So . . . Chris Rock didn’t suck so badly last nigh…

So . . . Chris Rock didn’t suck so badly last night, did he? I thought he was actually pretty funny, but then I tend to like mean, biting humor (I’m sure my fellow Second City writers/castmates would agree). Why would anyone dream of hiring Chris Rock without the expectation that he’s going to annihilate the egos of several people? That’s what Chris Rock does. Of course I have other comments. Here we go . . .

Sean Penn needed to get over himself for a few reasons: 1) The Jude Law comments were JOKES. Jeez. 2) He looked like hell. What happened to big money grooming?????

Was Renee Zellwegger trying to prove that she’d lost the Bridget Jones weight by wearing a super-tight dress?? We know you’re skinny, Renee, but giving yourself room to walk is critical. It really is.

I saw too much of Beyonce last night. While her name is (allegedly) French, I don’t know that singing in French is her forte. As for her jewelry . . . somewhere there is a chandelier missing many tiers. They kept showing Jay-Z in the audience sitting next to B.’s family. I’ve heard that her mom and dad don’t approve of her selection in men, and the tabloids might be right. They didn’t exactly look cozy.

Dustin Hoffman was drunk. Period.

It’s so scary that everyone was laughing at Chris Rock’s George Bush analogies. They were true, and very laughable (especially the tank top analogy). Scary, however, that in America we can RE-elect a person who has the suspected IQ of 70 and a bad track record. Over the weekend, I was reminded that he can’t even pronounce nuclear. He says “nucular,” and he says this in an international setting, which furthers the opinions of the rest of world that Americans are stupid. I can’t take it.

While I really liked Jamie Foxx in Ray, a large part of me was rooting for Don Cheadle’s performance in Hotel Rwanda for the Best Actor Oscar. He’s such an underrated, brilliant, versatile actor. Jamie was good in Ray, but the movie was made more popular since Ray Charles’ untimely death. Ray Charles won the Best Album Grammy, so Jamie Foxx was almost a shoo-in. Oh well . . . maybe next time.

Martin Scorsese wins the Susan Lucci award for being nominated several times and never winning. Poor guy. He’s done so much. I’ve even worked on a Martin Scorsese film — which, in keeping with Chris Rock’s theme — if you’re doing a Blues documentary, and the only Field Producer you can get is me . . . WAIT!

Smooches,
G.

Yesterday was actually fun. I met some fantastic …

Yesterday was actually fun. I met some fantastic new people, and I had book club at Ruth’s where I was entertained by her wonderful menagerie of animals and children. Among her collection (4 cats, 3 kids, 2 dogs, 1 husband), she has two adorable new kittens. Everyone’s been asking when I’m getting another cat to keep Phoebe company, since Ellie’s gone. I don’t know if that’s going to happen. First of all, Phoebe, alias Problem Child, hates any living being other than me. She starts purring the second she sees me, and especially despises anything that could take attention away from her. The only reason that she put up with Ellie was because Ellie was here first. Don’t get me wrong. She’s a sweet cat, and nice to people (if people have the opportunity to actually see her), but only because she knows that she couldn’t kill them if she wanted to.

Seeing Ruth’s cats reminded me of how I almost failed to survive Phoebe’s kitten phase. Kittens are adorable, but they’re fascinated by EVERYTHING, and kitten-proofing the house is something that I don’t feel like doing right now.

Then, I’ve never actively gone out and purchased/adopted a cat. I’ve always taken in cats in crisis, or found cats who need homes. I took Ellie in from a friend who realized that her asthma + Ellie’s fur was a deadly combination. Phoebe was found, with her fellow littermates (who weighed 1 lb. apiece), abandoned under a porch. I like to rescue animals, so that’s where most of my pets come from. If one finds me, it was meant to be. Stray things always find me — people and animals. It seems that rescuing is my nature. It gets old. I need rescuing myself.

Our March book is Winner of the National Book Award: A Novel of Fame, Honor, and Really Bad Weather. It was a suggestion of another friend, M., so I can’t wait to read it. If you’ve read it, tell me what you think. In fact, if you’ve read any good books at all that you can recommend, hit me with a comment.

And as if I didn’t have ENOUGH reading to do, I have another book club meeting tonight. I’m in two. Because I like to read that much. Or I have that much time on my hands. No, I think it’s just because I like to read. I’m picking the book for next month, and I might “cheat” and pick the same book that we’re reading in the other club. Or maybe not. I could use a few new viewpoints this month.

The meeting tonight, I’m sad to say, will be less fun than the one last night. Not because I don’t love the women — that’s not it. And there will be a dog for me to play with, which always makes me happy. It’s really because the topic of conversation ALWAYS becomes an attack on my ridiculous love life, which, I suppose is what happens when you’re one of two single women in a group of marrieds. It’s a neverending conversation/argument. Some of them think that marriage is the absolute best way to go, and I stand firmly that being single has incredible advantages. I would actually take it one step further and say that there are points in time when EVERY married person wishes they were single again. And, to be fair, ALL of them aren’t marriage nazis, but the ones that are, REALLY are. I’m sure I must have blogged about this before, but here we go again . . .

Let me not generalize. Some of my married friends (i.e. reading group members from last night) are very normal and honest about their lives, and I appreciate them for it. They would tell you not to rush, and would also tell you that it can be good IF you’re with the right person. They know that marriage isn’t perfect, because nothing’s perfect, and would neither encourage or discourage it. Then there’s the other kind. They’re almost throwbacks from the 60s, and are posterchildren for marriage. According to them, it’s the best thing ever. These women don’t allow for certain viewpoints.

1) They think that EVERYONE should be married. Everyone. And it’s interesting because I’ve seen quite compelling evidence for the opposite. In fact, without realizing it, they themselves GIVE me compelling evidence that the grass isn’t greener on the other side. It’s brown everywhere (I’m still in a shitty mood. Forgive the cynicism.)

2) They think that something must be wrong with you if you’re a quasi-attractive, educated, smart, semi-fit, single woman with no residual children, who is in her thirties and not in a serious relationship. How much do I want to slap them when they say, in their mellifluous, clueless voices: “What’s wrong? Isn’t it eeeeeasy to find a nice guy?” SO much so that I sit on my hands to protect them from my reflexes. I get really sick of defending my lifestyle.

You might be wondering if I’m worried that any of them will read this blog. Not really. The ones that I’m referring to don’t care to hear about my life as a single person, and therefore would never read this, or my column. Anyway . . . should be an interesting meeting. I anticipate several WTF moments.

I don’t think it’s possible for me to get less sle…

I don’t think it’s possible for me to get less sleep. Last night, while having dinner with an old friend, I determined that I get about 4 hours.

I’m not really complaining about this. I’ve never been one who loves to sleep. And when I do sleep, it’s not good sleep — not deep sleep. I’m more concerned because it’s so rare that I’m actually tired. For complete exhaustion, I will have had to work on a grueling project for 15 hours, or work out for about 3 hours straight. I can’t help thinking that this isn’t normal and that this will, one day, catch up with me.

It’s 2005, so I should expect some sort of direct retribution in about a week or so, I guess.

On another, sadder note . . . I was flicking through the DirecTV guide last night (while my TiVo was hard at work with The Apprentice) and happened across a scary show called “Stars Without Makeup.” Of course, being drawn to train wrecks, I HAD to take a quick peek. After about 10 minutes of seeing the focus of the show, which is celebrities looking their absolute worst, I thought, how sad we must be, as a society, that we would devote an hour of prime time programming to relishing in the awful, natural looks of the very people that we’ve made famous. There’s something really wrong with that. VERY wrong.

Yet, we wonder why celebrities develop eating disorders and become addicted to plastic surgery. If I had stalk-arazzi following me, TRYING to get photos of me when I look like shit (which we ALL do from time to time), I might very well suffer from the same issues. “But they’re ROLE MODELS!” people say. I say, get a life, and a REAL role model for yourself and your children, like maybe someone you know and admire. Sheesh!

Okay, so I’m not in quite AS bad of a mood as I wa…

Okay, so I’m not in quite AS bad of a mood as I was in yesterday. Not the greatest, but I’m not nearly as close to sticking my head in the oven today. Just thought I’d share.

Also, while I’m extremely surprised that Kara Saun didn’t win Project Runway, I didn’t like her “shoe antics.” She knew damned well that that wasn’t going to fly with the judges. What I like about Jay is that his designs are avant gard, and his fabrics are rich, so I’m actually glad he won. Wendy Pepper’s designs were a waste of fabric, in my opinion.

I’m warning you — I’m bored and I’m bitchy, so th…

I’m warning you — I’m bored and I’m bitchy, so this isn’t your cheerful top ‘o the morning blog. I’m in a dark place today, despite the sunshine, so feel free to skip this one if you’re chipper and don’t want to be brought down vicariously. If you’re supposed to receive a call from me today and don’t, don’t take it personally. I’ve actually done you a favor.

My boredom is not because I have nothing that I can busy myself with. I have a million things that need to be done around the house, and lots of errands that I should run, at some point. But I have no urgencies, and I hate that.

One of the problems of being a freelancer is that you have lulls in between the insane amounts of work. I’ve been doing this for a long time now, and I’ve never gotten used to the downtime. And if you’re like me, the less you have to do, the less you get done. If I have a busy schedule, everything gets done with efficiency. If I have only one thing to do, I’ll screw it up every time.

So, I’ve decided that I need to have fun, because I’ve been having none of that lately either. I know that I was anxious for the New Year’s ball to drop, but I was duped — 2005 has completely SUCKED so far. At least three of my friends have lost parents (one more as of yesterday), others have been dealing with illnesses, I had to have Ellie (my cat) euthanized, I’ve had my own personal disappointments and my stress is settling quite nicely into my back and stomach, and I need to make serious decisions about my career (see paragraph 2), or what I currently perceive as a lack thereof.

It’s not just me, either. I have friends who are in the same relative situation (you know who you are). I know a lot of couples who have abruptly broken up, some are facing circumstances that could force breakups, and other people have either gotten laid off, or are in danger of being laid off.

And then, to add insult to injury, at about 7:00 this morning, I was perusing my new 600+ page Vogue, which was the highlight of my week until I got to the back and read the horoscopes. To give you a summary, the Virgo forecast was that March will be a hard month on all fronts — career, finances and romance — and that Virgoes will have to pull it together and react with charm and grace. WTF?? If MARCH is going to be hard, what the hell was February all about???? 31-day nap, please! Not that I lend a lot of credence to horoscopes. After all, it’s just a human being’s interpretation. But it was really NOT what I needed this morning.

Now, since I know a lot people who tend to take on the Mary Sunshine role, please resist the urge to send messages of cheer that say things like “It’s always darkest before the dawn,” or my personal favorite: “Be happy that you woke up today.” I’ve chalked up this day to being inconsolable, and I can only hope that tomorrow will bring a different outlook.

Rant over. Thanks for listening.

Some of you have been quite curious about this (fo…

Some of you have been quite curious about this (for some reason), so let me quell your curiosity . . . after the TCW singles meeting this evening, it has been established that WE are not being auctioned off as dates — thank God. We are mere fundraisers, and our job is to assemble packages that will be auctioned, but we do not have to go on the dates. Not that anybody out there was planning on bidding on my package, which, by the way, is shaping up to be a pretty damned good one. I was entertaining the thought of paying friends to bid on me, but since I’m in no danger of having to go, it’s no longer necessary.

Made a visit to the chiropractor, which was productive. I feel better, but it’s a process. I’ll need to make a few more visits, but I should be able to sleep better tonight. Dr. Goodman is the best, and if you’re in Chicago, and in need of a great chiropractor, he’s definitely the man (773-772-1010). Tell him I sent you.

On another note, I’ve been meaning to blog about this, but have never gotten around to it. I think it’s funny how people — male celebrities — are coming out and saying that, during their childhood friendships with Michael Jackson, they remember incidents that are retrospectively inappropriate. Nobody’s saying that they had any sort of sex with MJ, but they talk about other things that sound kind of nasty — like Corey Feldman’s discussion of naked pictures that he perused with MJ that focused on genitalia and venereal diseases.

Okay . . . even if something DID happen with these former child stars, who’s going to admit that? What self-respecting heterosexual has-been child star, hoping to rejuvenate his career, is going to go to the press and admit that he did the weenie-grab with Michael Jackson? A big fat NOBODY, that’s who! And honestly, I don’t want to hear about it, if it did happen. The last thing I want to think about, when I see old pictures of Emmanuel Lewis or Rodney Allen Rippey (remember the little boy with the big afro who peddled Whoppers or some other fast food burger? He was MJ’s first “little friend”) is “That’s the little boy who used to have sex with Michael Jackson.” Yeesh!

Okay, so what was a cramp in my neck has turned in…

Okay, so what was a cramp in my neck has turned into a chiropractic problem. I haven’t been able to sleep. My neck and shoulder are literally throbbing, and there’s no way for me to be comfortable, so today, I’m paying a visit to Dr. Goodman, and in a perfect world, I should be back to new within a few weeks. Of course, the perfect world is never MY world, so I’ll keep you posted.

I have a TCW singles meeting today, so I get to acquaint myself with the rest of the folks in the spread. Should be interesting.

Here’s what’s happening in my world today: My shi…

Here’s what’s happening in my world today: My shitty sleeping habits have wreaked havoc on my muscular system. I slept “funny” a few days ago.

First, let me back up and give you some history — I have HORRIBLE sleeping habits. For those of you who believe that everything can be linked to childhood, I have to admit that being the child of both a musician and an accountant means that my body clock is screwed up. I stay up terribly late, and wake up at a mind-blowing early hour. This leaves little time for sleep, and makes me happy that I have pigment in my skin that will prevent me from looking extremely old, as a lack of sleep will, inevitably.

That said, I never actively go to bed. If there is a time where I make the conscious decision to change into pjs, get in bed and turn out the lights, it means that I’m either sick or physically drained (which rarely happens, because I have WAY more adrenaline than I need). If I ever asked to go to bed, as a child, my mother would immediately break out the thermometer and call the doctor. But I digress . . .

Recently, because I’ve been emotionally drained, I’ve been passing out on the couch while trying to clear my voluminous TiVo cache (it’ll never happen). As best as I can tell, this passing out occurs after 1:00 am. And then at some point — at around 3:00 am — I force myself to get into bed where I sleep for an additional 3 hours. Correction — I’ve been passing out on the LOVESEAT, which means that my long legs are sprawled across the arm rest and my head is unnaturally propped against the other. This is a recipe for a visit to my chiropractor (who’s also a Today’s Chicago Woman hot single, by the way).

And since I’m obviously not smart enough to change this behavior — or at least move my operation to the longer, more forgiving couch — I’ve had a really bad neck cramp for the last few days. It’s the annoying kind that prevents one from turning in a hurry. If someone screams my name, I have to turn my entire body to address them. I might turn this around and use it as an excuse for a massage.

Oh, and by the way . . . very disappointed that Pr…

Oh, and by the way . . . very disappointed that Project Runway finale wasn’t last night. Just so you know . . .

I’ve added a new subscription functionality to my …

I’ve added a new subscription functionality to my blog, so I thought I’d take this time to outline ALL of the cool features of the RantSpot. Here goes:

• In Search of The G-Spot. You can directly access my personal website and info about the book by using the links to the left. Very exciting . . . and a necessary plug for the column and book!

• Pass it on! If one of my entries is pass-on-worthy, you may hit the little icon that looks like an little envelope with an arrow through it, found at the bottom right of each individual post and automatically e-mail that selection to yourself, your friends, or anyone else that you’d like to torture with my bitch-fests.

• Comments. You can make comments. Yes, you can! You can click on the link at the bottom that will say either “Your two cents” (meaning that yours will be the first comment), “Any more opinions?” (someone has left one comment), or “Chit Chat,” which means there’s a full-blown conversation going on that you should be a part of. I LOVE comments, and don’t get nearly enough of them, so feel free to add your opinions. I would love to tell you that I know what that Trackback link means, but I don’t. All I know is that it never changes, and if I don’t mess with it, it seems not to want to mess with me, which is fantastic. Incidentally, your comments are public, so don’t say anything that’s not fit for public consumption. Anything private or juicy should be sent directly to me. No, I’m not playing games. You can Tag me, meaning that you can participate in the very quick announcement-like comment system on the left side. On this site, Tags are normally left largely by me, and by my friend Bobby, who everyone presumes is a stalker waiting to happen. But he’s not . . . he’s just a friend with an odd sense of humor (although if you ever see my face on the side of a milk carton, please check his trunk. Seriously.). Really, please feel free to write a (nice) message in the tag area, if the mood strikes.

• SUBSCRIBE! This is the latest feature. This morning, I added the ability to subscribe, which means that you get a notice letting you know when I’ve added a new Rant to the Spot. I know . . . who the hell wants another piece of irrelevant e-mail, right? BU-UUT, the benefit of this is that you don’t have to keep checking back (because I know you’re all addicted to this blog — yeah, right!) to see when I’ve updated. You get an e-mail directing you here, and you can add instant levity to your day. If it gets to be overwhelming, you can easily unsubscribe, so don’t be hesitant.

(If you want to subscribe to my column distribution list, which is a different list altogether, shoot me a message and don’t forget to give me your name and e-mail address, and let me know that you want to be added to the G-Spot mailing list.)

That’s it for now. So, subscribe, comment, and above all, have a fantastic day!

Smooches,

G.