Preserve your memories, they're all that's left you

I know I've been slacking on the blog, but you didn't think I'd let Corey Haim's death go unaccounted for, did you?

This here is what's left of my VHS library - carried with me across the country and through numerous apartments in New York - even though I haven't had a VCR on which to play them for at least seven years.

Lucas, as denoted by that decrepit piece of masking tape marked with my 12-year-old penmanship, was one of my favorite movies growing up. I had recorded this off one of the movie's many airings on HBO, and watched it all. the. time. throughout my teens. It had a great cast: my girl crush Kerri Green, Brat Packer Charlie Sheen, a barely-adolescent Winona Ryder, an already-balding Jeremy Piven, Courtney Thorne Smith, and the guy who would go on to play Jason Bateman's best friend on The Hogan Family. I never saw License to Drive until sometime last year, and never saw The Lost Boys at all, but this movie was enough to permanently enamor me to the fairer Corey.

While we're rifling through my drawers, let me tell you about the other components in this technology time capsule:

1. Today's Summer Hair: Did I ever mention I was on The Today Show? Getting a makeover? One of the perks of working in beauty PR is that anytime any of us got a segment or a story for one of our clients, we would need "models" to shoot. I've been in the New York Times getting my hair colored, in Harper's Bazaar getting facial injections, and this time, they needed curly haired girls for a segment on managing summer hair. Since everyone else in our agency was getting Japanese straightened at the time, I thought I was a sure thing; however the client didn't think I was pretty enough to represent him on TV. Awesome! Regardless, he didn't have a budget to pay for real models and I had already been approved by the producer, so I got to have my moment on national TV and a VHS tape that I watched exactly never, since I think I had already moved on to a DVD player by that point.

2. Class of '94 Video Yearbook. Pretty self-explanatory. I'm sure we thought we were so cutting edge, filming a video yearbook in addition to our printed one. Calling Donna and David... we were so West Beverly High. I don't think I've seen this since probably Thanksgiving break of my freshman year of college, but I would LOVE to see it again. And then probably burn it.

3. Alice in Bodyland. My fourth grade play. This tape dates all the way back to 1986 (!!!) when video cameras were still a real novelty, and it was a big deal that the play was not only filmed, but ran on our local cable station. It was a small cable station - the one that normally played only our soccer games or announced school closings - but it was a huge thrill, at 10 years old, to see yourself on TV. I think the tape had some issues the last time I watched it - many many many moons ago. While I might want to burn my video yearbook, I'd like to bronze this tape, or at least have copies made on DVD, Blu Ray, You Tube, etc. It might be mortifying but it's absolutely brilliant.

4. And, finally, The Wizard of Oz. I think my dad got me this one year for Christmas. (Thanks, Dad!) Knowing how much I loved that movie, he also bought me the DVD years later. (Thanks, again!)

I also still have Aladdin on tape, but the plastic case was too large for the drawer.

Why do I keep these so long, when I don't even have the technology to play them? Sentiment, I suppose. A reminder of my childhood. Memories, like Corey Haim, John Hughes, Andrew "Boner" Koenig, that I'm not quite ready to let go.

Sat on our barstools like bookends

This was the third weekend in a row in which I had an old friend come to visit, and as such, was the third weekend I found myself playing tour guide. Tom was one of my good friends in college, and one of the first people I knew to move from school to NYC. I wrote, years ago, how he stayed on my aunt's couch those first few days, and he always remained part of my New York social circle.

Tom came out partly for work and part for pleasure, so we made plans to have lunch on Sunday. I woke up early to a sun-filled morning and figured - since lunch would likely include drinks - it would be a good idea to squeeze in some exercise. I'm never much of a morning runner, so thought a brisk hour walk would suffice. Until I got outside, and the gorgeously clear day and sweet-smelling air filled my lungs, and I don't know what came over me, but I just got the urge to run.

"I just felt like running." - Forrest Gump

I ran to the top of the hill on my regular route, where, on a clear day, you can see the beach to one side and the Hollywood sign to the other. Sunday, not only could I see the Hollywood sign, but I could see the majestic snow-capped mountains behind it, 100 miles away. It was nothing short of breathtaking. I tried taking photos with my iPhone, but the effect looked much farther away. In that case, then, I decided, I should keep running east, towards Beverly Hills, West Hollywood if I had to, in an effort to get a decent shot of the sight. This was the best I could do:

And it really does not do my view justice.

Anyway, I ran out past the border of Beverly Hills before I decided to turn around and head back. I walked/ran home, feeling alive and enthused and so unbelievably blessed about my life.

Since it was such a nice day, I suggested we head down to Venice Beach, have lunch by the Pier, and take in the crazies on the boardwalk. It was great catching up, and Tom was a competitive player in my favorite game of making every possible geographical reference to the original 90210. "This is where cokehead Colin lived." "There's where Kelly's rehab-roommate-stalker hid her suitcase when she was on the streets." "Why yes, Pasadena is the home of the Rose Bowl where Donna competed on the Royal Court and learned her mother got pregnant out of wedlock." We're both watching reruns every Saturday morning. The day could not get any better.

1997


2010

Why yes, those are crows feet by my eyes and gray hairs on my head. I much prefer the ponytails.

All in all, it was a fantastic day. Fortunately for me, I have one more week of Old Friend Fun in store. My college and NYC friend Heather is flying west this weekend, and we'll be hanging out with Cara in San Diego. Four weeks, four good friends. No complaints over here.

Rent-a-bachelor: rose ceremonies, Chris Harrison not required

I'll take a 5'10, blue-eyed creative type with a gym membership and full-time job for Valentine's Day, standing Saturday nights, plus assorted holidays and mandatory work functions.

Cheesy airline pilots need not apply. Brad Womack, of course, is welcome.

Sha na na na, hey hey hey, good bye

Plenty has already been said about this year's unusually high number of celebrity deaths, and especially that of the icons that shaped my particular generation. While the passing of Bea Arthur and Ed McMahon was sad, and the loss of DJ AM and Billy Mays, tragic, the deaths of Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson, John Hughes, and Patrick Swayze broke my heart as well as any doubt that my childhood was really over.

So if my youth got buried six feet under this summer, today's news that former Remote Control host Ken Ober died basically spit on the grave. Despite the fact that I've mistakenly been calling him "Ken Olin" all these years, I credit that one show for shaping much of my current interest in pop culture. It ran from 1987-1989 - the same time-frame I attended junior high and spent every afternoon in the TV room. Sitcom reruns and music videos comprised my 4-8 PM shift - the exact topics covered on the show. Unlike any other game shows I'd seen, this was the first that rewarded the couch potato. I couldn't memorize algebraic equations or the Founding Fathers (probably because I did my homework in front of the tube), but dammit, I could excel in TV trivia. I was really fucking good at watching the Brady Bunch.

I wrote a little bit here about my thing with the Brady Bunch. And here about my thing with the TV. Reading back, I think its pretty obvious I used TV as an escape, a latchkey kid looking for a better life outside her front door. And maybe that was the draw of this show. More than just an escape, Remote Control celebrated this inane interest I had, assuring me that in it was some value.

In lighter news

It appears that TLC read this post, and did, in fact, remove one half of the Gosselin team from our collective consciousness. (I'm proud to say that I actually had to look up their last name, as I don't offhandedly know how to spell it.)

Now if someone could just forward this to E!, I'm thinking we could reduce our Kardashian intake by at least a third.

UPDATE: And here's one more thing we can add to that post.

Things I would like to retire from the nation's collective consciousness

1. The Kardashians (see also: Gosslin, Jon & Kate)

2. The French pedicure. Honestly, I've wanted to write about this for years, but feared offending any of my readers. However, after three-plus seasons of staring at toe talons, I'm thinking it's just time to say it: this look offends me. Overgrown toenails are not attractive; why would anyone pay money to get what looks like them? French pedicures do not look clean, they do not look chic; they look like they belong to the homeless vagrant on my corner. For the love of OPI, if you can't pick a color, go bare or go home. I don't want to stare at your crazy clown feet.

(I'm sorry - I'm sure you all have better taste than this anyway. Please, please, please tell me that you do. If not, please feel free to tell me to go to hell. I'll tell you that I'm already there and I'm not going to take it anymore.)

3. The phrase, "I just threw up a little in my mouth." That phrase was popular about four years ago, and only for a nano-second, before everyone started arguing over who coined it. Then we, as an internet nation, agreed it was passe, and anyone who still uses it is a loser who probably sat alone in the seventh grade cafeteria. So, stop saying it. Please also stop saying its 2009 counterpart, "shit the bed." Seriously? That's gross.

4. Along those lines, can we talk about how the word "diss" has seemingly gained a resurgence among the mainstream media? "Diss" actually was a word we used in the seventh grade lunchroom, and I thought died somewhere around sophomore year (along with "Duh!" and "Not!"). Then, about two or three years ago, I started noticing it being used on the Yahoo homepage alongside international news, and on the Today show still into its more serious seven o'clock hour. "Angelina disses Jen!" "Oprah disses Michael Jackson!" "Obama's big diss!" Seriously? What kind of journalistic society are we living in? Even my middle school newspaper knew better than to use that word in print.

5. And okay, maybe I'm too involved on Facebook and Twitter and the blogosphere and PR and apparently every industry in which people find cause to use this word, but I propose an official early end to the (over)use of the term FAIL. Information is moving too fast these days. I'm over trends practically before they even start.

What say you? Feel free to add your pop culture annoyances in the comments. Then I'll print the whole thing out, burn in a bonfire, and pretend that none of this nonsense ever happened.

I might need the warm, strong arms of Jake Ryan to get me through this

Hmm... so, how many times have I mentioned John Hughes on this blog?

Oh, wait, only three, apparently. I guess I didn't feel the need to overstate the obvious: he was a big influence in my life. Not because I grew up wanting to make movies, of course; but because I grew up wanting life - er, high school - to mirror exactly what I saw in his iconic 1980's films.

I don't know - there's nothing I can say that hasn't already been plastered around the Internet. I'm loathe to sound like every other mediocre blogger who tries to relate a stranger's passing to the symbolic passing of our own youth. But then, we Gen-X'ers are nothing if not self-loathing, so I guess I'll add my two cents:

Years before his movies became staples on basic cable - years before I think we even had basic cable - I used to rent the same rotation of titles from our local "Movies and More" video store: Sixteen Candles, National Lampoon's (European) Vacation, The Breakfast Club, Ferris Bueller. I never knew until later that they all came from the same brain; I just knew, at the time, that I loved them.

Unlike most girls, I never aspired to be Molly Ringwald - her characters were awkward and insecure. I didn't relate to the stragglers, either - I was much too mainstream. But I LOVED the high school guys in the movies - the jocks, the bad boys, the guys from the poor side of the tracks, the depressed brooder, the whimsical deviant. I was sure I knew them all - sat next to them in social studies, could win them over in gym class, so long as I studied these films.

That, actually, turned out NOT to be the best way to fit into middle school, but I blame that on the rest of my class for maturing later than me. By the time I started high school, slacker culture had set in, and I didn't care so much for floppy hair and flannels as I did for cropped cuts and biceps. But every time I went to a school dance, sneaked alcohol underage, or saw potential for a raucous party, I mentally compared my life to theirs, these lucky characters born of such fun (and badass!) imagination.

Whether it was realistic to expect my real life to mirror these manufactured movies, I don't know. But John Hughes set my own imagination aflame, and I honestly can't picture my adolescence without him.

Everything's coming up roses

Hi! Did you miss me? I'd love to say that I missed blogging, but, really, I didn't. I kind of enjoyed not reporting in. Especially since I had little to report, anyway. Let's mutually consider this my summer blogging schedule and both go grab a mai tai before reading the recap:

My business trip to New York was good. I'm still recovering a lot of the data that I lost on my computer, so I've been extra busy at work, which I think has also contributed to my lack of posting. But my media lists are finally almost back up to where they were, and my most important and timely documents were saved elsewhere, so I am out of panic mode for the time being.

A nice surprise was that Kelly Taylor (aka Jennie Garth) was on my flight back to LA. Before boarding, Jet Blue made a loud announcement paging "Jennie Garth Facinelli" to the terminal. I bounded out of my seat and strained my neck looking for any sign of her and her yummy hubby. Alas, she was traveling solo - well, with only kids and other women in tow - but it was still very exciting.

I don't know if I've ever mentioned it here, but hands down, my very favorite part of every week is Saturday mornings when SoapNet plays old episodes of 90210. Especially since the weather has been nice, I've been waking up pretty early and catching an episode or two before my 9:30 yoga class. Sometimes it's seriously a struggle to leave the house. Last weekend, one of my favorite episodes ever came on right before I had to leave, and I spent 20 minutes mentally debating whether or not it was worth staying home. Reason won out and I went to yoga, but only because I figured I'd be able to find this on YouTube:

Also, and I know I have said this before, I have fallen headstand over heels in love with yoga. I have not run in weeks; haven't lifted a weight in months. And yet my body feels different, better, lighter, tighter, than it has in years. It's seriously amazing - but also, weird. For 15 years, I've defined myself by my workouts. I'm a "runner". I lift weights. I shave my legs so I can wear cute shorts and am constantly charging my iPod.

Now? I haven't even listened to my iPod in weeks. I shave for my work wardrobe but wear stretch pants to practice. More than that, my entire commuting schedule has changed. Rather than go to the gym near my office to avoid what most people would consider a miserable drive, I'm heading across town during rush hour to make my favorite classes. I can't say I don't mind or notice the traffic, but it doesn't really bother me, either. These all may sound like little, trivial details, but so much of my identity has been wrapped up in the gym, it's a little disconcerting to suddenly develop entirely new habits.

When I haven't been working or at the gym, I've been living life in LA - spending every weekend at the beach, going out with friends, celebrity-spotting when I can. Last Wednesday, I had two good sightings - at the same restaurant. First, James Spader, who is one of my favorite actors and childhood crushes, was eating with what looked like his wife and family. If I had a Top 5/Free Pass/Celebrity Sex Loophole List, I can confidently say that he would be on it.

A little bit later, Jillian The Bachelorette walked in. She and her friend ate at the bar but did not reveal any clues about what or who might have contributed to what is supposed to be the MOST EMOTIONAL SEASON FINALE IN BACHELORETTE HISTORY. (I typed that literally as Chris Harrison spoke it - I'm watching while I write.) I liked Jillian a lot when she was on The Bachelor last year, but she grated on my nerves a bit this season. I don't blame her for that; truthfully, I think that show is just so formulaic, they've reduced her to little more than a methodical rotation of sound bites. It didn't help that the series was extra long this year. But she looked like a cute, normal girl when I saw her, and maybe it was the wine or maybe it was James Spader, but I couldn't help but think that I liked her again.

Of course, given what takes place on TV tonight, I reserve the right to change my opinion.

Information generation

How is it that I go away for one week, and four pop culture icons die? That's it - I'm never leaving Los Angeles again. I can't handle the drama. (Or, more truthfully, the weather in any other part of this country.)

I was in Stamford Tuesday morning when I learned about Ed McMahon. Rebecca and I were sipping homemade cappuccinos on the couch, and I was scrolling through Facebook when a series of sad status updates revealed his passing. Minutes later, The Today Show confirmed it. Not that I was at all surprised.

The TV delivered the Farrah news Thursday, and my mom and I shared a collective, but also, unsurprised, sigh. Hours later, while I was posting a work update on Twitter, I started seeing frantic tweets about MJ; I then horrified my mother with my multitasking multimedia capabilities as I refreshed the laptop with one hand and my iPhone with the other, shamelessly lapping up details to the story.

Facebook was also the bearer of the bad Billy Mays news, this time minutes after my plane landed today and I turned on my phone desperate - after six and a half hours in the air - for a connection with the outside world. Maybe I should just shut my technology down for a day and hope that the rest of Hollywood stays safe.

Oops. Too late.

When I wasn't checking Facebook or Twitter or thanking the iPhone Gods for the GPS that let me drive effortlessly from one friend's house to another, I was, actually, on vacation. I saw everyone I intended to see, met and reconnected with their kids, parents, and/or pets, and generally spent some much needed quality time with everyone.

What I didn't do was see the sun for seven days. It seriously rained every single day I was away, if not the entire time, just often enough to keep anyone from becoming too optimistic. I wasn't expecting beach weather, but it would have been nice to have had some meals and drinks outdoors, maybe go for a walk or a run. As things were, I got very little exercise but a f#&%ing arkload of damp, gray, cloudy skies. I can not underestimate for you my ABSOLUTE and UTTER JOY and RELIEF and ELATION at arriving at a sun-drenched LAX this afternoon.

And what do I do? I stay inside and blog about it.

Grammar Police Patrol: Badvertising

A few days ago, I noticed that someone in Showtime's online advertising department would do well to hire a proofreader:

Unless, of course, this is the Week of Right, but I'm pretty sure they meant start the week off right.

Then, yesterday, I was driving home - or, rather, sitting in horrific traffic on the 110 South near Dodger Stadium - when I passed this curious billboard:

"TRIPLE HOPS BREWED FOR GREAT TASTE." Ok. Yum.

"GREAT TASTE OF YOUR DODGERS" Huh? Great taste of my Dodger's what?

Is Miller Lite saying that it tastes like the Dodgers? I hadn't realized there was a market for that. What, exactly, do the Dodgers taste like? When I think of fluids associated with baseball, I recall A.) sweat, B.) spit from chewing tobacco, C.) steroids, and D.) every female that's partied with A-Rod or Derek Jeter. None of those are attributes I look for in a beer.

Then I thought maybe they left off a word. "Great Taste of the Dodger Game" might make more sense. "Great Taste of Summer" would be even better. How about just "Official Sponsor of Dodger Stadium"? I don't know if they actually are, but it might be a better use of Miller's marketing budget than this confusing ad.

I've finally narrowed it down to two options: either they meant to say that the Dodgers have great taste, and therefore drink Miller Lite, or simply that the Dodgers enjoy Miller Lite's great taste. In which case, why couldn't they just say, "Enjoyed by the Dodgers"? Simple. Clear. A Unique Selling Point.

What say you? Are you looking for a job in advertising? Because I can think of two departments that clearly could use the help.

Nights to remember

So, after all that, I had a fantastic birthday. Thank you to everyone who commented, called, emailed, Facebooked, texted, and just generally made me feel so special and loved throughout the day. My company gives us all our birthdays off (yay!) so I slept in a little, got my coffee, and opened up my computer to an entire screen of Facebook messages that continually kept me amused. I said it there and I'll say it here, Facebook is the best thing to happen to birthdays since cake. I don't care if I don't talk to half the people who chimed in - it was just a nice reminder of all the people who have, in 33 years, made up what I can't help but admit is a very charmed life.

When I wasn't chained to the computer, I took a new yoga class, got a FABULOUS facial, and met my five best friends for dinner and drinks. I got home shortly before midnight, full of cheap tacos and free shots, happy at making the most of my day.

Now that my birthday is over, though, I am ridiculously excited to concentrate on Nicole's birthday party planned for this weekend. The theme is 1992 Prom - we are all dressing in prom gear from the early 90's. I'll post pictures next week, but in the meantime, I thought I'd warm you up with some photos from my own high school dances from the same era.

Sophomore Semi-Formal - 1992

Oy to the vey, as Nicole would say. The thing is? I still love that color pink, and still wear it enough that I can shamelessly say, it's a good color on me. I stand behind the color choice, if not exactly the style.

This was an awkward event. Girls ask boys to this, for some reason, and while I was friendly with my date, I wouldn't say we were good friends. To be honest, I am not even sure why I asked him. We got along well enough but there was no attraction, and therefore no real excitement, and I'm pretty sure we just walked through the motions of sharing our first (semi-)formal dance. I was actually dating a junior at the time, though it didn't stop me from making out with yet a third person at the after-party. Said third person was actually Bryan, who I apparently still held a flame for and felt the need to remind him of what he was missing. Bryan didn't go to our school at that point - had just come to the after-party - so it wasn't like I stole anyone else's date.

Unlike at Junior Prom , in 1993, which was ripe with attraction, sexual tension, jealousy, drunkeness, and everything else John Hughes could have set me up to expect from a school dance.

First, I had the best date. Really fun, awesome guy who I was super comfortable with but also a tiny bit attracted to. Word had it, he was attracted to me as well, so we easily and candidly flirted throughout the night. The whole dance went by in a blur.

I should also mention, I loved my dress, thought my hair came out great, and overall, was just feeling really confident. It clearly shows, especially compared to the two other photos here.

The problem came at some point during the after party. My date managed to drink so much in such a short amount of time, he passed out. At which point, another guy (who went with my friend) swooped in to hit on me. I was flattered by and intrigued by the attention. This had never happened before! Two boys! Or actually, no boys. I resisted the second guy's advances, but because he tried to kiss me in the middle of a crowded room, word spread to both his date and my date, who then woke up and (if I remember correctly) had a testosterone-fueled tantrum about the whole thing. I couldn't say it out loud, but I was thinking, Dude. If you hadn't done that tenth keg stand, you could be rounding second base right about now.

Then there was my Senior Prom in 1994.

This pretty much sucked. Again, I was dating someone at the time, and I made the mistake of bringing him. He was in the grade below me, so while he had enough friends in my class, he was still more like "my date" than a natural part of the group. And since we had been dating for five or six months by then, there was no tension, no anticipation, no surprises. There was also no after-party. I remember everyone in my grade gathering in a parking lot somewhere discussing where to go. Talking and talking and talking and talking. No drinking.

Appearance-wise, while I liked my dress, I didn't LOVE it. I didn't feel sexy or attractive or whatever is appropriate for a 17 year old to feel. I had also had my hair blown out - but then the late-May, Northeast humidity immediately brought back the curl. So then I tried putting my hair up myself - to no avail - and ended up with the careless half-up/half-down look I wore to school on days when I couldn't fit in a shower. What did I care? The night hadn't even started and I was already looking forward to getting it over with. Boo...

So now that I am older, have better fashion sense, and can actually drink legally, you can see why I am very much looking forward to this weekend. It's not that I want to make up for lost time, exactly, but that I am more than ready to make new memories.

Dear Somalia: Ur Doin It Wrong

September 19th may be Talk Like a Pirate Day, but in the last hour, two pirate-related things have made today my own personal Pirate appreciation day.

First was this video, in which Empire magazine (I've never heard of it, either) has arranged for a Goonies reunion.

This was one of my favorite movies growing up, and since I'll still watch it anytime it comes on basic cable, it's fair to say is one my favorite movies ever. I had a huge crush on Josh Brolin (well before he was Josh Brolin) and wanted to BE Kerri Green. I didn't want to be Andi, per se, rather some amalgamation of Andi and Kerri Green's character, Maggie, in Lucas. I have always wondered what happened to her, as she was one of the few stars in the movie that didn't go on to bigger things, but I can kind of appreciate the fact that she didn't work as an adult and I can therefore then always think of her as a charming teenager, someone whom I aspired to be.

Not five minutes after I finished watching the video, I decided to waste more time on Facebook, and discovered the new option of browsing like a Pirate.

Have you seen this, yet? Go down to the lower left hand corner on the homepage, and you'll see the language you are currently operating in. Click on that, then change it to English (Pirate). Arrgh! Now my homepage welcomes me with "Ahoy, there!", encourages me to "be mateys" with people I may know, and counts the time since I've updated my status in "shots of rum". As in, I updated my status 31 shots of rum ago.

That's MUCH more fun than the former option, and has given me faith in Facebook once again.

Once upon a time I was popular

Okay, Facebook, you've redeemed yourself.

(click to embiggen)

If you can't transport me back to 1996, you can at least remind me that the best parts still exist.

Things I am tired of hearing about and what I would rather discuss instead

Instead of: Getting work emails every few hours announcing that another magazine has folded, or that another editorial staff/department has been let go

I would rather: Receive emails that are receptive to my pitches and are dying to write about my fabulous products!

Instead of: Discussing the moral and psychological issues behind a woman who chooses to have fourteen kids and the doctor who implanted them

I would rather: Question the validity of the doctor who gave her those lips, and ask where she got the money for so much plastic surgery

Instead of: Hating on Jessica Simpson because she has the audacity to look like a normal person

I would rather: Hate on the normal people who support obsessive-celebrity-weight headlines by buying these trashy magazines. Gossip is free on the Internet, people. While I don't want to see any more writers losing their editorial jobs, the world might be a better place if the tabloid industry applied their journalistic skills elsewhere.

Instead of: Being told by every relevant media outlet that Jennifer Aniston is needy and pathetic

I would rather: See He's Just Not That Into You

Okay, I kind of want to see that movie anyway. But seriously, give the girl a break. Considering Team Jolie has basically spawned a federally-funded three-ring circus, I'm kind of grateful that the most copied thing about Jennifer is an old haircut.

One more way Facebook can control my life

Just as apartment-seekers might eventually check the obituaries to find a new home, I've decided that Facebook - which notes who, among my former friends, is ending their relationship - might be just as an efficient way for me to find a boyfriend.

Though I suppose I should wait til he takes the wedding photos down from his profile before I officially make my "move".

On Facebook, actions speak louder than words

While Facebook often annoys me, sometimes it just baffles me.

As anyone on the site knows, you can download a seemingly endless assortment of "Superpoke" applications that provide inane interaction with other members. Just for fun, you can gift a friend with an (imaginary) imitation designer bag, plant a flower in someone's virtual garden, or throw a sheep at anyone and everyone you wish.

Shortly after I first started on Facebook, I made a conscious decision to blackball all of these "pokes". You have to download each application in order to accept or return the gifts/sheep/roundhouse kicks, and it would take too long and be too annoying to bother with each one. More than that, with each "gift" comes grief and guilt, should you not wish to return that tennis serve or blow a kiss back to the annoying girl who sent it. Every "poke" becomes an exercise in etiquette, as we all secretly wonder if a Fuzzy Navel is an appropriate exchange for that Makers on the rocks, or if the initiator will notice (and take to heart) if we ignore the action entirely. If I avoid every application across the board, though, I'll never be accused of playing favorites or have to explain why I helped build a playground but didn't further the Orangemen wave.

I don't get too many Superpokes anymore, but every once in a while, one will come through. Today, someone apparently downloaded the "Snowball fight" application, because I got a - are you ready for it? I got a Pee Snowball sent to me.

A Pee Snowball.

I assume that's what I think it is? A snowball with pee on it? (In it?) Not only is that terribly gross, but how random! I can't even see the humor in it - I am just so baffled that someone would even think of creating that. What puzzles me even more is that the girl who sent it to me is someone I have not even talked to since about the first grade. Oh, we went to high school together, but we were in different groups and she was always very quiet and shy. I can't imagine why she would want to break the ice, all these years later, with this.

Technically, semantically, it wasn't even sent to me - it was thrown at me, which has the implication of being a little bit hostile. Like somebody would actually choose to wet their hands with pee, if it meant seeing a snowball hit me! I'm sure it wasn't malicious, of course, and that she either meant to send it to someone else or meant to send me something much more... um... normal, but this is yet another way Facebook has managed to make me feel bad about my neck.

Not in Kansas anymore

I don't know what it says about my social life or my dating prospects that I hit three major parties this weekend and the best looking guy I met was Kato Kaelin.

Seriously, the man is 50 years old and he looked younger than half the people there. Which was a feat since many people there were actually younger than me. The other half were all comedians - many of whom I recognized from random TV and film, but none whose names I could actually recall.

That's one of the funny things about LA. Yes, I've gotten giddy over my share of A-listers - Britney, Marc and J. Lo, Bruce, etc. But it's the D-list, reality star, VH1 regulars that simply show up at a mutual friends party and think nothing of introducing themselves to you - "Hi, I'm Kato" - that make me love living in this town.

Is it still giving back if I'm getting so much out of it?

Getting away from the drama of the condo purchase, and the election, and the downward state of the economy, I'd like to tell you about this work project I've been busy with.

It's well documented on this blog that I have a tiny thing for soap operas. Well, I had a tiny thing. I haven't watched any in a few years, and most of my affection for the genre is really borne out of nostalgia for when I watched them back in the 80's and 90's. Last year, I had a chance to meet and work with one of the women I grew up watching. This year, I had another.

About eight months ago, I got a phone call from this woman's manager, claiming that the actress, who lives in Pasadena, has been a long-time fan of our products, and if we ever needed a spokesperson, they would love to talk to us. My company doesn't use a spokesperson - we don't even have an advertising budget - but I was intrigued by the idea of working together, so I said I would think about it and get back to her.

The woman (I don't want to mention names here, due to work and Google) has been actively involved in the fight against breast cancer through a locally-based but nationally-reaching organization. I thought, what if the soap company and the soap star co-created a soap bar, and donated all the proceeds to this organization for breast cancer research? Everyone loved the idea, and, indeed, a soap star was born.

We came up with two products - a single bar for $8 ($5 of which is donated) and a gift set of two bars and a natural wood soap dish for $20 ($12 of which is donated).

In the time I've been working on this, I have had such a blast. The actress and her publicist have been a dream to work with, and the organization has been helpful and thankful. We did an in-store event yesterday in Pasadena, and have another in Scottsdale on Wednesday. The press is rolling in, and I've had the satisfaction of not only working with one of my childhood idols, but actually helping others in the process. And it doesn't hurt that the soap is beautiful to boot.

No pressure whatsoever, but if you feel so inclined to restock your shower, or maybe have a gift to get for someone anyway, I'd like to encourage you to buy a bar or two. The soaps are 100% natural with no artificial dyes or perfumes, making it safe for all skin types, and ideal for sensitive skin. You'll be supporting me, fighting breast cancer, and maybe even reminding yourself that it's absolutely possible to love what you do.

Top that

I don't watch much TV, but I have a serious thing for Gossip Girl. I don't care about the fashion or the boys or the sex or the money - the "bright lights, big city" glossy magazine moolah that gets the show most of its press - but I am obsessed with the writing.

I've often been turned off by shows that give teenage characters too-mature content. I could look past the soapy storylines of BH 90210, because, drama aside, they still spoke like people my age. But when the 16-year-olds on Dawson's Creek peppered every point with SAT words and had the perfect comeback at every corner, the whole show seemed to me to be entirely, annoyingly, too scripted.

So I find it funny that Gossip Girl's grown-up discourse has me glued to the TV. Specifically, I'm fostering an audible affair on Blair. I don't know if they give her the best lines or she just delivers them better than anyone else on set, but her snappy sarcasm and witty retorts set the pace of the show, and she steals every scene she is in. I watched Monday's episode with my jaw on the floor, my laugh, out loud, and a major girl crush in development.

After Monday's episode, I headed to IMDB to soak up as much extraneous information as I could. And that's where I found a real gem of information, not under Blair's biography, but Serena's.

I had heard that Blake Lively had come from a showbiz family, and knew that her older brother had played Rusty in the European Vacation movie. But I don't think I ever knew that her sister starred in one of my all-time favorite adolescent movies EVER!

Please tell me I am not the only one who remembers Teen Witch. HBO must have been hard up for programming back in the day, because this was on all. the. time. after school; no joke, I've seen this movie 50 times. Talk about a girl crush - I thought Louise was gorgeous and that no one with hair that perfect could have been unpopular. I treasured the scene where she and Brad run alone, through the empty house, as he admits his crush on her. And I sang along, loudly and unabashedly, to the movie's anthem, Most Popular Girl, at the significant story arc.

And, oh. Speaking of the movie's music, maybe you remember this classic scene. I don't know how much more cringe-inducing it gets than late-80's, white guy versus white girl rap-off, but, at the time, I thought this was pretty fantastic.



You're welcome.

During which the finish line concert may start three hours after the finish

You may recall that last year, I had a little bit of fun with the Nike Run Hit Remix and MC Hammer finish line concert. Well, this year, it looks like Kanye West is on the line-up, and I am in! Who is with me? Leave a comment or email me if you have any desire.