Drop Edge of Yonder

I’m working on stuff.  I swear it!  In the meantime, here’s some stuff to tide you over.

I threw the most kick-ass, environmentally friendly baby shower in the history of Central Arkansas last Saturday.  I should get a medal or something.  Miniature photologue tomorrow, I promise.

Heroes improved dramatically in the third episode/second week.  This week’s offering, however, was not so solid.  I’ll be sticking with it for the time being, but I’m not making any promises.

I bought a new sofa.  Quentin hasn’t peed on it yet!

I’m 90% sure Chuck is the most awesome show I’ve seen in a long time.  I realize it’s not for everyone, but I do love the whole dramedy/action/espionage thing all rolled into one.  Is it weird that Chuck is the TV character with whom I most identify?

My weight loss regimen is in the proverbial shitter.  Although I’ve stuck with the aerobic activity/weight lifting/yoga, my food choices are seriously messed up.  Today I bought a loaf of cheap-ass, store brand white bread for 89 cents and had four toasted slices with butter over the course of the day (Smart Balance “butter,” at least).  I can’t really explain any of that, except that toasted white bread with butter suddenly sounded beyond decadent.  Add to that the “bad” foods I ate during/while preparing for the shower, and I totally blew it.  Time to regroup!

I’m somewhat distraught that The Sarah Connor Chronicles is on the chopping block.  Last season was interesting but not spectacular; mostly, my complaint was that it was slow to start (Is there anyone watching this show who doesn’t already know the basics of the Sarah Connor story?) and dropped a rather important story line (What the hell was up with the silhouettes at the high school?  I need closure!) — although I realize that was due in part to the strike.  But the last few episodes of season one were noticeably better — especially that incredible swimming pool scene in the finale, which was pure, undiluted awesome.  This season, however, is much more interesting and consistent (so far) as a whole, what with the additional (non-movie-based) back stories and all.  And, while I kind of hate to admit it, I think Brian Austin Green is sort of awesome — and by that I mean the actor himself and not just his character.   BAG is… pretty convincingly bad ass.  This makes TWO original 90210 actors for whom I now have a certain affinity.  Thank goodness I’ve never watched an episode of Dancing With the Stars.  (But mostly — and I know I’m not alone in this — I’m most interested in seeing Summer Glau dance again.  Her movement is completely mesmerizing.)

The following excerpt from Chelsea Handler’s opening monologue on a recent episode of her awesome show left me speechless (Although that might have been because my mouth was stuffed with the cannoli I was inhaling at the time.) and wondering if she and I were a set of creepy separated-at-birth twins*, a la Danny and Arnold in that shitty movie we all want to forget:

Chelsea: “Anyone who knows me knows I love a big breakfast buffet.  And, luckily for me, Chuy’s** full-grown cousin Paco owns an establishment called ‘Big Breakfast Buffets and Cigarettes.’  We went this past Saturday, and we went off.”

And that, dear readers, is pretty much my life.  Or my ideal life.  You know:  the one where I subsist on breakfast buffets and cigarettes instead of whole grains, raw vegetables, lean meats, yoga, cardio, and cigarettes — and still look stunning.  But then Ms. Handler turned out this gem:

Chelsea: “The only way to burn off eighteen jalapeno-Jack-cheese-stuffed cilantro waffles is to get back in bed and settle in to watch Oxygen’s Tori and Dean 44-hour marathon.  In the eleventh hour, I had a big revelation.  It was my big ‘a-ha!’ moment when I realized I, Chelsea Lately  [or, uh, Bradi Last Season], kind of like Tori Spelling.”

And I do like Tori Spelling.  Of course, I have the luxury (Or is that mercy?) of having seen maybe 10 episodes of the original 90210 rather than all 292.  (Jesus. 292?  And Firefly aired only eleven episodes?  The mind fucking boggles.)  So I don’t really know much about BH, 90210, except that I would be Andrea Zuckerman on every single “Which Character Are You?!?!?!? LOL!!!!!!!” quiz ever created.  I don’t know why I didn’t watch; I probably had high school jazz band practice on that night or something.

I do remember Ms. Spelling from Saved By the Bell, where she played a nerdy chick with a beautiful voice who stole Screech’s heart with her siren song in glee club.  (I totally kicked ass at the SBtB board game.  In college.  Kiss my ass, mother fuckers!  Everybody has to be good at something!)  And I decided then and there that Ms. Spelling was kind of awesome.

*FYI: If Chelsea and I were a set of creepy separated-at-birth identical twins, we would be 5’4″, 120 pounds, married and quickly divorced with a couple of kids, and (still) drinking shitloads of hard liquor.  So we’d pretty much be Britney.  And the last thing this world needs is three of those, so thank goodness we’re not.

**Handler’s dwarf sidekick; that is, her Ed McMahon.  Although the term “sidekick” seems really inappropriate here, but I can’t come up with anything better.

Aunt Doodie tells me that her dogs burrow under the covers each night and sleep nestled in her nether region.

“They do that because your crotch is the warmest part of your body,” I explain.  “If you’re ever in an avalanche or at risk for hypothermia, you’re supposed to buddy up and bury your head in each other’s crotches, sixty-nine style, because you lose the most heat through your head.”

“How do you know that?” she asks, the edge of suspicion clear in her voice.

“I learned it in the Army.”

“You weren’t in the Army,” Aunt Doodie notes.

“Okay, so I learned it in an Army movie.  Or maybe in Girl Scouts.  Anyway, that’s what you’re supposed to do.”

Aunt Doodie considers this.  “If I’m ever in an avalanche, I’m going to buddy up with Gene Simmons,” she declares.

“This conversation is over,” I reply, horrified.

The best part was when Aunt Doodie retold the story the following day and accidentally said she was going to buddy up with Richard Simmons.

… so I’m sharing this. In an effort to atone for my admission that I prefer Star Trek to Star Wars, I offer this:

Last week my cousin Mayme, thirteen, was supervising some younger children as they played in the empty field across from her house. And it was a good thing she was there, because she found a nice-sized hole that no one had ever noticed before. It was approximately 2.5 feet in diameter and seemed rather deep.

Mayme did the smart thing and alerted the adults. When Mayme and the adults investigated further, they discovered that the inside of the hole was bricked all the way around. They assumed it was an old well, so they contacted the city to have the hole filled in to prevent a Baby Jessica episode.

The mayor, the city planner, and water department representatives all inspected the hole over the next couple of days. It seems that there are no indications or records of a well — or any other structure — on said property at any point in the city’s history. The city representatives snaked a camera down into the hole but could not find where it ends. In fact, they kept throwing around the word “tunnels” with perplexed looks that clearly said, “We don’t know what the hell is going on down there.”

This is not a big town, as it has a population of a little less than 25,000. Incorporated in 1891, it’s not a very old town, either. So what the hell is this thing?

Theories:

• Underground Railroad Cabot was, at one point in time, the white flight capital of America. This is a town that still holds a Robert E. Lee parade on Martin Luther King Day each year. It’s also the site of a Confederate cemetery where 1500 soldiers who succumbed to typhoid fever are interred.
• Hellmouth This could totally be the site of a mystical convergence, because unpleasant things do gravitate here. (See Robert E. Lee parade, above.) Plus, it’s been, like, 105 degrees here forever.
• C.H.U.D. Tunnels It’s true that there aren’t a lot of stray pets around here. I thought that was because Animal Control did a good job, but now I’m beginning to wonder. (Of course, it could be a Sluggoth demon, which puts us back at Hellmouth.)

But it’s probably just a well.

There are people whom I know in an Internet Only way who must think I suffer from some sort of multiple personality disorder because of all the email addresses they have for me. A quick count shows that I have eight active email addresses. Eight.

There’s the standard personal account, the business account, the WD/MN identity account, the old blog account, the new blog account, the old hotel account, and two ancient Hotmail accounts. Except for the last two, I send and receive items from each of these accounts every single day.

This is part of my whole obsession with organizing; even the junk drawer in my kitchen has everything separated into different sections and held in little Ziplocs. I like to compartmentalize, I guess, because it’s efficient. And I especially like thinking, “I know so-and-so from XYZ, so he’ll be in the 123 account.”

But some of you people are starting to cross lines, and now you have, like, four email addresses for me. Is it making you as crazy as it’s making yours truly?

This whole compartmentalizing thing is about to blow up in my face, though, because in a few months a whole slew of you will get added to the Real Life List.

And then the Internets will explode.

I’m so excited about my upcoming trip out West where I’ll meet a gaggle of Internet Only people that I honestly can’t even think about it. Because if I think about it, I’ll start fantasizing about it. And if I start fantasizing about it, pretty soon there will be this whole thing where we’re all trapped on a deserted island together. (I have already gone through this with Aunt Doodie,* Spike,** Zach Galifianakis and Nathan Fillion. And Neil Patrick Harris better stop being such a kick-ass, adorable, singing machine unless he wants to play Robinson Crusoe to my Friday.***) If a whole bunch of you show up on my own personal Fantasy Island at the same time, it’s going to turn into Bizarro Lost. Then I’ll have to figure out which of you are Kate and Jack. And then I’ll hate the two of you, whoever the two of you may be. Which would suck, because I like you right now.

And what will happen if I’m not the same person there that I am here in cyberspace? I think I’m the same person. Well, except for the contractions; I use far fewer contractions online than I do in real life. (I think this is a WD influence, because in Arkansas we have more contractions than the rest of the country combined. And I know them all.)

But the question remains: will I be more or less in person? And while I mean “less” in the “nice and interesting” way rather than the “human worth” way, it’s still something I think about. What if my vocabulary isn’t big enough? What if I can’t understand the British or the Northeners**** because they talk too fast? What if I’m boring as all get out? What if we don’t actually watch Buffy at some point and I panic in the face of withdrawal? What if I fart in front of everybody? What if my hair frizzes out super bad and they all taunt me into singing selections from Annie?

What if all or part of that comes to pass and I can’t get by on my tits and charming accent?

God. This is just like seminary all over again.

*Not that way.
**Spike. Not James Marsters. Because he is a doofus.
***Please note that I am not the protagonist in my own fantasy. I am lazy everywhere.
****I still can’t watch The Fully Monty or Fargo without subtitles.

Here I sit, playing around on the Internet, eating Pizza Rolls, and watching Star Trek: Voyager.  TV guide tells me the episode’s special guest star is Ray Wise.  When he finally shows up on screen, I am amazed.  They did some awesome stuff in the make-up department, because he looks decades younger than when he was on TNG.
And then I realized I was thinking of Ray Walston.

I have the same problem with Little Richard and Rich Little.

This is what I did during my blogging hiatus, in no particular order:

• Kicked Rocco out
• Got fired
• Decided to write, organize and produce my own version of Food Court Musical
• Learned how to make homemade candy bars
• Signed up for unemployment
• Worked my way up to the number one and number five spots, respectively, on Facebook’s “Addicted to Angel” and “Addicted to Buffy” trivia applications
• Gave up my dream of being in the roller derby
• Realized unemployment will not keep me from being homeless…
• …Began bathing dogs for Aunt Doodie in exchange for her paying my rent
• Started taking a yoga class
• Got cable TV with a DVR
• Spent a lot of time with Aunt Doodie musing about how we would survive on a deserted island
• Started working on building a freelance career, which will theoretically enable me to stay home so I can play “Addicted to Angel/Buffy” Facebook applications and watch the DVR all day long
• Successfully completed a ten-day cleansing fast
• Entertained at my home twice in one week — a record!
• Found out my Aunt Shelley has cancer
• Realized I am not equipped to write, organize and produce my own version of Food Court Musical, so enlisted the help of my friends
• Became obsessed with sushi and ate it almost every day for two weeks
• Lost nine pounds
• Spent a lot of time daydreaming about how Nathan Fillion and I would live on a deserted island, using Aunt Doodie’s survival ideas and my “tons of free time” ideas
• Attended the Slayage Conference, where Rhonda Wilcox saw my name tag, remembered me, and asked why I never formally submitted my paper
• Made my home almost totally chemical free
• Became disgusted by sushi and vowed to never eat it again
• Found out my cousin Bailey is having another baby
• Learned how to fry an egg perfectly
• Bought a plane ticket to LA for the WD party in October
• Twisted Cindy’s arm until she agreed to visit me this summer
• Ate more sushi
• Found, loved and lost my precious Dr. Horrible
• Lost a toenail

Would you please stop moving things around in Gmail? It’s driving me nuts. One day I can’t find the Reader link in the usual drop-down menu, and the next day you’ve moved the Blogger link to an entirely different page.

I know that technology changes rapidly; I learned about that from The Sarah Connor Chronicles earlier this year and from WarGames way back in the ’80s. But I just got a DVR and a new website, and that’s plenty enough new techy stuff to keep me busy for months. So please stop moving things around!

People often think that because I love Buffy so much, I must have a “vampire thing.” This is completely not true; I don’t like scary/horror/gorey movies at all. In fact, the only vampire movie I’ve ever seen at the theater was The Lost Boys, and that’s just because I was 13 and the Two Coreys were in it.

In junior high my friend Kim was very much in to said movie. She wrote the first fanfic I ever read, way back when we were in eighth grade. (All that writing paid off, as she’s now a published author.) And she must have had a knack for sleuthing, because she somehow tracked down Jamison Newlander‘s home phone number way back before the Internet let you find out far more than you ever should about celebrities.

That’s why Kim gathered up five or six other girls (including yours truly) one day after marching band practice for The Phone Call. We had all pitched in our silver change to “fund” The Phone Call. There we stood, huddled around the pay phone outside the Home-Ec building, all giggly and excited. There was the kathunk-a-thunk of the change going in, then the dialing, then the ringing… and then the answer. “Hello?” someone asked on the other end.

Honestly, I don’t remember much after that. I know Kim spoke to one of Newlander’s parents, although I believe the actor himself wasn’t home at the time; however, I think Kim called back at a later time and spoke to him.

This is the part where I’m supposed to say something like, “What I wouldn’t give to be 14 again.” But that sentiment is ridiculous, because I would give my left pinkie toe to forget 80% of my teen years.