Isle Of Everything

An Addendum

2011-10-30T15:23:00.001-05:00

My Ron Swanson pumpkin wearing the hat from my roommate's Janet Snakehole costume:For reference:It's uncanny, no?

The Ron Swanson Pumpkin of Greatness

2011-10-28T20:23:00.001-05:00

I had an epiphany today.

Said epiphany was that I wanted to carve a Ron Swanson pumpkin. Surely this was a unique and original idea that the world had never seen, right? Then I had a second epiphany, about what's basically the non-sexual, Parks & Recreation-themed version of the Internet's Rule 34-- if you can think of it, somebody somewhere has probably made Ron Swanson out of it.

Nonetheless I persevered, and here is the result. It's a little ragged, but hey, my artistic medium of choice is construction paper, not lumpy holiday gourds.For a slightly spookier version:

Women! Am I Right, Ladies?

2011-06-24T14:41:00.000-05:00

Women like some weird porn.

Or at least, so we're meant to believe. This book came out awhile ago (years ago? I don't know; my cultural knowledge is timeless), and kind of simultaneously confuses and annoys and amuses me.

Okay, full disclosure: I hate to clean. I'm not good at it-- I have a blind spot for crumbs, dirty clothes and full dishwashers. My idea of straightening up has always been just that-- literally straightening the piles of stuff littering my floor, my desk, my shelves. So you'd think nothing would make me say, "oh baby!" like watching a hot man vacuum my carpet, if you know what I mean (like, actually vacuum my actual carpet. On the floor my house. Mind out of the gutter, please). Right?

Of course not! Because that's ridiculous. Sure, I'd love to be cooked for and cleaned up after-- once I'm rich and famous, I'll be splurging on the celebrity chef and housekeeper. But to imply that dudes picking up after me serves the same purpose for me that looking at pictures of naked people serves for men? I call bullshit.

Not to go all feminist on you (although that shouldn't be a dirty word and I shouldn't have to disclaim that), but it's the whole implication that women are sexless, domestic creatures, harried by those pesky men and their active sex drives that irks me. All we want is a clean house and a vast array of babies to care for, am I right, ladies? Clearly women are buying into this stuff-- that's why it sells. But I don't want to buy into it.

I was watching Whitney Cummings' comedy special on Netflix Instant the other day. From my limited knowledge of Cummings' recent career, she's kind of an up-and-comer (badumCH) on the comedy scene, and has not one but two sitcoms on the schedule for the fall ("2 Broke Girls," which she's co-producing and the eponymous "Whitney," in which she's starring, obviously). I wanted to check her out because of the buzz surrounding her, and also because there really is a dearth of well-known, funny female comics, and I hoped I'd like her comedy.

I didn't. I couldn't get through the special. I did a little light Googling to see if maybe her "men are gross and women like babies!" schtick was tongue-in-cheek, satirical or a Joaquin-Phoenix-level hoax, and found precious little to support any of that. I'm not claiming that she's totally serious about everything she's saying (I recognize that it's just comedy, and she's not under oath or anything). She doesn't necessarily espouse all these views, nor are all of them all that bad. She's mostly just trafficking in well-worn stereotypes. But she's saying them and women are laughing (agreeing?).

Sample jokes from "Money Shot":

On Cosmopolitan's sex tips:

"I don't have to do any tricks in the bedroom. I have a vagina, okay. Ta-da! I just get to take a Tylenol PM and lie there."

On role-playing in the bedroom:

"Ladies, next time your man asks you to dress up in a friggin' costume to have sex with him, go to the bathroom, tell him you're gonna slip into something more comfortable, come out in a wedding dress, okay? Get a baby stroller. He'll never get an erection again. It's awesome."

On sex-tapes:

"I had a friend ask me, 'Have you ever made a sex tape?' She's a... slut."

On men's balls:

"News flash: They're terrible. They're disgusting. They're awful."

On alternatives to giving a man the silent treatment:

"Ladies, next time your man pisses you off, do not give him the silent treatment. Instead, go Google the most important game of the season, sit next to him during that game and just ask as many fucking questions as possible. I don't understand; who's that guy in the striped shirt? Does he work at Foot Locker? I don't understand; why are they all wearing the same outfit? When are we gonna have a baby? And eventually he will shoot himself in the face, and you fuckin' win that argument."

I didn't finish watching, and I really don't want to pass judgment on Cummings' as a woman or a comic based solely on 20 minutes of her stand-up special. I'll give her shows a fair shake. And to be fair, I'm torn between my distaste for the points she makes in her comedy and my belief that pretty much anything should be fair game for humor. If a comic wants to joke about women baby-trapping men and being cold fish in bed, they should have every right to do so.

I just don't have to laugh.

I feel like we as women need to re-brand a little bit here. I'm not suggesting anyone pull the whole "Look at me! I'm so different from those other girls. I drink beer and like football!" thing that I know I've been guilty of from time to time (but I really do love beer and football, so it's not an act-- even if I have to admit to liking the way non-"traditionally girly" interests like those can impress or intrigue men). I'm just saying, maybe don't play into the stereotypes. Maybe don't buy things marketed as "porn for women" that just consist of pictures of male models wielding feather-dusters. Maybe don't laugh at "OMG, us women are so naggy, aren't we?" comedy that comes from supposedly edgy, enlightened women.

Women: We're not so bad. Am I right, ladies?

Where's The Beef?

2011-06-24T13:23:00.001-05:00

How could you not look at this and crave a big pile of delicious, delicious meat? Or maybe all the bacon and eggs you have.

[via Vulture]
[full size at NBC.com]

Bloodshot

2011-06-17T15:07:00.001-05:00

My first thought as I watched this teaser for the newest season of Dexter was how pretty Michael C. Hall's green eyes are. So of course, that's what they had to mess with for dramatic effect, pooling blood into his steely gaze.

Dexter, I think maybe you should get that looked at. Blood-shot eyes are one thing, but yuck.

Nevermind the fact that this teaser tells us very little about the show's sixth season. It tells us what we need to know-- indeed, it tells us what the Dexter marketing campaign has told us pretty much every single season: "Oh shit, we screwed up. Don't worry; this season, he's going to be really into murdering." One of these days I'd like Dexter to get some character development that doesn't reset each September.

#MoreInterestingPosts

2011-05-26T16:02:00.000-05:00

Today on Twitter, the hashtag #LessInterestingBooks began to trend. Why, this is a delightful game to play while I'm supposed to be working, I thought to myself. A portion of the results:

Seriously, though, you should follow me on Twitter. I try to entertain.

Finales & Premieres

2011-05-24T14:21:00.001-05:00

Today: Vulture offered up a guide to picking and choosing what TV shows you should watch three months from now. I think I've made my decisions based on the very little information I have, and let me tell you, a lot of it involves James Van Der Beek.

Meanwhile, elsewhere on NY Mag's site, I was reminded of why I love Paul F. Tomkins' American Idol recaps. The twice-weekly experience of reading them is not enough, however, to make me care that the show is apparently about to end or something. That country boy is about to win, yes? I sit here before you today with mixed emotions in knowing that I've finally reached the moment where American Idol is completely beyond my concern. To think that two seasons ago, I may have sent a text or two. What can I say, Kris Allen really got me with that Once cover.

Never fear; there's other stuff happening on the internet, like Louis CK's preview of the upcoming season of Louie:

The clip, of course, is not all that entertaining, but if you caught season one (on Netflix, natch-- what are we, pilgrims? We don't watch TV in real-time), you know just how fantastic this series is. I look forward to season two, which I will likely watch all in one sitting months after it airs.

There's also yesterday's Muppet trailer, a new Nerdist episode featuring Patton Oswalt (delightful!), the reveal of who Lenny Kravitz is going to play in The Hunger Games (lolwat?) and apparently the season finale of Glee is tonight, but we all joint-quit that months ago, right? RIGHT?

If not, take tonight as your opportunity to do so and spend that newfound hour of your life hugging your family or correcting someone on the internet or something. It'll be worth the sacrifice.

J-E-L-L-O

2011-05-22T10:08:00.000-05:00

Nobody loves putting too much thought into a TV show more than me, so of course I'm charmed by this new Tumblr:

The Cosby Sweater Project

Where else are you going to find Cliff Huxtable's vibrant sweaters rendered as modern art? Nowhere, that's where.

Reboot

2011-05-17T14:28:00.000-05:00

If they can reboot superhero movies all day long, then I can reboot a blog. And so it came to pass.

Isle of Everything: A place for everything I love. In the vein of Mindy Kaling's now-defunct Things I've Bought That I Love, only Things I've Found That I Love.

First up? NY Magazine's showrunner interviews.

What TV nerd doesn't love reading about what goes on behind the scenes? NY Mag is slowly releasing the full interviews, which are chock full of information about recent and upcoming finales as well as writing processes, dream shows and other tidbits. I'm staying tuned for more.

Hi, Hiatus

2010-09-29T14:28:00.001-05:00

This is not a divorce. It's a separation.

I haven't been writing with any real regularity here, and that's only partly because of supreme laziness. I've been focusing most of my blogging efforts of late elsewhere.

TT.Mainstage began as the home base for the pop culture debate podcast TT.TKO, run by a couple of alright dudes I know. It's spun off a bit into a site where the pair of them (Michael and Matt), Matt's fiancee Virginia and I try to entertain you with our words. Check it out.

In any case, I may update here from time to time, but if any of you refugees are craving my delightful prose, you know where to find me.

Deja Vu

2010-09-10T02:52:00.000-05:00

I knew something seemed familiar earlier this summer when I told you my Diet Coke explosion story. I should have known that I'd told the internet before. Indeed, tonight I stumbled upon my old blog that I updated frequently at the end of high school and in early college, then less frequently as the years passed. One of the last entries details the story you already know well, but as this is my blog, I'm going to let you read it again-- this time, in the words of 20-year-old Amy. Feel free to skip to the TL;DR.

"Speaking of Diet Coke, I have a story for you. Okay, let me start out by saying that Michelle and I scour Athens for cheap Cokes, being the Diet Coke fiends that we are. In any case, last week or so we discovered that Eckerds had 12-packs of Coke four for $6 after a mail-in rebate. So of course we each bought four. Then the next day we found out that Kroger had Cokes five for $10 without having to do any kind of rebate, which is pretty well incredible, so each of us bought five more. So I had all these cases of Coke in my backseat, and gradually I'd carry them up to my apartment when I came home, but they're heavy, so I couldn't get more than two at a time, and I'd often forget to bring any up. So today I was driving, on the phone with David, when all of a sudden I heard a pop and then a fzzzzzzz. And I knew what was up. So I pulled over at a gas station and got out and ran around to the backseat and pulled the two cases that were on the seat out of the car. Only one of them was wet-- and leaking everywhere-- but then I pulled a can out of the other case and it was bloated like they get when you leave them in the freezer for too long-- rotund with the top part puffing up. This doesn't seem like something Cokes can just bounce back from. So I was talking to David, and we decided I should just cut my losses and get rid of the offending cases. Of course the gas station trash cans were the kind with small openings with flaps, and so I had to run each leaking case of Coke over to the trash can where I'd have to wrestle it into the too-small opening. Who knows how crazy everyone must've thought the weird girl shoving cases of Coke into trash cans was. In any case, the moral of the story is I need to go back to Kroger and buy more Cokes."

I think I liked it better the first time I told it. Aren't you supposed to cringe at all your old writing? Well I reread things I've written in the past and am quite pleased with myself. I think my writing has gotten worse as time has progressed-- probably because I'm required to do it less.

In any case, still don't leave Diet Coke in hot cars. That's the true moral of the story. Also, I'm out of Diet Coke-- maybe I'll go check out Eckerds and Kroger tomorrow.

Who You Gonna Call?

2010-08-24T01:50:00.000-05:00

So I've been thinking, and it would seem I have some serious decisions to make. It's really a matter of life and death, you see, and it's important to have affairs in order, just in case the worst happens.

The question is this: What would I do if I died (sad!) but got to come back as a ghost and haunt people (kind of awesome!)? Who would I haunt? If I'm not going to be able to exact revenge in this life, I may as well do it later via creepy noises and giving people the chills. But who?

Well first of all, definitely the American Red Cross for calling me every single weekday. They're worse than a clingy boyfriend, calling like clockwork from one of several numbers (they can't make it easy on me and let me program just one into my phone, oh no), frequently before I'm awake. I realize I could get out of this pickle by actually bothering to make an appointment to donate platelets like I used to pretty frequently, but still. They'll definitely be getting haunted, at least a little.

Next up is whoever is in charge of cutting into my favorite TV shows for weather advisories for counties in which I do not live. That's right; I don't care if there are thunderstorm warnings in Henry County. I don't care that it might hail down south of Atlanta. And I definitely don't care about snowstorms in the North Georgia mountains. I just want to watch House in peace. It might be lupus this time.

After all that, I'll get to the person who makes the decision to put some seasons of certain TV shows on Netflix Instant Watch, but not all seasons, thus causing me to be stuck with a cliffhanger until I can get the first disc of the missing season in the mail, which I can't because I've had "Lars & the Real Girl" out since May and haven't bothered to watch it yet because I never feel like it. Again, this is a problem I know I could easily solve, but still an annoyance, and certainly worth a little spooky poltergeistery.

After that, there are probably a few people I know in real life who have a few scares in their future. Hey, what can I say-- I don't hold a grudge in this life, but who knows how petty and vengeful I'll be in the afterlife. Just stay on my good side, and I'm sure you'll be golden.

Unless you're from the American Red Cross. Then you should probably watch your back. You never know where I'll be lurking.

Ticking Time Bombs

2010-07-13T21:25:00.001-05:00

Tonight, I got in my car to make an impromptu trip to WalMart before it closed. If you'd like, you can imagine I was heading somewhere much more exciting and fashionable, but really, I was going to WalMart. As I opened the driver's side door, I noticed something small and dark on the passenger seat. "Is that a slug??" I thought. Gross. But as I looked closer, I could see that it wasn't a slug: it was GLASS. That's right, a shard of brown glass. From a beer bottle.

I'd noticed yesterday that there was a bottle of Bud Light on the floor of my car. It had to have rolled out of a half-empty case we were transporting the evening prior, and being in a hurry to get somewhere exciting and fashionable yesterday, I just left it there. Apparently that was a truly terrible idea, because it would seem that sometime during the day today, it exploded. Into many, many shards of beer bottle. And as you can imagine, everything in my car is a little bit sticky now. I almost wish it had been a slug.

Unfortunately, this isn't my first experience with beverages blowing up in hot cars. I recall one summer in college, when I lived alone. Diet Cokes were on sale 5/$12, so naturally I'd loaded up my shopping cart with five 12-packs. But once I got back to the apartment, I couldn't transport five 12-packs of soda up three flights of stairs. Not in one trip, at least, and I have a pig-headed tendency to refuse to make more than one trip, ever. So two cases made it upstairs with the groceries. Later, the next time I came back from somewhere, two more made their way into the apartment. But one lonely 12-pack remained in the backseat.

The following day, I was driving somewhere on a back road. Over the sounds of the radio, I heard a sudden POP, followed by a sizzling kind of sound. Instantly I thought my car had exploded. Once I assured myself that it hadn't, I thought to follow the sound of the sizzling to the backseat, where multiple Diet Cokes inside the case have bloated and exploded. They were leaking and spurting soda everywhere. Fortunately there was a gas station up ahead, so I pulled into the lot and wrestled the offending object out of my car. Most of the cans inside had hulked out such that the cardboard was ripped and mangled in places, and I could tell that the precious Diet Coke was beyond saving. Also, it was still dripping all over me. The only trash can in sight was one of those small ones with an ash tray top and a small space below for trash, so cramming the case inside was a bit of a challenge. But I laugh in the face of challenges, and thus succeeded. Finally, the rogue Diet Cokes were put to rest for good.

The moral of these stories? Dogs and babies aren't the only things you shouldn't leave in hot cars. Think of the beverages.

Crushes On Really Inappropriate Men

2010-06-16T18:26:00.000-05:00

As humans, we have a tendency to want what we can't have, aspire for the unattainable. When you daydream about Joe Jonas or Ed Westwick or George Clooney or whoever floats your sailboat, you don't actually believe they're going to come sweep you off your feet in your sleepy town, armed with flowers and chocolates. But it's nice to know that it's remotely possible-- they're alive, and, well, they're human.

Growing up, I had crushes on the usual suspects (JTT was popular in my household, as was the youngest Hanson brother). But I also went for a few guys who were a little sketchier-- as in, animated.

The first that I can remember is Dale, of "Ch-ch-ch-chip 'n Dale, Rescue Rangers" fame. Even as a little kid I had a strong preference for one chipmunk over the other. Dale was the laid-back, devil-may-care, mischievous one with the red nose. With him around, I could never go for the no-nonsense and responsible Chip. No contest. So yeah, Dale held a special place in my heart, and we had a standing date for years-- every afternoon on the Disney Channel.

Later on in childhood, a boy named Arnold caught my eye. He was a little less my type, except for the wild hair, but he reminded me of a boy I'd had a real life crush on in 5th grade. Our relationship was on-and-off, whenever I caught an episode of Hey Arnold! on Nickelodeon.

I think most girls my age had a crush on Dmitri from Anastasia. I know all us girls who would watch it in college did. And who wouldn't? He was dreamy, and voiced by adorable John Cusack to boot. Yeah, there's that abnormally large bump in his nose that's pretty distracting in profile, but every guy has flaws, even cartoon guys. And okay, he's a con man, but with a heart of gold! Watching him fall in love with Anya is just cute and romantic enough to make you forget about all the historical inaccuracies in the world.

And then there's the one you always come back to. For me, it's not even a question-- it's Robin Hood. He may be a fox, but he's one foxy fox. That accent! Those... archery skills! That do-gooder-bending-the-rules moral code! Maid Marion is one lucky lady. She gets the fox of my dreams.

So what do you think; have I got a chance with any of these bachelors? Honestly, it seems like I'd have the best luck with Dale, since Helga, Anya and Marion would probably be none too pleased at me going after their men. And you know, I think I'd make a good Rescue Ranger. It's always good for a girl to have options.

Love At First Bite

2010-06-05T16:06:00.001-05:00

Today, I became one of the lucky few (lucky millions?) to try Chick Fil A's new Spicy Chicken Sandwich. You know the drill-- you make a reservation at your local delicious chicken purveyor, show up with your printed coupon, hand over your photo ID and sign over your life and receive your free sandwich. Then: spicy goodness.

I did encounter one little snag in the plan this afternoon, when I realized something-- we don't have a printer. Now, in this digital age, I believe you should be able to just flash your iPhone, open to your email with the coupon inside, at the high schooler behind the counter and that's that. And maybe that would have worked, but I was unwilling to risk it. Off to Fed/Ex Office I went. So my free spicy chicken sandwich ran me about $.75.

Now about that sandwich. In most ways, it's the exact same as a Chick Fil A chicken sandwich. Same breading, same chicken, just different seasoning. But why change things up when the rest was already just right? In the future, when craving Chick Fil A, I would probably go for this one over the original. However, if I were simply craving spicy, this doesn't cut it. Not quite spicy enough for me, although my tastebuds have gotten pretty demanding of flavor in their old age. Your mileage may vary.

And now the crucial question: is it better than Wendy's version of the same? Why yes. Yes it is, thus rendering Wendy's only necessary for fulfilling all your fries-dipped-in-Frosty needs.

My verdict? Worth every delicious penny of that $.75.

How Very Phallic Of You

2010-05-16T14:30:00.000-05:00

Some might say there's a Tumblr for everything. I say there's a Tumblr for everything awesome.

Accidental Penis

Way better than seeing the Virgin Mary all over everything.

Fresh Off The Job Hunt

2010-04-10T01:00:00.004-05:00

A recent post on Jezebel informed me of what I could probably have learned many other places: that Barbie has two new careers, chosen by the people of the internet.

Us grown-ups, myself included, voted for Barbara Millicent Roberts to take a turn as a computer engineer. A focus group of little girls, or the kids that toy commercials are talking to when they say "Ask your mom or dad to help you log on to our website!", elected for Barbie to slip into the stylish pink blazer and schlubby pajama bottoms of a news anchor. Either one sounds like it'll be a pretty sweet gig, a step up from some of her previous careers like a McDonald's cashier, a cowgirl or a Canadian Mountie (really?).

When the voting was announced, and a friend posted it on Facebook, I suggested another option: as a sign of the times, Unemployed Barbie. She could wear the same pajama pants that go with her anchorwoman outfit (so very versatile, those pink plaids!), but pair it with a holey sweatshirt and mismatched socks. Accessories could include a remote control and a few packs of Ramen.

And let's face it, even of those who are employed these days, many are underemployed. What else could Barbie be? Bartender Barbie wears jeans with a bottle opener in the back pocket and comes with a pack of cigarettes and a shift beer (maybe the kind, like those toy baby bottles, that appears to empty as you hold it upside down?). Admin Assistant Barbie wears the least dressy clothes she can get away with and comes with a computer with tabs open to Facebook, Perez Hilton and the company homepage (to toggle to, just in case). Best Buy Barbie wears-- well, you know what she wears-- and tries to sell you an extended warranty.

One last question: Does it really look good to a potential employer to switch careers as much as Barbie has over the years? I mean, really, what kind of loyalty to an industry does that show? Her resume comes off as a bit flighty and indecisive.

Shuffle Bored

2010-04-10T00:07:00.004-05:00

This is the age of endless information. My own grandma has a terabyte external hard drive full of MP3s and movies torrented from The Pirate Bay*. The amount of data we carry around with us is limited only by the capacity of our latest model iPhone.

And you know what? When I'm at the gym, this really kind of sucks.

At press time (har har), I had 11,700 MP3s on my iPod. That's right-- as iTunes handily informs me, I could listen to music for almost 130 days without stopping. And if I may say so, I have pretty decent taste in music. However, that doesn't change the fact that a very, very large chunk of my music library is terrible.

How terrible, you ask?

At the gym, I usually put my entire library on shuffle. (I made a workout playlist once, full of upbeat numbers that make me want to ellipticize imperceptibly faster than I was previously ellipticizing, but got bored after 140 songs. There's only so many times a girl can burn calories to Miss Independent before hitting skip.) I already have to deal with the fact that half my music is mellow and folksy, not at all fit for cardio. This I can handle. But I'll be on a roll-- rollicking early Beatles followed by that Brand New revenge anthem I used to love in high school followed by that one Stereophonics track that was played on Veronica Mars. My heart rate is climbing; I'm increasing the incline. And then: a Neil Diamond Christmas song, what the hell? Skip. Two more good songs, then: an early Britney Spears ballad, really? Skip. That Sean Kingston "Beautiful Girls" song. Skip. Garth Brooks from when I copied my mom's entire music library over to mine. Skip. An audiobook track. Skip. This is getting old. Time to take a water break.

The solutions, of course, are numerous. Pare down my music library to only the best. Buckle down and create a real workout playlist, 1000+ songs, all cardio-friendly. Get a smaller iPod. But I'm a packrat, and can't throw away old movie ticket stubs; how am I supposed to delete potentially listenable tracks entirely? Even 1000+ songs would get old after enough workouts. And I like my battered 80Gb, thank you very much. I just can't let go.

So basically I'll keep going to the gym. My 11,700 and counting songs will keep coming with me. I'll keep frustratedly skipping to the next track as I do my best to navigate my iPod while reading a magazine without falling off the treadmill. But if there is a dark side to limitless data storage technology, I do believe I've seen it.

*This is completely untrue.

An Open Letter To Katherine Heigl

2009-05-12T21:07:00.003-05:00

Dear Ms. Heigl,

Listen, bitch.

I get it. You want out of your contract. And I can't say that I blame you for your past comments about the material you were given. Between the beautiful Denny arc of season 2 (back when we here at IoE were tolerant of JDM's continued presence on Grey's) and this current season, Izzie's plot-lines left a lot to be desired. I don't blame you for getting a little bored.

And then your film career began to take off! Knocked Up and 27 Dresses both did well at the box office. Of course, two hits do not a movie-star make, and you do lose points for starring in the lowest-grossing film of all time. But still! Your future looked bright, man, and you probably felt artistically stifled by Grey's Anatomy. And I'm here to tell you that it's okay to feel that way.

But listen. If they really do kill off Izzie Stevens to accommodate your lofty filmic aspirations, I will cut a bitch. I cannot idly stand by and watch Alex Karev's heart break like that (again! Remember Ava?). Over the past five seasons we have watched him go from a smart-ass kid to a good man, all the while he's been Shonda Rhimes' favorite punching bag. And I can't handle watching Alex mourn his dead wife, mmkay? You out of all of us know how heartwrenching Grey's can get when dealing with the death of a main character's loved one-- we all remember watching Izzie deal with Denny's demise. Don't do that to poor Alex.

Or do. Whatevs. But if I see you on the street, I might have to go all hood on your ass.

Seriously.

Sincerely,

Isle of Everything

For You, A List

2009-04-20T17:11:00.005-05:00

Things I've Neglected Since I Started My New Job Last Month:

Studying for the GRE
My gym membership
Cleaning the kitchen
My liver's health
The fresh vegetables I bought at the Farmer's Market
All my friends with grown-up jobs
This blog

Things'll level out eventually. But right now, it's like college without the classes! School's out forever!

Charmed, I'm Sure

2009-04-06T18:35:00.002-05:00

Where Have You Been All My Life?

2009-03-30T16:33:00.007-05:00

If you're anything like me (and I think you are), the first thing you do upon waking up after a long night of alcohol-induced fun is make a beeline for your Outboxes-- Gmail, Facebook, text message, the works. "What new and embarrassing information did I pass along in the wee hours of the morning this time?" I'll wonder. Most of the time it's harmless stuff that just amuses morning-after me, but there's always the occasional terrible mistake of an email that gets fired off when my judgment is at its worst.

Problem solved?

Slate discusses this today, pointing out a hilariously awesome Gmail feature I didn't know about-- Mail Goggles.

Okay, put aside the obvious issues that A) I'm terrible at simple math problems even while sober and wide awake, and B) I'm capable of using the calculator on my Dashboard even when drunk and sleepy. A mail feature that makes it that much more difficult for us to make damned drunken fools out of ourselves? Big Brother really is looking out for us.

Of course, this does nothing to stop the rampant rash of 3-in-the-morning text messages. What can I say? I have chatty thumbs.

Verbal Tapas

2009-03-25T18:12:00.003-05:00

They say eating a series of small, snack-like meals throughout the day is healthier than gorging yourself on three squares. Does that same logic apply to a blog post, y'think?

After 23 years of eating Oreo Sandwich Cookies the regular way (you know-- twist, lick, eat), I finally realized they taste way better when eaten in bites like a regular cookie. This, of course, has changed my entire perspective on life.

This picture is currently topping the front page of Reddit, with the headline, "What the fuck kind of measurement is CNN using here?" Indeed. Imagine:

"How tall are you, George?"

"I'm one and a fifth refrigerators tall, Linda."

You know what they say about tall refrigerators...

I bought gnocchi and artichokes and a fresh tomato and sage cream sauce at the Farmer's Market yesterday and made them tonight, despite having poor cooking skills on a good day. The artichokes are totally the best part. I love these things and need to come up with some good recipes starring them.

I've spent the last three weeks not blogging and instead wondering how Michael Sarver the rugged roughneck (we get it) keeps not getting voted off American Idol, then reminding myself that true Americans love country music and that I'm just a flag-burning unpatriotic liberal. Here's hoping tonight one of the bleeding-heart socialist contestants bests him. I miss Jason Castro.

Ever since I moved into my new house, I've developed a curse where every time I get delivered a magazine, it rains. Our mailbox, of course, is a leaky joke of a thing, resulting in sad, soggy magazines. Today I got nothing, but it's supposed to rain for the next few days so there's still time. As long as Robert Pattinson's not on the cover of my Entertainment Weekly (as he is 75% of the issues), I suppose I'll be okay.

Now I'm going to go relish eating an Oreo the right way and prepare to will Michael Sarver's Idol ouster into fruition with my mind (I'm far too cool to vote, you know). I will be back, preferably before another three weeks are up.

The Winner Is...

2009-03-07T02:57:00.003-05:00

I just learned, via Michael Slezak in Entertainment Weekly, that "ahat" is an acceptable term in magazine journalism. An abbreviation of, of course, my favorite insult, "asshat." I assume. Michael Slezak, first you make a veiled Veronica Mars reference (it may not have been intentional but I know that your mention of "My Pretty Pony" was, at least subconsciously, a nod to Paul Rudd's fictional band rather than the series of dolls that predated My Little Pony) and then you shorten "asshat" in new and exciting ways? Maybe I have a new favorite EW writer on my hands, dude.

Sucks To Be You

2009-03-02T20:03:00.003-05:00

Are you having a bad day? Yeah, I kind of am, too. Want to cheer yourself up with a healthy dose of schadenfreude? Sure you do.

F*** My Life. There's apparently always somebody having a worse day than you.

The Future's So Bright

2009-03-01T23:37:00.003-05:00

You're absolutely right. I've been neglecting you. I blame today's violent blizzard. (I mean, really, Georgia, really? It's supposed to be in the mid-70's by Friday. I feel like we're living in the End Times here.) So, sorry about that. Blame the weatherman.

I have for you today something I wrote in my little blog-planning Word document on December 31st, but apparently forgot all about until New Year's was good and passed and it was deemed irrelevant. Well, here at Isle of Everything, we pay no heed to silly things like time and date. Pretend it's the eve of 2009 for a sec, okay? Starting... now.

In the vein of every magazine ever published, I present to you my predictions for 2009. But I'm a little short-sighted and a lot self-absorbed, so instead of prognosticating about the next 365 days of America or the state of the world, I decided to think smaller scale-- about me. And I'm no Nosferatu (or Nostradamus, for that matter), so I thought I'd just give you a time traveler-style sneak peek into what's not in store for Amy in '09. Here goes:

In January, I will probably not win tickets via a radio station contest to Obama's inauguration. I will proceed to not fly myself and two friends up to D.C., where we will then not get a little tipsy and wind up hitting on a few young, strapping Secret Service agents. Those Secret Service agents will go on to not offer to give us a "private tour, if you know what I mean," of the White House, and myself and my two friends will not wind up sharing a moment with Michelle Obama where we're mistaken for White House dog-walkers. Hilarity will not ensue.

In February, I will not have a bevy of suitors knockin' down my door in time for Valentine's Day. This will make February '09 like most every other February that ever there was.

In March, I will not, at the last minute, enter a bracket into a high-stakes March Madness contest worth $20,000. I will not pick Kentucky to win the whole shebang, as I always do, and I will not be awarded $20,000 in the form of a giant cardboard check.

In April, I will not remember to plan a series of elaborate pranks for my roommates resulting in one or both of them not speaking to me for a week. I will not remember to turn this blog into Isle Of Jesus or Isle Of Republicans or Isle Of Nicolas Cage.

In May, I will not lay out on my roof, then proceed to fall asleep and accidentally roll off, thus breaking several bones and my foolish pride. I will not enjoy the subsequent hospital stay.

In June, I will not take a trip to Destin with a few girlfriends only to wind up staying at the same hotel as some MTV summertime beach house reality show, and will not wind up entering a competition in which I have to eat whipped cream off a stranger faster than anyone else can eat whipped cream off a stranger. I will not be the fastest whipped-cream-eater and will not win the prize of a gift card to FYE and bragging rights.

In July, I will not be thrown the Super Sweet Sixteen style birthday party that I know I've always deserved. I will not come up with a creative yet cruel way of publicly handing out invitations to those deemed worthy. Sasha Fierce will not perform.

In August, it will be hot.

In September, I will not decide to finally cash in on my birthday present from my parents from three years ago-- skydiving. I will not be too distracted by my cute tandem instructor to remember to pull the cord and we will not plummet to our doom because he was too distracted by his cute skydiving instructee to pull the damned cord, too.

In October, I will not dress up as something politically or pop culturally relevant for Halloween. I will instead dress up as a cow (again).

In November, I will not be shopping at Lenox Mall when a talent agent happens by, recognizing my raw talent and devastating good looks and not casting me as the romantic lead in a new film opposite Robert Pattinson. We will not fall madly in love on set, despite our sizzling chemistry.

In December, I will not get my Christmas shopping done until several days after Christmas has passed, which will not be unusual for me. I will not receive Christmas cards from Michelle Obama, that MTV deejay guy, Sasha Fierce and Robert Pattinson. I will not write another list such as this one in the wee hours before New Year's Eve, 2009.

In 2010, though, all those things are going to happen to me. Just wait and see. 2010, man, that's my year.

So far, my predictions have been accurate for January and February. I have high hopes that I'm wrong about November, though. I have a feeling Robert Pattinson and I would share some sizzling chemistry.

Which Came First?

2009-02-22T13:35:00.004-05:00

As I do with most holidays, I had big plans for the day after Valentine's Day. On February 15th, I had one goal and one goal only: half price candy. Unfortunately, I was hungover, only managed to make it to Publix, which was completely devoid of Valentine's Day leftovers. Target would've been a safer bet, but I was here and it was far. You know how it goes on a lazy Sunday.

So my epic February 15th failure-- a regular Valentine's Day massacre, if you will-- just made me long for Easter. It is the opinion of this court that Easter is far and away the best candy holiday there is. The rest pale in comparison; they bow down to the superiority that is Easter Sunday. Cadbury Creme Eggs, Cadbury MINI Eggs, Peeps (if you swing that way), chocolate bunnies! But Easter's pièce de résistance, and in fact the clear evidence of its superiority, is the Reese's Egg.

Reese's Peanut Butter cups are delicious treats to be enjoyed year-round. They are imperfect, however, and it is only during the months of March and April that this becomes fully evident. Once you compare a Reese's Egg to a regular old cup, your life may change for the better. And sure, Reese's makes these chocolatey-and-peanut-buttery concoctions for holidays of all sorts-- Reese's Hearts at Valentine's Day; Reese's Trees at Christmas; Reese's Pumpkins at Halloween. But the secret behind the delectable Egg is its chocolate-to-peanut-buttery-goodness ratio.

See, with regular old cups, the ratio is almost 1:1. Scrumptious but imperfect. Then look at Hearts, Trees and Pumpkins-- all are shaped with grooves and curves, allowing for more chocolate-- too much chocolate. Only the Egg, in its sleek oval glory, reaches the golden ratio of peanut-buttery perfection. Old Man Reese's really broke the mold when he came up with these delightful candies. And every other holiday may nip at the heels of the Egg, and those cheap imitations may satisfy 10 months out of the year, but come springtime, I have but one love. And he didn't come from a chicken.

Every Claim You Stake

2009-02-17T14:45:00.004-05:00

Just another piece of damning evidence in my case claiming that Slate is stalking me: What's Up, G?

as compared to

What's G? I Wish I Knew

It's okay, Slate. Your stalking is more Edward-Cullen-cute than John-Hinckley-creepy. I'll take what I can get.

Crushes On Inappropriate Men

2009-02-11T23:26:00.005-05:00

I know you're all sitting at home contemplating the state of Isle of Everything on a near-daily basis. And the conclusion you've probably come to is this: Isle of Everything's pretty fantastic, but what it really could use is more ridiculous regular features, am I right? Well you got it. Introducing the first installment of:

Crushes On Inappropriate Men

Kicking it off is our very own Vice President, Crazy Joe Biden! Just look at that grin, huh? And yes, I could be wrong, but I believe his official title is in fact, Vice President Crazy Joe Biden. Crazy Joe, for short. This 66-year-old cutie is just a heartbeat away from the big job, and is eons more attractive than his predecessor, former Vice President Crazy Dick Cheney (what is it about the Vice Presidency that attracts the loons?). I guess the most important question to ask about Crazy Joe is, was he always so devastatingly handsome? The answer, of course, is a resounding yes. Unlike some of his fellow politicians (check out Blagojevich!), Crazy Joe was probably a hit with the ladies when he was younger.

Would you look at that? What a heartthrob back in the day. He wasn't really my type, of course (his hair just isn't crazy enough and he doesn't bear even a passing resemblance to a hobo), but nevertheless, easy on the eyes.

Just like with George W. Bush, I have to admit that the Joe Biden in my mind is made up almost entirely of the Joe Biden of Saturday Night Live. Jason Sudeikis portrays Crazy Joe as batshit insane, and I have to believe that's an accurate depiction. I mean, Will Ferrell's Bush was pretty dead-on. Tina Fey's Sarah Palin as well. SNL has a good track record for getting it right, so I have no reason to believe that Crazy Joe is not every bit as crazy as he looks on TV.

I'll leave you with this:

Q. What's the difference between a pit bull and Joe Biden?
A. You can teach a pit bull to keep its mouth shut!

Next up on Crushes On Inappropriate Men: Brian Williams!

Linkurday!

2009-02-10T22:00:00.003-05:00

It's that time again! That's right, that time when I have no ideas for actual substantial blog posts and resort to sharing links and mildly amusing commentary. Fun for the whole family!

1. This Is Why You're Fat

A photographic catalogue of the most disgusting and caloric foods ever created. Is it wrong that some of these look delicious? I mean, a 60-pound Rice Krispie treat! Bacon chocolate chip cookies! Deep fried Coca Cola!

2. TV Tropes

The wiki to end all wikis of creative cliches and devices. I could click through this for hours reading about the Firefly effect, jumping the shark or the classic Deus Ex Machina as they appear in TV, movies, literature and the like.

3. Traveler IQ Challenge

I'm betting you think you're pretty smart. Maybe even worldly. I did once-- until I got utterly shamed by this geography game. It's addictive, if only because I feel like I should be scoring much higher than I actually do.

4. The State of the Web: Winter 2009

If you're not sure what's going down on the intertubes these days, this will clear things up for you. The same guy who brought the world 9 Reasons Not To Date A Tyrannosaurus Rex and Things Bears Love takes you on a cleverly illustrated walk down recent-memory lane.

5. Death Cab's Autotune Campaign

DCFC speaks out against Autotune. In related news, Bon Iver and T-Pain joined forces on an anti-Ben Gibbard campaign.

Wish List

2009-02-08T17:19:00.003-05:00

Today was a beautiful day-- one of the first in at least a little while. The perfect day to play outside. Almost.

Things I Wish I Had Today

A Frisbee. The better to play outside, my dear.

A football. See: above.

More sun. Only, maybe a slightly less terrifying sun than that one. It may have been approaching 70 degrees outside, but it was cloudy and overcast where I am. Today was sorely lacking in vitamin D.

A tan. Instead of frolicking outdoors today, I went to the gym. In 70 degree weather it's clearly too hot to sweat in workout pants-- it was a Soffe shorts kind of day. Unfortunately, my legs have been in hibernation for months and are ghostly pale. My vehement refusal to pay for things I can get for free means I've never been to a tanning bed (oh, yeah, and the cancer thing), so I'll just have to wait for more days like these for my melanin fix.

Math skills. Here's an equation for you: I'm vaguely studying for the GRE + I barely remember how to carry the two + I haven't taken a math class in almost six years = This sucks.

A billion dollars. I'm getting off track.

My computer tells me that tomorrow's high is 67 degrees. You've got my list, Universe. Make it happen.

What's G? I Wish I Knew

2009-01-31T15:14:00.003-05:00

Let me set the scene. It's a few weeks back. Roommate Leslie and I are lounging in the living room, watching the Rose Bowl on ESPN and chatting. During a commercial break, an ad came on that caught our eye-- a black and white montage of faces, athletes if we assumed correctly, set to a simple music track with a voiceover. We were mesmerized. "What could this be?" we thought, entranced. At the commercial's end, the logo appeared-- a simple G, in a font specific to no brand we could recognize. We exchanged wide-eyed looks before both diving for our Macbooks, Googling and YouTubing the hell out of every keyword we could think of. No query went untyped; no query was answered. The thick aura of defeat filled the room. Minutes passed and shoulders sagged as we accepted that we'd never find out what the "G" commercial had been for.

Until days later, that is. Leslie read somewhere that it was for Gatorade. Gatorade? First of all, I don't drink liquid jeanshorts. Second of all, is Gatorade so pompous to believe that they can air an ad like that and not include any mention of their logo, their story, their beverage? No mention, in fact, of any beverage?

I've since discovered on a grocery trip that the "G" from the commercial now adorns the bottles of Gatorade instead of their old logo with the lightning bolt. I still stand by my indignation. If you want me to drink your drink, Gatorade, sell it, not an impenetrable ad concept set to (what I've now discovered to be) Lil Wayne's voiceover.

The ad in question:

Filial Consternation

2009-01-27T23:54:00.005-05:00

I'm sure many of you have already had to go through this rite of passage, but I'm a first timer, so bear with me.

My parents are on Facebook.

I'm sorry, maybe I wasn't clear. My parents are on Facebook. MY PARENTS.

I went to dinner with my dad last week, and he filled me in, meanwhile sounding like the most stereotypical middle-aged man ever. "I just don't think I get this Facebook thing," he lamented. He told me about how his news feed (although he may have called it "that thing on the front page") informed him that his friend so-and-so was "sitting down to watch some football."

"Why do I care that he's watching football?" he asked quizzically. Oh, parents.

The reason he and my mom signed up was because they each got a few emails in a short span of time from old pals inviting them to do so, he said. "We don't want to invade your privacy," he reassured me, though I let him know in no uncertain terms that if he and I were Facebook friends, he would be seeing a very limited version of my profile.

But why would they friend their daughter-- they aren't even friends with each other. You heard me. My dad has maybe seven friends; my mom has two. Each of their relationship statuses say "Married," but neither says to whom.

"You aren't even friends with your own wife?" I accused.

"Why would I need to be? I live with her," was his response. I informed him that that's grounds for divorce in 13 states; he seemed unconcerned.

I realize that some people are able to coexist with their parents on a huge network like Facebook in perfect harmony. I don't believe I'm one of those people. So for now, I'll just sneak peeks at their profiles (since they've not yet mastered any degree of privacy settings), snicker and hope that they never try to figure out the purpose behind poking.

The Graduate

2009-01-23T00:39:00.002-05:00

Sorry; I forgot I had a blog for a few days. I remember now.

So while I was away, I decided to give up on my dreams of ever not hating The Real World (the real Real World, that is, completely unaffiliated with MTV) and go back to school. I've only ever been happy when I've had something to study, anyhow.

My dad thinks I should go to law school. My mom thinks I should go to business school. I sort of think I should get my Master's in some ridiculous nonsense like creative writing. A decision needs to be made soon mostly because I'm eager to go buy a prep book so I can ace whatever test I need, but shall it be LSAT prep, GMAT prep or GRE prep? Decisions, decisions. Here's the breakdown:

Law School:
Main reason to go: I'm destined. The courtroom a-beckons.
Main reason not go to: I hear it's hard, or something.
What I base all my knowledge on: Ally McBeal
Likelihood of having to wear a suit for a living: High
Amount of money in the profession: $$$

Business School:
Main reason to go: All my friends who majored in business have jobs
Main reason not to go: The idea of being a businesswoman makes me feel ill
What I base all my knowledge on: My dad; the season of Dawson's Creek where Pacey became a stockbroker
Likelihood of having to wear a suit for a living: Moderate to high
Amount of money in the profession: $$

Ridiculous discipline like Creative Writing School:
Main reason to go: I like writing; I want to pursue something creative
Main reason not to go: Is it really wise for anyone to get a Master's in Creative Writing?
What I base all my knowledge on: My imagination... get it?
Likelihood of having to wear a suit for a living: Very low, then moderate to high once I realize I can't make a living as a creative writer and have to get one of those business jobs that make me cringe
Amount of money in the profession: $

Other Options:
Library science school; graphic design school; clown school; Hogwarts

If one of you kind readers would be so good as to make all my decisions for me, I'd greatly appreciate it. In fact, if one of you could also fill out my FAFSA and track down a couple of college professors who actually remember me to write me recommendations, that would be just tops. I'd love you forever.

Renaissance Girl

2009-01-16T01:19:00.007-05:00

A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.
-Robert A. Heinlein

I'm no bug. I may not be capable of all the things Heinlein lists, but I'm nothing if not unspecialized. A professor once said that journalists know a little bit about a whole lot of things. If I ever do wind up making a living in journalism, at least I'm prepared. It's the same kind of skill that makes me a good person to have on your team at trivia night. And professionally, that's all well and good. But personally? I think I'd like to be a little more proficient at a whole lot of things. I have a very rudimentary knowledge of the following:

Musical Instruments
-I played piano when I was a kid; now I can barely remember where to put my hands. I was first chair clarinet in middle school; now I've forgotten how to read music. I'm trying to learn the guitar, and I know a few chords. I'm not yet "In The Aeroplane Over The Sea"-caliber (first song any good indie rock fan learns on the guitar, right Julia?), but getting there.
Photoshop
-I've been trying to teach myself the basics for awhile now. It's a little overwhelming-- for such a universal program, there's quite the learning curve. I can do pretty things with colors, though, and have made some killer mix-CD artwork, so maybe I can learn some new tricks.
Logical Fallacies
-Hey, I took PHIL 1500, Logic & Critical Thinking. Oh yeah. Made flashcards and everything. And yet somehow, those fallacies didn't stick with me like my multiplication tables. I've got Straw Man down pat (who doesn't, after an election season like that?), but was there a Burning Man? And I know Slippery Slope, but what about Slip & Slide? No?
The Human Body
-Okay, I signed up for Health Psychology thinking it might involve, oh, say, psychology. It didn't. It was like, Med School For Dummies. But I swear I learned tons about medicine and body parts and diseases and the like. And you know, I watch Dr. Oz whenever he's on Oprah. And I try hard to follow Dr. House's logic. But tonight on Grey's Anatomy, the Obnoxiously Precocious British Lesbian Intern (I think that's her full name; check IMDb) mentioned the duodenum, and I knew I knew what it was but I couldn't remember to save my life. Luckily, the TV doctors could-- it's part of the small intestine. But my armchair MDing should be better than it's been lately.
Romance Languages
-In high school, I took Spanish. At college orientation, the Spanish placement test was at the same time as lunch, and I was hungry, so I signed up for Italian to fulfill that requirement. My last semester, I needed to pick an elective, any elective, so I choose that crazy no-English Portuguese class. Unfortunately, they're all a little similar. So I could probably string a few sentences together, but a Spaniard would recognize some words, an Italian would recognize a few others and a Brazilian would chuckle at my pronunciation. I could be fluent in some language by now but instead I have a poor grasp of grammar and vocabulary in three different ones.

I don't make New Year's Resolutions. (If I did, you'd surely hear about them here.) But if I did, perhaps one would be something like, get good at something. Something besides Dawson's Creek trivia and baking Funfetti cupcakes (although those are very important skills to have if you ask me). Maybe by 2010 I will be able to butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building.

But don't ask me to change a diaper. Knowing and doing? Two different things.

Cute Overload?

2009-01-13T01:52:00.003-05:00

Aww. This little guy almost makes me not hate spiders with a blinding fury.

Almost.

Isle of Everything Presents

2009-01-08T17:50:00.003-05:00

I feel ill-equipped to create a "best of '08" music post. And not just because it's already 2009.

I tend to latch onto much of the good stuff woefully late, for one thing. I don't have much of a concept of what was released in 2008 (versus 2006 or '07 or even yet to be officially released). My iTunes library is superficially very well-organized, but when you get down to the behind-the-scenes info, like release dates, it's a mess. I've acquired bunches of '08 albums that I haven't even gotten around to listening to. Things might not even be on my radar yet that will be favorites quite soon. Also, and perhaps most importantly, I haven't listened to every album released in 2008. So, with that in mind, here's a "best of IoE's iTunes right now" list. Here's what I've been digging the most this year, regardless of release date, in the order that I wrote it down:

Little Joy, "Little Joy" (2008)
-I discovered this last week (so, technically, in 2009). Instant love. Little Joy consists of the drummer from the Strokes and a girl and a guy I've never heard of. The guy (and perhaps the girl as well?) is Brazilian, lending the album a fantastically beachy Brazilian feel. The last song is even entirely in Portuguese! Love it.

Fleet Foxes, "Fleet Foxes" (2008)
-Lauren says this album feels like walking through a forest. I kind of agree. Also, it's been popping up on everybody's end-of-the-year lists, so check it out if you want to hang onto your indie cred. But even if you don't care about indie cred (whatever, don't lie to me), you'll like this even more the more you listen to it.

Butch Walker, "Sycamore Meadows" (2008)
-By far not my favorite BW effort, but I'll recommend it out of sheer brand loyalty. I've been a Butch Walker fan for so long, even the stuff I don't really like, I like. Besides, it mentions places like Ponce De Leon and Decatur, making me grin and turn to whoever I'm with to say “Hey, I live there!” only to realize, hey, they live there, too.

Bon Iver, "For Emma, Forever Ago" (2008)
-Everybody knows this by now I think. So good. Also, inspired Jody Rosen over at Slate to coin the term "beardy-indie folk," which I then adopted for use whenever new friends ask what kind of music I listen to.

M. Ward, "Post-War" (2006)
-I first found M. Ward this year. When I did, there was maybe a two week period where all I listened to was "Poison Cup," the first track off this album, over and over and over. I still really really love it.

She & Him, "Volume 1" (2008)
-M. Ward and Zooey Deschanel (who just got engaged to Ben Gibbard-- indie rock love!). I loved her voice when she sang with Will Ferrel in “Elf,” so I figured I'd love it here, too. I was right.

Iron & Wine, "Our Endless Numbered Days" (2004)
-Iron & Wine albums all run together in my mind, which is why there are two on this list. I wanted to cover my bases, because my two favorite Iron & Wine tracks are on these albums. "Passing Afternoon" closes out this one...

Iron & Wine, "The Shepherd's Dog" (2007)
-...and "Flightless Bird, American Mouth" finishes this one.

Vampire Weekend, "Vampire Weekend" (2008)
-Much like Bon Iver, everybody knows how awesome this is by now. In fact, some are so aware of how awesome Vampire Weekend is, they're sick of them. Not me. The album is still awesome and makes me want to dance around.

Slow Runner, "Mermaids" (2008)
-I found Slow Runner a few years ago when they were just called Michael Flynn and they opened up for Jump, Little Children in Athens. They still sound good.

Girl Talk, "Feed The Animals" (2008)
-I can't believe I resisted Girl Talk for so long. And by resisted, I mean made a grouchy face every time "Night Ripper" was played around me. I've grown as a person. This album is the most fun album of the year, hands down. Bazooka Luca is welcome to think it's overrated, but I dare you to put it on and not dance around your hardwood floors in stocking feet.

Coconut Records, "Nighttiming" (2007)
-Jason Schwartzman! This is fun and light and has a good beat. What more can you ask for?

Of course, not every single track on a given album grabs my attention. It was a good year on my iPod for certain individual songs as well. "The Crane Wife 1&2" off The Decemberists' 2006 album, "The Crane Wife," caught my interest. The dreamy Robert Pattinson's two bluesy guitar tracks off the "Twilight" soundtrack did as well. "Human," by The Killers, got stuck on repeat. A selection of old Old 97's songs (for example, "Barrier Reef," "Wish The Worst," "Four Leaf Clover") were put in rotation, particularly after I saw them play at Variety Playhouse in July. The Avett Brothers have a few songs in permanent rotation. Rilo Kiley's "Portions For Foxes" had a resurgence in popularity within my iTunes library, as did Andrew Bird's "Fake Palindromes."

All in all, a good year for music, whether it was made this year or not. And once I plow through all the 2008 releases that I've gotten my hands on, this list will probably look different. But right now, eight days into the new year, this is what was pleasing to my ear, circa 2008 A.D.

Isle Of...

2009-01-04T20:21:00.003-05:00

The brilliant new discoveries that I highlight in Isle Of..., I'm sure you know by now, are rarely new to anyone but me. Laughing Cow cheese, for instance, has been delighting palates for ages. This time around I'm featuring something that's no exception:

Isle Of Last.fm. But more specifically, I've recently become addicted to reading the artist biographies on Last.fm.

It's not like I've been a cave-dweller for the years that Last.fm's been chilling on the internet, being awesome. I downloaded the scrobbling software awhile ago, but since I rarely listen to music on my computer (preferring instead to listen to songs on my iPod, which I've always manually updated), I wasn't able to really use it. Recently though, I decided to bite the bullet and begin automatically syncing my iPod. Despite having virtually identical music libraries on the iPod and my computer hard drive, I felt a brief moment of terror as my cursor hovered over the "Sync" button that I knew would erase every last bit of data from the device. Relying so much on technology that's well beyond my control has always been a little scary. But the point is this: I now automatically sync and thus can scrobble properly. Hooray!

As a play-count nerd, this kind of service is very appealing to me. So I've begun listening to more and more music on my computer, and every song that plays brings up a band bio on the Last.fm software. And I just can't stop reading. There's so much I don't know about the bands that I listen to! For instance, how connected they all are-- I'm finding that many of my favorites have toured together, for one thing. One of the members of the Fruit Bats is now a member of the Shins. It's a small indie world, after all.

Of course, there is the slight issue that the bios are wikis, able to be edited by anyone with a Last.fm login and password. I could write slanderous things about Conor Oberst's proclivities for sock-puppet porn (citation needed) if I so desired (I don't... or do I?). But hey, it's worked for Wikipedia all these years. If obsessive internet addicts can't be trusted to tell the truth, who can?

I don't think I know enough that's not purely anecdotal about any bands to edit their bios for real. Sometimes I do go through and edit them for grammar, punctuation and AP style, though. You know how I roll.

One more thing: Now that I've got the scrobbling thing down, my musical habits are visible to the world at large. Just as one need only unalphabetize a book or DVD from my collections to really get me steaming, I feel like I good way to exact revenge on me would be to mess with my Last.fm. Slip my iPod out of my purse when I'm not looking and play all the embarrassing songs so that when I get around to scrobbling, the whole world knows just how many Ashlee Simpson tracks I've accumulated over the years. Just in case, I'll pre-preemptively come clean: it's 17.

Outlawed

2008-12-31T00:59:00.001-05:00

I have been selected for jury duty an inordinate number of times. I'm 23; this summer marked the third time I'd been selected in my five short years of eligibility.

The first time was mere months after my 18th birthday. I dodged that bullet by citing college-- four full years of having a Get Out Of Jury Duty Free card. Then, last spring, my number was up again-- in Athens. Where I no longer lived. All it took was a phone call to the ACC courthouse to weasel my way out of that one. I must've cheated death, Final Destination-style, because it was only months later that I got summoned again, this time for the county in which I DID live. I was a stand-by juror, though, never wound up having to show up. Foiled again, Judicial Branch!

But really, some people go their whole lives without being summoned more than once or twice. I get picked thrice in five years. Conspiracy? Or maybe I really am meant to go to law school, and the justice system is callin' my name the only way it knows how. I'll have to consider this.

Linkurday!

2008-12-23T23:10:00.001-05:00

The Christmas spirit and my supreme laziness combine today to give you an extra long Linkurday post! Get excited; I'm giving you extra reasons to leave my blog. So here's where to go today:

1. I Was A Highlights Kid
Were you a Highlights kid? I was. You remember Highlights if you ever went to the dentist or the doctor between the ages of birth and 11. With its activities and stories-with-a-moral, it was the perfect parent-friendly way for kids to while away the hours spent waiting for a teeth cleaning or booster shot. Relive your childhood, and check out my favorite, the quiz to determine whether you're a Goofus or a Gallant. Three guesses which one I am.

2. The Digital Slay-Ride: What's killing newspapers is the same thing that killed the slide rule.
If there's one thing us journalists/aspiring journalists/ex-journalism students love to do, it's wank about the slow demise of our profession. When Julia was at my house recently, it took no time at all for our conversation to turn to the woes of the Fourth Estate, as we wrung our hands and lamented the loss of jobs we never had. Slate's always ten steps ahead of me.

3. Does She Love You?
Onto cuter news. This was a Reddit find (want to go someplace where every day is Linkurday? Try Reddit. That's where half my links come from, anyhow), a cute and clever response to the oft-asked question, "Does s/he love me?" My favorite is the one where she hides his shoes. If pranking people is love, then I love you all.

4. Dear Old Love
More bittersweet, now. This is a PostSecret-esque blog where people anonymously submit short notes to people they used to love. Some are sad; some are funny; most are poignant; all are pithy. You will find you've read hundreds before coming up for air. Between this and PS, we are that much closer to realizing what a small, small world we live in.

5. Let Me Google That For You
Moving away from love to marked disdain. Ever had one of those moments, probably with an older relative or clueless coworker, where you're asked a question that would take longer for you to answer than it would for the asker to just Google it themselves? And you roll your eyes and explain at length, or if you don't already know the answer, you Google it yourself as they watch over your shoulder, apparently unable to do something so simple themselves? Well never fear. Just go to Let Me Google That For You, type in your query, and it generates the perfect link for you to really stick it to 'em. If they understand the point you're trying to make. Some people are just beyond help.

6. Bacon Today
From disdain to deliciousness. It's a universal truism that bacon makes everything better (sorry, vegetarians), and here you will discover everything you ever wanted-- nay, needed-- to know about the smokey, savory, crispy meat. It's not just for breakfast anymore. I've been hearing good things about bacon chocolate lately, and I feel that my 2009 resolution may have something to do with it.

7. The Science Of The Hangover
While we're talking about greasy, fatty, yummy foods. When you're hungover, do you just lie prone, crook of your elbow covering your eyes, and moan for hours? Or do you wonder, "Why am I feeling how I'm feeling?" Okay, I've never had the mental capacity to wonder "why" during a hangover, but in hindsight, I've been curious. The Times article explores how a hangover manifests itself in all your body parts, and even better, how to cure or at least avoid them. Advice you'll read, file away, then forget about as you chug beer before liquor and wake up unhappy next weekend.

8. Is It Christmas?
Ever get those "Do you like me?" notes in elementary school? Circle one: Yes/No/Maybe. There's no "Maybe" here. It's either Christmas or it isn't. As I write this, it's not. But in two days? I'll be checking this site again.

By Any Other Name

2008-12-22T17:34:00.003-05:00

This blog entry is brought to you by the reappearance of the name "Logan" in my pop cultural diet.

My love/hate relationship with the name "Logan" began in my formative years, when The Babysitters' Club was considered high-brow literature. Logan Bruno was Maryanne Spier's boyfriend, he of the Kentucky drawl and gentlemanly ways. Gentlemanly for a 13-year-old, at least. He was more of a tertiary character in the scheme of things-- an alternate member of the Club, though he rarely made appearances in the girls' various misadventures. Still, he was the dreamiest literary love interest an 8-year-old girl could swoon over.

Long after the BSC canon became but a footnote in my literary history, the name was all but forgotten. Until my college years. In rapid succession, three choice Logans entered my life.

First, Gilmore Girls' Rory forsook the glorious memory of Jess Mariano (I could write blog upon blog about Jess Mariano, but I'm not 17 anymore, so I won't) and took up with Logan Huntzberger, sharp of wit and fat of wallet (pictured bottom left, with Logan Echolls). I scowled disapprovingly until the episode where the Life & Death Brigade spoke only using words without the letter "E," and then begrudgingly admitted that this Logan was even more charming than Maryanne's Logan of my youth.

Next, I finally got around to watching the X-Men movies. They're good; Wolverine is great. And named Logan, of course. Through three films, Hugh Jackman (left) added rippling abdominals and a real sense of badassery to the name, and is poised to up its street cred considerably once the Wolverine movie hits theaters in '09.

Finally, the most recent addition to my catalogue of Logans: Veronica Mars' Logan Echolls (pictured bottom right, with Logan Huntzberger). I'm forcing the series onto my roommate (I'm like a meth dealer with this show-- this is the third friend and counting that I've gotten hooked) and as we plow through the early episodes, I'm reminded of how heart-wrenching and nuanced this Logan can be. And we're not even to the good stuff yet. The “obligatory psychotic jackass” really does his name justice.

It's one of those names I've always wrinkled my nose at disdainfully. Henry, Walter, Bartholomew, Logan. But really, with a Huntzberger, a Bruno, an Echolls and a Wolverine following the name, it can't help but grow on me. I won't be naming any children Logan, but the better its connotations get in my mind, who knows. Maybe a goldfish.

Nobody Ever Said I Was A Classy Broad

2008-12-19T23:21:00.005-05:00

Here I sit, drinking 2/$8 champagne out of an old Pom Tea glass and eating cheap Hershey's chocolate by myself on a Friday night. I'm wondering... do I actually have to adopt the cats, or will dozens just one day appear in my house? I think one of my roommates may be allergic, so perhaps I should postpone cat-ladyitis and get a temporary social life until I can afford to live alone. Also: I learned to knit a few years ago, and really didn't enjoy it. Is there some other hobby that a future cat-lady such as myself could take up? Like cross-stitch or skeet shooting? Is there a handbook or official rules somewhere? I just want to be prepared.

May Your Days Be

2008-12-15T00:39:00.005-05:00

I made you a mixtape.

Well, okay, I made you an iTunes playlist. And while we're being honest, it wasn't for you. It was a Christmas mix for my Real Life friends. But I'm simultaneously too lazy and too busy to burn a whole bunch of copies, print out the art I made for it and pass those suckers out to my friends as makeshift gifts. So I'm donating it to you. The holidays are about nothing if not giving. Links are via SendSpace, so hopefully you know what to do.

Merry&Bright.zip

Or perhaps you would prefer to download individual tracks?

1. All I Want For Christmas Is You / Mariah Carey
2. Merry Christmas, Everybody / Film
3. Winter Wonderland / Liz Phair
4. I've Got My Love To Keep Me Warm / Dean Martin
5. Do They Know It's Christmas? / Band Aid
6. Great Big Sled / The Killers
7. Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas / Coldplay
8. Baby, It's Cold Outside / Leon Redbone & Zooey Deschanel
9. God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen / Bright Eyes
10. Mele Kalikimaka / KT Tunstall
11. This Christmas / The Dismemberment Plan
12. Just Like Christmas / Low
13. Maybe This Christmas / Ron Sexsmith
14. Bizarre Christmas Incident / Ben Folds
15. Silent Night / Damien Rice & Lisa Hannigan
16. Happy Xmas (War Is Over) / John Lennon
17. What A Year For A New Year / Dan Wilson
18. What Are You Doing New Year's Eve? / Rufus Wainwright
19. All I Want For Christmas Is Us / Jason Mraz & Tristan Prettyman

I've Got An M.D... A WebM.D.

2008-12-13T18:54:00.002-05:00

Slate read my last blog and decided I needed some advice. Apparently I'm not a hypochondriac, I'm a cyberchondriac. Yikes.

Whatever. I'm still scared of necrotizing fasciitis. And will be until I get up the nerve to go to the doctor. For a -chondriac, I'm awfully willing to allow my course of treatment to be, "Eh, it'll pass."

Eight-Legged Freak

2008-12-12T17:01:00.002-05:00

Hypochondriacs should not be allowed access to Google. This is a fact I've known for years. It gets reiterated to me time and time again, when I notice a potential symptom, hit up WebMD and the like, and convince myself it's fatal.

We just moved into a house that's been vacant for some time, and we've spotted several bugs, ranging from cockroaches to (gulp) spiders. I have a few bites on my calf that are redder, more swollen and more tender than your run-of-the-mill bugbite. I also have no one to restrict my access to the internet. This all adds up to me convincing myself that a brown recluse (common to Georgia, unfortunately) has feasted on my flesh and I'm sure to develop a case of necrotizing fasciitis that only Dr. Gregory House can diagnose. If I'm not long for this world, it's been real.

If my prognosis isn't quite so dire but I have been bitten by a spider, it sure as hell better have been radioactive. I'm not letting my right leg be some arachnid's late night snack without getting some superpowers out of the deal.

Isle Of...

2008-12-09T13:20:00.003-05:00

I haven't been kidnapped, loyal readers, I've just moved. I live in a cute house near downtown Decatur now, and the trade-off is that for the time being our internet is primitive and complicated-- meaning, not wireless-- and I've resorted to skulking in local parking lots, stealing wi-fi from unsuspecting businesses. Expect a return to my regular quantity-over-quality blogging post haste.

For now, here's the latest edition of Isle Of:

Isle Of...

The Laughing Cow Creamy Swiss Cheese. Oh my God. My love affair with this cheese began on my flight to Italy in September. Delta's in-flight semi-sustenance included a little tiny package of this stuff with a little tiny packet of crackers. Spreadable cheese, I thought to myself in wonder. What sort of newfangled dairy product will they think of next?

Then I spread a bit on a cracker and entered dairy heaven. This stuff is like frosting; it's just that good. And I ate it like frosting, too, dipping my pinkie finger into the container and making sure every bit of gooey cheesy goodness made it from the crevices of the foil to my eager taste buds. The cow is laughing because he knows his cheese totally dominates.

Humility

2008-12-04T19:14:00.006-05:00

Yesterday I promised a high school journal excerpt years from now, when I've finally gotten over my embarrassment. Well, packing today, I found my middle school journals, and just couldn't wait. Here's a little something for you, moderately edited (because they're my damn journals and I can edit them if I want to). Also, names have been changed because who knows how many of you characters secretly went to my middle school:

June 11, 1998
"Why is life so complicated? It is, really. One day you like one guy, the next day you like another. What's with that? 'Cause yesterday, I only liked Josh, but now I like Anthony. But only now I like them both! I have more of a chance with Anthony, but Lindsay likes him and Josh's SO FINE! But Anthony is really cute and really nice but Josh's SO FUNNY but Anthony's funny and from Texas! We have so much in common! But I'm so much like Josh but I don't know Anthony too well so maybe I'm a lot like him, too. How the hell am I supposed to decide? Oh, yeah, I don't have to. School ends tomorrow. Nothing more. Who am I kidding? Neither of them are gonna ask me out tomorrow. Or even really talk to me. So who cares? I can't do anything about it. I won't ask either of them out. OR even "really talk to them." All I wanna do is go out with ONE of them! And I can't even decide who. 'Cause they're both so cool. And cute. And sweet. And... oh, forget it. It doesn't really matter anymore. Really. It doesn't."

Aaaand scene. So what've we gleaned about 12-year-old Amy from this, class? I made liberal use of the underline, that's for sure. Keep in mind, each of these boys were classmates I'd barely spoken five sentences to over the course of 7th grade. But really, when you get past that and the obvious junior-high descriptors ("so fine!"), is my thought process about boys really all that different at 23? Eh, it doesn't really matter. Really. It doesn't.

P.S. fellow bloggers, feel free to take this as a call to arms and post your own horrifyingly embarrassing diary entries. I won't say it's therapeutic, but it's certainly interesting.

Past Imperfect

2008-12-03T23:09:00.004-05:00

I used to want to be famous. When I was very young, I wanted to be a famous singer-- I hadn't yet realized that you have to be good at singing to do so. Later, I wanted to be a famous actress-- that pipe dream kind of petered out during high school theater classes. I've at times wanted to be a famous writer, a famous reporter, a famous figure skater. I don't think I've ever had an ambition to be something that wasn't at least moderately in the public eye.

But tonight, I realized that I really, really do not want to be famous. What brought me to this realization, you ask? I read my high school diary. And if I were to become famous, and it was for some reason published, I do believe I would literally die. If it was published posthumously, I would die again. It's the sort of stuff that would be perfect for Cringe, if it were a little less cringe-worthy. Yikes.

Maybe one day I'll excerpt a bit of it for you. One day far, far from today. Because now, after reading the entire thing, I need to go hide somewhere before I give into my urge to burn the damn fuzzy, leopard-spotted notebook so it will never, ever be exposed to prying eyes.

Unexpected It Is Unexpected

2008-11-28T21:42:00.004-05:00

You know what's the best feeling? When you don't really know what you want, and then when you get something, you find out it was exactly what you wanted.

Like how moments ago, I was hungry, but couldn't figure out for what. We had Thanksgiving at my uncle's lakehouse, so we don't have any leftovers. I moped around the kitchen for a few minutes, pantry and fridge doors ajar, and finally settled on a turkey (cold-cut turkey, that is) sandwich with a little mayonnaise and Parmesan cheese sprinkled on it. I ho-hummed upstairs with my lame-looking sandwich, took a bite and realized-- what I'd wanted all along was a turkey sandwich with Parmesan cheese. Delicious.

Or like a couple of weeks back, when I wanted to watch a movie and couldn't pick one out. I crouched before my racks of DVDs, head cocked, reading each title silently and dismissing it in turn. Sighing, I decided on Stranger Than Fiction, which I'd seen in theaters, then bought on DVD when it was on sale one day and never watched. I wasn't in the mood for it, but then, I wasn't in the mood for any of my numerous movies. But once I popped the disc in the player, I was entranced. Will Ferrell, the delightful graphics the movie utilizes, the Spoon soundtrack-- and he brings her flours [sic]! It was the perfect choice to keep me enthralled and pull me out of the funk I'd been in when I'd set about to choose a movie.

And now my delicious, singularly appropriate turkey sandwich is finished. And, essentially, so is this blog entry. And I don't know what I want to do now. And nothing is jumping out at me. But whatever I choose, I hope it turns out to be exactly what I wanted.

[Never] Gonna Give You Up

2008-11-27T20:23:00.003-05:00

If it hadn't already, I think that the RickRolling phenomenon has officially jumped the shark. Which is too bad, because it's a damn catchy song. But really, once an internet meme shows up in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, I think it's over. Sorry, Rick. Most people only get fifteen minutes; at least you got thirty.

A Stocking-Feet Game

2008-11-27T00:21:00.006-05:00

'Tis the night before Thanksgiving; you can't expect any self-respecting non-professional blogger with minimal readership to write a serious entry today, can you?

I just wanted to stop by and tell you something.

Ahem.

I hate socks.

You heard me. I hate 'em. Hate hate hate. I'm mildly claustrophobic, but I think my feet have a case that is unparalleled in all of Neuroticland. On top of my feet's hatred of being encased in anything (and, to be fair, this includes shoes that aren't flip-flops or my battered Birkenstock clogs), I'm both prone and sensitive to toe-wedgies. You know, when your sock material kind of gets caught between individual toes, and then you start wiggling them to try and free them, only it doesn't work, so you wiggle them harder, but it just gets worse, so you have to rip your shoes off and yank the fabric away from your sensitive, sensitive toes? No? That's just me? Well, okay then. Good to know.

In any case, it's probably good that I hate socks. According to Lauren, my taste in them is deplorable. Every time I'm be-socked at her house (a necessary evil due to her chilly hardwood floors, you see), I hear cries of, "Amy, grow the hell up and get some damned white socks!" Apparently hearts, gingerbread men or my personal favorite, puppies wearing Santa hats, are unacceptable sock decor for adults. Lucky for me, she has yet to see the High School Musical-themed socks with Zac Efron's face on them that Ashleigh gifted me with. She may just kick me out of her house at that point.

My feet resent this cold weather we're having. Sockless, my toes go numb and I fear for their little-piggy lives. I may rip them off violently in my sleep, but socks are the status quo in these chilly winter months.

Hey, at least if an impromptu game of Twister ever breaks out, I'll be ready.

What Babies Do Best

2008-11-25T16:28:00.003-05:00

These My First Scrubs make me sort of wish I had a friend who had a baby, if only so we could outfit them in teeny-tiny scrubs and then film a baby medical drama. We'd feed them one line at a time, teaching them to pronounce complicated medical jargon. Maybe it could be a Grey's Anatomy-esque series full of baby-interns and baby-residents whining about their love lives and getting way too involved with crazy patients. It would be a surefire hit. TV bigwigs, are you listening?

For now, we'll have to get our fill of baby-TV from the Emmy award-winning Mad Men's baby-Don Draper:

There Goes My Hero

2008-11-23T16:07:00.004-05:00

The recent onslaught of comic book adaptations coming to the big screen occasionally makes me wish I'd been a little boy as a child. I envy the unbridled excitement my male nerd counterparts feel when they see their childhood superheroes come to life. Sure, I grew up with Kristy and the rest of the Babysitters' Club and SV Twins Jessica and Elizabeth Wakefield, but at best they get the weekday afternoon television series treatment. If I'd been a comic book kid, I'd look forward to all these hero movies instead of rolling my eyes disdainfully and jumping on the bandwagon months later partly because I have a crush on the male lead (see: Iron Man). I'm sick of hearing about cool-sounding new projects like The Watchmen or The Avengers and having to immediately whisper to a guy friend, “Who're they?”

It's definitely not that I want Hollywood adaptations of my little-girl interests. For one thing, some of them already exist, and you don't see me shelling out $8.50 for Barbie-brand movies. Somehow, things that appeal to little boys seem to carry over and appeal just as much to those little boys as adult men. Moreover, they have more universal appeal-- Iron Man piqued my interest with Robert Downey, Jr., but it held it with a genuinely cool, fun film. Girlier pursuits don't seem to have the same ability to translate into something for grown-ups, male or female. The things we girls were into, like The Babysitters Club, are these days best left to gentle nostalgic mockery.

Still. I don't think I'll be running out and buying mint-condition copies of old X-Men comics just to keep up. As long as there are guy friends to explain to me why a certain superhero is cool and as long as there are rather attractive actors signing on to play them in big screen versions, I'll stick to reading more adult fare-- you know, like the Harry Potter series all the way through. Again.

Isle Of...

2008-11-19T21:57:00.006-05:00

The November 2008 issue of Esquire, one of my very favorite magazines (it's not just a boys' club, you see), was subtitled "The Endorsement Issue." In addition to picking a candidate in all 482 races for office in the Nov. 4 election-- a feat in itself-- the magazine's writers and editors wrote short endorsements of such gems as "The Desert," "Expensive Toothpaste" and "Boston Creme Pie," in little blue boxes sprinkled throughout the margins of features and articles.

"Ask yourself, What do I endorse? Not just which political candidates or positions or parties, but what things in your life-- people or practices or works of the imagination-- do you think should be valued and are worthy of your endorsement?" writes Esquire EIC David Granger in his Editor's Letter.

I endorse more things than I oppose, although you'd never know it. We're more apt to complain than to praise. As such, I introduce to you, dear readers, a new feature in which I tell you precisely what I love (or isle of-- but you got that all along, yes?) right this very minute. And I promise that henceforth they'll have shorter introductions.

Isle Of... Poladroid

Poladroid is a free application for Macs (with a Windows version forthcoming) that sits atop your desktop and, in an aesthetically and sonically pleasing manner, converts your ordinary photographs into classic Polaroid images. The application itself takes up very little desktop real estate-- it's just an image of a Polaroid-style camera. Drag and drop your photos onto it, and with a close approximation of the iconic Polaroid sound, it literally spits out a new image-- a brownish-gray square. That's one of the coolest parts. True to Polaroid form, these photos have to "develop." Just sit back and watch the real image fade into clarity. Even more realistic, the final product isn't as clear and crisp as your everyday digital camera pics. Like Polaroids, they have a kind of muted, faded quality to them. Even the cream-colored edges of the pictures are realistic-- look closely and you can see they appear textured.

The application isn't perfect for every image, as you don't have the ability to choose your crop. Vertical photos where the subject isn't concentrated to the center of the frame end up something like this:

Still. It's pretty badass. Even if you are limited to ten photo conversions per launch of the application (modeled on the fact that Polaroid film was ten exposures per cartridge). But maybe, much like the Nintendo Wii asking you, "Why not take a break?" Poladroid is gently urging its users to eschew technology for awhile. After all, isn't a desire for Polaroid-style snapshots really a return to the low-tech? Maybe Poladroid thinks you should go outside for awhile, get some exercise, maybe even practice your real-life photography skills. It will still be there when you get back, waiting to convert ten new photos into pieces of instant nostalgia.

An Open Letter To Jeffrey Dean Morgan

2008-11-17T16:17:00.009-05:00

Dear Mr. Morgan,

Please get a new job.

By no means my first experience with you, but definitely the first time I cared enough to Google you, was your stint on Grey's Anatomy as heart transplant patient Denny Duquette. I rooted for you as you worked your way into Katherine Heigl's heart. I even shed a tear or two (or three or four) when, as things are wont to go at Seattle Grace Hospital, things went wrong, and you died tragically. Upon IMDbing you, I found that I had previously enjoyed your work without realizing it-- as similarly dead Judah Botwin on Weeds, even as Joe Zukowski (whoever that is) on a 2005 episode of The O.C.. You convinced me. I became a fan.

But that was over two seasons ago. Since then, you've reprised your Grey's role seven times. Doesn't a dead guy have better things to do than skulk around Seattle Grace? Currently, the esteemed Ms. Rhimes has Denny haunting Heigl's Izzie, and worse, interfering with her burgeoning relationship with dreamy doc Alex Karev. This I cannot abide.

IMDb lists you as having six films either in production, in post-production or completed but as yet unreleased. One of these is even 2009's The Watchmen, which has every nerd I know spazzing out and may even convince me to give reading the graphic novel it's based upon a shot. Do you really need a paycheck so badly that you have to keep flogging a dead heart transplant patient, so to speak, on Grey's Anatomy? Maybe it ups your rom-com cred with the chicks, and I get that, I do. But seriously? Seriously. Let Denny requiescat in pace and stick with your day job. This moonlighting gig at Seattle Grace is just grating on my nerves.

Thank you for your time, Mr. Morgan. I truly am a fan. I think you're great, even if half the time people just confuse you for Robert Downey, Jr. Keep up the good work in films, and soon your stint in Shondaland will be a mere afterthought on a resume.

Seriously.

Sincerely,

Isle of Everything

Gainful

2008-11-11T23:20:00.003-05:00

According to Gawker, the new "emergency backup job [of the creative underclass] is burglary." Now, I would consider myself a member of this "creative underclass," despite my illustrious post-collegiate career consisting solely of jobs where "How would you like your steak cooked?" is a valid question. I've been working as a not-so-diligent job-hunter for the past month or so, and through this disheartening search I've found that I don't even think I'm qualified for burglary. The last few listings for Petty Criminal & Thievery I've found on CraigsList ask for at least 3-5 years of experience and proficiency in Adobe Creative Suite. It's a frustrating time to be looking.

A New York Times article recently featured the "personal music stylist" as a growing occupation. Recession-proof? Doubtful, but it sounds like the perfect job. Stylists go to clients' homes or offices, sniff around a bit, investigate the style and decor and then offer up hours of music that matches the space. If I'd known all along that I could be getting paid cash money to impose my musical tastes on others, well, that diploma I've been using as a lovely placemat wouldn't have been necessary, that's for sure.

It made me think: if picking out other people's music is a career, what other pipe-dream jobs could I be making a living doing?

I wouldn't necessarily mind being Lucy Ricardo in the bon-bon factory. My experience sitting around munching on leftover Halloween candy could easily translate to sneaking delicious bon-bons off a conveyor belt.

Could I be Sarah Silverman? This one's a little tougher, because I don't really mean that I'd like her job-- I mean I'd like to be her. Short of some Freaky Friday theatrics, I don't know if it's possible. However, I already have experience making insensitive jokes at inappropriate times, wearing T-shirts and jeans all the time, and having a love-hate relationship with Jimmy Kimmel. I'm writing my cover letter as we speak. Dear Ms. Silverman...

What about professional blogging? I know it exists-- there are people out there who do exactly what I'm doing right now (that is, sit in bed in their pajamas, drink too much Diet Coke and self-publish all their thoughts into the Web void), and make money doing it. Dear readers, this one is considerably more doable-- but you each have to start sending me regular paychecks, yes? I'll be checking the mail daily.

For now, though, I won't be quitting my day job. Which currently consists of combing the internet for actual day jobs and not making any money. Anybody got any leads?

The Barter System

2008-11-10T16:34:00.003-05:00

Do you like to giggle? Guffaw? Chortle? I'm a veritable thesaurus of weird synonyms for "laugh," and you might do all of those things when you read this: Overdue Account. If you hate laughing, though, don't bother. It'll only be wasted on you, Wet Blanket.

Form Vs. Dysfunction

2008-11-06T20:16:00.005-05:00

That's the first ad in Microsoft's new "I'm A PC" campaign. Okay, I may be biased, because I'm a Mac. But is watching everyday, ordinary people saying "Hey, I'm a PC, and listen to this weird hobby/occupation I have!" really going to shape your computer loyalties? I guess they're trying to point out that PC users can be cool and unique, too, but it doesn't strike me as particularly effective. If you're really only choosing a computer because of the "cool" factor, then let's face it, you've probably already settled on a Mac. Is one commercial saying "Hey, don't forget about us, we're cool, too!" going to change your mind? I also wonder if an ad campaign that intentionally evokes a competitor's ad at the very beginning is the way to go-- won't some people just think, "Oh, it's John Hodgman and those damn Apple commercials again," and tune out?

The after-the-fact internet discovery that the "I'm A PC" ads were crafted using a Mac provides a good little chuckle, too, even though it doesn't mean much, since Apple is still the gold standard in most creative departments.

On the other hand, I do like Windows' new ad slogan: "Windows. Not Walls." It's got nice imagery and a simplicity to it. I don't, however, like to use Windows. I've been PC-free for almost an entire year now and I freeze up when faced with the one-two punch of Internet Explorer and Windows OS. At Lauren's recently, I was trying to do something as simple as copy a URL from an Excel file into a browser window and I had to make her do it for me. There's an argument to be made against the intuitiveness of my Mac OS/Firefox combo. Windows and IE really know how to make you work for it; they keep you on your toes. I'm no longer used to troubleshooting. Those neural pathways in my brain are fading fast. I may need to spend some quality time with my parents' desktop PC once a week or so, cursing and right-clicking, just so I don't lose those skills entirely.

Barack You Like A Hurricane

2008-11-04T23:41:00.004-05:00

Well, that's that. Yes we can, and yes we did.

Tonight I watched the returns roll in with my TV newsanchor boyfriend, Brian Williams, before switching over to my TV fake-newsanchor boyfriend, Jon Stewart, for Indecision 2008. I won't bend your ear about this for too long, but there have been a few things I wanted to make note of.

Firstly, I'm disappointed in Georgia. I mean, duh, it's been a red state for years, but I've seen it tossed about this election season as a state that merely "leans" McCain, or even as a toss-up. I was looking forward to finally living in a blue state! Looking at a county by county map, every county I've ever lived in (Fulton, Clarke and Muscogee) went to Obama, so I suppose I can take comfort in that. And really, I can take comfort in the fact that so goes Georgia, so does NOT go the nation, in this case.

"There are two skinny guys from Illinois who made a difference-- Abe Lincoln and Barack Obama," offered Harvard Law professor Charles Ogletree on Indecision. Those are some big shoes to fill. This feels a little like ranking UGA #1 in the pre-season polls, only I'd to think that the Obama administration probably plays a better football game than Georgia has been playing this season.

I'm looking forward to four, maybe even eight years of hope and change for the better. I'm not looking forward to the sour grapes I'm going to have to endure for the next few days or longer. I mean, to be fair, Obama is a cold-blooded capital-S Socialist who wants to steal your money, give it to lazy people, cook and eat babies for breakfast, et cetera, right? The straw man arguments I've been hearing from my parents, seeing on people's Facebooks and elsewhere are hard to stomach. The local NBC affiliate asked Saxby Chambliss (who only has to lose two more percentage points to require a run-off, as of this writing) what he thought about Obama's win, and he responded, "I hope he's not serious about raising taxes on all Americans like he's talking about." All Americans. Really, Saxby? The guy who's running on a platform of tax cuts for all households making less than $200,000 per year wants to raise the taxes of all Americans? There's no need for anyone to be spreading around falsehoods like that, let alone our elected (or maybe not? Here's hoping...) officials.

For better or for worse, at least we knew as soon as polls closed on the West coast. It looks more or less like a blow-out. Good on ya, voters. You'll see.

Why Bother?

2008-11-03T23:53:00.002-05:00

Sorry I keep pestering you about this, because I know you get my point by now. But I just love these...

...from BotherVoting.org. Hee.

Election Eve

2008-11-03T18:40:00.010-05:00

Today was my first experience volunteering for a political campaign. I signed up to volunteer to “get out the vote” in Decatur today, not knowing if that meant I'd be going door-to-door, making cold calls or doing any number of other things that generally terrify my non-confrontational self. I got to the Campaign For Change office at noon, and it was pretty packed. I figured the day before the election, people would be winding down, not really thinking about volunteering, but there were at least fifty or so people milling around the tiny office and tables set up outside it. At that point, they needed people to either canvass door-to-door or sit and staple together door hangers. Despite being less frightened of staplers than of canvassing, I agreed to blockwalk and was given a partner and a packet of registered Democrat voters' addresses.

My parner (whose name, I think, was James? So much for making friends for life via political activism...) was a young-but-still-older-than-me Emory professor. (In fact, almost everyone at the office appeared to be at least 35. Just an interesting note.) So James and I drove a few miles to the Snapfinger voting precinct, parked on a shady street, and started knockin'.

All the areas we canvassed seemed to be relatively poor areas; I'm a white girl from the suburbs. I really, really don't want to sound (or be) prejudiced or to stereotype, but I have to admit that there was a little part of me that wondered if I might get shot today. Just days after reading about a trick-or-treater getting shot to death in South Carolina, I can't say it didn't enter my mind. Luckily nobody came to the door gun in hand; in fact, people seemed eager to open the door to us when they heard we were from the Obama campaign. Of course, we were only going to the homes of registered Democrats. It might have been different had we been canvassing earlier in the election, when the focus is less on simply getting out the vote and more on persuasion. Yikes. I was just pleased to not have to argue with any Republicans. I do have to note, however, on the subject of scariness, that the area we were in featured a disproportionate number of terrifying, snarling dogs. When those signs say "Beware Of Dog," they mean it. But I digress.

On the whole I don't know if I feel like we made much of a difference. This Slate article describes the hierarchy of efficiency when it comes to helping out a campaign, and knocking on doors is at the top of the list. Everyone we spoke to told us they were voting for Obama; everyone we spoke to (save one man who said he doesn't “believe in voting”) told us they had voted or were planning to tomorrow. Most knew where their polling place was. Maybe we informed one or two who didn't know or might have put off voting.

A big, beefy black guy around my age with a Guitar Hero controller around his neck came out of his house and hit on me while James was at another door. “You got a husband? You got a boyfriend? You got a phone number?” I said I had none of those, but that I liked his game (his video game, that is, not his pick-up game). “I like your face,” he responded. All in a day's work.

The day before an historic election, what can we really say that hasn't been said? Even the undecideds have decided by now. The issue is no longer who you're going to pick. Vote Obama, but really, just vote. It does make a difference. You will feel a little charge after you do, knowing that you exercised your suffrage that (unless you're a white male property-owner) was fought for, and hard. Don't tell me you don't have time. Make time. Bring a book, bring a snack, bring a pillow and some playing cards, but just go. I don't want to wake up on Wednesday and hear that the youth voter turnout was anything other than unprecedented. The Boomers think we're irresponsible layabouts; prove 'em wrong. And if you won't do it for all those reasons, then do it for the free doughnut, free coffee, free ice cream, free chicken tenders or even a free sex toy. Totally worth a few hours in line, if you ask me.

Linkurday!

2008-11-02T22:18:00.004-05:00

It's that time again-- here's a few things to keep you entertained while you should clearly be doing something more important:

1. How To Nap
I'm terrible at naps-- I just can't fall asleep during the day. But I'm guessing most of you are better at it. Here's a few naptime tips and trivia. Are you a lark or an owl? For the record, I'm an owl.

2. Eliza Bot
Need someone to talk to? This program is a computer generated therapist. She's a little frustrating and not terribly helpful, but it's still kind of fascinating.

3. Garfield Minus Garfield
Jon Arbuckle is a lonely sad-sack of a man. This is exceedingly apparent when you remove his cartoon cat from the equation.

4. Guitar Hero World Tour Ad
Features Kobe Bryant, Alex Rodriguez, Tony Hawk and Michael Phelps geeking out playing fake music like we do, only more badass. If guys imagine girls-only sleepovers to be all lace nighties and pillow fights, then this is what I imagine guys-only sleepovers (do those exist?) to be like.

BONUS LINK!
5. The Ball Pit Bar
It's kind of funny, sure, but more awesome than funny. Why does something like this not exist? Ball pits aren't just for kids; xkcd taught us that, and then inspired its creator to make a real live pit in his apartment. See also: last.fm's office ball pit. Thinking about giving your guest room the ball pit treatment? Here's a handy dandy calculator that can tell you what the damage will be (hint: a lot). Please invite me over once you're finished. We can wear lace nighties and have a pillow fight-- in the ball pit.

My Apologies To Matt Damon, We Ran Out Of Time

2008-10-31T13:37:00.003-05:00

Did anybody catch Sarah Silverman's appearance on Jimmy Kimmel Live last night? For those of you who haven't been paying attention, Sarah (my hero) and Jimmy were together for five years until they split this past July. As far as I know, last night on his show was their first public appearance since then. And was it ever awkward. Personally, I think that all the uncomfortable pauses and questions were planned. The two of them seem like they'd sacrifice any degree of comfort for quality comedy. But man, do I wish those two crazy kids could make it work. Sarah and Jimmy are the only celebrity couple that I really root for, except maybe Rachel McAdams and Ryan Gosling. They give me hope! Luckily, the most reliable and honest news outlet, FOXNews, reported earlier this month that they are back together. I hope for once they're right.

The second part of her appearance:

Hallow's Eve

2008-10-30T14:30:00.012-05:00

Halloween's coming up... tomorrow. I know we're not kids anymore, but I've never thought of dressing up as just for kids. I mean, c'mon-- it's not "socially acceptable" for me as a 23-year-old to go door-to-door and collect candy in a flowered pillowcase-- fine. But don't take away the last bastion of Halloween frivolity, the costume.

So. Whatcha gonna be?

When I started thinking about it, I knew I wanted to do something pop cultural and started Googling. Sarah Palin seems like a popular idea and is largely touted as an easy costume, but it's probably easier if you're a businesswoman who requires corrective lenses. I would have to go out and buy not only a pair of glasses but a skirt suit. I'm 23 and trying to break into the creative industry-- I've never even seen a skirt suit. So that's out. And anyway, if I were to dress as Palin, I would probably insist on being Tiny Fey-as-Palin, and that's where it just gets confusing.

I was unsuccessfully Amy Winehouse last year. Come to think of it, in the same way Palin would be an easy costume for a businesswoman to throw together, Ms. Winehouse was a really easy one for me to throw together-- I already owned a pair of contrasting wifebeaters, denim mini-skirt, leggings, messy hair and dark eyeliner. Track marks not included. In any case, the costume didn't work out so well (I was less "hot mess" and more "mess") and that's why those pictures will remain far from the internet.

My favorite pop culture Halloween costume ideas come from Doug. You remember Doug. Well, there was a costume party (a masquerade ball? No! It was something with the word "incognito" in the title, because I remember asking one of my parents what "incognito" meant and they said "I don't know"), and I think Doug was a pencil. There was a banana wandering around somewhere. My personal favorite was a girl dressed as a frosted doughnut, complete with a hole through the middle.

I've seen Quail Man done well as a costume, and that's pretty easy to put together-- a brown belt, green sweatervest, white shirt, khaki shorts, red makeshift cape and most importantly, tighty-whities worn on the outside. And come to think of it, Judy Funnie, Doug's sister, would make an easy yet somewhat recognizable girl costume.

In any case, I'll be traipsing around downtown tomorrow night decked out as Kelly Kapowski, of Saved By The Bell fame. Pictures to follow.

We're All In This Together

2008-10-28T21:57:00.006-05:00

A new addition to my list of Holy Trilogies?

Haha, nah. I wouldn't go that far (would I?). But I did make a point to see High School Musical 3: Senior Year earlier this evening with Sara and Edwin. (That's right; a boy. He can say we dragged him all he wants, but it didn't take too much convincing.)

I first made my running leap onto the HSM bandwagon awhile after the first film had been "released" on the Disney Channel. I'd been reading in Entertainment Weekly and elsewhere about this sensation that was sweeping the middle schools of the nation but knew little about it. I rented it at Vision Video ("just to see what all the fuss was about, of course"), probably sandwiched between a pair of classic or indie movies to keep up my street film cred. I sneaked it into my apartment in my purse and watched it alone in my bedroom so as to not alert my roommates to the fact that I'd apparently developed the movie tastes of an 11-year-old girl. But whatever, now I boldly hoist my HSM-flag high.

This, the third film in the franchise (and the first to grace the big screen), didn't quite live up to the sheer exuberance of the first. But if you're the type of person to like High School Musical, you'll probably like any iteration of High School Musical you can get. The songs are still catchy and it still made me leave the theater longing to go to a high school where we all knew the same dance moves (à la HSM's East High or even the school from She's All That, where Usher implored, "Now come on and do that dance I taught ya"). Score one more for the Mouse House.

A real exchange of voicemails between me and Ashleigh after I saw the movie:

ASHLEIGH: "Hey, you're probably seeing High School Musical right now, so call me later so we can talk about it!"

ME: "Hey, it's Amy, call me back so we can talk about Troy Bolton! Bye!"

ASHLEIGH: "Isn't Troy Bolton dreeeamy? Call me back!"

And really, are we right or what?

More Free Food!

2008-10-27T21:56:00.003-05:00

You'd think I'd run out of free food offers to write about, but not yet. As an addendum to my last post, I have two Election Day offers to report.

First, stop by Shane's Rib Shack on the real Election Day, Nov. 4th, while wearing your "I Voted Today" sticker (by that I assume they mean the happy Georgia peach that says "I'm a Georgia Voter"? I hope so) and get a free chicken tenders meal. That's a whole free meal just for voting! Way cooler than just a free taco.

Second, after you're full of chicken strips, mosey on over to your local Ben & Jerry's store between 5 and 8 p.m. and receive a free scoop of delicious ice cream. B&J, being the laid back dudes that they are, don't even care if you lose your sticker.

And remember Free Taco Day is tomorrow! Yum. Stick with me, kid, you'll never pay for food again.

Electric

2008-10-27T21:21:00.006-05:00

I voted today. If you've been paying any attention to this sort of thing, you know that people have been reporting that Early and Advance Voting (what's the difference, anyway?) has been An Ordeal. Well, they're not wrong.

I arrived at one of the seven designated Advance Voting locations sprinkled throughout Fulton County (the Spruill Oaks Library, in this case) just after 2 p.m. The meager library parking lot was jam-packed, of course, and cars lined the street for at least half a mile. As soon as I took my place in the back of the line, which wrapped halfway around the outside of the building, I began to hear murmurs that the voting computer systems were down. Indeed they were. Throughout the state. For, depending on who you spoke to, somewhere between 30 minutes and two hours. Given that my time these days is worth exactly $0.00, I decided to wait anyway, in case the systems went back up. They did; it took me just over four hours from the time I got in line to the time I walked out the library door, sticker in hand. Worth it? I think so.

Look on the bright side. If McCain wins by exactly one vote, I will be absolved of responsibility. I can blame one of you like-minded lefties who "forgets" to vote or figures we're far enough ahead anyway. Also, much like my recent eight-hour-each-way flights to and from Europe, it was a few pristine, undisturbed hours to read a book or play Guitar Hero on my Nintendo DS.

I came prepared. We young people seem more equipped for waiting around than adults do. They never seem to bring enough entertainment, like my dad, who brought exactly ONE magazine for the aforementioned eight hour transatlantic flight. The vast majority of the voters in line with me brought nothing, and the few who did held only a single magazine or newspaper. I'd packed the first Harry Potter book (as I'm endeavoring to reread the entire series), my DS and my iPod. About two hours into the wait, my mom brought me a Coke and some Halloween candy. Now I don't expect all the adults out there to have moms to bring them snacks, but the benefit of today's tote-bag-sized purses is that they can contain hours of entertainment. It makes the waiting almost painless.

One thing I noticed was how little people were complaining. It was cold, especially in the shade. The wait was LONG. There's a mentality among Americans (among all adults? among all people?) of "I want what I want and I want it now," and patience is rare. Even a short wait in line at Kroger will feature at least one jackass sighing exasperatedly and muttering, "C'mon, what's the hold up here?!" And yet, waiting in a four hour (or more-- before we got inside the library, we had no real way of estimating how much longer the wait would be) line to vote for president, nobody says a word. Maybe everyone realized how important the wait was; maybe the types of people who come a week early to vote have more patience; maybe the true complainers balked at even the idea of a long wait and turned around when they saw the parking lot was full. Regardless, it was refreshing.

The people in line around me were all very nice and genial. People shared what little reading material they'd thought to bring; they saved strangers' spots in line so others could stand in the warm sun for a few minutes. At one point, a local news helicopter hovered above the library. We all waved. "Maybe they're coming to airlift us outta here," somebody suggested, laughing. "Maybe they're dropping supplies for us," someone else joked. I kept expecting everybody to get fed up and start yelling at the voting officials, or a riot of impatient suburbanites to break out, but it never happened. It was the most pleasant experience a four-hour wait in the cold and wind at the local library could be.

Now let's just hope the outcome is just as pleasant. Friendly strangers won't make up for four more years of nonsense. Go vote!

The Holy Trinity

2008-10-26T23:33:00.005-05:00

While over at Sara and Edwin's apartment celebrating their brand new engagement (congratulations guys!), we started talking about the Final Destination movies, which had been on TV earlier in the week. "You just can't not watch," Sara said, pointing out that they'd even paused their DVR so as to go out and get dinner and resume watching once they returned. And trust me, I know this feeling. The Final Destination movies are by no means technically high quality films. I don't know that anyone would argue otherwise. And yet, anytime I'm cruising through the channel guide and notice that one of them is on USA or FX or some other cable network, I can't help it, I'm done looking. Final Destination will be playing on my TV until the last character has been chopped in half with rogue guitar strings. It is, for better or for worse, one of my Holy Trilogies.

Another Holy Trilogy, of which I am even less ashamed than the FD movies, is The Mighty Ducks. Who in our age group doesn't have gloriously carefree memories of Emilio Estevez's Gordon Bombay shaping up a band of rag-tag hockey brats and becoming a better man in the process, not to mention "quacking" Mr. Ducksworth? And what could top the first film than the cinematic masterpiece known as D2: The Mighty Ducks? It is a testament to the brilliance of the first two films that it still ranks as a Holy Trilogy in spite of the atrocities committed by the third, D3. The Ducks Go To College (and it wasn't even college, was it? Just a boarding school, because apparently Ducks never age, either) isn't a film I'll watch repeatedly-- except, y'know, on a Sunday afternoon, when the pickin's are especially slim. But it's hard to deny the appeal of one of these classic hockey underdog films. And I don't think I have to point out that they all star the young Mr. Pacey Witter, which scores bonus points in any Dawson's Creek fan's heart. Oh, Pacey. Swoonworthy even at 14.

I'll limit this list to a trilogy of trilogies, and so my final pick is one that I think any film fan can agree upon. It has it all-- action, romance, hovering skateboards and Huey Lewis & the News. That's right, I'm talking about Back To The Future. This time, it's not just the third lackluster installment (the wild, wild West? Please.) that has to be made up for-- Back To The Future, Part II may have a bit of childhood charm, but the first movie really carries this trilogy. The film's even been invoked in presidential addresses. It's timeless, I'm tellin' ya.

Other trilogies will come and go in my eyes--the original Star Wars three are pretty great, and Lord of the Rings, blah blah blah, whatever. But give me Devon Sawa & Ali Larter, Pacey Witter & Emilio and Marty McFly & Huey Lewis and I will have a 9-movie marathon of pure awesome.

Free For All

2008-10-23T14:26:00.005-05:00

Here at IoE, we commend ourselves on being frugal. Or maybe we just don't have two pennies to rub together to start a fire (that works, right? Boy Scouts?). Either way, we're committed to helping you, our dear readers, live the kind of frugal life that can allow you to sail off in your yacht after your 60th birthday (or at the very least, book an interior cabin on a 4-day-3-night Disney cruise). What better way to save money than by eating for free? Thanks to advertising stunts in a desperate economy, you have two new ways to do just that.

For some reason, Greg Creed, the "Curiously Australian" President of Taco Bell, as Consumerist describes him, loves to give away free tacos. He did it in 2004. He did it during last year's World Series, and some baseball fans didn't like it, according to this Boston Globe article. He did it sometime earlier in 2008, I swear, but Google's not backing me up here. According to Wikipedia, he even tried to do it as far back as 2001, promising every American a free taco if a target the Bell placed in the Pacific Ocean was hit by a falling piece of the space station Mir (it wasn't). What a wacky Australian. Well, regardless, it's Free Taco Time again, thanks to Tampa Bay shortstop Jason Bartlett's base-stealing prowess. After writing Mr. Bartlett a thank-you note, I say you gather up all your friends on Tuesday, October 28th, Free Taco Day. A quick Google search reveals that there are "about 1,271" Taco Bells near Atlanta, GA. How many deliciously free crunchy beef tacos do you think you can eat? Mmm, Mild Sauce.

Now for a promotion that'll quench your thirst for free stuff. We all know by now that Chinese Democracy, Guns N' Roses' little album that never quite could, is finally going to see the light of day on November 23rd of this year. The makers of Dr Pepper either didn't see that one coming, or they belong to Greg Creed's school of free thought. Back in March, they announced (unbeknown to Axl, apparently) that if Chinese Democracy could chugga-chugga-chug it's way into record stores by the end of 2008, then everyone in America could enjoy a can of Dr Pepper, on them. They've since upped the ante and made it a free 20 oz. bottle. Dr Pepper even launched a blog about the offer and the mythical album. Well, Axl's finally making good, and so's Dr Pepper. On or after the album's "release date" (I'll believe it when I see it) of November 23, one need only visit the Dr Pepper website and fill out a form, then sit back and wait 4-6 weeks for one's free 20 oz. Dr Pepper coupon to arrive. This process will be made more difficult if you happen to be ex-band members Slash or Buckethead, as the offer explicitly excludes the two of them from receiving their free tasty beverages. According to NME, Axl promised to share his Dr Pepper with Buckethead. Slash, if you're reading this, you're SOL. Sorry dude.

In related news, anybody remember my journalistic hero and ex-SPIN Magazine senior writer Chuck Klosterman's April Fool's Day 2006 review of Chinese Democracy? He gave the then-fictional album 3 out of 5 stars. I'm curious to see if Klosterman can add psychic to his resume.

Anyway, IoE just wanted to make sure you're all on top of this free food business. Remember: October 28th, 2008, go get your free taco. November 23rd, 2008, log onto DrPepper.com and get your coupon, then stop by your local record store to see if Chinese Democracy actually exists. If it does, be on the lookout for locusts, scary horsemen and other signs of the apocalypse. You never know.

Common Courtesy

2008-10-22T17:18:00.006-05:00

Y'know how, when you're in a relatively deserted movie theater, it's a little weird and irritating when a stranger comes up and sits right next to you instead of in one of the other open rows? Well it's weirder and more irritating when instead of a row of movie theater seats it's a long row of empty treadmills at the gym, and the stranger is a fat little troll of a man who sweats copiously. Yuck. Is that really necessary? I have enough issues about other people at the gym (my ideal workout experience would be just me, alone in a room with a treadmill/elliptical/complicated array of machinery and especially no biceped, triceped, dreamy 6'2" guy with dimples judging me from over his dumbbells as I sweat and pant and make pained faces). Do we really need to add skeezy little guys to the mix? No thank you, Mr. Skeezy LA Fitness Dude. Please move three treadmills down so as not to flick your sweat in my direction.

This public service announcement was paid for by the Campaign Against Creepers Infringing On My Personal Bubble.

Linkurday!

2008-10-21T21:51:00.006-05:00

...because "Caturday" is so '07. Here's what's amusing me at this very minute in time:

1. 10 Very Good Reasons Why You Should Grow A Giant Beard
What's good enough for Dumbledore...

2. Upside Down Dogs
Self-explanatory, really. And glorious.

3. If All Movies Had Cell Phones...
Haven't you always wondered why even in 2008 some film characters pick the hard way instead of just whipping out their Blackberries?

4. Epic Win: Goodbye, schadenfreude. Hello, fail.
Only appropriate in light of this post's lead photo.

That's it. More amusement next Linkurday.

Chicken Or Beef?

2008-10-21T20:28:00.009-05:00

David Sedaris writes this of undecided voters in The New Yorker:

"To put them in perspective, I think of being on an airplane. The flight attendant comes down the aisle with her food cart and, eventually, parks it beside my seat. “Can I interest you in the chicken?” she asks. “Or would you prefer the platter of shit with bits of broken glass in it?”

To be undecided in this election is to pause for a moment and then ask how the chicken is cooked."

True that, Mr. Sedaris.

I understand how one could be undecided between, say, Ms. Clinton and Mr. Obama several months ago. Both touted vaguely similar viewpoints on many issues, and maybe more importantly, both have "Don't Blame Me; I'm A Democrat!" stickers on their back bumpers. A Libertarian I drunkenly debated with in a Virginia Highlands bar Saturday night argued that there's really no difference between the elephants and the asses these days. I personally think he (along with most Libertarians) is nuts, but I'll accept it-- in most elections.

But after the past eight years, how could you be undecided? Everybody has an opinion in this election. A large portion of the population hates Bush and everyone associated with him. They could never vote for another old, white conservative to run the country. Another, much richer portion of the country vehemently supports the GOP blindly, and are probably joined in their cult-like underground firelit meetings by my delightfully Republican parents. Those people tend to make me a little frustrated. BUT! At least they have an opinion. (Even if it IS...never mind. This is not the place.)

This was on Sunday's Post Secret:

Who HASN'T done that at the polls? No one (no one I know, no one who also makes time to watch Mad Men and read Slate and play with their dog from time to time) can know the issues and stances of every single candidate in a given election. So who doesn't just cast their vote for Harry Pitts, or Dick Johnson, or Sarah Hartushkowitzl occasionally? Don't lie to me. You have and you will again. Does it matter? And if it doesn't matter in the tiny city council election, which may have even more direct effect on you, Mr. J.T. Plumber, does it really matter on the national stage?

I don't know, dudes. Just make up your damn minds and go vote, anyway, just to be safe.