 Random Dead Things |
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It's been a week of dead things. It all started with my dead phone line. Dead. For no reason. That was Thursday, I think. On Friday, I went home for lunch, and Daisy ran up to the gate with a bird in her mouth. I screamed at her to drop it and ran into the backyard, calling for my neighbor. He came over to look at it and saw that it was still alive and declared that it was one of the baby ducks that somehow randomly seems to make it into one of our yards after a heavy rainstorm. He picked it up with his bare hands and brought it into his house, and he told me later that night that it died. I do not know how I continue to let Daisy lick my face with a tongue full of dead bird germs. My dog. The murderer of baby birds. Then, on Friday afternoon, right in the middle of Oprah, my TiVo died. And life has not been the same since. I'm still in shock over that death, honestly. I haven't maintained enough composure since it happened to even decide what to do about it. That night, I stopped by to see Toni and C.'s amazing time machine (please note how stoned I look in that picture; unfortunately, I wasn't -- I think this is just when the chair started to vibrate and my eyes grew droopy in the ecstasy of the moment -- it was great fun!), and then I went to the soul writing thing before bailing when it was halfway over to get ready for the cocktail party at which we drank free beer and ogled 21-year-old boys with great abandon. The soul writing thing was nice; the speaker really was quite good and I would have stayed for the whole thing if the party had not been beckoning. On Saturday, I was mowing the grass. And a rock flew forth with great speed and force from the lawnmower from a great distance, and my sliding glass door shattered into approximately one zillion pieces. Hysteria ensued as both dogs were outside at the time and didn't know what to do and were overcome with a deep urge to sniff it and step in it. Luckily it was safety glass, whose tiny pieces are dull around the edges. I called for my other neighbor, who came over, clucked, and wrapped my broom in duct tape for some reason that still escapes me now except that he's a man and men bring duct tape over in a crisis. Another neighbor let me use her phone (I couldn't open the door to get in the house because there would be a glass implosion, and the other door was locked) and provided cold beers to ease my pain. Through some miracle, I was able to locate a glass repairman from Gonzales who was willing to bring his fifth grade son over on his wife's birthday to replace my glass. I will be eternally grateful to him, because otherwise, I would have been well and rightly fucked. We all lamented the sad, sad state of my ancient, crappy sliding glass door, and I told him I dream of a day when I can afford to replace it with some lovely French ones.  I'm at a loss as to what else to say. Dead phone, dead TiVo, dead duck, dead door. Dead, dead, dead. Also, dead Lauren Reed! (Hopefully.) Finally. And now some miscellaneous television thoughts. With disgust, I reaquainted myself with my VCR to record Joan of Arcadia and the Daytime Emmy Awards (thanks for the offers, notify list people!), and I watched them after the cocktail party. Joan was wonderful, as always, but I have no idea how they're going to pick up on this finale next year. It made my heart hurt, and I have an intense crush on Cute Guy God. I can seldom recall when a new show has debuted with such a strong, sound first season, and Amber Tamblyn continues to blow me away. As for the Daytime Emmys, nothing really stood out for me. I think Vanessa Marcil is a beautiful woman, but I have no idea why beautiful women ruin their perfectly lovely hair with fake-looking hair extensions. They look, universally, like crap. Susan Lucci and Liza Huber were so stiff and stilted in their presentation that I was mortified for them. Beth Ehlers and Ricky Paull Goldin were adorable. Cady McClain deserved to win but certainly didn't deserve to have her name misprounced as "Caddy" by a ridiculous-feather-on-her-head-sporting Victoria Rowell. I don't know. I watched it so late that it's all kind of a blur. Couldn't Kristian Alfonso at least faked being happyfor the winner when James Reynolds lost? Whatever. And because I cannot stop talking about Party of Five, apparently, I'd like to point out some more fun guest stars from the days of yore. A blonde (!) Debra Mooney, the awesome Edna who takes no shit on Everwood, played a violin teacher. Jane Kaczmarek played Justin's mom. And speaking of Justin, can I just say that Julia probably would have remained forever unlikeable if not for the introduction of her relationship with Justin? The infinite talents of Michael Goorjian were Julia Salinger's saving grace. So let it be written, so let it be done. We went to eat at the new restaurant where my little brother is working on Saturday night, and I have to say that while I can get into the spirit of plastic silverware and plates and a roll of paper towels on the table, I cannot abide attempting to spear my food with a spork. This restaurant is going to be closed within a month if they don't get some real damn forks. A spork is essentially a spoon, and I got so fed up trying to eat my salad like soup that I threw it down in annoyance and moved directly on to the banana pudding. Which, by the way, was awesome. Shelley was here last weekend, and we ate our weight in crawfish and Ben & Jerry's. A good time was had by all. 
About this time in ...
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