We Interrupt This Mindless Blog For A Special Programming Note..

or stop reading this and go watch CHUCK!!

Okay, so every year the Network honchos in their infinite "wisdom" (see what I did there? I made a funny.) decide which programs to renew and which to toss on the ever-growing heap of broken hopes and dreams. Granted, a lot of what's discarded is absolute crap (remember Caveman?), but for every ill-conceived train wreck of a show there are a number of well-produced, charming programs whose life spans are prematurely cut short due to Network Suits lack of commitment, imagination or foresight. High quality works of entertainment like Pushing Daisies, Arrested Development and Andy Richter Controls the Universe were never given a chance to find their audience. 

This year one of the most satisfying and entertaining hour-long shows Chuck is on the cancellation bubble. To lose this show would just ... blow. While other shows have faltered in their second season, reduced to drivel, Chuck has gotten smarter, wittier and just plain better.  My friend Sassman sums it all up much more eloquently than I. You can read his take on this whole affair here. 

Go ahead...read it. I'll wait. 

(whistles along to the many tunes in her head)

He's absolutely right about the last six episodes being amazing. I've said it before, this show has something for everyone...action, sexual tension, intelligently written witty story lines, youthful jargon that doesn't get on your nerves or make you feel completely old and out of touch and the most adorable lead character since...I don't know when. All of the characters--lead or lesser--fit...

Oh-oh. Wait a minute... World Cafe is playing the new Rhett Miller single. Must. Sing. Along.... You can sing along, too by clicking here. "Kissing in a classroom on a campus on the coast after hours of analysis..."  I absolutely LOVE alliteration! And it has one of the saddest little lines to  make your heart say ouch, "you tell me that you love me, yet you won't even hug me. So I need to know where I stand..."

Okay, I'm back. What were we talking about? Oh yeah, how all the characters--lead or lesser--fit together beautifully. Each one essential to the whole of the show. 

I mean look at them. They really seem to genuinely like each other.

So enough of my harping. Get in that living room, turn on NBC and watch Chuck as it's airing so the evil corporate suits can register your demographic. Do your part. Don't let this gem of program be cast to the slag heap. Your soul will thank you.  

Friday Photo #20 

(Now with double the visual! Hurry. Act now!)

Vacation Time!!! 

Okay, so every other year, my card club gal pals and I venture south to the land of abundant sunshine and salty surf for major bonding and recharging. This is the view from our balcony. Sweet isn't it? We'll be jetting off tomorrow at the unGodly pre-crack of dawn, but should be sipping Ritas, poolside by 1pm. Aaaaaaah.... 

I believe there is a song to go with pretty much every occasion in life. This week's theme song is courtesy of.. who else? My pals, The Old 97's. "She loves the sunset/she loves the cocktail bell..." 

I'll think of you all as we beach, binge and behave slightly improperly. What happens in Marco, stays in Marco. See you next week. Ciao!

P.S.: one extra funny with which to leave you. A headline in this morning's Sports Section read as follows: 

"Yankees working to get Wang on track"

*snort* Classic.

And Now For Some Truly Sophomoric Humor  

or dude, do you have a license to sell those hot dogs? 

I recognize the last couple of postings haven't been that Ha Ha funny. In an attempt to remedy that lack of literary depth, I present you with a website which will tickle the prostate of your inner 12-year-old boy... AwkwardBoners.com   

And, yes. It is EXACTLY what it sounds like.

Dude... Where the HELL is your cup?

And for the sake of being gender fair and balanced as well as keeping with the general theme of today's posting, here's a ditty from my favorite off-her-gourd internet Comics Chanteuse, Nataliedee.com.

I Love Sundays...

Okay, so my job is in a 24/7 business and I work weekends. The beauty is by the time things get cranked up at the end of the M-F week, I'm out of the madness being that my off days are Thursday and Friday. A beautiful thing indeed.

The thing about working the weekends is I work the daylight shift so am out of the bat cave with plenty of daylight and evening left to partake in any number of social activities. Naturally I tend to burn my candle at both ends (ouch!) and have performed my duties with clouded-head-syndrome on numerous Sunday mornings. Generally, the pain in the AM has been worth the fun had the night before.

Usually on Sundays, my good bud, Suzette and I indulge in a four course, mircowave-cooked, breakfast of champions--noshing whilst watching the CBS Sunday Morning show. Suzette's been MIA for a while now, so breakfast consists of me foraging for something semi-edible at home like cereal, yogurt or hard-boiled eggs. Honestly, it ain't much fun whipping up grub for yourself and some random casual worker. I miss her.

Anywho...

The best thing about working Sundays is it's a chance to catch up on the important stuff...emails, blog postings I haven't got around to reading over the week, blog posts I haven't got around to writing, reading the newspaper, reading Entertainment Weekly, and phoning folks.

Okay, I don't really do all that stuff at work. That would be wrong. However, some Sundays the programming is just one infomercial after another which leaves a bit of free time. It's those mornings that afford me the opportunity to listen to new musicians on...wait for it... MySpace. (See, I told you MySpace was still useful.)

Today I've been streaming the indie band, Blind Pilot from Oregon and the powerpop Fastball from all-things-music Austin, Tx. I've heard them mentioned on several occasions and decided to give them a listen. They are both EXCELLENT! Blind Pilot has a quieter, ethereal sound where Fastball is a slicker, much more polished, fuller pop sound. I would highly recommend both.

I better brush my hair and get all purtied up. I have a date with iTunes to buy me some of these finds when I get home.

Internet Social Networking is a Cruel Mistress and Has ADD
or the sad short significance of MySpace.com

Okay, so it seems almost everyone these days is tied into some form of internet social network. First there was MySpace, then Facebook now the young upstart Twitter has taken over.

I along with a lot of my co-workers and friends are all over the Facebook thing. Facebook started as a college-only networking service, but quickly became an adult infused sight. It's a great tool to keep in touch with friends and family near and far. You log on and in about 15 minutes you can catch up with what's going on in their lives, check out photos from a party and poke fun at each other through comments and IM postings. Plus there have been some fun "25 random things about me" types of questionaires which have proven to be entertaining and helpful in understanding and appreciating folks, especially ones with whom you work. It's been fun.

The formatting has changed and it has too much advertising for my liking, but Facebook still is a great way to stay connected. I mean, come on...I have IM conversations with my favorite niece who's living in Japan for crying out loud. At no cost!! That alone is worth it. But apparently the allure of Facebook is waning in favor of that young, hip upstart...Twitter.

Okay Okay... I admit it. I have gotten caught in the vortex of the evil time-sucking beast that is Twitter. Where Facebook has the charm of furthering current personal relationships online, Twitter is all about the Siren's song of celebrity interaction with mere mortals. "If I make a witty comment or a snarkily worded dis, Rainn Wilson will notice me and retweet!!"

Alright... it IS kinda cool when one of them replies. Definitely cool... which is why we all feed this beast. And therein lies the trap. But the bottom line is, it's a caste system. The celebs are on there to promote their own agenda while furthering their own careers. And when they say they want to "connect" with their fans, they really mean OTHER celebrities, because really we're just chopped liver... chopped liver that pays for their life styles, but chopped liver none the less. Oh, and also they can score lots of free shit from people because, you know, they're celebrities and they don't make enough money to pay for their own tickets or merchandise themselves.

I sound bitter, don't I? I'm not bitter. That's just the way it is. Now granted there are some people on Twitter who are truly entertaining to follow-Steve Buscemi, Rob Corddry, Paul Fieg, Diablo Cody and yes, the divine Rhett Miller come to mind. And there are some practical uses for its instant updating nature, like when we go to SXSW, the immediacy of Twitter will probably prove invaluable. But generally it's just one big, farging ego stroke. Plus now people have become even more disconnected with the flesh and blood reality which surrounds them. Seriously. Based on some of the tweets (yes, they're called "tweets"...pretty lame) I've read, people are now compelled to post during social functions like concerts, plays and parties instead of enjoying said event.

I just read that the Twitter population has grown 1000% and probably will be THE online social network very soon if not already. But like everything in the ADD world of the interweb, Twitter better not get too comfortable as leader of the pack. There's always something else waiting in the wings to knock it off its top-step perch.

Which brings me (finally) to the subject line of this blog. The rise and fall of MySpace.

MySpace was the first successful social network. With the popularity of Facebook and meteoric rise of Twitter, MySpace has become the grand dame, the Nora Desmond if you will, of the internet world, fading into the background waiting for its close up that will never come again. It has been disregarded in the same way as the dreaded 34-death advertising demographic.

I feel badly for poor little MySpace, perhaps because I can totally relate to its decline from favor. It used to be vital and virile and all that. Now it's hit its middle age and has been cruelly left on the berm of the information highway with an empty bottle of tequilla and a fading love bite, unsuccessfully thumbing a ride to the next exit. Rendered completely insignificant by these flashier, shinier youngsters.

However there is still one arena in which neither Facebook nor Twitter can touch MySpace's impact... and that is accessibility to musicians and their music. MySpace still remains the Mecca of musical promotion. It is the ONLY place to hear full-length songs from young, struggling, indie unknowns to powerhouse veterans. I can't tell you how many times I log onto ole Ms. MySpace to check out more tunes from unfamiliar bands I've heard on WYEP or World Cafe. It's an invaluable tool to me. And for this contribution alone she deserves respect. Much like other older models, people included, there's still life and usefulness in this old bird.

Don't believe me--just log onto Twitter and see how many people post links to MySpace. And if you aren't already on Twitter..DON'T START!! I'm serious. Don't get trapped in the dark vortex! (she says as she refreshes her Twitter page) Go outside in the fresh air and play with your real friends. It will do your soul good.

Is There Something You Want To Tell Me Sub Conscious?

Okay, so this morning as I was stirring in that not-asleep-but-not-quite-awake state, when my sub conscious blurted out "I have no more dreams." 

???? 

What the Hell does that even mean? 

Is my mind telling me there is nothing left in my vault to create imaginary tales whilst I slumber... or is it something more concrete and depressing like "Your life is over. You suck. You have used up all your allotment of life's dreams and now must suffer the rest of your life toiling in the mire of an existence you have eked out thus far, no mater how deadly dull and unsatisfying it may be. You lose, sucker! HA HA HA"

It's almost like she's PMS-ing.

I have to admit it disturbs me a little. I like my little nightly twisted fairy tales. Plus surely this can't be it for my life. There's got to be something towards which to aspire. 

Why are you so angry with me Sub Conscious? You know I love you. You're the source of all my inspiration. Oh well. She'll come around once the cocktails start flowing. 

I Love My Goofball Family

or proof that I come by my wackness honestly

(I realize the events of the day might get lost in translation, but... what the Hell. Sue me.)

Okay, so Easter is one of the holidays where my entire family gets together at my Mom, Big Mar's house. There are three of us sisters who live here in the Burgh, my brother lives in New Paltz, NY and my oldest sister travels from New Jersey. This year our two nieces were MIA--one at NC State, the other studying in Japan--but the nephews were in attendance.

Last Saturday night we all gathered at the family homestead, and let's just say... the festivities started in earnest.

So my sister, Weez and I decided to crack open the alcohol early--namely Limoncello. Okay... I decided to crack open the alcohol early, but she partook of her own free will, I swear! For those unfamiliar, Limoncello is an Italian liqueur comprised of lemons steeped in vodka for, like two weeks, then blended with a mixture of equal parts water and sugar, then frozen to a thick lemony, kick-ass, goodness which will make you very, VERY happy.

The guys were drinking beers, we were drinking Limoncello, the conversation was lively, the jokes were off-color, the snacks were abundant...

Snacking was good, but we needed real food. We decided to order grub from a terrific BBQ place down the street.

Have you ever tried to place a food order in a room full of inebriated Italians? No easy task. Plus, I don't know why, but I could NOT stop making lewd comments and gestures...you know, like I was at work with my equally lewd buds. I blame you, demon Cello. Je accuse!

We started debating how many "racks" we wanted. (Yeah...you probably know where this is going.) Having no self control, I motioned towards my and my sisters' decolletage and blurted "how about three" to which my brother, Buddy just about blew beer out of his nose.

Next up...pulled pork.

OMG! Apparently my brother has issues with the very idea of pulled pork. He launches into this whole hilarious tirade about how you can't trust where the "pork pullers" hands have been, how he knows the dude doesn't wash his hands in the john, how there are no paper towels so he wipes them on his grimy shorts, how his cigarette ash precariously dangles over the meat... yadda yadda yadda. All the while I'm making with the rude hand-job gesture. See, I told you I couldn't stop myself. Again, I blame you, Limoncello! Je accuse, infinity.

Anywho, Weez finally places our order for 2800 pounds of chow, and we charge up the forklift to get it all. Meanwhile, we all get busy clearing the table, cleaning up and getting ready for dinner when the phone rings. Weez, being closest to the phone, answers.

"Hello? Yes, we placed an order for pulled pork."

(pause...looks at me, perplexed)

"You.. you want to know if we want YOU to pull the pork.. or if WE want to do it... ourselves... ??

(she turns to her hubby, David--again with the puzzled look)

"David.... do we want them to pull the pork or do we want to do it ourselves?"

Okay... at this point, I'm heading up the cellar stairs laughing! my! ass! off! AND about to wet myself. I'm totally Lizzing. Tears are running down my cheeks. Is this dude serious? Really?

"Uh... I think, you should do it?"

pause

"Oh! You guys SUCK!!" Slam! goes the phone.

Okay, honestly I don't remember what she said, because I was too busy doubled over, howling and trying not to ruin my pants.

Next thing I know, my brother and bro-in-law crawl back into the house roaring with laughter, tearing up. They had just punked my Sis. Beautiful!! That is the first time I have ever seen any of them there boys laugh so hard they were crying. Seriously. 

Half hour later, Weez and I drag my brother out of his comfy chair to go get the grub, camera in hand because, you know, we aren't obnoxious enough and he wants to document the pork boys. We have to wait...natch, so we start taking pictures of stuff like us molesting the concrete pig sitting out front, the alleged "pork-pullers" hands through the window (kinda freaking them out in the process) and the greatest souvenir t-shirts EVER which say, and I quote "We think of you when we pull our pork".

Right-hand to God! HaHaHaHaHa!! 

I know what some"Buddy" is getting for his birthday.