Check out this interview I did with Eric Ladau of Houston's NPR station, KUHF. (Warning: It has either bad words or bleeped-out bad words in it.)
I'll be reading Growing Up with Tamales for story time at Blue Willow Bookshop, in Houston, on Thursday morning, May 15. Tell everyone you know with kids in the Houston area. How do you find and support local indie book stores like Blue Willow? By going to Booksense.
On Saturday, May 17, I'll be in Dallas, reading and signing at the J. Erik Jonsson Central Library, for the 13th Dallas Children’s Book Fair & Literary Festival.
On June 22, here in Houston, I'm going to do a poetry workshop. It's free and open to the public, y'all, and they're having one every Sunday in June, taught by local poets I love and respect. So come on down.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
I lied to you guys. I'm sorry.Remember the other day, when I was having that massive drama attack about not being able to buy a house, and I said I was renting a house, instead? Well, luckily my realtor/finance guy had the sense to keep working through the night on my credit/mortgage issues, and now, once again, I am buying a house.
In fact, I signed the contract yesterday. Not on the same house we were wishing for before, but on an even better house, for even cheaper.
The devil likes people who brag, as we all know. He rewards their bragging by giving them termites and jacked-up foundations to discover upon inspection. So, in the interest of keeping the devil's interest away from my new house, I'm going to refrain from talking about it anymore, at least until closing (July 14). Or, at least, until after the house is inspected and comes out okay. (God willing.) I will, however, thank you guys for all the vibes you've sent. Thank you!
Sensitive vegans and country music fans, do not read the following.
Are you lonesome tonight? I'm alone but I feel okay. I've been working my fingers off on final revisions of my upcoming novel, Houston, We Have a Problema, which will be available at a bookstore near you very soon. And I'm not just saying that because my editor reads this blog, either.
If you called me this evening and I said I would call you back and then I didn't, I'm sorry. I have to get these revisions done by July 14 (which is also closing day), and I have to intersperse the revisions with Hotmail breaks and Snood breaks, and, also, I have to eat.
Sometimes I feel like I should drink or smoke while I work on my novels so it can make me more literary, but cigarettes and wine are expensive, so I usually just eat sugar-free candy, instead. But not tonight. Tonight, instead, I had steak.
The other night, we went to our fave Inner Loop Houston Randall's grocery store, and they shocked and dismayed us by playing country music the whole time we were there. Normally they play awesomely bad-ass melow music from the '80s and '70s, such as Earth, Wind and Fire. So you can imagine that the sudden change freaked us out. I asked one of the Randall's employees what was up, and she said the country music would only play for a month or so, while Randall's Corporate promoted their new Rancho Relaxo steaks. (They're not called Rancho Relaxo, but they're something like that, so, you know, whatever.)
So, apparently, in exchange for torturing us with crappy music, Randall's put a whole bunch of steaks on radical sale. I bought a big old slab of London broil for four dollars (regularly priced at $14.72).
I haven't wanted to cook in my apartment's kitchen at all since The Mouse Incident and The Rat Incident mentioned earlier in this blog. Even though shining traps now guard every corner of our kitchen, I can't help but imagine that everything in our dishwasher, clean or dirty, has been marinated in rat juices, since that was one of their entrance points.
But the London broil was calling my name, so I sterilized all my equipment and cooked that steak in the way my boyfriend taught me. And then I ate half of it, with my very last bit of A-1. And that stuff was good. Damned good, y'all. Totally worth the trouble.
The rest I'll save for lunch or dinner tomorrow. I don't know if it'll be as good after microwaving, but that's the risk you run, I guess.
So that's what I did this evening. Revised my novel, and ate steak, and locked in my mortgage rate with my realtor over the phone. Fun, fun, fun. Please don't be jealous.
Please, magazine people, please...
Stop saying bump. Stop saying "baby bump." Please stop saying, "So-and-so's revealing bump," and "So-and-so shows off her bump." Jesus Christ. Say anything but that. Say hump, or lump. Say "grossly swollen womb." Please, people. Do it for my sanity.
Marigoldie fills my head with thoughts I don't completely understand.
The other day, Marigoldie was talking about baseball people and their intro music. Meaning the music that gets played when they enter the batter's box, and the supposition that these guys get to pick their own song.
I don't know much about baseball - I don't even know what a batter's box is - but I couldn't help but think that, if I were a baseball person, I'd like my song to be "Crosstown Traffic" by Mr. Jimi Hendrix.
Okay. That's it. I'm tired to the point of imagining rats out of the corners of my eyes, so I'm gonna go to bed now. I hope y'all have a good night.
Labels: domestic, pop culture, writing
9:35 PM # (11) commentsMonday, June 26, 2006
AnnoyingI'm getting tired of job listings where arrogant employers ask for the world and offer way less than what that many skills should earn. I know IT professionals have been dealing with this forever, too. But it seems to me, as I keep an eye out for jobs for my friends, that it's gotten beyond ridiculous lately.
Insurance companies want "entry level" workers with multiple broker licenses. Oil and gas companies want "tech writers" who have journalism degrees, five years' PR experience, and five years' experience doing oil and gas price analysis. Any asshole with access to Craigslist wants a professional writer to "coauthor" his autobiography for $100 flat.
What the hell is wrong with people? I hope no one applies for these jobs. I hate to see rich people prey on the desperate and insecure. Oh, wait... A lot of people are still desperate for jobs, aren't they? I guess I shouldn't hope that they wouldn't apply, then. Good luck to everyone out there looking.
Open Letter
Dear Lonely People at My Work,
Complaining aloud to anyone in earshot does not count as initiating a conversation. If I walk by your office or your bathroom stall and you bellow out a complaint about your computer or your reproductive system, I will not reply. If you want to engage me in conversation, please address me directly on a specific, non-whiny subject. Or maybe you should consider getting a pet, instead. I'm sure a nice rescued greyhound dog would love to hear your voice all evening long. Not me, though. Please keep your undirected complaints and musings inside your head.
Labels: venting
9:34 AM # (8) commentsWednesday, June 21, 2006
I'll say it...I thought Nacho Libre was funny and endearing. I liked the Mexico setting and all the St. Franceses of Assisi. I liked the little kids. I liked the luchadores and the nun and the skinny guy and the explanation for Jack Black looking so white. It made me laugh and, I'll admit it, one part made me cry.
And it's getting a lot of bad reviews. This reminds me of when I saw Napoleon Dynamite and liked it, and not only did it get a lot of bad reviews, but people said it was full of racial stereotyping. That annoyed me. I guess they meant racial stereotypes of white people? Like "White people like FFA"? Because, as a Latina, I don't know any stereotypes about Mexicans running for class president or shaving their heads.
I was expecting Nacho Libre to get the same accusations, since it's set in Mexico. But I thought a lot of it looked really authentic. I liked that they used real Mexicans (except for Jack Black) and didn't do the asinine Spanish phrase translation that anyone else would have done.
Mostly, though, I liked the little kids. I think Jack Black has realized just what people will take from him: he needs to balance himself with cute kids, and he can be paired with a pretty romantic interest, as long as we don't have to see him kiss her. (See: School of Rock.)
Maybe I'm just lowbrow. But if y'all see Nacho Libre and like it, let me know.
Labels: culture, pop culture
1:11 PM # (13) commentsTuesday, June 20, 2006
A Fun Quiz for YouI got this meme from Drew.
The Rules:
Step 1: Put your iPod/MP3 player or iTunes on random.
Step 2: Post the first line(s) from the first 20 songs that play, no matter how embarrassing the song.
Step 3: Post it on your blog and let everyone guess what song and artist the lines come from.
Step 4: Update the list with the song title when someone guesses correctly. (I will identify any unguessed songs by Monday.)
Step 5: Make your guesses by leaving a comment or sending me email. You have to identify both title and artist, and you're not allowed to Google any of these, either.
Here they be:
1. "I said what you wanted to hear and what I wanted to say."
Ben Folds Five, "Selfless, Cold, and Composed" [Joe Tank]
2. "They don't know what they like so much about me."
Liz Phair, "Nashville"
3. "I'm not a boy, I'm not a man..."
Prince, "I Would Die 4 U" [Stinkydog]
4. "Working on the weekend, baby, she's working all through the night."
Duran Duran, "Skin Trade" [John D.]
5. "Words like violence break the silence."
Depeche Mode, "Enjoy the Silence" [Jeffytown, USA]
6. "I'm waiting for my man, twenty-six dollars in my hand."
The Velvet Underground, "I'm Waiting for the Man" [Mr. Bean]
7. "I come from a long way away."
The Clash, "Red Angel Dragnet" [Melissa]
(I made this one purple because Melissa guessed the right artist and album.)
8. "Buddy you're a boy, make a big noise..."
Queen, "We Will Rock You" [Laura Lark]
9. "Turn on my VCR, same one I've had for years."
The Police, "When the World Is Running Down" [Edith]
10. "Sleep, sleep tonight, and may your dreams be realized."
U2, "MLK" [Candice]
11. "I waited til I saw the sun."
Nora Jones, "Don't Know Why" [Lumenatrix]
12. "That's right, pleased to meet you, I still don't wanna tell you my name."
Vanity 6, "Nasty Girl" [Drew]
13. "Don't let me hear you say life's taking you nowhere, angel."
David Bowie, "Golden Years" [Lumenatrix]
14. "All I can say is that my life is pretty plain."
Blind Melon, "No Rain" [Lumenatrix]
15. "Can I look at faces that I meet, can I get my punk ass off the street?"
Third Eye Blind, "Graduate" [CJ]
16. "Tonight the city is full of morgues and all the toilets are overflowing."
Beck, "Pay No Mind/Snoozer" [Laura Lark]
17. "I'd rather be the devil than be that woman's man."
Skip James, "Devil Got My Woman"
18. "And if I say to you tomorrow, 'Take my hand child, come with me...'"
Led Zeppelin, "What Is and What Should Never Be" [Girl in Greenwood]
19. "Everyone, everyone around here, everyone is so near."
Radiohead, "The National Anthem" [Candice]
20. "Like a fool I've went and stayed too long, now I'm wonderin' if your love's still strong."
Stevie Wonder, "Signed Sealed Delivered" [Laura Lark]
[Apparently, in my case, this game could also be called An Exercise in Old, Moldy Gen-X Music.]
Labels: meme, pop culture
10:15 PM # (22) commentsSaturday, June 17, 2006
Thank the Baby JesusSo, last night at 2 AM I made a decision that removed approximately thirty-seven kilograms of weight from my shoulders. Namely? I decided not to buy a house. Not this year, at any rate. Next year, maybe.
Take care of yourselves, kids. If you find yourself becoming so stressed out over a situation that you stop worrying about the situation and start worrying about how you're ever going to cope with it... Then it's time to get out.
Next year I'll have more money and better credit, and more time to search. And, if not? Then I'll know for sure that it wasn't yet meant to be.
Like magic, another solution to my housing/schooling dilemma appeared before me. A much more manageable solution, that is. So I'm happy now.
Words About My Dad
I don't talk about my family members very often on this blog, because that would remove the focus from me, of course. But, in honor of tomorrow and my increasing ability to think outside myself, I'd like to tell y'all a few things about my dad. (For the purposes of this entry and for anonymity's sake, I will refer to him as Daddy.)
1. Daddy had some jacked-up stuff happen in his life. He was a sergeant in our Vietnam War, for one thing. People ask me where he was stationed and what he did, and I don't really know because he doesn't like to talk about it. All I know is a few details.
2. The scar on his foot is from stepping on a sharpened stake in the jungle. It went all the way through his boot. (I found that out when he'd had a few beers and then tried to watch a TV show about the war and it made him have a flashback.)
3. He used to play the saxophone, the flute, and the recorder before the war. Now he doesn't.
4. He saw his best friend die.
5. He wasn't drafted. He says he volunteered in the hopes that people who really didn't want to go wouldn't have to.
6. He learned some Vietnamese. He used to speak it with the convenience-store-owners in our neighborhood. One time he tried to ask for ice ("frozen water") but instead asked for urine ("yellow water"). Vietnamese, as we all know, is hard to pronounce just right.
7. He won't come with us to the Vietnamese restaurants.
8. But he's always very nice to my boyfriend, who was born in Vietnam.
9. Daddy has survived the war and other tragedies, and sometimes I think that's what's made him a very cynical man. And yet, at the same time, he's cynical in the wittiest way you can imagine. It doesn't matter what annoying, awkward, or boring thing occurs - my dad will always come out with a scathingly hilarious sentence that knocks us all out. There are things my dad has said that I've repeated over and over again, to friends and strangers alike, for years after the fact, and with no need for poetic license. He is an endless font of cutting perceptions of his fellow man. And yet, at the same time, I can't help but sense that he loves his fellow man, secretly, despite everything.
10. Daddy would give me anything I asked for: money, shelter, food, an unbending ear. But I don't like to ask unless it's an emergency. Usually, knowing that he's there for me is enough.
11. Daddy taught me to value people for their actual personalities and strengths - not for their money or social importance. Sometimes I wonder if this tendency has made it harder for me to become filthy rich. But even if that were the case, I'd never trade my dad's value's for anyone else's.
12. My dad gives me the best book plot ideas I've ever heard in my life. But I don't think I'll ever use them, because I probably couldn't do them justice. Maybe if we're lucky, my dad will take up writing...
13. Daddy knows how to read Tarot cards. He doesn't think they're a game, though. So don't ask. Unless you're me. And, even then - don't ask too often.
14. When Daddy, who is single, plays pool with ladies at bars, he gives them a good game, but still lets them win. (I only saw it happen once, but my brother filled me in.)
15. Daddy, although Mexican, can pass for Iraqi or whatever Muslim ethnicity is in the hated vogue. Daddy, although well spoken in English, can pass for a man who speaks no English at all. Although these situations enrage me, Daddy keeps his sense of humor when they occur. He even has a treasury of phrases at the ready. For instance, if someone asks my dad, "Do you speak English?" he might say, "I have a smattering of the local dialect."
16. Some people think Daddy looks nothing like me, but they are wrong. I have his eyes, his nose, and his mouth. It's just that he's brown and I'm beige, and he has wiry black indio hair, while I have my mother's brown Breck Girl locks.
17. One time, before I was born, near a college campus not far from here, Daddy serenaded Mommy with Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven". Her response was not appreciative, but he managed to marry her, anyway.
18. Daddy chose not to baptize us because he wanted us to be free to make our own religious choices. I still haven't made any, but I'm grateful for the freedom.
19. Daddy, more than anyone I've ever known, can pull philosophical themes out of the worst TV shows and movies in the world.
20. Daddy taught me to speak in tangents. The older I get, the more I appreciate his.
21. Daddy reads this blog every day.
Happy Fathers' Day, y'all. Feel free to make a meme of it and tell me about your dads. 10:08 PM # (13) comments
Thursday, June 15, 2006
The House SituationIt's so crazy, I can't even talk about it. It's an emotional rollercoaster. I don't know what's going to happen. Everything changes completely from one hour to the next. My bid's in. No, it's not. I have to prequalify. I did. No, I didn't. Yes, I did, but only if I want to eat half a Cup O'Soup for lunch instead of a whole one. No. Okay, then yes, but only if I bring the bank three cows and one flock of chickens. Okay. I'm ready. Oh, no! Someone else got the house! Oh, no they didn't. Wait, there's a better house! Hurry, hurry! Oh, someone else got it! Oh, and now someone has the other house, too! Oh, wait, no they don't... Hey - my credit report suddenly says that I live in a crack house and owe fifty-seven thousand dollars to Fingerhut for a gun rack and a set of dishes with ducks and geese on them! It didn't say that yesterday! Plus, I finished paying for those dishes six years ago! Now the bank wants a blood sample and a reference letter from each of my elementary school teachers. Oh, shoot - every single house in the whole world just got bought by somebody else...
I have to prepare for any eventuality, and I also have to move out of my apartment within the next two weeks. Y'all know I'm crazy superstitious about talking about things that haven't happened yet - in fact, I probably said too much last time I talked about it - so I won't say anything more until after I close on some house, somewhere. Assuming, God willing, that I do.
Buying houses is just like getting book deals, I've noticed. There's no use talking about it until all the paperwork is signed, because, otherwise, you're living in a kaleidoscope of shifting scenarios. You have to hope hard, but keep your hopes silent, just in case. Don't talk. Just hope and work. I'm sure a lot of y'all already know all about it. Buying a house is like having a baby, too. You've either lived through it or you haven't. You either know, or you don't.
The Chili Dog Situation
I wrote y'all a long, long comment about the chili dogs, but Blogger ate it. Now I have to type it again. But I did eat two chili dogs the other day, so don't worry.
Vicarious Trauma
My kids' puppies - the puppies they keep at their father's house - have worms. They know because they saw the worms for themselves.
Remember when we were kids, and we were always seeing gross, incredible things of nature, like walking sticks and ant lions, rabid squirrels and worms coming out of puppies' butts? Yeah, those were the days.
I asked the kids which was scarier: the worms, or The Omen, which their dad took them to see the other day. They said the worms. Even though I'm too scared to go see The Omen, I bet I'd agree.
Back to the House Thing
It's weird that my kids are with their dad for most of the summer, and that they'll be back in about 6 weeks, and, before they do come back, I will presumably have bought and moved our stuff into a house. (Not counting me moving out of my place within the next two weeks and living with one of my cousins until closing. How in the hell is that supposed to happen?!? Hush... breathe. Breathe.)
I have to admit that I'm pretty stressed. Or, at least, I'm trying to be.
See, I'm the kind of person who likes to stay stoic under stress and work my ass off until the stressful thing has disappeared. Then, after everything is completely safe and good, I like to have a big freak-out attack over absolutely nothing, in order to release all the stressed-out-ness I'd been saving up all along.
What? It's fun!
But it's stressful for people around me, too, so I'm trying to stop being like that. See, way down inside, I've been secretly very, very stressed ever since I found out in April that my oldest son didn't get accepted by any of the nice schools we applied for, and that he'd have to go to the same not-nice high school that I went to, myself. (It hasn't improved in the last twenty years.) But, you know... that's what happens when kids don't do their best, I figured. They have to go to crappy schools, maybe. I didn't want to go through with it, but maybe it was tough love time, right?
Then, when I found out that my straight-A middle son, who had no reason in the world not to be accepted by the same good middle school his older brother went to, was put on its waiting list at number 245... Well, then I was secretly, incredibly stressed out indeed. Because his alternative was to go to the worst middle school in the world, where the students are required to choose one of two disciplines: crack addiction or crack dealing, and then to minor in being drive-by victims. (I didn't go to that school, but my brothers did.)
Did I explain all that already? Not sure I did. So, anyway, what was my reaction? On the outside, I was all like, "Hey, you guys. Let's go buy new purses and eat chili dogs!"
But on the inside, I was working like that big old punch-card computer they made back in the day - the one that filled the whole room and calculated day and night. I thought and thought and contrived and contrived, and now here I am, trying to hurry up and finish the process I've started, which is getting the hell out of dodge and buying my first house ever, in a good school district, before the summer's end.
Then, the other night, I had a minor setback, and then the whole situation hit me like a tons of bricks, and I had a giant freak-out attack. Afterwards I felt better, but I'm sure my boyfriend was left a little traumatized. He's not into the whole flaming drama thing like I am. No, he's very calm and easygoing. That's why he's my boyfriend, I guess. But the drama attacks get to him, like worms from a puppy's butt. (HA!)
I know the stress isn't going to let up until the whole thing's said and done, so, in the meantime, I'm trying to manage my stress in a healthy way.
Only problem is, I'm not sure how people go about doing that. Hmm.
(Would you laugh if I told you that, under it all, I still consider myself an optimist? I know this will work out just fine, in the end.)
Thanks for listening.
I love y'all. Thank you very much for all the good wishes you've sent. I hope all you guys are doing well.
I'll write more soon, when something important (like a chili dog discovery) occurs. 2:14 PM # (7) comments
Monday, June 12, 2006
Now that I've calmed down about it, several months after the fact...... I can tell y'all why I'm never eating at 59 Diner, on Shepherd and 59, again.
I had just recovered from my gall bladder removal surgery and was looking forward to eating a chili dog without subsequent pain. In fact, it was all I could think about. Chili dog. Chili dog. Chili dog.
Who had the best chili dogs in town? 59 Diner, I decided. The rest of their food wasn't the greatest, and the service was uneven lately, but you could always count on them for a good chili dog.
My boyfriend drove me and the kids to 59 Diner. Very slowly, I made my way to our table. My abdomen was still a little sore from the surgery, making it slightly difficult to walk, but I didn't mind. The pain would be worth the pleasure. The pleasure of the chili dog, I mean.
Service was slower than ever. Before our waitress made it over to take our order, we had plenty of time to watch an older waitress visit with her family. Apparently, the woman at the next table over was Older Waitress's daughter. The man there was Older Waitress's son-in-law, or else her daughter's-baby-daddy. The kid was the grandkid, spoiled and loud. Older Waitress visited with them for moments at a time, continually interrupting herself to bring to the table yet another cherry lemonade, strawberry milkshake, rootbeer float, etc.
Before our waitress even came to take our order, Older Waitress ran back to the kitchen and out again in order to bring her family a triumphant platter of chili cheeseburgers and chili fries. I think there may have also been a bowl of chili. Or a chili milkshake or something.
"Man, they must really like chili," I remember remarking to my boyfriend.
Finally, finally, finally, our waitress dragged her maudlin little self to our table.
"Chili dog with chili cheese fries!" I cried, clapping my hands like a little girl with a new doll who has recently undergone gall bladder removal surgery. My boyfriend and kids ordered this, that, and the other. The melancholy waitress disappeared.
Then she returned, like a sad-ass little genie.
"We're out of chili," she said.
"What?" I didn't know what she meant. How could they be out of chili? Were we or were we not at a diner?
"They ran out," she said.
"Well, can they make some more?" I asked. "Can they just open another can?"
"Uh... I can check." She went to do so. She returned. "Nope. They don't have any more." No apology. No rain check. Just that.
At that point I looked over at Older Waitress and her family. The baby sucked on a bottle. Their chili fries were picked at, the chili cheeseburger uneaten. They'd gorged themselves on free milkshakes, no doubt, and were unable to swallow the rest.
I rose from the bench seat, a crossbow in my hands.
"No, baby, no," said my boyfriend.
I had to order a cheeseburger. It tasted okay, but probably only because I was starving by then. Between bites, I told my boyfriend everything I intended to do. Write a letter. Call the district manager. Get the Older Waitress fired. Submit her grandchild's name to the Maury Povich Show for DNA testing.
At the end, I made the only promise that came true.
"We're never eating here again."
We haven't. Good riddance. Don't mess with me when I'm hungry. Don't interfere with my post-surgery cravings.
Sadly, however, I haven't yet found a replacement place to eat chili dogs. People in Houston, share suggestions, please. 10:40 AM # (12) comments
Friday, June 09, 2006
I'm going to be land-poor!For the second time in my life, I'll be broke for a very good reason. The first time was when I left my effed up marriage, six years ago. (Yes, I've been broke way more than twice, but all the other times were for lame reasons.)
Now, I'm getting a house. If not the one I bid on yesterday, than another. I think it's just fine to go without cable and to carry a Spam sandwich to work every day... if you live in a house.
Sometimes I welcome the thought of being a little broke. It keeps me from forgetting my roots. Which are, as long-time readers know, poor/ghetto/barrio roots. The roots that have made me what I am. Not unlike the sweet potatoes that I enjoy eating baked from time to time...
A couple of my coworkers are land-poor, so I already have good models to follow. I know, for instance, that's it's okay to buy really nice furniture, because it's All For The House, plus you get it on credit with "no payment until the year 2036!!!" At the same time, I'm looking forward to never, ever going out to lunch, unless someone else is paying. I'm looking forward to standing around the water cooler talking about The Bachelor, American Idol, and So You Think You Can Invent a Cooking Show with Midgets because I won't be able to afford cable and I'll live in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do but watch network TV or eat at Chili's.
I'm talking about making the transition to middle class, people. I'm talking about the American dream!
Already, I'm afraid of my innocent son accidentally impregnating a fast little blonde girl. Already, I'm trying to decide which is more risky: being agnostic in a suburb full of churchies, or being reborn Catholic in a Protestant world.
Will I be "that poor single mom with the three sweet boys," or will I be "that standoffish divorcee who's thankfully too fat to be a threat to anyone's marriage"?
Will my house be kind of awesome, or very, very awesome?
I think it will be the latter.
I think I need to buy capri pants.
Labels: domestic
10:05 AM # (24) commentsWednesday, June 07, 2006
You don't have to reply to this.Just please, in your mind, send good vibes. Aim them at tomorrow. I think tomorrow's the day.
I think tomorrow was my late grandmother's birthday, in fact.
Grandma! Send me good vibes! I know you can see me down here. Please help good things happen tomorrow! 9:40 PM # (0) comments
Friday, June 02, 2006
Mira, Mami!My secrets for post-breakup sluttiness are revealed in the New York Post Online today. 8:26 AM # (13) comments
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Linkelodeon!Dude, you know someone at Mattel got fired over this "Oreo Barbie", which has since been recalled. Hopefully Mattel has since hired at least one person of each non-white race in which they make the dolls, so stuff like this won't happen. Seriously, though - why didn't at least one white person there know what Oreo means when used to describe a black person? I'm not black, and I know. Weren't they using that term on The Jeffersons a hundred freaking years ago?
All of a sudden, everybody's talking about this YouTube thing. My boyfriend showed it to me last week, and I can tell already that it's going to revolutionize my life. At the most bacic, it's like being able to share any song with anybody, without having to download MP3s. Plus - the videos!
Look. This was the most influential music video of my youth. God, I so wanted to be Dale Bozzio and marry her keyboard player.
Here is a sample of the kind of dialogue that takes place between me and my boyfriend every night now, while he's home on his computer and I'm home on mine, since he found YouTube.
ME: Oh my god, I heard this old-ass '80s song on the HD radio today, but I don't know who sings it.
HIM: How does it go?
ME: The guy's like, "No one can stop me now... Tonight I'm on the loose!" and then, "No one can tell us how... TONIGHT YOU'RE ON THE LOOSE!!" And he's kind of like Peter Schilling, but kind of like Loverboy?
HIM: Hmm. I don't remember it.
ME: Come on. The keyboard's like, "Doo doo doo-doo, doo doo doo doo doo..."
HIM: No.
ME: And the guitar's like, "DUH! Duh, nuh, nuh-nuh NUH!"
HIM: Is it "On the Loose" by Saga?
ME: Uh...
HIM: I just sent you a link.
ME: Oh my god! OH MY GOD. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH. YOU FUCKING RULE.
You can use it for videos that aren't '80s music videos, too. Or so I hear...
Labels: links
10:48 AM # (3) comments
