girlfiend

Katie Holmes rules.

The chick who played Lucky Louie’s wife played one of Lloyd’s friends in Say Anything. I knew she looked familiar.

I finished the crap knitting book last night. I hate to ruin it for you, but here’s how it ends. The Asian academic finds a friend in the woman who gets impregnated by some guy and is afraid to tell her Catholic parents even though she’s a grown woman. The Jewish widow moves in with her boyfriend who as it turns out owns the entire building, not just the deli below the yarn store. The newly divorced socialite finds herself and starts her own business and the main character dies of ovarian cancer leaving her now teenage, training bra wearing daughter in her recently returned black baby daddy’s custody. The useless characters in turn have a baby, pass the LSATs, and sell their handbag line to Bloomingdales. Oh, and the Asian’s husband forgives her for cheating on him, the black baby daddy introduces his baby mama and daughter to his parents who told him never to bring a white woman home, the main character’s Scottish grandmother imparts wisdom, and the socialite spends money. And someone makes a movie about the knitting club which everyone tearfully watches at their Friday night meeting after the main character dies. Boo hoo.

The chapstick stained clothes sat on top of the dryer for more than a month. After getting sick of seeing them there I washed them in hot water four or five times then gave up. Now I just wear them, grease stains and all.

My mom and her sister are back to being BFF. We all (except for my girl cousin who’s still on the outs with her mom and brother) got together for Passover and everything was fine. The day after the seder my aunt invited my mom over for a gefilte fish (gag) lunch.

Home cooked vegetarianism is still going strong. I just read the Omnivore’s Dilemma and if you have any interest in where your food comes from I highly recommend it. If you generally subsist on diet coke, supermarket meat, or organic freezer foods from Whole Foods that you think are somehow better than the Hungry Man special or Lean Cuisine meal in the regular supermarket you should probably skip reading this one. I’m thrilled I signed up for the farm share this spring.

Right now I’m reading The Friday Night Knitting Club which is truly terrible. The characters are like stereotypes of stereotypes. There’s the owner of the shop, a tough single mom with a half-black daughter whose absentee father, the successful, black architect returns from France after twelve years and wants to be a part of their lives again, the lonely Asian academic, the socialite with a distant, philandering husband, a Jewish widow in her seventies who’s afraid to date and others I won’t bore you with. I’m waiting for a Mexican landscaper to pop in for a knitting lesson with the veiled Muslim woman who everyone assumes is a terrorist. Really, it’s terrible. So of course they’re making a film version.

The Fiendling’s still only napping on the go. Here is he passed out on the porch, blurry because I took the picture through the window.

A few thoughts on American Idol before tonight’s result show. In bullets, because full sentences and paragraphs are just too much for me this week.

• Paula gets more and more bizarre. Drugs? Nerve damage? Either way, bitch is crazy.
• Watching AI I’ve learned that vests have made a comeback. Please. Vests have to go. Tight, cleavage enhancing vests should join ponchos and shrugs in a special fashion pit of hell.
• I can’t stand the dedication videos.
• Celine Dion songs should be banned from the competition.
• Celine Dion songs should just be banned in general.

• None of the guys are spectacular. Chris Sligh was my favorite, but his last two songs haven’t impressed me all that much.
• At least Blake’s interesting. The beatboxing reminds me of that a capella group at UPenn that does the techno songs.
• The other Chris has really grown on me. He’s my new favorite.
• I still don’t see the appeal of Sundance. I didn’t get it on the audition show and I certainly don’t get it now.
• Brandon is super hot, but dude is picking all the wrong songs.
• Sanjaya’s got to shave before he performs. The dirty looking moustache is a bad choice.
• AJ and the others just aren’t that interesting. Obviously they haven’t made an impression if I can’t remember their names.

• I don’t like Gina all that much.
• Antonella Barba is terrible and if she’s not voted off it’s because America wants to believe that she really is the chick in the blowjob pictures.
• Alaina Alexander is almost as bad as Antonella. Totally off key. Terrible song choice. And she, fortunately or unfortunately depending on how people vote, doesn’t have the wet t-shirt pictures online.
• Melinda and Lakisha are both incredible, but I’ll be shocked if either of them win.
• I like Stephanie, but her song this week wasn’t that great. Crazy in Love would have been more fun.
• Leslie is quirky and cute, but not good enough.
• Who did Haley’s hair? Crimp ‘N Curl Barbie?
• Sabrina’s great.

• I really like the Vote for the Worst website.
• Speaking of television websites, because I’m a loser, I found myself reading a site dedicated to Rory and Logan’s relationship yesterday.

You may recall that back in November, when I got the stomach flu the first time this season, I got a bit obsessed with the Food Network. Today, while the Fiendling* napped I somehow got completely wrapped up in Food Network bashing. I was on Phillyblog in the Food and Drink forum reading a post about Giada vs. Rachael Ray and ended up following a link to a guest post by Anthony Bourdain (a guy previously unknown to me) talking smack about Food Network personalities. Though I don’t agree with everything he writes (I think Paula Deen’s a good time) some of his opinions, especially his opinion of Sandra Dee (yes, she is pure evil), are right on. I ended up getting totally sucked into the more than 500 comments and still haven’t finished reading through them all. The debate is hilarious. Most of the commenters (commentators?) agree with him but some that don’t think he’s just bitter because he’s not as successful as the bobbleheads he describes. Since I’d never even heard of him until following the link to his post on someone else’s blog, I can see their points. (The debate within the comments, sort of reminded me of the war between Rogan and Mencia fans that takes place in the comments of this blogger’s post. I spent more than an hour watching the videos and reading the commentary Saturday night. My weekends are nothing but fun these days.)

The comments at the Bourdain post led me to a similar article from Matt at Deglazed. Matt’s take on the food network chef’s was even more entertaining than Bourdain’s. Again, I don’t agree with everything he writes, but dude, Bobby Flay is a cock and Rachael Ray is indeed a whore who makes buying Ritz crackers an altogether unpleasant experience. Here’s a quote from his piece about why Rachael Ray sucks.

-EVOO - Extra Virgin Olive Oil. That’s what she actually calls it: “E-V-O-O, Extra Virgin Olive Oil”. Note, I did NOT say she calls it “E-V-O-O.” If she just stopped there, it would be merely stupid. But she goes all the way to the level of “taking the short bus to school” by using the acronym, and then spelling out what it means for us right after. WHY?!? What is the point of using an acronym if you are then going to say what it means right after it? Pick one or the other! I don’t go around saying, “Yeah, I need some money from the ATM - automatic teller machine, but I can’t remember my PIN - personal identification number, so I guess I can’t check on the balance of my CD - certificate of deposit.” I would sound like a retard, and thus, I guess be eligible for my own cooking show.

Matt, in a different post, also linked to this Rachael Ray drinking game, which I can’t wait to try some time when I’m not on mom duty.

Today in my internet travels I learned that Sandra Lee probably slept her way to the top, Michael Chiarello isn’t (as I’d assumed based on his bizarre show where he invites young college guys over for dinner) gay, and monkeys (well, terry cloth monkeys )can make truffles. I was also reminded of the Two Fat Ladies and Ming Tsai, both shows that I loved that the food network can’t be bothered with any more.
* I need new pseudonyms. I’m sick of typing Boyfiend and Fiendling and initials are lame- suggestions?

The only reason that I’m admitting to this is because I know I’m not the only one (desperately) trying to get my child interested in TV for a little peace and semi-quiet. I am currently watching Barney. The Fiendling occasionally glances up from his current state of on-the-go and does a little baby dance, but for the most part he’s completely disinterested. I think Barney’s pretty lame too, but the songs are pretty damn catchy.

Other shows he’s not interested in include Teletubbies, Sesame Street, Mr. Rogers, Caillou, Dragon Tales and some show about a singing sloth. My mother swears he likes the Simpsons but I’ve seen no evidence of this at home.

Last night I woke up coughing at two in the morning and it didn’t stop for two hours. I haven’t mentioned this lately, but bronchitis sucks. Sucks, I tell you. After the coughing finally subsided after two doses of cough medicine and plenty of mind over matter self-convincing, the Fiendling woke up at four for an early breakfast. We both went back to sleep, but my god, I am tired. He woke up bright and early and crawled to the edge of our rather high bed and slithered right off. I grabbed his ankle just before the 6 inch drop onto hard wood floor. He thought it was a laugh riot. I just want to go back to bed. A nice morning of PBS kids would be lovely.

• I just had a really hard time deciding whether or not to watch the Gilmore Girls or One Tree Hill. Gilmore Girls won, but only because it recorded a day earlier. Boyfiend and the Fiendling are both sick now that I’m well (well being relative since I still have bronchitis which only seems to strike in the middle of the night through the early morning hours) which means that I get the TV to myself after 9.30. No Eagles, no Flyers, no shows on the History channel that I’d probably find interesting but refuse to give the chance. So here I am drinking wine (a lovely 2001 Merlot) and watching Gilmore, which was actually pretty good last week, though I’m underwhelmed so far this viewing.
• Earlier today I found myself pondering that the toilet flusher gets stuck sometimes and the water runs and runs.  However it seems like it only runs after I’ve pooped. Is that because I flush the toilet extra hard? Or is it merely coincidence?
• Yesterday the following sentence came out of my mouth as a truck refused to let me cross even though I was fully in the street when it passed: “Nice. You’re so fucking Jesusy with the cross hanging from the rearview mirror that you have to cut off a woman with a stroller.”
• The Fiendling has an amazon wishlist, yet I’m too embarrassed to pass the link on the appropriate parties. I don’t want it to seem like begging, yet I don’t want a buttload of inappropriate toys that will just clutter up the house. It’s a conundrum.
• I planned on hosting a Hanukkah dinner Sunday night because my mom (Jew) told me she wanted to come over Sunday to make latkes. Then my dad (non-Jew) called last night and asked why I was having Hanukkah a week early. I looked it up and sure enough he was right and my mom was wrong. So I emailed everyone and told them I was an idiot and rescheduled for next weekend.
• This past weekend it occurred to me just how much I miss Junkiegirl. Waah.
• The Gilmore Girls is so lame I may have to stop it and watch OTH instead. I am so cool.

When I received an email from someone offering me two complimentary tickets to the show Altar Boyz because their boss liked my blog I ignored it thinking it must be either a scam or spam. But when I got a second email asking if I’d received the first I started to think it might actually be legitimate. I wrote the sender back with my name (which wasn’t actually my name because I was still suspicious) and the date we wanted to attend. A third email told me that tickets would be awaiting me at Will Call.

The night of the show (after I’d called the theater to make sure there were, in fact, two tickets waiting for us) we packed up the Fiendling, a bag of toys, and a bag of assorted non-breastmilk baby provisions and headed into the city. The parking gods were on our side and we scored a free spot around the corner from Boyfiend’s sister’s building. After leaving the baby with his adoring aunt we headed west towards the theater to pick up our tickets before dinner.

Before we got to Broad Street I was distracted by the rainbow lights of El Vez. We decided to check it out since we’d never been there. Unfortunately they weren’t interested in serving us. The hostess looked at her chart and said to a server, “We could put them there,” but the server, probably because we were only two and the table could’ve fit four said no. The hostess told us it would be a forty-five minute wait so we left. I was only slightly pissy about it. Fuck you, El Vez and the waitress who doesn’t want our tips.

We picked up our tickets at the window then walked to our old standard dive bar, Copa Too, for burgers and margaritas. We headed up to the bar which was surprisingly empty. We ordered a pitcher of margaritas and speculated for a while about the cause of its emptiness. Was it the smoking ban? When the margaritas arrived we decided it had to be because the margaritas, which once were among the best in the city, sucked ass. Then a mouse ran across the floor. Boyfiend said that the mouse was actually hanging out comfortably until my shriek of surprise that set him running. Talk about a dive bar. The waiter joked that the mice are brazen enough to ask for menus. We discussed leaving, but with only forty-five minutes until show time we decided to stick it out.

The waiter asked if we wanted another round of drinks. I told him yes, but only if there was tequila in them this time. He gave some stock answer about how the margaritas are made with a third of lime juice, a third of tequila and a third of triple sec but I wasn’t buying it so he said he’d make them himself. When he returned with our second pitcher he said he added more tequila and based on the buzz I had when we left the restaurant he wasn’t lying. Our food arrived. The Spanish Fries were hot and crisp and the onions and jalapeños were grilled to perfection. My burger was exactly what I was hoping for and even though I wanted to I wasn’t able to finish it, (probably due to stomach shrinking as a result of the great stomach virus). During our dinner the mouse made another appearance scaring the shit out of our waiter’s girlfriend. The margaritas helped soften the blow of that visit, and though I was pretty grossed out by the mouse on the second floor I still love Copa. After getting bartender to interrupt our waiter (who was too busy making out with his girlfriend to get us our check) we paid our tab and walked to the theater.

Boyfiend was still pretty suspicious about the origins of the tickets and surmised that we’d be either kidnapped or shot upon taking our seats. The usher directed us down to the orchestra pit and we took our seats down front and center. I was shocked the seats were so good. I didn’t think they’d be crappy, but I certainly wasn’t expecting them to be that good. We were seated next to two girls who appeared to be a few years younger than I am. Boyfiend asked the one seated next to me how she got her tickets. She said ticketmaster then asked how we got ours. We told her that someone had read my blog and offered me free tickets and got the attention of another blogger sitting in our row who’d gotten his tickets the same way. Boyfiend said he thought it was a new type of marketing. Even though they’d never specifically asked us to write about the show we probably would and the show would get attention. The Young Philly Politics blogger said they’d probably sent the same email to everyone on Philly Future and there were probably other bloggers in the audience. I looked around trying to spot the bloggers, but it was difficult. Most of the younger audience members were gay men so they could have been bloggers or they could have been guys in the mood for some musical theater. I was kind of buzzed so I didn’t over think it.

After we talked blog with the blogger for a bit the ticketmaster girl told us how lucky we were to get tickets for free. She’d seen the show the past few nights for free, but had to pay a reduced rate for her tickets that particular evening. She was an “altarholic” and she’d seen the show at least thirty times. She’d seen in in New York and Baltimore, and had driven for an hour and a half each way the past few nights to see it in Philadelphia. She was friends with the guys in the show and was there with her friend who was an Altar Boyz virgin. She asked if we knew what the show was about. I told her I just knew what I saw on the website- that the show was about a Christian Boy Band. She said she takes being saved very seriously. I wasn’t sure if she was joking, if it was some altarholic inside joke, or if she was actually some sort of freakshow Christian. A few minutes before the show began she moved to a different seat. I asked the other blogger why she moved and he said that she’d wanted an aisle seat. We both seemed to understand that her desire for an aisle seat was code for audience participation. I hate audience participation.

As for the show, the Altar Boyz are Matthew, Mark, Luke, Juan and Abraham (the Jew) a Catholic boy band trying to save the souls of the audience. Altar Boyz was likeable, but it was sort of like an SNL skit that lasts too long. The members of the band are pretty stereotypical- the hot leader, the tough guy, the Mexican, the flaming, yet closeted, homosexual and the Jew, and the songs, musically, are what you’d expect from a boy band. The lyrics are funny and well written and the banter is pretty amusing at times. The tough guy, Luke, had a bout with exhaustion and one night he was so exhausted he cracked up the van. The Jewish kid is asked how he’s allowed in the church and he responds that he sees a Jew hanging right up front on the cross. I was pleased that there wasn’t any real audience participation. The altarholic’s friend was chosen to go on stage when the heartthrob sang his big solo about waiting until marriage, so I guess that’s why she wanted the aisle seat. The boyz did go out into the audience to sing a few times, but no one was required to humiliate themselves which I appreciate. I liked the show, I’d say it even had moments of hilarity, but I just can’t imagine how someone would want to see it thirty times or more.

We had a great time that night. Boyfiend and I don’t get out nearly as much as we’d like, so a night out, even with mice and mediocre margaritas, was wonderful. I am glad I wasn’t overly suspicious and accepted the tickets. Silly as it was, the Altar Boyz was a pleasant way to spend an hour and a half and the boys in the band were fantastic. They danced and sang their cute little boy band asses off. One row closer and we probably would’ve been sprayed with their boy band sweat. So thanks Davenport theatrical enterprises. If free press was what you were after, here it is.

Three of the following are subjects of emails from people I know. The rest are spam. First person who gets all three wins a prize.

• bad predictions
• gay pedophilia
• frontal witchcraft
• fuel
• hi onion
• hunchback intellectually
• entomologist download
• good old boy Episcopalian
• one well-defined
• ad lib climax
• global orgasm project
• black magic UN
• stain indignantly
• salsa adornment
• sleight of hand lust

(edited to specify you should guess the real email subjects, not the spam. or was that clear already?)