowing with skeletons?
Laurel Lancaster's closet is fucking full of skeletons.

Question: Who has read The Girl's Guide to Hunting and Fishing, or any other compliation of short stories (think Alice Munro, The Beggar Maid) centered around the same character -- so that it reads almost like a novel? If so, what do you think of this structure?

Back to thumb twiddling while I await your answers.

Monday, September 14, 2009

another manic monday

For the record, I spent the better part of the weekend curled up on the couch watching football. It's my first year participating in fantasy football, and I am getting my ass thoroughly whooped by my week one opponent. Well played, hate it or love it(whose real name is Lui Muniz), well played.

So, my weekend was anything but manic, and my monday hasn't really been much more exciting, except for top secret work-news that I'm probably not allowed to share, and it's news that I shouldn't refer to as exciting, so stratch that.

Today, I have a case of the Mondays. Here's a laundry list of the things that are bugging the shit out of agravating me:

I wanted to live-blog something or other last week and my husband was playing some fantasy-shoot-em-up game (okay, fine, I know the name of it. It's World of Warcraft, and I am embarrased and ashamed. But, I typically don't mind him playing this game, because it means I can watch whatever I want on tv) and I couldn't . I couldn't live-blog, that is, to remind you, since the thought in parenthesis was lengthy. What's bugging me is that we really can't afford a second laptop, and I WANT MY OWN!

*on with the laundry list*

We have two lawnmowers and both are broken. Our grass is outta control and our next door neighbors are trying to sell. They've already mowed our front yard once. I am pretty sure they are wishing us slow and painful deaths.

We need replacement gutters, badly. (Reason number two our neighbors most likely wish us bodily harm.) My husband keeps promising he'll buy a ladder and nail back in the gutter that is slightly (but obviously) pulling away from our roof. The gutter started pulling away from our house on June 10th. I remember the date because it was the day my nephew was born, and I came home from work in a huge hurry to change clothes and get to the hospital to be with my sister, and when I saw the gutter I muttered multiple expletives.

My husband and I both had to replace our vehicles within months of one another. We went from having no car payments to having two car payments, rendering our discrestionary budgets non-existant.

My wisdom teeth are impacted and hurt like hell, but I'm too chicken to get them cut out. Well, too chicken and too lazy and too broke. Okay, this would be well worth financing or using the savings account to pay for, so I can't play the money card here.

I've had a slightly rational fear for awhile now that I might get a blood clot (I'm a smoker, and I am on the pill) and this fear has now turned to sheer terror because there was an infomercial last night about how "if you or a loved one has suffered a blood clot while taking Yaz, Yasmin or Ocella, YOU may be entitled to a settlement!") That's the pill I take. NOT awesome!

I forgot to reorder my pills, which must be mailed in three month supply, and just realized I'm out. Shit. Blood clot almost sounds better than baby I must use an alternate form of contraception for the next couple months.

I will miss the Louisville/ Kentucky football game on Saturday because I'll be on the way to Bloomington to visit my grandma, and I feel guilty for being pissed that I am going to miss the game, because she is recovering from a recent hernia surgery.

I just got smoke in my eye.

Kanye West. Yes, Kanye is annoying the shit out of everyone, so he makes my list, too.

My husband wants the laptop... wow... for w.o.w.

*end of laundry list*

Thursday, September 10, 2009

a published poet

Not that being published in my high school literary magazine, Serendipity, wasn't a pleaure, but that was back in the nineties when these things weren't done on the internet.

Check it out: I'm an alumnus of the University of Louisville, and though I wasn't even officially enrolled their honors program, I was permitted to sumbit to their literary publication, The White Squirrel.

Three of my very own poems were chosen for publication. I plan on submitting again this year, and hope that this time perhaps a print edition will be available should I be so lucky to be included again.

Read my poems!

Check out my work and feel free to give me your feedback.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

My Morning Routine

Wake up at 7:45. Grab diet pepsi and cigarette as hubby is on his way out the door, half kissing him, because is it too early to be lovey-dovey with anyone.

Switch t.v. from Malcolm in the Middle to Good Morning America. Spend the better part of an hour updating facebook and twitter and reading what others have posted since I last logged out.

At some point let dog out. At some point realize dog has left back yard. Curse her audibly, and try to locate her out the living room window. If I'm lucky, she's on the front sidewalk and close to the front door. (Like today!) Let her back in and feed her.

Read a couple of followed blog's entries. Feel bad I've wasted the hour not blogging. Know that if I do not get in the shower NOW I will have to forget either make-up or blow drying my hair.

Light another cigarette (my last one, and I'll get in the shower, swear!) and contemplate: do I have time to write for five minutes before I start getting ready? What will I even write about?

Yell at dog who started barking uncontrollably at neighbor's cat or some other unseen-to-me rodent. Think offhandedly that I have no idea what I'm wearing to work, and clean laundry is folded but not put away, and are there towels in the dryer(?) because damn, I'll need the dryer to steam out some wrinkles in whatever I am actually going to wear.

It's now 8:45. I have to be at work in 45 minutes. Thank God I live five minutes from the bank. I might make it on time. Why is Tyra Banks being bitchy on GMA? I was only half watching. Just lit another cigarette. Damn. It's now 8:50.

I am not a morning person, not even a little bit.

Saturday, September 5, 2009

They can't listen to Obama; I couldn't watch Forrest Gump!

When I was an eighth grade student, my English class read Daniel Keyes' Flowers for Algernon. As a tie-in and a probably a reward for our engagement in the lesson plan activities surrounding the reading, we were scheduled to watch the movie Forrest Gump: rated PG-13 for drug content, some sensuality and war violence. Permission slips were sent home, perhaps on a Monday, and we were given until Friday to have them signed. I observed for the next few days my classmates, returning signed slips smudged with coffee stains and their own grubby fingers, and I inwardly felt a tense mortification: my conservative parents were not going to like this. Not just in the classroom, but in life, I was not at this time permitted to view PG-13 movies without parental consent.

I think it was Wednesday after school when I finally got the balls to ask my mom to sign the simple form. Not to my surprise, she wanted to "talk it over" with my dad. She would let me know in the morning. She called him and caught him before he left work. He rented the movie on his way home, although I think my parents had already seen it at the theater.

My younger sister and I were banned from the basement family room as they watched, scrutinized and detailed every reason I was not to view the movie, wrote it out on a long yellow-lined piece of paper: every curse word, every sexual innuendo. There, in my dad's print, were their moral obligations. (They were especially opposed to the multiple times the word "God damnit" was used.) If this had happened now, they could have just logged on to imbd and pressed print, but they actually had to do their homework. They took it further, citing overall themes that bothered them. Everything he touched turned to gold. It isn't realistic. Etc.

In the morning I learned my fate: I was not allowed to sit in class and watch the movie. I needed to talk to my teacher. I dreaded English class all day, but got the courage to speak with Mrs. Miller after the bell rang. I handed her the blank slip, "My parents won't let me. They said I should ask for an alternative assignment."

I swear, she looked shocked. She paused, and I am sure she was racking her brain, weighing the options. Finally, there it was -- I could sit in the library and write an essay. Yes, I was the only one who didn't get consent. Tears sprang from my eyes. The ultimate embarrasment, being exiled from class for this reason.

Later, at home, I announced to my parents, "I am NOT going to school tomorrow! I will not be an outcast!"

They took mercy on me, and agreed I could stay home sick. Then, they decided to take their case to the schoolboard. I don't recall the goal; were they going after the teacher for showing it? Did they want to forbid any PG-13 movie from being shown in school at all?

I don't remember when or even if I confessed to my parents that I had already seen Forrest Gump one Friday night weeks before while baby-sitting, after the kids were in bed and I had a couple of hours to kill. I'd watched it. I got paid to watch it. And it wasn't the first time I'd broken the no PG-13 rule.

This weekend, some kids are probably reeling that they aren't allowed to hear our president speak. Perhaps they don't care, perhaps they agree with their parents that they shouldn't be forced to listen to our president, or, more likely to this president.

I hope not. I hope they log on to the internet after this speech is aired and watch it, consider it, listen in and draw their own conclusions. I hope they are like me. I hope not being allowed to do something makes them want to do it more, just this once.

I can't tell you how many PG-13 movies I sneaked around to watch after this moment in my life, until I turned sixteen and started working at a movie theater, at which time the ban was lifted.

Maybe some of these outcasted kids will end up working for the DNC. One can hope that everything they touch turns to gold.

Friday, September 4, 2009

Ressurection/ Confession

Yes, I just broke radio silence with a picture of Bob Saget and John Stamos in bed together, because what better way is there to announce my return from an eight month blogging sabbatical?

It has been eight months since my last blog entry... do I need to say ten hail mary-kate olsens?

Bog Saget, you are one brave man

NOT ENOUGH PILLOWS IN THE WORLD - the night little bobby sage... on Twitpic