If it's good enough for Tim Gunn

As of this weekend, I've started watching HGTV. I've been living in apartments for three years now, and decorating is still not a thing that's really happened for. At all.

Well, unless you count the cheap-o DVD shelves that I painted (rather poorly) on a whim a couple of summers ago.

But now: HGTV! Because I'm hoping that watching hours upon hours of home buying/renovating/decorating is the source of people's decorating knowledge and capability, rather than a symptom of some innate, untouchable, stylishness.

I just don't want to be that person whose whole house could be described as "A Study in Beige." Nor do I want to be the person who has a giant statue of a tiger - formed entirely out of stained glass and mirrors - serving as the base of her coffee table.

(Actually, it'd be kind of fun to be that person. How cool would it be to be some crazy, aging society dame with a fur turban, a ton of brooches, a gin habit, and maybe some sort of long-suffering personal assistant?)

So, anyway, I'm watching HGTV in the hopes that by the time I have a home, and some money, and a scroll saw (I should never own a scroll saw), I'll be full of clever decorating ideas.

As of day two, the only idea I've had is this: HGTV totally needs scripted programming.

It could be about unreasonably young and sexy home inspectors looking at each other melodramatically while assessing basement water damage. And one of them could have a fraught relationship with a corrupt realtor who forces them to falsify inspections so that her sellers get good prices.

Season 1 could end with the delicate and naive (but damaged) lead female character inspecting a house that has been booby trapped with tons of mold! Oh no! "Will she survive?" you'll wonder, as the season closes with a close-up of her panicked (but carefully made-up) face.

But then, you know, of course she will. Because she's only been in there for a few minutes, and it's mold, for God's sake, not arsenic.

The gift that keeps on giving?

I've been searching for DIY Christmas gift ideas online, because this year is shaping up to be my brokest ever.I always lean toward food ideas, but since I give my friends their Christmas gifts at a party where I force-feed them sugar for a few hours, food-as-gift is kind of redundant.

But then I had an idea: I would give them jars of things! Homemade things like apple butter, and lemon curd, and other things you put on toast! It's like giving the gift of breakfast!

I got really excited about that idea for like, a day. Then I dropped it. Partially because I'm worried that the cost of supplies could end up higher than my miniscule budget, but that I'll be locked in to the project by the time I realize it. But the main reason is this: if I knit something for someone, worst case scenario is that they hate it and never wear/ use it. That's not ideal, because I try to make things people will like, but it's not the absolute worst thing in the world. Because with canning, the worst case scenario is that your homemade salsa's secret ingredient turns out to be botulism.

It's the gift that keeps on giving. Until it, you know, paralyzes you.

So canning is officially off the table.

I'm currently seeking less potentially fatal ideas.

It's like when your mom discovered flash mobs

I have a problem. I get super excited when I discover new things. I go from zero to obsessed in the matter of days, and I want to share it with everyone. That, in and of itself, isn't the problem (you know, unless you're one of the people that I've hounded). The problem is that I am NEVER on the cutting edge.

Between my distrust of new things and my general laziness, I tend to champion movies that just came out on DVD, and albums that came out three years ago. So bear my epic un-cool-ness in mind if I'm WAY behind the curve when I say oh my God, are you using Spotify? Because my husband (who's way more interested in music than I am) just introduced me to it this morning and IT'S THE BEST. It is to Pandora as Thundercats are to He-Man (by which I mean it's way, way, way, way, better). You can basically stream whatever music you want, whenever you want, and it's free!

So if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go listen Adam Ant until it seems like a good idea to paint a giant stripe across my face with blue eyeshadow.


This is not a paid ad. Because paying bloggers with spotty posting histories and 10 readers (on a good day) doesn't really make for a great marketing strategy.

Stuff. Things. Words.

Ugh.

I have four different posts the the draft stage right now, and none are really coming together. One of them is even a timely discussion of current issues!

(Note: timely discussion of current issues = me talking about last night's Project Runway.)

But, due to my pledge to live every day like it's Rex Manning Day, I mustn't dwell. I'll get to those posts eventually.

For today, I'll just focus on calling upon my fellow geeks to rage at the injustice of Sy-Fy (which is still one of the dumbest name changes ever) ending Eureka. Rage at the injustice! Then read the article! Then feel slightly silly about your outsized reaction! Then mumble an apology for your behavior! And promise to pay for the damages!

Basically, Eureka is getting 6 episodes to wrap things up after the end of their fifth season. The show is currently airing it's fourth season, and filming it's fifth. Which means that they have time to make changes to season five, if necessary, to lay groundwork for a series finale. For any show it's a pretty decent set-up. For a sci-fi show, it's kind of living the dream: a show that gets plenty time to close up shop, rather than A) being unceremoniously pulled from the line-up; or B) gradually descending into a sea of garbage wherein the lead actor is replaced by some random dude, playing an alternate world version/dual- identity mash-up of the lead character, and all of the other mains are gone, the entire premise has been replaced with something largely nonsensical, and my favorite character has been turned into some sort of rarely appearing a head in a jar.

Sorry. Had a moment there. The point is, Eureka is ending, which is a bummer. But they're getting more than enough time to build up to Jack and Allison having a baby, Lupo and Zane getting married, and Beverly Barlowe... doing whatever it is that Beverly Barlowe does.

Or, I guess they could just start yet another timeline.

When phones had cords, and you got your tax forms at the library

I love the internet. I do. I'm even using the internet to learn French.

Okay, by "using the internet to learn French" it's possible that I mean "I bookmarked the BBC languages site, and will definitely get around to using it at some point",* but that's neither here nor there.

The point is, internet = important. More than that, "check the internet" is kind of hardwired into my brain. It's my response to basically any situation. If the power suddenly goes out, or my internet is down, my first instinct is to use Google to check if the problem is widespread.

I've been on Pinterest for less that a week, but I'm already obsessed. When the servers go down, a tiny part of me freaks out. Because people are pinning things. They're pinning things and I can't see them.

And I know this isn't just me. There are tons of people who, when Twitter is down, are paralyzed by their inability to tweet about it. So they facebook it instead. Then they tweet about facebooking it later.

I'm kind of rambling, but I have a point: don't you kind of wish you'd become a functional adult before the internet? Because there are things that people must have been able to do before the internet, but I have no clue how. Like comparing credit cards. Or finding out about new books. Or figuring out who to call if the gutters fall off of your house. What the hell would gutter guys be under in the phone book? How would I know without Google to tell me? Plus, not having service reviews would increase my fear of being robbed/murdered by a random repair guy tenfold.

(I watched a lot of 20/20 as a kid. There were a lot of "kidnapped by the plumber" stories. Things like that are the building blocks of neuroses.)

I just feel like it'd be really nice if I could respond to my wi-fi failing in a way that didn't involve retreating to an interior room, and nervously waiting for the world to right itself again.


*Yes, I know that comma belongs inside the quotations, but I think that it looks stupid and wrong that way.

It's a matter of priorities

I had a post planned - it was going to be about how shamefully bad I am at blogging. But it will have to wait, because there are much more important things to discuss.

Specifically, Tyra Banks' book.

Tyra Banks' YA magical supermodel fantasy book. It's coming out in September, and I just don't know if I can do it.  I want to, because I love YA, and I love trashy urban-fantasy YA even more. 70% of the books I've read in the last three months have involved angsty witches and lovestruck half-demons. Modelland should offer all of that, plus some good old fashioned Tyra-brand narcissism.

And the magical supermodels are called Intoxibellas! That is the single most ridiculous thing that I've heard in months. Which is saying a lot, given my new-found infatuation with Toddlers and Tiaras.This book sounds like the exact sort of thing that I would buy with cash at a bookstore in a part of town where no one knows me, read four times, and NEVER EVER put on my bookshelf.

But then...

The internet tells me that about a week ago, Ms. Banks herself went on GMA with a giant feather glued over her eyebrow. She told GMA Lady Host that it was called a "smize" because of course it is. Apparently, a young Ninja-Fairy-SuperMagic Modelling School candidate increases her chances of being admitted to Ninja-Fairy-SuperMagic Modelling School by 91% if she has a piece of leftover Mardi Gras mask stuck to her face. Why? I have NO IDEA.

Because I tried, y'all. I did. But I only made it a minute into watching the video online (I don't watch GMA - what's the point of a morning show that doesn't include Kathy Lee downing half a bottle of wine?). I just couldn't take it. And if I can't handle three minutes of Tyra, how am I going to handle 576 pages?

That's right, 576 pages of pure Tyra. This could easily prove to be the most amazingly unnecessary book in the history of the world. I MUST KNOW what Tyra Banks spends nearly 600 saying about Tookie (actual character name) the Magic Model, and the perils of Thigh High Boot Camp (actual plot point), but I think that reading it might break my brain.


Note: This is the first time I've used "books" as a label. So, to the casual observer, this is the only book I've ever even considered. If you need me, I'll be in a shame spiral.

Out of touch with reality

It's been awhile. I'm going to blame holiday-related lethargy. It radiated into the entire month of November.

Anyway, I spent all last night preparing to post about ANTM, but it occurred to me that regardless of the winner, I didn't care that much. Ann can't do commercial work, and even at her best has a weird walk. Chelsey is probably  too old to really take off, and I keep calling her "Celia" in my head, so obviously I don't have some great love of her work either. I haven't really cared about a finale since Annaleigh (completely illogically) lost to "McKee" a million seasons ago. But that left me with nothing to write about.

And then I watched the premiere of Top Chef: All-Stars. (Warning: There are spoilers ahead. But season premiere spoilers, so they barely count).

The episode itself was pretty good - the All-Stars are pretty well-selected (though I wish Nice Voltaggio or Future Santa Claus Kevin signed on instead of Mike), and the producers can be happy that most of the people known for being a-holes seem largely unchanged and unapologetic (looking at you, Marcel). Everything was exactly as it should be, including the first challenge - revamp the dish that got you booted from your season. Even better, while half of the chefs cooked, the other half ate their competitions dishes with the judges. And the chefs who cooked watched the diners on closed circuit TV from the kitchen. All good stuff. Then Anthony Bourdain called Fabio's pasta dish one of the worst things he'd ever eaten. Only, you know, in a Bourdanier (let's agree that that's a word) way. Fabio was pissed, which is fair.

Here's what isn't: at judging Fabio went off on this whole thing about how he came here to be criticized in a constructive way, not to be made fun of (question: how do you rephrase that to move the preposition? I mean, without sounding like a douche). He even implies that, if they weren't in a judge/contestant situation, he might even actually fight Bourdain.

That's where I got kind of annoyed - it's not just that I'm pretty sure Bourdain is a scrapper who could totally take Fabio. Nor is it just that I'm of that camp that thinks getting in the judges faces is petty and unprofessional. No, my main problem is that being made fun of is EXACTLY WHAT YOU CAME HERE FOR. Because, before anything else, this is a reality show. So when Tyra calls your walk goofy, Michael Kors says you made your model look like a slutty disco ball or Tom Colicchio says your food was so bad it actually offended him on a personal level, yes it sucks, but no one made you audition.

If you're looking for a bunch of people to taste your food, then focus on helping you improve it using really constructive and ego-bolstering language, you should take cooking classes at Williams-Sonoma. These are judges. Their job is to judge. Preferably in a way that's entertaining. And using language strong enough that it helps the audience get really committed to the idea that this  person deserves to win, and this person should be banned from ever cooking again ever.

Not knowing this going into a competition-based reality show is naive (the format is hardly new); not knowing this going into your SECOND competition-based reality show is just plain dumb. But that's okay. Given the competition, I'm sure Fabio will only have to deal with it for a few weeks.