Thursday

1557: "The call me the HipHopOpotamus. My lyrics are bottomless..."

You know how little kids are so unburdened by concern for anyone but themselves that they’ll unabashedly rank their gifts in front of the very people who gave them those gifts?

You know what I mean. I guess you can get by on being small and cute up to a certain point, but that's just tacky. Even in elementary school I had an uncomfortable feeling when a girl I was friends with stood up in the middle of unwrapping her birthday presents to announce to all her guests that my gift was the best she'd received so far. I mean, she was totally right -- you can't go wrong with a Jem doll...

But that's not the point. I didn't know what to say to this, so I just sat there and thought, "She probably shouldn't have said that." She shouldn't have. My brother told me a friend of his called up on Christmas morning to ask if he could come over and play with the toys my brother had received, as his own Christmas gift selection was a bit disappointing. My brother said no, because he's a man's man. Also, he probably didn't want to share his gifts.

While not wanting to be gauche in this fashion, I want to give credit to Pete for gifting me with a number of awesome DVD sets -- most notably, the Flight of the Conchords!

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1556: Happy birthday, you handsome devil.

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1555: SkyMallin' - "Mr. Clock Radio"

I don't really know if there's a concise way to sum up all that SkyMall offers to the world, but I think it boils down to this: crap. Crap for your yard, crap for your closet, crap to frighten your pets... just crap.

If there's a theme, it's something to do with improving your life through spending -- which I guess is the essence of consumerism, but SkyMall differentiates itself by offering NOTHING OF REAL VALUE. In fact, SkyMall products border on having a negative value by virtue of not only being totally without purpose but maybe even a little bit harmful to anyone silly enough to spend money on this crap.

Case in point...

I'm sure you'll sleep better with that nightmarish thing at your bedside -- whispering sweet, robotic nothings into your ear as you quietly weep in the dark, too horrified by Mr. Clock Radio's presence to shut your eyes.

Evidently, it'll even punish you with taunts if you try to get some sleep -- helpful! I'm not much of a gadget person, but I'm first in line for the newest technology that promises to threaten me into submission.

So, that's the good news. The bad news is that in 2011 Mr. Clock Radio will begin to attack mankind.

Sleep tight!

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Wednesday

1554: SkyMallin' - "SkyRest"

I enjoy flying. In fact, I've always harbored an unfulfilled ambition to be a commercial airline pilot.

I attribute this in no small part to an experience I had as a child, when having to cross the tarmac of an airport in Georgia to board a "puddle jumper" flight which would bring us some distance closer to my grandmother's house, I looked up and saw a female pilot in the cockpit of a much larger plane. She saw me, smiled, and waved.

I have no fantasy of flying a jet at top speed; I do, however, feel kind of giddy at the thought of piloting a massive passenger plane -- and how great it would be to see those passengers' faces upon hearing my wee, girlie voice over the plane's intercom. I've been on many flights and never once had a female pilot -- at least not one that I was aware of having. Why is that? If I'd love to be one, there must be other girls who feel the same way. There's at least one -- I saw her myself.

One of my favorite things about flying -- although something I always seem to forget about -- is spending some quality time with SkyMall magazine. I'm assuming you're all aware of SkyMall -- surely every airline must have some version of that freebie catalog of amazingly useless crap left for passengers to enjoy. As soon as I buckle myself into my seat, I reach for SkyMall.

You think I'm kidding -- I'm not. What can make me forget how little legroom my seat affords me better than the unwitting comedy of SkyMall?

SkyMall actually wants to sell you this...

"This person is able to sleep comfortably in any seat." Oh, can he? Even while being laughed at by virtually every other person on the aircraft? Amazing! Could you imagine being trapped in the window seat with this @$$7*%# in the middle seat, drooling onto his massive SkyRest pillow? If you spent the flight punching him in the ribs, I really don't think anyone would blame you.

More SkyMall magic to come!

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1553: Question: Who's the prettiest lady in the world?

Answer:

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1552: "Behold the zombie Thumpers, screaming for BRAAAAINS."

"James Lileks goes to Disney World."
(From BoingBoing)

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Tuesday

1550: "Keanu Reeves vs. Teddy Bears (1984)"

What kind of bear-related shenanigans do Canadians get up to?
I'm glad someone got my BFF Keanu on the case...

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1549: "Ha ha ha. It's true. You're old."

Thank you to Chris for the following...

Edited to add: That orange cat kinda looks like the cat we had growing up. His name was Max and he hag big feet and a gas problem. Also, he didn't groom himself frequently and passively relied on the kindness of a friend/frienemy named Cinnamon -- a neighbor's cat -- to stay clean.

I miss Max.

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1548: CELEBRITY SIGHTING: KEANU REEVES!

Oh! I almost forgot to mention this most important piece of information: I saw Keanu Reeves!

Improbably, he was dining outside with his mom on 2nd Avenue around 84th Street. I was heading home from Bloomingdales and, always enjoying a walk, opted not to hop back on the subway when I was done shopping. I was headed up the eastern side of 2nd Avenue when the earphones on my iPod died. Annoyed, I decided to replace them ASAP rather than having to suffer the morning commute with one functioning earphone. I headed over to the western side of the street in order to make my way over to Best Buy, where I spotted the face of someone so familiar to me he could almost be me... Keanu Reeves!

He was looking up at the sky, inhaling deeply on a cigarette which he swiftly pulled from his mouth as if on stage, portraying... like, some really confident person. It was a little baffling, but also sort of endearing. Even when he's not acting... not such a good actor.

Pete says I should have told him that I saw Street Kings. I imagine he would have looked me straight in the eye, touched his hand to his heart, and very earnestly thanked me -- not because it was a terrible movie that really no one else saw, but because he is sincere in the way baby animals are sincere. They do not question the motivations of others, and are not burdened by malicious thoughts or a fragile sense of self... they just are. And so is he. He's the chosen one!

I was actually too stunned to come up with anything to say, and hid behind my massive shopping bag as I skittered away like a little fashionista bug.

Chris reminded me that "when the time comes, you won't need earphones." So true. So very true.

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1547: Birthday Badgley!

Last night, I left work at a decent hour and headed out to spend some of my birthday argent (courtesy of my most excellent Mom & Dad). Over the course of my vacation, I had managed to puncture my much-loved purple-and-black patchwork satchel bag. We weren't involved in any knife fights or whatever, so I'm still not entirely sure how I ended up with a gash in the side of my handbag -- but whatever.

To me, this situation meant only one thing: Time to buy a new bag!

I wandered around various stores, hoping that they might have something that satisfied my perpetual handbag hunger. Eventually, I happened to encounter this Badgley Mischka bag, which Pete suggested is so large it causes me to resemble an Olsen twin.

I'm in love!

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1546: Joyeux anniversaire à moi!

An announcement, ladies and germs... I turned 28 this morning! Needless to say, the passage of time has only rendered me older, but certainly not any wiser.

In any event, my day has been pretty terrible so far but all the awesome birthday wishes has certainly helped on that front. I LOVE YOU, TOO!

Now, let's dance...

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Monday

1545: Guitar solo!

So, Chicago was less like the musical of the same name and more like Ferris Bueller's Day Off - my mistake! To that end, we spent a considerable amount of time wandering around, taking in the sights, and enjoying many of the excellent cultural experiences the city offers.

Except no one accidentally drops their father's 1961 Ferrari 250 GT California off in the bottom of a ravine.

And, yes, that would be me - or at least part of me - unwittingly photographed by Pete while we visited the Institute of Art. That's probably the only vacation photo I'll be posting which features any part of me, as the rest either involve my looking inexplicably robot-like or waving my go-go-Gadget arms around in an attempt to thwart any would-be photographers named Pete.

More on our trip later!

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