Champagne Rising

...in which I unleash my year-end rage on unassuming phone clients...

noreply@blogger.com (heatheradair) — Mon, 28 Dec 2009 22:52:00 +0000

Sidenote: google "Rage" images sometime. There's a hot mess in an 80's bikini that I pretty much adore (almost as much as a good Chuck Norris poster...)

Here's the thing: I'm not a terribly patient person.

Let's qualify that: I'm not a terribly patient person, professionally. The closest I've ever come to a "cat fight" started with some long gestating ire directed at a coworker particularly lacking a crazy little thing we call autonomy. After a year on the job she was still afraid of "breaking the rules" and trying anything new...eventually I'd had it. My blood pressure skyrocketed, my face got all sorts of unpleasant shades of red, my arms began flinging around wholly without my permission and I remember yelling...really, legitimately yelling (further sidenote: in a construction office full of men, being "that woman" that looses her cool and yells (complete with flailing arms and shrill pitch) is pretty much the workplace equivalent of a colonoscopy...sigh. I never want to be "that woman" again). I think the fact that I've spent the last ten years of my life certifiably loathing my job(s) has something to do with my simmering impatience. I don't love the work I do, so please, don't drag out the process.

Enuf digression. My point: it's "That Time of Year." YearEndInAnAccountingSoftwareCompanyWithAFierceDedicationToCustomerService time of year. If you will. The time of year when fear-mongers storm the phone lines afraid they've hosed things so royally the IRS will send storm troopers to strike them down unless we we send our magical accounting software pixie dust through the phone lines.

The time of the year when my phone's headset becomes my singular fashion accessory (and when my hair has a headset-shaped ridge on top for 5 weeks straight).

The time of year when you realize you've answered more panicked client phone calls in one hour than you answer during most weeks in the month of July.

The time of year when I come up with a mantra like "It pays the bills....it pays the bills....it pays the bills...." and chant that victoriously each time I end a phone call and muffle an exhasperated snicker over the fact that we trust our fine nation's construction industry finances to folks that are woefully underqualified to do their jobs and rely on technical support lines to reconcile their general ledgers for them.

The time of year when I get out to the car (having narrowly survived another day without telling anyone what I really think of their "stupid" question - and yes, there IS such a thing) and immediately turn my Lady Gaga cd up to medically dangerous volumes and "sing" about riding disco sticks because...well....because it's fun. And after a day when I field 32 different questions about the merit of 4-up versus plain paper W2 printing, "sick beats" are about all I can handle.

It's difficult to maintain a civil, polite, engaging (never patronizing), ever-friendly tone while stifling my desire to tell most of these people where to shove sharp objects. And I am not a professionally patient person.

Thankfully: it's a short week. I'm 25% done with thinly veiled rage.

Lloyd Dobler: actually sort of a pussy.

noreply@blogger.com (heatheradair) — Sun, 27 Dec 2009 21:20:00 +0000

So, it took the fine literary styling of Chuck Klosterman in "Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs" for me to realize this particularly inalienable truth: every woman's seven-year coming-of-age crush on John Cusack is not, in fact, a crush on John Cusack the Man. It's a crush on Lloyd Dobler.

And this is completely true.

Here's how Chuck puts it:

"It appears that countless women born between 1965 and 1978 are in love with John Cusack. I cannot fathom how he isn't the number-one box-office start in America, because every straight girl I know would sell her soul to share a milkshake with that motherf****er. For upwardly mobile women in their twenties and thirties Cusack is the neo-Elvis. But here's what none of those upwardly mobile women seem to realize: They don't love John Cusack. They love Lloyd Dobler. When they see Mr. Cusack, they are still seeing the optimistic, charmingly loquacious teenager he played in Say Anything, a movie that came out more than a decade ago. That's the guy they think he is; when Cusack played Eddie Thomas in America's Sweethearts or the sensitive hit man in Grosse Pointe Blank, all his female fans knew he was only acting...but they assume when the camera stopped rolling he went back to his genuine self...which was someone like Lloyd Dobler, and someone who continues to have a storybook romance with Diane Court (or with Ione Skye, depending on how you look at it). "

Tough to argue with that logic.

As nice as his romantic notions of the ultimate mixed tape were in High Fidelity and as, um...heroic as he managed to make limo-driving seem in 2012 (destruction porn! destruction porn!) I did watch Say Anything four times in a row the night I first rented it and can quote the entire movie beginning to end (including the lyrics in all of the songs from the soundtrack) - certainly haven't done that with any of his other movies. And yes, my sister and I did nurse the typical Cusack-Crush through high school (only rationale I have for why I suffered through "Must Love Dogs" a few years later...both he and Diane Lane should probably have been taken out back and shot for that miserable paycheck they *hopefully reluctantly* signed up for)

I have to agree, it was the Lloyd Dobler I loved as much as the the John Cusack playing the Lloyd Dobler. Didn't hurt that I was bookish, nerdy and isolated in high school much like Diane Court (and I probably wore sweaters just as ugly) so there was something infinitely easy to relate to about Say Anything...

Then I started thinking about Lloyd Dobler as a man.

His one ballsy moment was calling Diane to ask her out. The rest of the movie: she does all of the talking. He hardly speaks. He smiles, looks smitten, kicks the glass, does his best to teach her to drive her car, follows her around to her job at the retirement home, but doesn't particularly assert himself...

He hangs out with obnoxious, caricature girl friends that know absolutely nothing and give him bad advice (in fact, that righteous free-style "rap" scene at the Gas-n-Sip is the only time we see any semblance of "man friends"). He gets laid and opts to send her a "thanks....by the way, I love you..." greeting card...a greeting card? Really? I must have missed that "it was really nice sleeping with you this week" section of the greeting card aisle. And if you're trusting the generic "thank you" section to say "I love you, and thanks for the great Back Seat Memories" you're walking a thin line...

I know the scene with the boom box and the Peter Gabriel songs gets held up as the most romantic moment in teenage flick history, but really, that was about the only time he even seemed to grow a pair. Then when "Take this pen...and write me" Diane waltzes back into the picture (without so much as a "I'm sorry" Hallmark of her own, actually) he jumps in the sack with her and follows her off to England. Loyal as a puppy, sure, but....is schlepping around in the shadow of "Diane-Court-Whoa" really going to be particularly fulfilling in the grand scheme?

I've decided Lloyd is a big pussy.

And he conditioned an entire generation of women to think that we've hit true love gold if we find a sucker that will follow us wordlessly to work and back, a sucker with few goals other than listening (with adoring grins) while we yap - we might ditch him if Daddy is sufficiently persistent, but he'll still be waiting around for us when we get lonely (or when solemn IRS agents tell us we're silly little girls). I worry that Diane will get tired of him...she'll meet some sort of literature professor that doesn't let her get away with being a petulant, self-indulgent weenie and Lloyd will be back in his sister's apartment playing babysitter...

I could be wrong, but here, a dozen years or more after first falling in love with Lloyd I'm inclined to think he's basically a glorified emo wimp....glass-sweeping or no glass-sweeping, he's one key master that just wouldn't have long term staying power...

Whoa there, stranger.

noreply@blogger.com (heatheradair) — Thu, 19 Nov 2009 23:31:00 +0000

Hi, I'm Heather. I used to blog with sort of hyphenated, pseudo-regularity.

Then, oh, I'd venture a guess that a new, rather demoralizing, vitality-sucking cubicle job stepped on stage and somehow, that creative flow got "hairballed" (oh - is that just MY shower that occassionally has to be freed of that disgusting glob of hair that inevitably ends up growing in the drain? oh...."get one of those drain strainer/hair-catcher things" you say? Fine - ok...next trip to the drugstore...).

Anyway - something monkeyed with my creative mojo.

No more.

Welcome to the return of "inane posts on primarily celebrity-centric things that amuse Heather."

And also, "slightly less inane things that merit a paragraph or two as the mood strikes Heather."

And perhaps fun new themed posts like, "New things Heather learned today."

Maybe even "Books I'm reading that aren't nearly as good as the books I could write if I didn't continue to use this demoralizing, vitality-sucking cubicle job as a standing excuse not to."

Things like that.

Consider my creative hairball Drano-ed to high hell. Glug. Glug. Glug.

Yes, but do you have to be MEAN about it?

noreply@blogger.com (heatheradair) — Tue, 09 Dec 2008 00:35:00 +0000

So, it's that time of the year...

The time when Walmart shoppers stampede and kill.

The time when fathers plummet from rooftops while hanging lights.

The time when Toys R Us shoppers pull guns and slay one another in the aisles....

AND the time when Washingtonions decide to berate, sue and otherwise antagonize one another over their respective holiday beliefs.

You know. CHRISTMAS.

Flash back to 2006 when a rabbi asked that a menorah be added to the SeaTac airport's holiday display. Port of Seattle authorities, fearing legal action or requests from other religious observers to add symbols of their celebrations to the display, opted instead to take down the "Christmas" trees altogether in a brilliantly cowardly display of "Bah Humbug-ian" fear mongering.

Imagine the outcry.

Fast forward to 2007. A completely secular - and impressively soulless - display of northwest winter bounty goes up. Fake snow. Big tall trees. Images of the San Juans. Ugh.

Here we are in 2008. This year the debate lands right on the steps of the state Capitol. Alongside a nativity scene and christmas tree we've got "The Atheist Sign."

It reads:

There are no gods,

no devils, no angels,

no heaven or hell.

There is only our natural world.

Religion is but

myth and superstition

that hardens hearts

and enslaves minds.

SO - odd choice of spacing and punctuation aside, it's an ugly sign in its own right. The sign comes to the capitol courtesy of the Freedom from Religion Foundation. The foundation's co-president explains that, "the sign is a reminder of the 'real reason for the season, the winter solstice.'"

Fine, fine, fine. Here's the deal: I'd be a whole lot more tolerant of their right to participate in the holiday disply if they'd taken a softer, kinder, gentler, more "holiday friendly" approach to their consciencsious objection. If the sign had said, "...there is only our natural world...we proudly celebrate the Winter Solstice," that would be one thing. To go on the offensive and attack religion en masse...well I have a hard time believing Mother Earth and her peaceful Solstice Babies would much approve.

Here's my official rebuttal: The nativity does NOT contain little word bubbles coming from Baby Jesus' mouth saying, "Merry Christmas, you'll all going to Hell." Neither does a Mary hold a sign that says, "Jesus is the Reason for the Season...the end is nigh, repent and be saved...your open minds lead to certain death." NOPE. It's imagery. It accuses no one. It directly insults no one. It calls no one stupid, or misguided, or otherwise hard-hearted. It makes no illusions to slavery.

My suggestion to the Freedom from Religion Foundation: focus on the winter solstice - put up homages to the natural world. Love Mother Earth. Leave the low blows at home with the Grinch. Celebrate.

Or I'll sic the Walmart doorbusters on you.

I'd date her.

noreply@blogger.com (heatheradair) — Tue, 21 Oct 2008 23:58:00 +0000

Confession:

I'm totally cheating on Alessandra Ambrosio.

She was always my favorite (and isn't that sort of an American pastime anyway, picking your favorite Victoria's Secret model?)...she was The One Who Could Do No Wrong. I bought DOZENS of swimsuits over the years strictly because she looked so damn good in 'em I completely forgot they might (MIGHT!) not look "just like that" on me. Eh, I'm a fantastic consumer. I buy the fake image they're selling hook, line and credit card. The husband can verify how many bikinis I jammed into my luggage on the Greece honeymoon.

Then along came Miranda Kerr. Figures she's Australian (been there - the place is TEEMING with ridiculously well-dressed, ridiculously hot women. If Los Angeles and Paris got together and had a kid...that kid would look like a girl from Oz.). She looks like she's sixteen - dig that, since I look like I'm certifiably high-school ("we'd, like, totally get along!"). She's got those dimples...and perfect eyebrows...and she actually SMILES instead of smirks at the camera. She's perfect, I've decided. I'll even forgive the fact that she hooked up with that man-child "actor" Orlando Bloom instead of a proper man's man. She's perfect. I love her.

FHM did her justice this month. They read my mind. She IS my new favorite supermodel.

(doesn't mean she comes anywhere close to Megan Fox on the "Why Wasn't I Born Looking Like That?" pedestal, but hey, she's unseated Alessandra. That's something)

Hmmm...the video reminds me of something....

noreply@blogger.com (heatheradair) — Sat, 18 Oct 2008 05:29:00 +0000

Oh yes, that's right: it reminds me of Every Other Britney Spears Video. Ever. Right down to the eye makeup. For all the hype surrounding the release of "Womanizer," it could have been absolutely any other Brit video released since...oh...1997. And frankly: it felt about a decade out of date.
Her moves: recycled.
Her attempt at being provocative: cliche.
Her "close-up-shots-while-touching-her-hair" had been seen in every video since she first donned the plaid skirt.
Her song: THE STUFF BAD DREAMS ARE MADE OF. And this from a person with the highest "bad pop music tolerance known to man." I mean, I even listened to Boyzone back in 1999. I knew every word to the Westlife music library. I had BOTH cds by LFO in my car. Own Hilary Duff cds. And Jessica Simpson. Everything XTina ever recorded. Mandy Moore's "Coverage" release (probably the worst of them all). AND STILL: I have to call "Womanizer" perhaps the most grating, repetitious, manufactured, irritating piece of pop...EVER.
Furthermore: why is she singing about womanizing men like they're a bad thing....they're the only type she's ever dated...really, to bring a little edge back to her career she should have taken the honest path and recorded a song about the fact that she's looking for another womanizer to take advantage of her. THAT would be ground-breaking music.
Ah well...she's got nice teeth, still...even after all of that Starbucks...

People having a worse Thursday than I: unemployment edition

noreply@blogger.com (heatheradair) — Fri, 17 Oct 2008 01:15:00 +0000

I'm trying my very best to be optimistic - to find people out there who aren't just sitting in front of their computers cruising the SAME craigslist postings for the fourth day in a row: they're actually having WORSE Thursdays...

Here are the people with whom I would politely decline to trade places today:

David Beckam/frozen-fried-fish-products:

Apparently Becks is shilling for a line of "healthier frozen food products" called GO3. This one almost has me at a loss. He's a good-looking, famous, reasonably well-respected, international superstar. Since when do international superstars (even UK transplants that haven't exactly changed the lives of every man, woman, and child in the US the way they'd have liked) decide to be photographed on a field full of children, holding their own weight in FISH STICKS? Furthermore, who had the bright idea to "gourmet up" the platter of fishmeal with a measley sprig of parsley and half of a wilted-looking lemon??????? And - if he MUST be photographed with a smile on his face while he holds a thousand fish fingers...WHY IS HE WEARING CLOTHES? I'm dumbfounded. And glad I'm not David Beckham today. I'll take sitting in a worn-out chair, in front of a worn-out computer with greasy hair, in my pajamas, hoping the Job o' My Dreams is still just "one day from being posted." Because at least I can chose to order a pizza.

The Bellevue SuperBlock

Amazing strides have been made in the last several years to force Seattle to become High Fashion. I figure this is sort of like trying to turn Paul Schafer into a sex symbol. Incongruent at best. While I've long held that we REI, socks & sandals, jeans-at-a-wedding Seattle locals need some serious exposure to the Wide World of Style, the approach developers have taken is a little reckless. The upscale, Eastside suburb of Bellevue was the lamb led to the couture slaughter. Saks, Hermes, Nieman Marcus, that's just the beginning of the list. BUT, it all happened at once. Multi-use high-rise condos sprung up over night, most of them gestating designer boutiques at street-level. One developer was particularly ambitious: bought several city blocks filled with low-rent strip malls (ooh! and one of the original Matt's Chili Dog joints!!) and planned to expand the Bellevue Fashion Empire to...unimagined heights! It was deemed the SuperBlock. Too bad reality stepped in. Condo sales came to a screeching halt. Banks got cold feet. Investors backed out. Read today that the SuperBlock is up ON the block. For sale for a cool $113 million. Developers asking for 50% down. Buyers and investors are chuckling. NOT looking good for Seattle Fashion.

Um....Runway models for Lauren Conrad

So, I'll get this little admission out of the way before I launch into the rest of my disparaging paragraph: I envy Lauren Conrad's "career" (YES, I use the term loosely). She's famous for nothing, getting opportunities she's hardly qualified for (NO, I don't care that she attended the "Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising..." so did lots of other girls who AREN'T on a lame television show getting undeserved offers thrown at them left and right), she's got great hair, long legs, and...a LOT of media attention. I want that. I really do. HOWEVER: she gets herself a packed house at LA's Fashion week and struts out a model with....a wad of Kleenex on her head. I mean...I would have the good sense not to slap a white faux flower on a girl's head - from any distance, it will look like a cheesy stage prop. Like a handkerchief. Like Bounty. I won't knock LC's own "sense of style," that's up to the greater shopping public....but so far, I'm not impressed with her runway savvy.

And, is it just me, or does this look distinctly like it belongs on the Fredericks of Hollywood website?

a letter to my unemployed self...

noreply@blogger.com (heatheradair) — Tue, 14 Oct 2008 16:43:00 +0000

Dear Heather,

This all feels so strange, doesn't it? Surreal. Difficult to grasp. A shock, like a death in the family. After all of those years essentially...growing up under that roof...you sat in that chair longer than you've even known your husband...you spent more hours in that office than you spent with your family. You toiled, languished, persevered. Now this. After all of those hours spent burning that midnight oil assuming it would be appreciated, you're told, "we're restructuring. we're letting you go."

I'll bet you're going through the stages of grief. The denial, the anger, the numbness. I'll bet you'll have up days and down days. You'll have days of relief (maybe you can find a job where 40 hours means 40 hours, not 55 or 63). You'll have days of sadness. It's OK if your feelings are hurt. It's OK if you feel like you've been dumped. It's normal.

I picked this picture of you because you look determined. Chin up, smile on your face - ready to take it all on. Cling to that. Cling to your determination, your sense of self, your innate knowledge that you're a talented, valuable employee. You inspire respect and admiration for your character, your skills, your determination.

Above all else, don't sell yourself short. Don't let yourself down. Try your best not to be consumed by the fears of "what happens next" and "what do I do when the rent is due" and "what if no one wants to hire me..." Commit yourself to finding a place you love.

Take this odd, unexpected opportunity to finally follow your passion. Don't settle for another desk job that pays the bills. Don't take the first thing that comes along out of fear that nothing else will come along - do what you were so afraid to do for so long: start over.

Remember that eight-year-old girl that told strangers she would be "an author" when she grew up. Tap into that strength you felt when you tore open your scores on that AP exam and realized you were among the top 5% in the COUNTRY. Remember those writing conferences your teachers sent you to when you were young. Remember that fire, channel that vigor, refuse to bow to the little voices in your head telling you you're always a few dollars from homeless.

Rely on K - let him support you while you struggle to find a new place to call home. Be proud of the jobs you've held, they've brought you to where you are now. Don't be afraid of that pay cut - in the long run, you value professional satisfaction so much more than you value the dollar sign. Take pride, peace, and solace in knowing that you can go to bed each night having pursued what you love.

Don't back down. Don't sell yourself short. Don't be afraid to find out who you are. What you're made of. What you're capable of. Who loves you. Who supports you.

Remember this time as one of those dark periods you're all the stronger for having conquered. Dazzle them with your smile, your smarts, your vocabulary...and (let's be honest) your eyelashes. Work hard, let yourself play a little. You haven't played in years. You haven't slept in for years. You haven't let K pull the long hours in years.

It's your turn. Take heart. Take care of you.

Seize your day.

Can someone please give the campaigns a thesaurus?

noreply@blogger.com (heatheradair) — Mon, 06 Oct 2008 15:42:00 +0000

Here are a handful of useful, pleasant alternatives to the over-used word "maverick" (which, thankfully, can only really continue to bombard us for the next 25 days or so):

Dissenter
Nonconformist
Stray
Individualist
Rebel
Outsider
Eccentric
Radical
Rebel
Irregular
Unorthodox
Lone wolf
Independent
Mutineer
Off-beat
Stray
Unbranded
Uncontained
Atypical

Who's next for Natalie?

noreply@blogger.com (heatheradair) — Mon, 29 Sep 2008 16:24:00 +0000

Just read that Natalie Portman and her current (scary) manfriend Devendra Banhart split up...so I thought that I'd do a little celebrity match-making and come up with Natalie's next man.

She's a tough one...smart and well-educated (with a "wise beyond her years" vibe that apparently intimidates everyone from Jon Stewart to Peter Saarsgard), reasonably adept at staying out of the gossip headlines, socially conscientious (as a shoe fetishist I can vouch for the unadulterated sexiness of her vegan footwear line - and I was skeptical...I had visions of organic Crocs and glorified Chacos dancing through my head...I was refreshingly off-base. She knows shoes.) and adorable as all get out.

SO - she needs a man able to keep up with her forays into philanthropy, her vocabulary, her status as a budding style icon, and her dependably respectable career path ("The Other Boleyn Girl" notwithstanding). That means paparazzi hounds and brainless cover boys are out.

She tends to favor interesting, unconventionally good-looking types over the standard heartthrob genre. That rules out the George Clooneys and Jude Laws and, oh...Lance Armstrongs. At 27, she's (thankfully) above the MTV Reality Show-/CW Soap Opera-/Teen Choice-caliber fray. No Brody Jenner for Natalie. BUT, she's not yet - quite - to the place where dating thrice-divorced business lotharios or restauranteurs would necessarily suit her, either.

She's visible enough that it seems unlikely she'd date someone entirely out of the business - the "demands of movie-making schedules" would wreak decent havok on the day-to-day dating expectations of anyone unaccustomed to The Biz. That means musicians and actors and...politicians are on the list. Off the list: pro athletes. Unless they're also of the Harvard-educated persuasion, since, frankly, what suits Jessica Simpson will hopefully never suit Natalie (er...shoe design bit aside). So, Rugby extraordinaires or soccer stars are a possibility. Michael Phelps (heh, heh, heh): NOT a possibility.

What that leaves us with: well-educated, socially-conscious, reasonably famous men with impressive vocabularies. Oh dear.

As it happens, I googled "socially conscious famous people with good vocabularies."

The one result (given that google returned things like a list of miami nightclubs...?): Kanye West.

Hmmmm...while good-looking and creatively progressive he seems a little inflammatory for my Natalie (and I can afford to be picky - she's my favorite. We have the same birthday. Right). I'm worried he'd create unecessary drama. HOWEVER - he passes the "famous enough" test. And the man's got style. I'm giving him a 5 on my NNM (Natalie's Next Man" Meter.

I thought about Javier Bardem - he's mysterious, a bit smoldering, exotic, makes smart career moves, flies under the celebrity radar - but ultimately, I think that's a bit of a cop-out because she's already done the on-again, off-again thing with likewise smoldering and mysterious Gael Garcia Bernal. Too similar. Too obvious a pairing (she apparently spent a few weeks partying with Javier and friends in Madrid a few years back, however - so they're friends, in any event). He gets a 3 on the NNM Meter.

I thought Casey Affleck would have made a good candidate (he's Colombia-educated and suddenly, QUITE hunky...) but alas: married.

There's Daniel Craig. He's a theatre buff. Divorced. A respectable 40 years old. A confessed friend of Kate Moss, but I've yet to see pictures of him doing coke lines off of fancy prostitutes...ah, even a rugby player. Comes with the "I'm smarter and more interesting by virtue of my British accent" schtick that a girl finds difficult to resist. And since so many people seem to like proclaiming Natalie the next generation's Audrey Hepbern, I suppose the iconicism of dating James Bond would add just the right amount of poetic kitsch. Danny gets a 7 on the NNM meter.

I'm thinking her best bet would be Adrien Brody. He's a serious, "actor's actor," (that takes care of the career, they're both well-respected, taken seriously for their craft - both have lived in New York; he's unconventionally (and...um...devastatingly!) handsome. He's a huge hip-hop fan (aspiring producer, actually), so there's her musical connection (if the Devendra Banhard gig is an indication that she's a sucker for...musicians). He's got a sort of...rakish charm that would counterbalance the fact that Natalie can seem, at times, a little too...focused. Adrien gets a 9 on the NNM.

Done. Match made. I'll be expecting to see them both at the Oscars or something this year together. Or at a Kanye show.

To begin with: the name "RODANTHE" is icky.

noreply@blogger.com (heatheradair) — Fri, 26 Sep 2008 14:46:00 +0000

So, my sister and I get a great kick out of going to a theatre to see a movie we know we'll hate, then heckling our way through it, Mystery Science Theater-style.

We're reasonably quiet about it. We do our best not to annoy the other nice fools that wasted their money on terrible movies.

We'll definitely be going to see "Nights in Rodanthe." I'm snickering right now just thinking about the previews. Alonso Duralde over at MSNBC calls it "the world’s longest General Foods International Coffees commercial." I think Alonso and I would get along pretty well.

I used to drink a lot of GFIC - loved the Orange Cappuccino flavor. Made the mistake of buying the sugar-free version once. Tasted like drinking slightly orange-flavored liquid foundation makeup (you know, as I'd imagine foundation to taste, when heated...).

But back to "Rodanthe" (which I keep finding myself pronouncing in my best Julia Childs voice, because the word is so ugly is merits a certain amount of dramatic hyperbole). It's the casting that really sinks the movie's ship (or, if you're a sucker for Nicholas Sparks adaptations, the icing on the "There's always hope and kissing with tongue for middle-aged women in unsatisfying marriages before the credits role" cake). See, I don't think either Richard Gere OR Diane Lane can really carry an entire movie these days - and while Gere did seem to stop aging altogether the second Pretty Woman wrapped, he's on that same fence that Harrison Ford fell off of a few years ago: the "no longer appealing in a romantic leading role" fence. Cast him as the rogish politician, the slightly hunky dad, the rakish boss, but the "best sex of her life" role? Hmmmmm. As "the man that brings out the woman in her," I'm just not really convinced he's still got it.

And, Diane, bless her little mom-jeans-wearing heart, is EITHER the greatest con-artist Hollywood has ever been taken by (because the Movie Powers That Be are still convinced she's redefining acting for her generation, that she's a powerful screen force to be reckoned with, that she's been reborn as the Meryl Streep in Waiting, or - wait for it - that she's a Good Actress) OR, she really has yet to find that "perfect script." Because the long string of movies in which she's cast as an every women, wronged, scorned, and ultimately, strengthened and victorious keep falling flat with me. They're both a little past their prime when it comes to delivering the romantic punch. They don't...smolder anymore. They don't even spark. They play to cliches. And Lane's Mary Lou Retton cum Victoria Beckham bob doesn't do her any sexy favors - it just makes her look...well...old. Which she shouldn't. Because she's not. In fact, I watched that George Clooney eyebrow vehicle "Leatherheads" a while ago and really spend the entire movie thinking there might have been some real chemistry if they'd replaced poochy-lipped Renee Zellweger with Diane Lane.

Then there's the location: stately beach house during a hurricane. No cliche there. Stolen kisses against a backdrop of thunder and lightning: original. Inspiring. Really.

On another level, casting Christopher Meloni as the estranged husband sabotages Richard Gere even further. In fact, I'd probably be rushing to see this movie to oogle Meloni and swoon over the kisses stolen against the thunder and lightning backdrop (receding hairline, golden skin and upper body of steel - Heather's dream man....toss Meloni, Jason Statham, Bruce Willis and...oh, Shia (for a little youth and beauty) into a movie together and I'd watch it, period). Then I'd at least understand the character conflict.

BUT, then, I'm going to see this movie for heckling purposes only. So in that regard, I suppose it's perfectly cast, perfectly set - just flat perfect.

So this is what they REALLY think of the voters...

noreply@blogger.com (heatheradair) — Thu, 25 Sep 2008 20:01:00 +0000

So, the 2004 Governor's race in the State of Washington was one of closest, most hotly contested in the history of....oh, politics. Ever. Came down to recount after recount, a lawsuit or twelve, and - eventually - 133 measly votes ultimately crowned Christine Gregoire the Governor. She "beat" (though that's still a source of contention among those grudge-holding types) a guy named Dino. Dino Rossi.

Groovy.

Well, Gregoire's 2004 nemesis Dino is back in the race. And, in a move that can only be called....um....shoot....what do we call something so... litigiously frivolous? Oh! Litigiously frivolous, yes, let's call it that. In a move that can only be called Litigiously Frivolous, Gregoire (or, fine, the State Democratic Party) filed suit demanding that Nemesis-Dino change his party designation on November's ballot to read "Republican" instead of "GOP" as he's currently designated.

The basis of their suit (if it can be called anything other than baseless in the first place):

Allowing Mr. Rossi to obscure his true party preference and affiliation directly violates the law, would mislead a substantial portion of the voting public and would breed cynicism and mistrust in our public institutions and, indeed, in our electoral process. This Court has the power and the duty to correct such threatened errors in the preparation and printing of the ballot and should exercise that power to protect the integrity of the electoral process.

Okey dokey. My favorite part (and the part that reveals the most about what the democratic party thinks of the greater "voting public") is that bit that suggests that a substantial portion of voters would be mislead by the GOP moniker.

Pardon?

So that suggests that a "substantial portion" of Washington State has never heard the republicans referred to as members of the GOP. That suggests that most voters go to the polls and look for the "R" or the "D" next to the name and check boxes accordingly.

Here's the problem with that logic:

If you're one of these "I always vote republican" box-checkers, then odds are you're perfectly familiar with what GOP means and wouldn't be unduly fooled by those 3 letters.

If you're one of those "democrat and democrat only" voters, then you've got nothing to worry about: vote for Gregoire, with the nice, clear DEMOCRAT designation next to her name.

No problem.

The problem I have is with the idea that our state democratic party seems to have no problem suing to pander to what they obviously feel is a completely stupid body politic. Hmmm....

I say, if Dino wants to try a new approach to his brand, go for it. And Governor Gregoire: try hitting the campaign trail and clearing up that confusion over what GOP means rather than wasting any of the next 40 days in court arguing about semantics.

People (and research institutes) having worse Mondays than I...

noreply@blogger.com (heatheradair) — Mon, 08 Sep 2008 17:03:00 +0000

Time for another round of my favorite game, a good opportunity for me to realize that my day isn't so bad - I could be any of these people (or research institutes) - though, as a sidenote, I notice that this is also a good thermometer against which to measure my general mood - the easier it is to find people having a worse day than I, the better I figure my spirits must be...when it's difficult to find good examples of bad days....I must be having a Monday:

OJ Simpson

I'd say "good morning" to OJ, but if the jury selected for his trial due to begin today is any indication, OJ's morning is anything but good. The all-white panel of nine women and three men will hear opening arguments in a case that alleges OJ and five other men (two of them armed) raided a Las Vegas hotel room to recover what Simpson claims was "stolen sports memorabilia." He's facing armed robbery and kidnapping charges, and, if convicted of all charges, faces life in prison. Even worse for OJ than a predominantly female, white jury: four of his five co-defendants flipped on him and are scheduled to testify for the prosecution. That's a photo of Judge Jackie Glass - she maintains that the prosecution had "race-neutral" reasons for dismissing African-American potential jurors.

The Cedars-Sinai Womens' Cancer Research Institute

This weekend marked the 4th anniversary of The Pink Party to benefit womens' cancer research at Cedars. Good cause - and who better to raise money for an LA hospital than celebrities? Faux-celebs, it appears. Yes, the marvel of modern gossip-website-marketing "SPEIDI" were on hand, looking decidedly...mismatched. I'm not sure who Heidi was channeling when she figured slicked-back hair and drag queen makeup were the best way to accent her, um...rather sharp features. Dlisted said it best: "Cindy McCain called, she wants her hair back." Naturally, cancer research doesn't know the difference between celebrity money and faux-celebrity money, but, um...I do. And as much as I like to laugh at the strange "cue the commercial break" silences at the end of conversations on "The Hills," I still haven't figured out how Lauren, Audrina, Heidi, et all, have managed to maintain enough pop culture relevance to still warrant invitations to things like charity parties. I just. don't. get. it. As "reality television stars," they're right up there with Billy Bush on the annoying scale. As "famous people" they're about as confusing as...Starr Jones. As style icons, they're...um...on par with Miley Cyrus. As walking advertisements for the merits of breast augmentation procedures and the many opportunities afforded post nose-job, they're bar none. Bottom line: I think women's cancer research was undermined this weekend (but okay, it still won't keep me from using Lauren Conrad as my bellweather for what nail polish shade will be hot this fall...).

Debbie Phelps

It must be tough to be reminded that your son, Flipper, is, in fact, human after all. If he'd actually nailed his SNL hosting-gig even I would have had to ponder whether or not Jesus still walked among us. Good to know that Flipper has his limits. Even the golden love-energy of Carrie Underwood couldn't make un-funny material funny. Or help him read a teleprompter. Hmm - you mean they don't teach that in the pool? Swim fast, date pretty girls, read without moving your eyes. Oh - and that smiley creature in the phonetic t-shirt: I won't be buying one of those shirts. We know how I feel about Flipper.

Shia LeBeouf

So, I'll get my opinion out of the way early: this kid is the only movie star under 40 worth looking at these days (just too cute for his own good...*sigh*). So, I don't know if the final installment of Shia Post-Crash Hand Surgery really means that he's having a rough day, but it's an excuse for me to toss up another picture of him. According to MSNBC, he has one more operation to repair the crushed hand, then he's "back to 100 percent." Meaning, I suppose, that then he's free to get belligerent on another drug store, or whatever young things do to stir up trouble these days...

How quickly we turn on ourselves...

noreply@blogger.com (heatheradair) — Tue, 02 Sep 2008 17:47:00 +0000

It's OK to aspire to the highest office in the land...as long as your children are grown and out of the house and your child-rearing days are behind you. It's OK to balance a career and a family...as long as the family is perfect and the kids don't do...well, things most Alaskan kids do. It's OK to be driven, determined, successful - just make sure your husband's never done anything sketchy in his younger years. It's OK to throw our support behind a woman...just make sure her hair is conservatively cut, she's dressed like a man and there's nothing to suggest she's...well, female.

I'm amazed by how quickly women have turned on Alaska governor Sarah Palin.

I'm amazed by how dramatically we revert back to the ideals that a woman's responsibility is FIRST to her family and second to her career.

I'm amazed that we're comfortable judging a woman's professional capability based on decisions her children make.

I'm amazed that a male senator light on experience and heavy on oratory and inspirational chutzpah is hailed as a savior, but a female governor light on experience and heavy on voter connection and the ability to excite her party is expected to "belly flop."

Newsweek calls her nomination "great political theatre," but reasons that rookies "never score hat tricks." Fine. Couldn't we say the same of a rookie senator aiming not for the supporting position, but the big "actor in a leading role" nod? Can't we just admit that the tickets are pretty balanced now, on both sides of the aisle and decide to TRULY leave everyone's families off limits? If we can't, can't we at least give everyone's perceived "shortcomings" as parents equal face time?

Why is it that this woman's hairstyle is open territory on national news websites? Why is it OK to preface a description of her with the "beauty queen" history and "hockey mom" status first and professional accomplishments second?

It seems women have been more dramatically critical of Palin than men (who, as far as I've overheard, fall into two camps: the "I'd do her" camp and the " she's no Hilary" camp). It's women that have come out of the woodwork to condemn her parenting, her preparedness, the state of her family. Many of them the same women that praised Hilary's attempts to smash the glass and score the ultimate executive position have their claws firmly sunk into Palin's decision to serve her country...

If you want to attack her for "Troopergate," go right ahead.

If you want to nail her for flip-flopping on the "Bridge to Nowhere," debate, have it it.

If you want to pick apart how accurate her pro-ANWR-pillaging statistics are, feel free.

Take her to the wall for her preparedness to debate foreign policy.

Enough with the rumors about who the baby really belongs to. Enough of the critique of the pictures of her in the bikini. Enough with the claims that "if she can't control her family, she's ill-equipped to govern."

Last time I checked, educators weren't hired on the basis of how well their own children perform long division at home. Coaches aren't selected based on how far their sons and daughters can throw a football. CEO's aren't promoted based on how many of their kids are pursuing master's degrees. Books weren't published because the writers' children were perfect at spelling. Since when were politicians disqualified because of decisions their kids make behind closed doors? Believe me, there are plenty of good kids - raised by great parents - making wrong decisions every day.

The mark of a good parent and a good leader is how they handle the aftermath. We can't prevent hurricanes, earthquakes, or tornadoes, but we can clean up after them.

Someone needs to take Carrie's cell phone away.

noreply@blogger.com (heatheradair) — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 22:31:00 +0000

I don't care how similarly-shaped their chins are - Carrie Underwood is Barbie-Perfect and Barbies should know better. Barbies don't date inarticulate super-human neo-celebs with perpetually pruned fingers and toes and lunatic mommies...I don't care which party initiated the "text message romance," but for the love of Flipper, please Perfect-Carrie - step AWAY from Michael Phelps...pass him off to Hollywood's other single super-chin, Jennifer Aniston (and you thought I'd say Rumer Willis...)

The one thing I can give Flipper is that he had the good sense to suggest their first date be something unrelated to eating. Apparently he's afraid he'd scare her off if she saw him eat too soon. I can only imagine that watching a grown man pick up an entire pizza, fold it in half calzone-style and shove it down the gullet for an appetizer would engender something other than lust in the average girl.

And let's be frank - the man waxes more of his body than even the average Barbie-Perfect-Starlet waxes...and that prune-skin thing...I can only imagine how delightful it would be to snuggle up to something clammy and chlorinated after a long day in the studio. AND (as long as I'm picking Flipper apart and giving him more screen time than I ought for a guy that I am as patently disinterested as I am in Michael Phelps...) are we forgetting about his...um...face? He may be chiseled from stone from the traps down, but, um...can we say Fieval Mousekewitz? My apologies if this is "unAmerican" of me to call the hunk bluff here (afterall, even Amanda Beard recanted her "eww!" comment since it was eschewed as "mocking.") but come on, we can't ALL want to marry the guy and have his web-footed super-babies. Can we really say that if we saw his face flashed on a billboard and had NO IDEA who the man was that we'd be so slack-jawed and weak-kneed? Carrie, Carrie, Carrie....

Maybe I'm debasing two young American legands here (Carrie's legendary as far as I'm concerned, gold medals or no gold medals), but Carrie...I hate to use this analogy (because it just fits too well) - but there are plenty of other FISH. IN. THE. SEA. Even gold-medal-winning fish, if that's her taste.

Ms Underwood's phone keeps getting her into trouble. If she's not being flip about calls from her ex (and how quickly did Jess jump to dispel the idea that Tony would so much as SPEAK to another woman?), she's texting her way into what could well become the most overexposed several dates in American history.

A word to the silver medalists..

noreply@blogger.com (heatheradair) — Fri, 22 Aug 2008 16:57:00 +0000

I'm no athlete (let alone an Olympian) so on one hand I'm about the last person qualified to make this particular argument. On the other hand, I'm an American who loves to see American athletes perform well at the Olympics, so I'm just as qualified as the next guy to pick a bone with the host of athletes that seem to see a silver or bronze medal as "a devastating loss."

I watched Allyson Felix run a beautiful 200 meters and win a silver medal for the US. You'd think she'd been disqualified in the quarterfinals for all of the disappointed tears she shed. I understand that you train for the gold. I understand that being called the "Olympic Favorite" empowers you with a certain feeling of inevitability that means you fall harder and faster back to the earth when you're edged out by a super-human Jamaican with whom you've got a "friendly rivalry," but for a moment, appreciate the fact that you're basically the best in the world. There's only one other person on the planet at that moment in time that's any better than you. You're standing on a medal podium before all the world, the best of the best, as good as they come. You've trained, you've run, you've won! Cry, if you must - but cry tears of JOY! You've worked hard to get where you stand!

Cry if you drop the baton. Cry if you tumble over a hurdle. Cry for a false start or a busted Achilles or a "big splash" or a two-step on the landing. Cry when you're out of bounds or disqualified. Don't cry because you beat all of 'em....but one. Don't cry because you ran your hardest, gave your best and came in second to one. Be proud of yourself, be proud of your hard work, be proud of your country, be proud of your OLYMPIC MEDAL.

I'll never have one. I'll never know what it's like to stand up on that podium and lean down to have a medal hung around my neck. I'll never know what it's like to represent my country in athletic competition. I'll never be such a finely tuned machine, such an excellent example of what a human body can accomplish. There's a reason they award three medals - it's EXCELLENT to be second or third in the world. Its an amazing feat.

Be proud.

People having a worse Friday than I: August edition

noreply@blogger.com (heatheradair) — Fri, 22 Aug 2008 14:59:00 +0000

Here's another dose of perspective for me...I know that on any given day there are people having a harder time of it than I:

Heidi Dalibor, aka: The Library Lady

This sweet young thing from Grafton, Wisconsin owed $30 in library fines. Let's hope she REALLY loved "White Oleander" and "Angels and Demons," because they landed her 20-year old parts in jail. Not sure what she did to offend the Grafton Library VIPs, but failure to pay her library fines (and failure to take the library's calls or heed their notice to appear in court) resulted in a warrant for her arrest. Cops showed up at her door, cuffed her, and hauled her off to the clink. Her mother coughed up the $172 needed to free her daughter (whom I'll call the "Black Widow of the Grafton Library System"), Heidi ponied up the $30 in late fees. The library director claims that "a couple of dozen people are cited each year for failure to return materials or pay fines." Apparently "cited" is a nice way of saying "tossed behind bars." A visit to the U.S.S Liberty Memorial Public Library of Grafton website offers the following information about the library's policies:

Loan Periods
Books check out for 28 days.
New Books check out for 14 days.
DVDs and Videos check out for 7 days.
Magazines check out for 14 days. The most current issue does not circulate.
Compact discs check out for 14 days.
Books on CD and Audiocassettes check out for 28 days. New audio books check out for 14 days.
CD-ROMs and Software check out for 14 days.

Fines for Late Items
Books, magazines, compact discs and software and audiocassettes are charged 10 cents for each day overdue.
DVDs & Videos are charged 50 cents for each day overdue.
CD-ROM are charged 50 cents for each day overdue.
Damaged materials: a charge is assessed when materials are damaged. Fee ranges from cost of replacing the item to 50 cents.

Looks like that could use an update - something along the lines of "Occassionally the library exercises its right to incarcerate card holders for unpaid late fines. Thank you; happy reading."

The Phelps Ghost Writer

I just don't envy the person responsible for milking an entire book out of the story of Michael Phelps' success story. Oh - I'm sorry, am I being hasty to assume that Flipper isn't going to write his own book? Am I underestimating the Human Submarine to assume that the same man that uttered the phrase, "A vintage Aston Martin, like a James Bond car would be sick," when asked what he'll do with his million-buck Speedo bonus will have what it takes to pen an entire novel about "his philosophy on training and competition, as well as his life being raised by a single mother and coping with an attention-deficit disorder" in just 3 short months (because, in true "Capitalize on Flipper" fashion, the publisher is cranking out the book in time for the holidays)?

Sure, he can do that.

And the poor soul that has to crank out a few hundred pages of compelling material about the copious amounts of Frosted Flakes, chocolate chip pancakes and Mac & Cheese Flipper puts away before swimming his 5 miles a day and the rumours he deflects about which She-Swimmer he was glimpsed slipping tongue to in the Olympic Village is having a worse Friday than I'm having, that's for sure. I wonder how many different ways you can spin, "I'm just speechless!" to fill the pages of that book destined to stuff billions of stockings and be translated into every language ever spoken before Christmas?

This is one kid that hasn't jumped on the Phelps wagon.

Will women please learn to stop dating John Mayer....

noreply@blogger.com (heatheradair) — Thu, 21 Aug 2008 19:37:00 +0000

OK famous-girls: enough already. How much of Hollywood has to break up with the guy before someone figures it out: the dude is skeezy. He lauds his own wandering eye. He admits to being unable to commit. He has a short attention span. He's USING YOU TO GET MEDIA ATTENTION. Those paparazzi numbskulls that make their living off of catching you in a "cellulite-moment" on the beach? John's buddies with those guys.

Frankly, as far as I can tell, he doesn't much like women. Not really. He likes what he gets from them. He likes having one around. He likes writing songs about them that paint him as a romantic. But I don't think he's a romantic. There have been a few toooooo many photos of him staring straight at the camera during otherwise "intimate" moments with girl-of-the-month for me to believe that he's not just "in it for the exposure."

My word of advice to the ladies: stop thinking you'll be his lifelong "wonderland." Unless you can personally supply him with a never-ending busload of nubile groupies and a glut of photographers and don't mind that he'll probably never be faithful and will get tired of you when the tabloids get tired of him....then frankly, you're out of your league....

A public service annoucement is in order: Women who know better don't date John Mayer.

but I don't like the bad boy types....

noreply@blogger.com (heatheradair) — Wed, 07 Nov 2007 18:13:00 +0000

Dang, Shia. You're breakin my heart. You've joined the Mugshot Club. Trouble is, you weren't thrown out of Mr Chow's or caught making a scene at Pure or seen smearing your face with food at Chateau Marmont...

You got arrested at Wallgreens. For refusing to leave.

Riddle me this, you irritatingly good-looking man-child: what was SOOOOOOO hot at the drugstore you REFUSED to leave when they tried to throw you out? I've wasted time in a drugstore or two (it was standard recreation in college...broke and bored: let's go kill time wandering around the local strip malls) - but I'm a GIRL. Girls are supposed to stand, google-eyed and dazzled in front of the Revlon displays when mascara goes on a great sale. We're supposed to sniff every bottle of shampoo before deciding on the overpriced coconut-scented brand.

I've never known a man in my life that wanted to spend more than 30 seconds buying his bar of Safeguard and getting out of that drug store as quickly as possible.

Maybe Chicago's different? Maybe in drugstores in Chicago there are X-Boxes set up with Halo III and free beer and hot wings and maybe the aisles are long enough to toss a football - maybe they're more like sports bars.

Or maybe Shia likes shampoo? And greeting cards? And makeup? Maybe he's just reeeeeeaaaallllly into vitamins and toothpaste? Maybe when he's drunk he gets an irresistible urge to floss and wash his face with Olay products? Maybe he wanted to slather himself in Carmex or Caress body wash? Maybe a night of hard drinking left him feeling...dirty.

Beats me - why bother getting yourself arrested for "trespassing" in a drug store? Isn't that like Megan Fox getting arrested for refusing to leave a Sports Authority or something? I don't get it.

HOWEVER - if I ever end up in Chicago's Chi-Town, I'm finding that Walgreens and taking a picture of myself there...in that Walgreens that obviously sells giant plasma-screen tv's and broadcasts football throughout the store (the aisles of which are OBVIOUSLY filled with hot strippers and models in their underwear) and has a bar in the back serving $1 pints of Kokanee (that come with free Grey Goose shots or something).

p.s. - I still love you Shia - you and Brad Paisley. You're the only ones on my very short list of men I'd have to think twice (no, think a dozen times) about leaving K for if you ever asked me to run away with you...er, or if you asked me to go buy mascara and bubble bath with you...?

she was willing to DIE for those things?

noreply@blogger.com (heatheradair) — Tue, 02 Oct 2007 15:09:00 +0000

Ok, maybe this is silly after such a long blog-recess to take up issue with Heidi Montag, but I'm sorry, what could I do with a quote like this (regarding her boob job):

Heidi said she fully understood the seriousness of surgery. “Right before I went in, I was like, ‘What if I don’t wake up? Oh, this is scary.’ Then I thought, I don’t care. If I don’t wake up, it’s worth it. I just wanted it so badly.”

Oh dear.

I mean, um...good for her for being so ambitious and not letting a silly thing like DEATH keep her (and her douche of a "boyfriend") from indulging her insecurities.

Here's the entire story (courtesy of msnbc's "tabloid tidbits"), decide for yourself:

After lifetime of suffering insecurity and poor body image, Heidi Montag did indeed place herself under a surgeon’s knife last April — and supportive boyfriend Spencer Pratt couldn’t be prouder!
“I’ve always been very insecure about my body,” the “Hills” hottie, Us magazine, confirming speculations about her nose job and breast augmentation. “On the beach, if I was standing next to a girl with big boobs, I’d be like, I hate her! I hated my nose too. I have my dad’s nose, which is huge. It took up so much of my face, when I looked down, I could see my nose. I couldn’t get away from it!”
Heidi denied that Playboy Bunny-lovin’ Spencer pressured her into the surgery. In fact, she told Us, he was really supportive. The day she went in for the operation, “Spencer said, ‘I’m so proud of you.’ It was like he was wishing me well off to school: ‘Love you! Bye’!”
Heidi said she fully understood the seriousness of surgery. “Right before I went in, I was like, ‘What if I don’t wake up? Oh, this is scary.’ Then I thought, I don’t care. If I don’t wake up, it’s worth it. I just wanted it so badly.”

I'm not sure who to start with...poor little "insecure" Heidi or that proud, supportive lame-brain she lets herself be photographed with on the beach. Girls like Heidi are, by the way, the reason I don't particularly like girls. "Forces completely beyond her control gave her bigger boobs than me...ohmygosh, I hate her!"

She must hate her dad, too, since he gave her a nose that she was so eager to lance off she would happily DIE to fix it.

Um, dad? Where were you when she took up with a no-good, hanger-on, wanna-be, dirt-bag boyfriend who was PROUD of her for pumping herself up with plastic pillows and slicing off her schnoz.

And Heidi, darling: I hope you feel better about yourself, because if you keep wasting time with guys who enthusiastically shoot you off to be nip/tucked like it was the first day of school, your new nose and your new rack will be all you have to keep you warm...oh, wait - that assumes she's smart enough to shake those boys off. That assumes she's realized they don't love her for HER. They love her for the bizarro photo ops. That assumes she knows what's good for her...aw geez, then I guess she and Spence' will be living happily, obliviously, artificially ever after...together forever on beaches where she can stand next to other big-boobed girls and fixed-nosed girls and feel luuuuuuuv for them, because she's got what they've got.

Oh, and p.s.....

WHAT ON EARTH IS THIS GIRL GETTING COVERED ON MSNBC FOR ANYWAY? SHE'S THE POOR MAN'S KRISTEN CAVALERRI...and there should never BE a low-rent Kristen Cavalerri...that's like...below d-list. That's Q-list. And I just proudly wasted a page on 'em both :)

people having a worse monday than I

noreply@blogger.com (heatheradair) — Mon, 30 Jul 2007 16:34:00 +0000

Since I hate mondays...particularly mondays following a nice wedding anniversary weekend when i'm overloaded with work the second I sit down at my desk, I began this little ritual of cruising through news, current events or celebrity gossip to find people who's mondays...um, suck considerably more than mine. While I usually prefer the obscure to the overt, I do have a Lohan-fixation that just won't die...

So, in no particular order, here are people who probably wish they were me this morning:

Barry Bonds.

Because he's fallen into poor favor with Bob Costas. And Bob Costas is an American force to be reckoned with (not to mention object of my 10-year-old-self's innocent desire...in fact, I remember having an imaginary conversation between myself and some out-of-towner that commented on my equally imaginary licence plate frame that read, "Beautiful B.C." (not particularly odd up in these parts where we have plenty of British Columbia transplants). "Oh, you're from BC," they'd remark. "Oh no," I'd say, "That stands for Beautiful Bob Costas." I kid not. He's aged poorly...tends to look like the melting man a bit these days, but 15-20 years ago, he was foxy in that understated, deadpan style...)

But back to Barry, the man that drew the Costas ire. According to MSNBC, Costas thinks Bonds' 755th career home run will be an "ambivalent" moment for fans since the history Bonds is making is not "pure or laudable" and that "There are elements of history that are tragic or about which we feel ambivalent, and I think ambivalence is the best possible way anyone outside of San Francisco can feel about this."

It gets better. Barry and Bob make it personal. After Bob made a remark on the air about the existence of "credible information that Bonds has used performance-enhancing drugs to turn himself from a great player into a superhuman one," Barry decided to take the high (and articulate) road and responded by calling Bob "that little midget man."

Barry, Barry, Barry. You're insulting the premier sportscaster of our generation - the man to emcee at least a million Olympic Games - an athlete's advocate. A handsome, easy-going guy.

Bob's response: “As anyone can plainly see, I’m 5-6½ and a strapping 150, and unlike some people, I came by all of it naturally.”

Anyway, Bob goes on to sound decently intellectual, saying “It wouldn’t matter if I were the mayor of the Munchkin City. What matters is the validity of the information and the validity of the comments I have made, and very often when people have no credible argument — and in this case Barry Bonds has no credible argument — they resort to nonsense and ad hominem attacks, and that’s what he did.”

Anyway, sorry Barry - Bob wins on this particular Monday. I'd rather be me than Barry on this particular Monday - this kid never wants to draw criticism from The Bob.

Chief Justice John Roberts

He took a tumble on Monday. That's not what makes his day worse than mine (heck, I trip over my own feet a few times a day, I'm lucky to stay balanced, upright, and maintain a facade of gracefulness for half of my waking...er, walking hours) - what makes this a bad day is that, at 52, it's news when the man falls at home...and is hospitalized as a "precaution."

Soooo, did he fall off of a roof? Did he fall while driving the riding mower? He was conscious after the fall (thanks, CNN, for that edge-of-my-seat detail), but apparently fell well enough to warrant a trip to the hospital.

This could go one of two ways: we'll either be bombarded with forthcoming details in the next day or so telling us all about the state of the Chief Justice's dislocated shoulder (an unfortunate accident while building a tree house for his nephew or trolling for lobster)...OR we'll hear nothing and can assume it was somehow related to a sex swing.

Danika McKellar

Who? Oh yeah, WINNIE! From The Wonder Years!!!
So, after all these years she's resurfaced. She's as hot as I imagined she'd grow up to be. She's still got the shiniest hair on the entire planet. She's being featured on CNN...and after all of these years she's come back to tell us girls that "Smart is cool." Only trouble is, she manages to make saying so sound pretty ditzy: after making the easy Paris-Lindsay slam she manages to provide global news outlets with this very articulate sound byte:

"I want to show them [girls] that being smart is cool. Being good at math is cool. And not only that, it can help them get what they want out of life."

then this:

"I want to tell girls that cute and dumb isn't as good as cute and smart."

Thanks Winnie...

I'm going to err on the side of confidence in her intellect and suspect that CNN just did a poor job hyping Winnie's return to the American consciousness...she has, after all, just written a book called "Math Doesn't Suck" which includes "tips to avoid mistakes on homework, ways to overcome test-day anxiety and profiles of three beautiful mathematicians."

Hmmm. Well, not to insult the smart, hot chick and fall back into the very predictable gender stereotypes Winnie's trying to fight, but, um, if you're trying to make a statement about valorizing smarts...would it hurt to sound smart?

myspace: feeding the ravenous socially voyeuristic streak in all of us

noreply@blogger.com (heatheradair) — Thu, 26 Jul 2007 16:50:00 +0000

I've decided the only reason I still waste any time on myspace is, ultimately, a creepy reason.

I'm a myspace spy.

I'm one of those "virtual lurkers" that hops from page to page to page just "checking in" on people...reading comments, cruising pictures, weaving through a "friend maze" until I'm looking at pictures of people I've never met but who might be friends with a friend of a friend of a friend that I may have vaguely known through someone else years ago in college. I can stumble across a play-by-play of someone's wedding, camping trip, graduation, drunken frat party, find out who misses who and who hasn't seen who in a long time...all from the comfort of my own little computer desk.
Creepy.

Addictive. Creepy. Because I know there are people out there lurking in on my life...and even more strange: doesn't bother me (of course, I guess I wouldn't blog or even bother with a myspace page if I were much afraid of e-voyeurs. Afterall, isn't it fun to feel like you were "really there" for someone else's trip or family reunion or bachelorette party or the birth of someone's first child...when you vaguely remember that someone being a friend of your little sister's back in grade school?

Anyway - for now, as long as people are updating their profiles with fun pictures they took of themselves at arm's length off some friend's balcony on the 4th of July, I'll probably be there, lurking.

creeeeeeepy.

ok, the spice girls won...

noreply@blogger.com (heatheradair) — Thu, 28 Jun 2007 14:53:00 +0000

I was all ready to weigh in on this embarrassingly catty exchange-that-won't-die between Elizabeth Edwards and Ann Coulter or speculate about the cheerleaders that died tragically in the SUV accident overnight, or even whine about the fact that Seattle is currently colder than Anchorage, Helsinki, Oslo, North Dakota, you name it.

But then I see that the Spice Girls are reuniting - CNN confirmed it.

The way I see it, they should advertise this "global assault reunion" with a slightly more self-deprecating bent: call it the "Spice Girls PTA Tour." Parade their kids up on stage, trade organic cooking tips, breast feed during the intermission...

Aside from the fact that all five are looking a little road-weary, I can't figure out how this is to anyone's financial advantage...? The Girls had a brief run of "fame" in the states, but for the most part they're remembered as a parody as much as anything...I think they recognize this, too...the pictures I've seen of them assembled on cobblestone holding flags looking like suburban moms (with the exception of Posh, looking like a waxy mannequin...) look self-conscious, uncomfortable, terribly unlike a group of women ready to unleash a comeback on the...world.

The way I see it, unless they can get N'Sync to sign on with them, they're doomed...

leave me AND my bologna in peace...

noreply@blogger.com (heatheradair) — Wed, 20 Jun 2007 16:57:00 +0000

Ok, superguy, I get your point: you wouldn't eat what I'm eating.

You think my tasty, heavenly little slices of mechanically separated turkey solids, hydrolized gelatin, modified food starch and sodium erythorbate (my "Meat Composite Cocktail!") are "bad for me."

And that's fine. Because I wouldn't want you eating my 98% Fat Free Bologna, anyway. More for me.

Thing is, I didn't ask you if I was good for me. I didn't consult you, Kashi: Go-Lean-eating Superguy, before I ate my 25-calorie-per-slice discs of pure happiness. If I wanted your opinion on my lunch, I would have asked.

While we're at it, aren't my mechanically separated turkey solids, snap peas, bell peppers and dried papaya slices a little higher on the "good-for-me-food-meter" than your giant bagel and cream cheese? HMMMMM?

Oh, what's that? It's "organic, non-dairy cream cheese substitute?" You think you've won this round, but don't get too comfy resting there on your health-food laurels - I see the weekly expense reports: last week when you had a lunch meeting, you went to that sports-bar-dive a few blocks from my house...and you BOTH ate the BBQ beef burger - with FRENCH FRIES. And a pint of Jolly Roger.

Mwuahahahahahahahaha.

Leave me and my beloved bologna alone and no one will ever have to know what I know: that the box of Kashi on your desk is the SAME box that's been there since 2005, and you DON'T eat it for breakfast.

Sparkling Pick-of-the-Week

noreply@blogger.com (heatheradair) — Tue, 19 Jun 2007 14:52:00 +0000

Time for a Tuesday Wine Recommendation:

Segura Viudas, a Spanish sparkling wine (called Cava, meaning "cave") is my favorite "value bubbly." Available at most grocery stores for under $7.00, I prefer it to any local Washington sparkling wine, and DEFINITELY anything in the same price range out of California. It's part of the Freixenet "brand" (but infinitely tastier than the brand's black-bottle namesake).

Pale yellow in color and equally light in flavor it's perfectly dry with a light mineral scent and surprisingly fine, delicate bubbles (also blessedly free of bitter fruity after-bite). I'd call it an "agreeable" sparking wine (my term for party-friendly bubbly great for toasting), yummy flavor without a lot of fanfare.

(Bottom line: when you reach for Cooks or Korbel because it's cheap - THINK AGAIN. For the price, Segura Viudas tops the list).

If you feel like spending a little more, there's a Reserva from the same house that comes in a nifty bottle: