Archive | October, 2010

Rant: The SHOCK and HORROR when a Hollywood Couple Separates.

13 Oct

 

It's almost like they posed so that they could cut the photo in half.

 

Over the last few days, I’ve been shocked by how much attention Courteney Cox and David Arquette’s split is receiving on the internet. (Perhaps on TV too, but since I don’t own one, I’m blissfully ignorant.)

Really? People give a shit about the relationship of two celebrities? And correct me if I’m wrong, but most relationships have 50/50 odds on working out and Hollywood seems to have a much lower success rate. So why is it surprising that Courteney and David can’t make it work? Besides, do we actually know these people? Are we so acquainted with them that we never saw this coming from all our time observing their happiness?

Sorry, I just don’t get it.

Know what I find shocking? How blunt and open Arquette seems to have been when he called into Howard Stern’s show. I didn’t hear it, but if this blog article is accurate, it sounds like he let it all hang out. I actually think it’s kind of funny that he’s admitting that he is an overgrown child that she got tired of mothering.

The only reason I surfed to that article was to figure out what all the fuss was about – why I’d seen so many Facebook statuses talking about “Dave and Court” as if they were actual friends. What I find entertaining are the comments that people took the time to post in response to the blog post. A few of my favorites, categorized:

From “Mrs. I Hate My Marriage But God Won’t Let Me Leave” we have:

And from “Mr. I’ll Never Win a N.O.W. Award” there’s this sage advice:

 

I like that he received 5 thumbs-downs for this comment - and uses Obama's "hope" image as his photo.

 

And finally, “Mr. I Can’t Wait to Go Home and Beat My Wife” says:

You know what I found most shocking of all? How Courteney spells her name. Anyone want to tell her she has an extra ‘E’ floating around in there?

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An epiphany on the potter’s wheel.

12 Oct

I’ve always thought I might enjoy pottery, so when a space opened up at Hinckley Pottery – a few blocks from my house – I decided to give it a go. I’ve now had three classes, and have thrown six bowls, trimmed four and am about to fire my fire few so I can glaze them.

Everyone assumes it’s therapeutic, but I think you have to get good at it before that’s the case. (People say that about yoga too, and I’d give the same response.) Actually – now that I think about it, perhaps it IS therapeutic and I’m just too competitive to achieve that zen-like state. (Same for yoga.)

Let’s just say, when it comes to a pedal (be it on a car, a  sewing machine or a potter’s wheel), I know only one speed: FLOORED.

Whenever the teacher walks by me, she’s like, “Alison, I think you might want to slow your wheel down a bit.”

And I turn it down until she’s past me – then floor it again. Because at that pace, I can make twice as many bowls as my classmates in two hours.

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I hope the closet isn’t as hot as my office.

11 Oct

Today is Columbus Day. It’s also National Coming Out Day. I chose to celebrate the latter with my Facebook Status today, and one of my friends commented along the lines of, “Ah, Christopher? Was there something you wanted to tell us?”

To which I think the appropriate response is, “Duh. He goes by ‘Christopher’ and not Chris. What do YOU think he’s trying to tell us?”

Anyway. It’s a Federal Holiday, which means Yours Truly still had to work, because I’m one of five people inside the District limits NOT employed by the government.

(Which also means that I’m one of five people who doesn’t get every other Friday off for working more than 10 hours in a day. On the contrary: know what I get as a reward for working four ten-hour days? A fifth ten-hour day! Actually, I don’t mind, but I rarely have sympathy for hearing government workers talk about “long” hours.)

This morning I went to work, completely forgetting that our building won’t heat or cool offices on Federal Holidays. It’s an unseasonable 87 degrees outside today. And our office has a wall of windows that spectacularly catch the morning and mid-day sun. Needless to say, it was HOT in there. We were all pitted-out and I swear I saw sweat drops hitting one of my colleague’s keyboards.

I finally cracked around 1pm, deciding to hoof it home and work in the comfort of my air conditioning. Which was a good plan, but I was so over-heated, I had to strip down to my underwear to cool off after my walk home.

No sooner than I had settled in at my desk, someone knocked on my door… forcing me to run around, find pants and make myself presentable. It was my neighbor, Michael, stopping down to tell me he’s having his floors replaced tomorrow. (HOORAY!)

To explain why I was home, sweating and looking a bit crazy, I said, “Wow. You’re actually lucky you caught me at home. Our office is hotter than hell because  of the holiday.”

This comment could’ve completely derailed the conversation in about five different directions. Fortunately, he just looked at me and said, “What holiday?”

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Maybe I should rethink my opinion of New Jersey?

10 Oct

I don’t own a TV, and if I did, I can’t imagine using electricity or time on a show that sounds as stupid as Jersey Shore. But who doesn’t like a make-over? Especially one that makes you thank your lucky stars to have been raised as a corn-fed midwestern girl?

Need a diversion? Take five minutes and visit this site to channel your inner-Jersey. I did, with frightening results: 

I don’t think I’ve EVER attempted to wear that much eyeliner. Even for Halloween.

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His last name should be “Sedarious” so it rhymes with “hilarious.”

9 Oct

 

Waiting for Godot. But Sedaris.

 

Earlier this week Alan and I saw David Sedaris speak at the Lisner Auditorium at GWU. If you don’t know who he is, then you must either be a) So conservative you crap tea bags, or b) Dead.

He’s one of my favorite authors of all time, because he knows how to tell a great story. Well, that, and he’s from a pretty wacky family and is willing to exploit it for my amusement. And he moved to France with a limited grasp on French, much like I did. So, he’s kind of like an older, gayer, funnier, more talented version of me. And whereas I would pass a drug test, I’m pretty sure he would fail.

Alan had never seen him before, so the night got off to a bang when Sedaris took the stage and opened with, “I hate to be a dick, but…” And proceeded to stop and watch the sign language interpreter, just so he could see her sign the word, “dick.”

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