the ocean

A View From the Top

I haven't said anything on here about Top Chef in a while. Actually, I'm not certain that I've said anything on here about Top Chef ever. Of course, remembering what I've posted (or, let's face it, even remembering to post) is not really my strong suit. I've been called out before for posting the same stories twice, and in different versions to boot. I've also had the experience of being cut off mid story with a "yeah, I know, you already mentioned that on your blog." So the point, I guess, is that I'm ridiculous.

And speaking of ridiculous, Top Chef. Padma is becoming more and more like Paula Abdul every day. Not in body proportions or hairstyles, obviously, but in mannerisms. There's lots of word slurring and dramatic hand gestures. I used to think she just felt insecure because nobody really cares about her opinion when there are great chefs around, but now I'm pretty sure she's taking horse tranquilizers.

Somehow I always imagine her immediately becoming a huge diva once the camera shuts off, like "Jesus Christ, Phil, if I have to spend one more minute eating bad risotto cooked by some no-neck monster, I'm going to shove Hugh Atchison into one of these GE Monogram ovens. Now get me the hell out of here before Andy Cohen tries to force me to do shots with one of the Real Housewives again." I also like to imagine her marriage to Salman Rushdie. What did they talk about? The fact that it was weird that they were married to one another? Fatwas? Probably fatwas.

Anyway, I thought this was going to be about Top Chef, but it turns out it's really just about Padma, and how I'm kind of obsessed with her, even though I'm not even really sure that I like her. She's kind of like my own personal Regina George.

The Cold War

So I have a cold. As usual, I've been working hard to ignore my sickness and just keep doing my normal routine, but after nearly passing out in kickboxing yesterday I was forced to acknowledge the fact that all might not be right in my world. I spent last night lying on my couch in a Nyquil-induced haze, blowing my nose repeatedly and trying desperately to follow the plot of Thor. (That might have been difficult under the best of circumstances.) I went to bed at eleven and didn't wake up until ten this morning. I don't know that I've slept like that since college. (When I did it quite frequently.)

Getting sick on the weekend is kind of the worst. On a weekday at least you can console yourself with the fact that you are taking the day off to rest up and watch Days of Our Lives. (Kristen is back and she is amazing.) On a weekend, though, you're just missing things you'd actually like to be doing. I was supposed to go to a concert last night as opposed to coughing and drinking my weight in Mucinex. I did at least use the sickness as an excuse to watch the televised mass instead of venturing out to church; they do it in half an hour flat, which means they don't even have time to lecture everyone about abortion and gay marriage. They do still manage to get a pitch for money in, though.

The good news is that I'm feeling much better tonight. The bad news is that it's just in time for me to go back to work. I've been robbed, and not in a good way like on Lifetime's The Bling Ring.

Everyday Miracles

The most amazing thing has just happened. I had a bunch of people over for a meeting and, when they left, they had brought over more alcohol than they actually consumed while they were here. Like, substantially more. I'm up like four bottles of white wine and a couple of twelve packs of domestic beer. I mean, sure, I'm down a couple of bottles of red and several E.L. Fudge cookies, but still, this never happens. It's like the miracle of the loaves and fishes, but with a better menu.

I'm honestly not sure what to do with this terrific good fortune. I'm guessing the answer is not to drink it all now, but it sure is tempting. I mean, tomorrow is casual Friday. What could be more casual than to reek of alcohol?

Political Animal

Can I just say that this inauguration coverage is insane? Admittedly, I've been flipping back and forth between it and several other things, including both Reba and The Golden Girls, so I did briefly get confused and think that Joe Biden was a sassy redhead and Michelle Obama was confronting a doctor about her Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, but this is still some really over-the-top stuff. The last half fifteen minutes or so they just spent filming a car driving very slowly. Thank God it was the Obamas who eventually got out of it as opposed to, say, Lifetime staple Alexandra Paul. Though she would have done it with style, and likely a speech about her sexting teenage daughter.

I didn't realize it all started so early in the day, so I sort of whiffed on a lot of the speech, though I was thankfully in time for Kelly Clarkson's performance and subsequent inability to figure out where she was supposed to go. I'm not sure that Beyonce knew which way she was supposed to go, either, but she just put on her "out of my way or I'll do to you what I did to all those former members of Destiny's Child" face and all was well.

After that there was about an hour of MSNBC filming various dignitaries as they arrived to the Capitol and warning us that they wouldn't be allowed to film the actual event once it started. Rachel Maddow and Chris Matthews were basically just small talking about the weather and everyone's health as the camera crew tried desperately to get a close up of a Clinton. I guess Al Sharpton was busy today?

Now there are people dancing in the streets in traditional costumes of some kind. This is sort of like when I went to Globalfest in ninth grade, but without the rousing round of seven minutes of heaven.

I've got to find something else before the marching bands arrive on the scene.

Busy, Busy Weekend

There was a Lifetime movie with Dawson Leery on yesterday, so that required some time and attention. He played against type, as an insane escaped convict who kidnaps a teenager outside a Nebraska mall. (Dawson never actually kidnapped Joey, although I bet he thought about it. Had they been in Nebraska, he probably would have done it just for entertainment.) I had the sound off and was on the phone for a good chunk of it, but I'm pretty sure I got the upshot. Something about them forming a family band and winning a Latin Grammy.

Last night sort of became a blur thanks to margaritas. Not as bad as the time where they put everclear in the margaritas without telling us and I ended up vomiting pink crap all over my bathroom wall, but things were said that cannot be unsaid. Mainly about Anne Hathaway, but still.

Then today I went on an incredible shopping trip, which consisted of me walking about three blocks, realizing that it was freezing out and wondering why I hadn't just driven, going to a vintage clothing store and realizing that the smell of vintage clothing stores makes it impossible for me to buy clothes there, going to a craft store and realizing that therein madness lies, and going home.

Thank God I have the day off tomorrow! Clearly I will need time to recover from all of this excitement.

Sports Corner

Well, I've finally become interested in football. Not the sport itself, obviously, but this insane story coming out of Notre Dame. (The insane story that's not Rudy -- seriously, all that practice for just one fucking game?) Here's the thing: if you have been dating your girlfriend for a year and you have never met her, she is not your girlfriend. Most people who actually exist can arrange at least a coffee date. Of course, from what I've read, he actually said that he met her in person a couple of times, so I'm wondering if maybe it's like a Fight Club thing and his girlfriend actually only exists in his imagination? Or he could just be a big old lying liar, which would be so completely unprecedented in sports. And then he forgot the cardinal rule of lying: keep it simple! Make up a girlfriend who lives in Canada, sure, but not a girlfriend who lives in Canada, drove her speedboat into a Fashion Bug, and developed pleurisy.

Of course, big ups to the major media figures who "reported" this girlfriend saga without performing so much as a google search to verify it. He picked a wonderfully distinctive name for internet searching, after all, instead of something generic like Ann Smith or Jessica Chastain. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that they couldn't be bothered to verify this after they pretty much just printed press releases on the first couple of years of the Iraq war, though.

I have actually been refreshing Deadspin all day to try to get more info on this. I wouldn't be surprised if this scandal comes to involve Charlie Sheen and a couple of dead hookers before the week is out.

Globetrotters

So as with most years, Former Roommate Liz and I were the big winners of this year's Golden Globes, as we became drunk and belligerent and began posting random nonsensical things on Facebook. (#JodiFosterMeltdown) I blame the "make your own sixpack" special at the Jewel, which led me to drink several different types of beer within the scope of an hour. (The vodka drinks prior to the beer were beside the point.) And by "blame," I mean "thank," as I had a great time and suffered absolutely no ill effects the next morning. I am an alcohol wizard.

Anyway, I was shouting over much of the actual program, but there were still some definite highlights. Anne Hathaway's carefully-scripted "I'm so surprised and overwhelmed" speech really stood out, along with Lena Dunham's general cuntiness. I can't even really address Jodi Foster; it was sort of like being reprimanded in study hall for ten minutes. And was Mel Gibson sitting on something sharp the whole time, or does his face just look like that now? Maybe it was just stress from having to pretend that The Beaver (title suddenly ironic) was a good movie.

As for the actual awards, most of them were fairly predictable to everyone except Taylor Swift. It was sort of unexpected to see Ben Affleck win, and also kind of nice after the snub he received. (I refer, of course, to the lack of recognition for his work in the "Jenny From The Block" video.) And I had thought that Lincoln was pretty much unbeatable for Best Picture - Drama, given that anybody who doesn't like it essentially loves slavery. But I'm still backing Twilight for the Oscars. Kristen Stewart dies at the end, right?

Golden Globes Predictions 2013

Yes, that's right, it's the night where NBC tells us that Anything Can Happen, although It Never Really Seems To. Here are my predictions for the evening:

-- The Red Carpet Will Be Boring. Nothing like spending hours looking at dresses and listening to Giuliana Rancic pretending to have seen Amour and The Master. This will be where I stick my face in the platter of potato croquettes we're making for the occasion.

-- The Opening Monologue Will Be Too Long. This is an easy one. Even if Jesus was hosting, his monologue would still be too long. Not to mention kind of preachy. Although if he would turn some water into wine, all would probably be forgiven.

-- Daniel Day Lewis Will Win Best Actor, Drama. His performance combined all of the things that awards shows love: lots of makeup, a weird voice, and dying. (Spoiler alert! Lincoln is dead!)

-- Jessica Chastain Will Win Best Actress, Drama. For reasons that I cannot fathom, she is suddenly a thing, and in a big way. She's like the Gretchen Mol that actually happened.

-- Jennifer Lawrence Will Win Best Actress, Musical or Comedy. Because she is amazing. I've loved her ever since I saw her skin a squirrel. (In Winter's Bone, not in real life. It would be weird if she did it, like, over lunch at the Ivy.)

-- Anne Hathaway Will Win Best Supporting Actress. The Golden Globes love musicals and celebrities. And all of her humblebrag over the past few months probably plays much better to those for whom English is not a first language.

-- I Will Change The Channel During the Honorary Awards. I. Just. Can't.

-- Miss Golden Globes' Career Will Not Pan Out As She Had Hoped. I'm looking at you, Rumer Willis.

Deja Vu

I'm reading "The Age of Innocence," which I'm really enjoying, but it's leaving me with a bit of a problem. You see, it all seems rather familiar and I'm starting to suspect that I've read it before. At first I thought that maybe just the overall tone and the characterizations were familiar because I read "The House of Mirth" a few years back, but now the plot points are vaguely ringing a bell as well. And no, it's not because I've seen the movie; I would remember if I'd watched Winona Ryder interpret Edith Wharton.

But anyway, I'm seriously questioning whether I should keep going. On the one hand, there are plenty of books I could read that I'm 100% sure I haven't read before, including two on my beside table. (Although one of those is Ulysses, which I have been avoiding for ages, largely because I don't think I can handle that much extra weight on the train.) And it's a pretty unnerving feeling. On the other hand, I am enjoying it, and I'm already about a sixth of the way through it. We're talking a couple more weeks of train reading max here.

The weirdest thing is that this has actually happened to me once before. With "A Passage to India" by E.M. Forster. I was halfway through that one before I realized. I'm not sure if I should feel really smart that I've already read so many books or really stupid that I can't even seem to keep track of them.

Viewings

So I saw the Steve McQueen show at the Art Institute yesterday. I have to admit that I didn't know much about Steve McQueen as an artist, but at least I knew more about him than the people who clearly had him confused with Steve McQueen the film actor, since they kept asking where the Steve McQueen exhibit was while standing in the Steve McQueen exhibit. It was mainly video, which was kind of weird in the sense that it involved standing in the dark with strangers in the enormous rooms of the Regenstein Hall. Also in the sense that there were a number of penises that made appearances in the videos. It felt kind of like when I used to watch soaps with my grandmother and suddenly people would be taking their tops off. But regardless, I liked it just fine. The same cannot be said for the older lady who left the exhibit at the same time as us, whose friend was waiting outside and asked "Was it any good, Jeanne?" Jeanne just pursed her lips and shook her head back and forth slowly. Everybody's a critic these days.

I also saw Skyfall yesterday. I enjoyed it, although it was hard for me to get over the fact that I was sitting in a Saturday matinee of a movie that opened a month ago and it was still completely sold out. The action sequences were pretty great and Sam Mendes definitely knows how to shoot a good looking movie. The acting combination of Fiennes and Dench was definitely a powerhouse; how no one has asked them to make a buddy cop comedy together yet, I'll never know. The plot did sort of depend on the internet being magic, but that's not at all uncommon these days. I would definitely recommend it, if I weren't pretty sure that I'm already the last person in America to see it.

New Year... Same As The Old Year

So far, it's been a heady mix of work, gym, TV, videogames, and drinking. Sound familiar?

I do have to say that I very much enjoyed taking the first day of the year completely off for the first time in seven years. As opposed to, say, working on a privilege log all day long. Or reading witness interview summaries. This year I woke up at noon and didn't get out of my sweatpants all day. I started season one of American Horror Story on DVD and ate McDonald's for dinner. Exactly how one ought to start a year, in my view.

The old year ended fairly nicely, too. Former Roommate Liz came over with fondue and amazing DVDs of obscure early eighties music videos. We seriously ended up having no idea who most of the artists were, although our guess was generally Sheila E. We also watched the local new year's broadcast, which was amazingly low rent, to the point that their big acts were Collective Soul and a Prince cover band. What year were we ringing in again?

Anyway, here we are. High hopes, low expectations.

2012: Year In Review, Part II

And now some 2012 lowlights, just in time to make a clean start in 2013:

-- Failing to win the Jewel Wish Big Win Big sweepstakes, despite opening truckloads of instant giveaway cards.
-- Billy Crystal's face at the Oscars. Well, I'm sure it looks like that other places, too, but the Oscars are where I noticed it.
-- Demi Lovato doing an MTV special and not spilling a single bit of dirt about working with Barney.
-- Working literally all of St. Patrick's Day weekend.
-- Nearly getting my cleaning lady deported by leaving the alarm on when I went to work on cleaning day.
-- Jennifer Love Hewitt playing the world's most boring hooker on The Client List.
-- NATO turning out to be a big fat nothing after promising us riots and civil unrest.
-- Having to play stern dad to my new neighbors and their loud, loud music.
-- Checking the fire exits for three hours straight during my showing of The Dark Knight Rises.
-- Accidentally being designated female by my insurance company.
-- The phrase "it's all about the mind-body connection."
-- Anything and everything about campaign season 2012.
-- Coyote attacks in Wrigleyville, but not one frat boy mauled.