Man, I never seem to have time to just sit and blog anymore. Which, I mean, I guess is a good thing. But I look back on my halcyon LJ days when I was cranking shit out for public consumption on a near daily basis, and I kind of miss it. I’m such a fan of doing nothing but making a dent in my office chair, tippity-tappin’ away while probably cultivating some kind of exciting eyeball cancer. Knock it off with the being all varied and time-consuming, life. YOU ARE CRAMPING MY STYLE.
Anyway. Here are some things I like this week. You might even call them a few of my…favorite things? What do you think, Captain Von Trapp?
Whatever, man. Your wife wears curtains.
THESE ARE A FEW OF MY FAVORITE THINGS:
The things that people search for which somehow lead them to this blog. This week’s top search? “When did Angela Lansbury die?” At least one of those every day this week. What the hell? INTERNET, ANGELA LANSBURY IS NOT DEAD. ANGELA LANSBURY HAS ALWAYS BEEN, AND SHALL CONTINUE EVERMORE TO BE. ANGELA LANSBURY IS UNCEASING. LET ME MAKE THIS VERY CLEAR.
1920s mansions on obscenely expansive grounds. Apparently, it is very, very good to be a venture capitalist. Or, if you can’t quite muster that, it is good to at least have a venture capitalist as a family friend, because then you get to house-sit while they summer at their home in Maine. This particular tribute to Western decadence featured a front courtyard with room for about eight cars, two massive lawns, a giant pool, a separate building with an office and a loft, and a big, old barn next to an expertly-cultivated rose garden. I spent my afternoon there sipping sangria and rethinking all of my life-choices.
Matt Paxton from Hoarders. When all the therapists are busy psychobabbling to the hoarders about why they’ve ended up like this, Matt’s the one in the trenches, tellin’ it like it is. The episode I watched with Sam and Daniel and Lindsay the other night saw him disassembling a flithy, piss-ridden shelter some crazy homeless guy had erected in a crazy hoarder guy’s yard. Crazy Homeless Guy decided to help out by removing the overflowing bucket he’d been using as a bathroom; which, as far as gestures that a crazy homeless guy can make go, was pretty classy of him, I guess. And then Matt uttered the words that will serve as my compass in life from this day on: “What’s interesting hanging out with someone like Greg is you realize that we’re all about four or five decisions away from shitting in a bucket.” We sure are, Matt. We sure are.
The trailer for Brave.
I guess this premiered ahead of Cars 2, but Cars 2 can go screw itself, however it is vehicles manage to do that. (Which, I mean, really…how does that even work? THAT UNIVERSE RAISES SO MANY TERRIFYING QUESTIONS.) Anyway. I AM SO EXCITED FOR THIS MOVIE. They lost me for a second when Brenda Chapman got booted, but then they had the good sense to fire Reese Witherspoon and hire Kelly Macdonald in her place, so my faith = more or less restored. Also, I am suffering from raging hair-envy.
Jellyfish! And also sea otters, and starfish, and penguins, and stingrays, and even bored teens putting on a terrible musical with marine-life puppets for an audience that could best be described as “grudging.” So everything at the Monterey Bay Aquarium, basically. Except all the pushy goddamn children who were apparently raised by wolves unable to impart to them such complex human concepts as “saying ‘excuse me’ when you need to get by instead of just shoving” and “not cutting in front of the whole bathroom line you infuriating little douche-wads.”
Stalkers. Nothing says you’ve hit the big-time quite like your very own stalker, and mine is one of the best. Whether she’s obsessively refreshing my blog during long hiatuses, quietly “liking” my Facebook profile pictures, or changing my name to “Jane” for reasons unknown, my stalker — let’s call her “Chenni” — approaches her duties with the kind of unwavering dedication and fervor usually reserved for the institutionalized. I promised her public recognition for her tireless efforts, and I figure it’s best if I make good on that; mostly because I woke up the other day to an open window and a missing chunk of hair, which, unless I’m very much mistaken, means there’s gonna be a voodoo doll up in this mix relatively soon. So here’s to you, Chenni! May nothing ever come between us…except the fifty feet required at all times by law.
Improvised carousel horse-races.
“The sled is making a move for it now! I don’t understand how it’s moving! Nobody’s riding that deer, but it’s somehow in the race!”
And finally…FREEDOM! Dance it out, Founding Fathers!