One my my web hosts, one of the Two Guys, asked the other day why I wasn’t writing more about politics. I said something to the effect that it makes steam pour out my ears and my brainpan gets all sizzly. Does the world need another sizzly brainpan attached to a yapping mouth? Don’t think so. Besides, it’s useless. All we’re doing now is choir-preaching, and the choir is sick of us. Those documents are a forgery! World Net Daily says so, so it must be true!
Better to talk about dinner, and work, and “Jeopardy!” Kate and I have started watching “Jeopardy!” together. She’s utterly unimpressed by my prowess, and still brags about the time she, a mere 7-year-old, got Final Jeopardy correct, and I didn’t. (It’s the only Olympic sport played without shoes. My stupid guess: What is rhythmic gymnastics? Kate’s smart one: What is beach volleyball?) The news leaked today that Ken Jennings was finally defeated, but we’ll have to wait for the taped cycle to catch up. Good, I say; that guy is getting annoying.
I was going to post a dog photo today; we celebrated the Sprigster’s 13th birthday this week. Thirteen! I can hardly believe it. He got a bath and grooming that day, which displeased him but made us happy, and him happy in the long term — a clean dog is a petted-more-often dog. We took him to the Rollin’ Rovers Dog Barkery, purveyor of homemade gourmet dog treats. He got a selection of livery and cheesy snacks, plus a dog lollipop — a sizable biscuit baked onto a rawhide chewy stick. Our ongoing campaign to teach him to talk continues at something of a plateau. When you say “bow wow” he barks twice; “bow wow wow” and he barks three times. However, a single bark for “bow” eludes us.
This is my life: Pampering my dog, middlebrow TV and “Hardball.” No wonder my brainpan is simmering.
Bloggage:
My screenwriting professor said, “If you have any scenes of people on telephones in your scripts, cut them, or else make them as short as possible. Phone conversation is deadly in a movie.” David Edelstein disagrees.
That James Wolcott, he funny. And about Norman Podhoretz, no less.
Hurricane Ivan destroys a prison, and everybody escapes. Some, I read, were prisoners from the 1983 coup that led to the U.S. invasion. Ivan. Hmm.
Why I will never get plastic surgery. If Jessica Simpson can’t get a boob job that doesn’t go wrong, how can I ever hope to?
Oh, and Poor Meg Ryan. It must be awful to have to depend on your looks to make a living. Fortunately, this has never been a problem for me. Fortunately. Ha.
Linda said on September 10, 2004 at 1:19 am
Neither Jessica nor Meg are nearly as scary as poor Melanie Griffith, I’m sorry to say. I heard recently that Antonio told her stop with the plastic surgery already.
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John said on September 10, 2004 at 8:13 am
John Waters uses split screens or insets for two-way telephone scenes. Different looking, but then again, most things in his movies are that way.
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deb said on September 10, 2004 at 10:13 am
meg used to be cute. now she always looks like she’s about to spit out something disgusting–not a pretty picture. also, my hairstylist says a stylist friend of hers in h’wood says meg is not very nice to stylists and other people she considers “the help.” so there’s some cosmic justice in those trout lips.
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vp said on September 10, 2004 at 10:07 pm
Meg’s trout lips are undoubtedly artificial. (Fish hatcheries generate the most amazing things these days.)
But what about the cheek implants they note? I had cheek implants done myself, free. It’s been slow and painless. It’s called FAT.
Intentional pout trout lips I believe.
Middle age weight gain? Well, that comes naturally.
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