So much has been going on lately. Blogging, for m…

So much has been going on lately. Blogging, for me, recently, has been one of those things that I’ve been meaning to do — KEEP meaning to do — and then I have so much to do that it becomes a daunting task. This is supposed to be fun, right? Or at least cathartic. I guess that’s what happens when I shirk my responsibilities.

First of all . . . there’s always something to say about reality TV. My biggest laughs have come from the new Apprentice. In case you guys aren’t familiar, this season is the one where Trump has split the teams up into those who have advanced degrees, and those who only have high school diplomas. The interesting thing is that team with the HS education out-earns those with degrees significantly. I think they might, as a group, make three times as much.

I’m always for the underdog in these situations. Sure, I have a college degree, but I happen to have more respect for those who have the tenacity and wherewithal to succeed against all odds, because, in my opinion (which means nothing on the black market), education is great, but street smarts and dogged determination are the true contributing factors to personal success. Some of the most stagnant people I know have endless letters behind their names, which I often feel were obtained to keep them from having to compete in the real world. Once again, my opinion. But what do I know? I’m just a writer.

Anyhoo . . . what’s funny about this season of the Apprentice (which seems to have come around awfully quick this time), is that, because there is an entire team of street fighters, there’s no shortage of chips on shoulders or outspoken ballsy displays of opinion or emotion. Trump has also selected a few degreed people who have interesting personal style.

There’s the one guy, who has elected himself the CMO (Chief Morale Officer) for the team with formal education. He prefers the polyester leisure suit to conservative business-wear, and is rarely seen without a guitar, oddly poised — at all times — to break into song — usually a campy, group-grope, irritating team-building ditty that makes most people want to blow him away with a semi-automatic weapon. Okay, so maybe that’s just what I’D like to do, but I can’t imagine that he’s not like nails on a chalkboard to most people who come in contact with him.

The women on the HS team, which I believe is called Net Worth, are going to kill each other at some point. Already, one of them has told another to “Shut the f*ck up.” She deserved it, of course, but there’s nothing like a misdirected f-word to disintegrate the cohesion of a team. Love it.

So far, each team has lost a challenge, but I’m rooting for the HS (Net Worth) team.

As for American Idol, I can’t wait until the real competition begins. I know that the bad singers are extremely entertaining, however, it pains me to see so many people either a) deluded about their own personal talent, or b) so starved for attention that they’ll embarass the hell out of themselves.

And by the way . . . Valentine’s Day is fast approaching, so, for those who have plans to make . . . please make them. Guys, if you don’t believe in Valentine’s Day and she does, find a way to celebrate anyway. Believe me, your libido will thank you. Let me give you a few hints — NO power tools, practical gifts, household appliances (unless they’re specifically requested), underwear that will fit her at her “goal weight,” haphazardly signed last-minute cards with a gift card purchased from the local grocery store (we’re on to that trick). Instead try spa visits, weekend getaways, special homecooked meals, or if you REALLY want to get lucky, get her something from Tiffany’s. All women start taking of their clothes the minute that blue box comes out!

Don’t worry. I’ll send out more reminders as the day approaches.

It’s been a while. I’ve had horrible deadlines, s…

It’s been a while. I’ve had horrible deadlines, so blogging has taken a backseat. But it’s not for lack of opinions. I have plenty of them, believe you me. I’m finally catching up on my TiVo cache, so I’m working on a long one. Stay tuned, and don’t forget about me over here!

Snow, snow and more snow. That’s the theme today….

Snow, snow and more snow. That’s the theme today. Actually, the real theme is the inauguration, but since I’m too depressed about that to really give it any thought, I will, as usual, mask my political viewpoints with frivolous conversation, which is probably more interesting anyway, coming from me.

So . . . as is expected, American Idol is an extravaganza of delusional poor singers. I can’t believe the things I’ve seen. I don’t think I could handle it if I didn’t have TiVo. How do people sit through the entire thing. The only thing I can think when I’m looking at that show — the 15 minutes that I watch per hour — is how much money I would have to be paid if I were Paula, Randy or Simon, to sit through all of that bad shit. It’s a completely awful prospect.

Toni Braxton’s cousin was auditioning. That was a bad sign before I even heard him sing. One would think that a relative of Toni Braxton would get a shot if he were any good. Her sisters came out with a group years ago. They were given a record deal and they weren’t very good at all (I’m being kind). So, the fact that he had to wait in a 20-hour, 40,000 person line to sing, gave me pause.

Let’s just say that I should have had pause — or mute, as it were. His mutton-chop sideburns didn’t help matters, either. Nor did his embodiment of the extremely attitudinal conceited, gay man. Actually, THAT was the entertaining part. His singing made me want to donate my ears. When he finished, Simon said that his was the weirdest voice he’d ever heard. The judges were in violent agreement and the verdict was a resounding no.

That’s when the fun began, folks. He went on a tear about how Randy, Paula and Simon have no talent, no future, and how he, cousin of Toni Braxton, would prevail and emerge a star, while Randy, Paula and Simon would have to grovel. Talk about a pipe dream.

On another note, I checked my messages at home and heard that Ellie’s ashes are ready to be picked up. Yes, I wanted her ashes, so please don’t laugh at me. I don’t know what I’m going to do with them. I don’t know whether to pick out a pretty urn and keep them, or put them outside near the tree that she liked to watch. Since I couldn’t selfishly keep her alive longer, I’m thinking of being selfish and keeping her ashes in a nice urn where I can see it every day. I hope you all don’t think I’m crazy for missing my cat so much, but I really do miss her a lot.

Off of that topic . . . did anyone see in the news today that a Brazilian woman gave birth to a 16 pound baby. Is there such a thing as being on the Atkins diet in utero? That’s the size of a 5-6 month old child? I’ve held one of those for a while, and my arm has gotten tired. Can you imagine carrying that around in your STOMACH??

I’m currently trying to figure out just how many forms of birth control I can take at once.

I hope everyone had a good, long weekend. I spent…

I hope everyone had a good, long weekend. I spent a lot of time out, against my better judgment. The weather was horribly cold, and I really needed to be in, taking advantage of my full TiVo hard drive. Tonight’s the night for that.

Who’s watching the premiere American Idol?

More fallout from The Surreal Life . . . I’m be…

More fallout from The Surreal Life . . .

I’m beginning to believe that TSL is a breeding ground for unlikely (if not disgusting) pairings. Last season, there was Flavor Flav and Brigitte Nielsen. This season it’s Christopher Knight (Peter Brady), and Adrianne Curry (America’s Next Top Model). ANOTHER WTF moment!!! And I thought it was over the top when Mini Me whipped out his Mini-Pee-Pee!

Back to the subject . . . so, Adrianne Curry is about 25 years younger than Peter Brady, which means that when he was singing “When It’s Time to Change, You Have to Rearrange” — I don’t know the correct the title of his puberty carol — she wasn’t even BORN. Hell, she wasn’t even born when the show went into it’s second syndication.

In another scary story from one of my fave gossip reporters for TV Guide, Michael Ausiello:

FROM BAD TO WORSE: After reviewing previously top-secret documents, Primetime Live revealed yesterday that Michael Jackson’s 15-year-old accuser testified before a grand jury last spring that the singer had taught him to do more than moonwalk — the boy was also given an unsolicited tutorial in masturbation. Thus far, ABC has refused to comment on how its news department got its gloved hands on the file.

I don’t have comments that would do this justice, so I’m just going to say Happy Friday, and leave it at that!

I’m a little impatient today and unfornunately I’m…

I’m a little impatient today and unfornunately I’m victimized by people who want to give me FAR too much information. I understand they’re trying to be thorough, but if I have a deadline, and what I think should be a quick question with a quick answer, too much information does nothing but piss me off, particularly when the question was answered in the first 10 words, and the conversation goes on for 1000 words — 990 word more than was required.

For example, if I ask a waitress if the restaurant has my favorite brand of tea, and she says no, but then starts in on a technical explanation as to how the tea didn’t get put on the truck, but that this isn’t the first time that the tea has been omitted from the shipment. I don’t need to know all of that. She had me at ‘no.’

It’s my first ‘What the F*ck’ moment of the day. Given the way this day is starting, I’m sure it won’t be my last. I don’t know what it is, but I’m a little more easily agitated today. More later.

So . . . to take my mind off of Ellie, I’ve watche…

So . . . to take my mind off of Ellie, I’ve watched lots of reality shows.

First of all, the Bachelorette premiered last night, and the exciting thing about that is that she, Jen Scheft, the Bachelorette herself, was wearing a shirt designed by my friend, Jennifer Petsu. I blog about her periodically. Her company, Mirror Me, makes women’s apparel that is printed so that it gives self-affirming messages when seen in reflection. Anyhoo . . . during the show, Jen Scheft was wearing one of my favorite Mirror Me shirt, which says: Never Settle. It was a great message for The Bachelorette, and great publicity for a great line of clothing. Congrats, Jen.

On another note, I watched the new Surreal Life. Each time I think that show has reached the apex of humor, it outdoes itself. This season features Christopher Knight (alias Peter Brady), Chyna (WWF chick), Da Brat (rapper), Adrianne Curry (won America’s Next Top Model), Jane Weidlin (ex-Go-Go), and last but not least, the 2′8″ Verne Troyer (alias Mini Me).

Let me give you the highlights: Chyna arrived first and decided to take the room designed for Mini Me, which, as you could imagine, if you know how big she is (nearly 6′ tall), was a total mismatch. He arrived driving a little cart, raised a stink, threatened to leave, and she finally moved to a different room.

Da Brat was pissed because she didn’t want to be on a show with has-beens, and she made her opinions known to her manager.

Adrianne Curry is already getting the reputation for being the “naked girl.” Their first dinner was served on Adrianne. It was sushi spread across her body, which was nearly naked except for a thong and strategically placed tea leaves. Mini Me almost blew a gasket watching her, and he got a cheap feel when he was taking a piece of sushi off of her breast. It was kind of disturbing. She and Go-Go Jane capped off the evening with skinny dipping.

Then, MM proceeded to get drunk and ride around the house on his little cart, butt naked, and I believe he peed in the corner of the living room.

Set your TiVo’s, people. This is sheer entertainment.

Thanks, you guys. It’s getting better already. A…

Thanks, you guys. It’s getting better already. Although I will probably still do stupid things . . . sad things that I did today, like put food in two bowls, or buy her favorite flavors when shopping for cat food.

I’m trying to develop a good attitude about Ellie’s death. Part of the frustration with a sick pet is not being able to help. Most of the time I can tell myself that it was the only thing I had left to do that could help her. But I miss her.

I don’t want to seem obsessive about this. I’m guessing that it will pass soon. In the meantime, please forgive my preoccupation.

Thanks again for listening.

This is one of the worst days of my life. Ellie, m…

This is one of the worst days of my life. Ellie, my cat, was euthanized today. I knew that her condition, Chronic Renal Failure, was worsening, but this morning, it was so bad that she could barely walk, and she was almost too weak to step into her litter box, which is never a good sign. She ate, but then again, the one thing that Ellie has always had is a voracious appetite, so I expected her to always eat, against all odds.

I called the vet for an emergency appointment and, just as I suspected, they couldn’t do anything for her. The vet, Dr. Gaspar, was phenomenal. She reassured me, and insisted that I had done everything that I could and had made the right decision. She had great bedside manner, and even kept me from being less of a basket-case, which was a pretty hard job. Dr. Gaspar administered the shot, which was an overdose of anesthesia. Ellie went peacefully, with me petting her, and telling her how much I loved her. She’s being cremated, and I opted to have her ashes returned to me.

The second worst part of the day was returning home with an empty cat carrier. There was evidence of Ellie and her illness — a fluid bag and needles for her subcutaneous fluid treatments, her favorite catnip toy, 1/2 bottle of medication. Phoebe, my younger cat, was waiting for me at the door. Although they weren’t the best of friends, I’m sure she can sense that Ellie’s never coming back, and will miss her presence. More urgently for her, however, is tending to my sadness. She hasn’t let me out of her sight since I’ve been home, and is making sure that I never have an empty lap.

A good friend keeps telling me that it will get better. I really hope he’s right.

Thanks for listening.

I’m a sucker for a good news blurb, and my is this…

I’m a sucker for a good news blurb, and my is this a good one (courtesy of Netscape):

“Toilet Brush Warning: Do Not Use For…

…personal hygiene. Yes, this is a real warning on a real toilet brush label, and the (duh!) admonition has won the top spot in the 8th annual contest for the wackiest consumer warning label of the year sponsored by the Michigan Lawsuit Abuse Watch. The goal of the contest is “to reveal how lawsuits, and concern about lawsuits, have created a need for common sense warnings on products.” Entries are submitted by alert consumers who can win $500 for a first-place prize.”

Are there really people out there who would use a toilet brush to brush . . . well . . . something other than a toilet? And as if that weren’t enough:

“Second place: Label on a children’s scooter that cautions: ‘This product moves when used.’

Third place: Warning on a digital thermometer that advises: “Once used rectally, the thermometer should not be used orally.”

I’ve come to the conclusion that laws and warnings are written taking into account what the dumbest person will do. Unfortunately, these dumb people are also extremely litigious (probably because they don’t know quite how mentally challenged they are).

For example, there’s probably a person out there, somewhere, who used a thermometer orally after trying it in the ‘dirty back road,’ became infected (or something), and decided that it was appropriate to sue the thermometer company.

It’s a scary world!