[Originally posted on February 24th, 2010.]
[Ed. note: In the New York Times a couple weeksmonths ago, there was an article about the much-anticipated DVD release of thirtysomething, a "groundbreaking" (not my word) television drama from the late '80s. By most measures, the show was not a huge success (according to that article, its highest ratings were during the first 15 minutes of a premiere), but it was a critical darling, and "thirtysomething" is now a word in the dictionary. But most importantly: when it came out, as far as I was concerned, it was a stupid-boring show for old people. Except that now I am one of those old people. And so, out of some misguided sense of curiosity, over the next few weeks, I will be recapping the first season of thirtysomething here. 20092010, you guys. Anything can happen. There is no spoon.]
Listen, I hate to interrupt the funeral, but how about let’s open a few windows in here and let some of this death stink out. (Good tip: people LOVE when you say this at actual funerals.) (I would hate to leave you without imparting all of the knowledge that I can, so, that is tip one. Tip two is don’t do the trick where you hit the avocado seed with a knife to remove it. It’s not worth it!) There was a bit of murmuring yesterday about wanting to discuss Sherlock (very rude, SHOW SOME RESPECT), so, want to do that? Unfortunately, I have nothing to say about it because I haven’t watched the last two episodes and I already said what I wanted to say about the first one. Hahah. WANT 2 TALK ABOUT A THING I DON’T KNOW ABOUT? It’s weird to me that they release those episodes as if it is just some crumbum normal show and not the three best movies you’re going to see all year. How about spread those things out? (“How about spread those things out?” is also something that people love when you say to them IRL.) If I were in charge, I would put one episode of Sherlock on TV every three weeks and it would be on Sunday morning at 10:30 AM. Then you could plan to have that morning free, wake up at 9, get some fresh air, take a shower, make breakfast, and then watch Sherlock while eating chocolate chip pancakes or whatever. UH DOY. It’s insane that I have not already been hired to make the scheduling decisions at PBS. But anyway. Sherlock season three? Love it? Hate it? Two thumbs way down? Will never look at Benedict Cumberbatch the same way again? Wish you knew him so you could straight up barf on him? Hmmm?
[Originally posted on November 23rd, 2010.]
Hello, monsters. I know it’s been a while since I last took one for the team. I imagine some of you are disappointed with me, which is valid. I feel ashamed about it. But, please try to understand that I do have a life outside of Videogum. And sometimes that life gets sidetracked for months while I try unsuccessfully to lure Frankie Muniz into a Twitter fight with me. But I’m back in the T14TT saddle, and that’s all that matters.
So anyway, remember Brokencyde? Yeah, you guys remember Brokencyde. Well, two nights ago, I drove to New Jersey to see a real-life Brokencyde concert. Actually, no, that’s not quite true. Two nights ago, I drove to a weird warehouse in South Hackensack, New Jersey to see Brokencyde, AND THE FIVE (FIVE!) BANDS THAT OPENED FOR BROKENCYDE, play a real-life concert.
[Originally posted on September 17, 2010.]
There used to be a restaurant in my neighborhood that I would go to a lot. One of my fondest New York memories is of taking a cab from the airport late at night and going straight to the restaurant with my suitcase and eating a late night dinner at the bar with a group of friends. They also had these disgusting brunches that just made you feel so sick, but were reasonably priced and a ton of food, so we ate brunch there most weekends. Tuesday nights we’d all meet up for a drink there and the bartender would make us booze milkshakes if we wanted. Once there was a rumor that the restaurant was being scouted for a scene in the Sex and the City movie. And once I was there on a date and a surprise burlesque show started for some reason. But then the restaurant changed their menu and redecorated to try and improve their business. It didn’t work. And then the restaurant closed altogether for awhile. They opened it a couple of summers ago as a pop-up barbecue place, but who wants to eat barbecue from a pop-up barbecue place inside of a failed restaurant? (Answer: no one. It closed again.) Then it was remodeled once more, and renamed, and had a new chef and a new menu and a new vibe. I ate there once and hated it. Then it closed again for the final time. They’re currently remodeling the building and I heard that it is going to be a paper store, like for fancy stationery or something. The friends I had that memorable dinner with that one night years ago have all moved. And, of course, all the burlesque performers in the city have been rounded up and placed in Federal Burlesque Performer Internment Camps hundreds of miles from the city.
The point that I’m trying to make is that the world changes. Sometimes when you stop and look at it you barely even recognize it, because it’s a new world. The world in which that restaurant existed and was a central location in my life has disappeared. And gone is the world we used to inhabit together, in which a woman in a motorized wheelchair could videotape herself “dancing” to Madonna while encouraging people to awaken their bodies if she wanted to, but she didn’t have a forum for posting that video and making it public.
[Originally posted on June 3rd, 2008.]
The Challenge: Despite being averse to cameras, teamwork, exotic foods, travel, haircuts, and physical exertion, I have to submit an audition tape to Survivor.
The Result: As with the Saw marathon challenge, once again I find myself rocking back and forth in a corner while simultaneously Googling “Microsoft Word Letter of Resignation Template.”
The people we see on reality shows all have a few things in common. They’re confident in their awesomeness, they enjoy both seeing and hearing themselves on television, and they all, at one point, desperately wanted to be on a reality show to the point where they were willing to undergo an audition process. I do not have any of these qualities. So it was only natural that in the ongoing battle that is Videogum co-editor Gabe and my Double Dog war, Gabe would insist that I make a reality show audition tape. And of all the reality shows in all the world, the one I would be the worst choice for is Survivor. I’ve never left the country (I know), and I don’t even like to try new foods in fancy restaurants, much less eat bugs on a beach. And while everyone thinks of him or herself as a competitive person to some degree, my take-no-prisoners moments are limited to random TV trivia and cutthroat games of Cranium.
So, I hereby I submit my plea for inclusion on Survivor‘s Season 18:
Very often when I would tell people what I do for a living, they would pause and say something like, “Man. Watching viral videos all day? That’s the best job ever!” Or something. Because generally people are nice and you literally have to fill conversation somehow, because standing and staring blankly at someone after they just said something to you never seems particularly acceptable. And then I would say, “Yes it is.” The end. Hahah. NO, JUST KIDDING. I would say, “Yes it is. I wish all doctors were bloggers, and also all teachers and firemen.” JK JK JK JK. I would say some combination of yes it is and no it isn’t and then change the subject. The end. Man, lotta jokes this morning! Very funny. Very, very funny blog. But — well, whatever. I was going to ramble on about viral videos and garbage and jobs, but it was 100% just going to be to have the opportunity to say that watching “MORE SAND!” all day every day would ACTUALLY be the best job ever. Which isn’t even true? That would be a nightmare, and it would ruin the ONE PERFECT THING THIS DARK, SCARY WORLD HAS EVER GIVEN US! So, in conclusion: more sand. I rest my case.
[Originally posted on January 13th, 2011.]
Look, at the end of the day it’s OK that Gwyneth Paltrow hires a bunch of college freshmen to write a lifestyle newsletter under her name about platinum mid-century bathroom fixtures. It’s not actually HURTING anyone. But does she have to be SUCH. A FUCKING. LIAR about it? The new “issue” of Goop is up in which Gwyneth provides useful tips to WORKING MOTHERS like HERSELF. Oh good GOD. NO. FUCKING. WAY. NO. NOPE. She is fucking with us now, right? That is almost comically offensive! I’m pretty sure the publication of this issue of Goop is what happens just before the beginning of Children of Men. “People just stopped having babies. We don’t know why.” Yes we do. BECAUSE THEY WERE TOO BUSY BARFING. She begins:
One of our readers emailed GOOP about “finding a good balance between having a career and being a mom,” which got me thinking about the other extremely busy working mothers I know and what their days might be like. I asked Juliet de Baubigny, a venture capitalist I met (it’s no wonder this woman is so freakin’ successful—spreadsheets for family packing … wow!), and fashion designer Stella McCartney to send in a day in their lives to see how they do the mothers’ special—everything all at once. I learned a lot and got some good tips from these ladies. And, because some of you have asked what one of my days looks like, I’ve included a random one of my more manic days from last November.
Right. Perfect. She asked TWO OTHER MILLIONAIRES to provide advice in addition to her advice as a MULTI-MILLIONAIRE WHO LIVES IN A CASTLE IN ENGLAND. You know, just useful tips for the workin’ mom. (I also love that she picked a day from last November. From the vault!) Now let us talk about this fucking day: