Leap of Faith… Redux

I recently stumbled across the following post, which I wrote way, waaaay back in May of ‘05. In all honesty, it made my heart hurt a little to re-read it. Who knew I could be introspective and poignant? Sometimes? Okay, I may have even teared up a bit. Just a little! I know, right? Me? BIG BABY. Deal with it. Re-reading the post also inspired in me a wicked craving for a donut. Go figure.

In any event, I thought I would share. Or, rather, re-share. Share again? Whatev. You know what I’m saying.

_______________________________

I have no desire to be enigmatic.

But it is a scary place, my mind. Crowded with jumbled imagery and intricate stories and trivial pop culture references, with nowhere to go. All of the craziness shuffles and scuffles to be forefront in my mind, to be most important. To be first. “Let me out!” it all screams, because it has to go somewhere, right?

Sometimes, when I read a book or I see a movie, I catch the mood of the piece, and I cannot shake it. I am there, and woe unto any who try to break in, to find me. I am in it, and only I can find my way back out. I am not even sure if that makes sense, but it is most definitely the case.

I mean, I know other people can read a book and put it down. Me? I read the fifth Harry Potter book in one night. ONE NIGHT! That freaking book is over 800 pages long! Honestly. It can take me literally hours to stop worrying about the characters in which I have invested my time. I feel their pain, their joy, their despair, their triumphs. If the book is particularly well-done, if the characters are alive, if the mood is fully realized, then it can take me hours to stop feeling the book. To let go of it.

Other people can watch a particularly riveting television show or movie and walk away thinking, “Huh. Good show! What’s for dinner?” Me? I become emotionally invested in the characters. I will obsess about their lives and the “what if’s” for days on end. Weeks, even. Now do not misunderstand. This is not to say I cannot separate the fictional characters from reality. No worries. I absolutely can. What I cannot do, not right away, anyway, is to stop thinking about their stories. Taking them in new directions. I will spend hours weaving new stories for them. Sometimes I even dream new stories. But Leonardo da Vinci said, The eye sees a thing more clearly in dreams than the imagination awake. Dude was a wise Renaissance man, yo?

Which leads me to this: when I write stories? Oh BOY. I am SO living them. And it is so exciting! I get to be someone else! Well, for a little while, anyway. I become Goddess of the Story Universe! Bow to me! Then, inevitably, my characters begin growing and acting out in ways I had not intended, and I just get to go with it, and it is GOOD. Of course, I think this is why I enjoy happy ending so much, formulaic cliche be damned. I need them, or I am lost. Then again, my endings are not always happy. And I absolutely hate that, because I ache for my characters. But I love it, too.

For a long time I thought this craziness had a name. I HAD to give it a name. I was surely bipolar. Manically depressed. Obviously. It was the only explanation for the mood swings, the black days, the deep-rooted dark despair that settled into my mind and would not let go. Right? And what sane, happy person loses herself in television and books? Huh? Normal people with three beautiful kids and TGIM don’t act this way, right? Am I RIGHT?! I hated my career choice, my living situation, my life, and I could not shake the feeling that something was terribly, terribly WRONG with me, because everyone I knew insisted I should be happy, that I should be thankful, that I should just STOP wallowing and get on with living. And I wanted to. I WANTED TO. But I was stuck. So I turned to the happy pills. But the drugs? They did not help. Dispassionateness, for me, was not a cure. It was a bandage.

“You are just like my ex-husband,” my sister said to me. “You can be anything you want to be. Anything but happy.”

Oh, no she DIDN’T.

So I ripped it off that bandage. And I made CHANGES.

I found a job writing and quit my teaching job. I packed up and moved all the way across the United States, not sure when and if TGIM would follow, but sure it was the right thing to do. I began expressing the jumbled imagery, intricate ideas, and trivial pop culture references swirling about in my mind through the magical world of blogging. I made new friends. I discovered the words “job satisfaction” were not mutually exclusive. I pulled myself out of the rut of complacency and fear in which I was trapped and made some personally earth-shattering decisions regarding what I wanted out of life. And, yes, I hurt TGIM and others close to me in the process and, yes, almost lost everything. I know that. I OWN that. But these days? I’m starting to feel as if despite the excruciating pain I caused myself and others, I have gained everything.

TGIM thinks this is The Crazy in me. Sometimes he loves me for it, sometimes… not so much. Me? I am starting to believe The Crazy is simply the artistic temperament in me. And, slowly, oh so slowly, I am learning to embrace it. I am learning how to USE it, to hone it, to bend it to my infinite megalomaniacal will, mwah ha ha ha!…

Sorry.

The other day I stumbled across a quote by Edvard Munch, the artist formerly known as the man who painted The Scream. Okay, he is still known as that, I just like the allusion to Prince. Because Prince ROCKS. Anywhos, Munch wrote of the experience he had which triggered the creation of this masterpiece:

I was out walking with two friends - the sun began to set - suddenly the sky turned blood red - I paused, feeling exhausted, and leaned on the fence - there was blood and tongues of fire above the blue-black fjord and the city - my friends walked on, and I stood there trembling with anxiety - and I sensed an endless scream passing through nature.

As I read this I realized, hey, sometimes I sense that Endless Scream, too. I hear it! I KNOW it. And, slowly, I am learning to embrace it. I am learning how to USE it. I know, I know. Inscrutable, much? Talk to my family. But, then again, if I did not see the world this way, if I did not feel the world this way, how could I write? And writing? Makes me feel complete. Utterly, dizzyingly complete.

Well, writing, and a big ol’ cinnamon cake donut. Yummmmmm.

Take that, big sister. I CAN be happy.

Sheriff Lamb, I Mean Michael Muhney, ROCKS SOLID.

**For more background on how I “met” (okay, make that “virtually met”) the actor Michael Muhney, CLICK HERE and HERE.

Nothing perks an injured gal up more than an email from her friendly neighborhood Sheriff Lamb (AKA: Michael Muhney of Veronica Mars fame)! Of course, until a few days ago I thought the email from Sheriff Lamb, I mean Michael Muhney, was simply the product of my Percocet-induced loopy-doopy mind, but NO! He really WROTE to me! Out of the BLUE! Because he’s AWESOME! I mean, he wrote to me while dandling his newborn baby on his KNEE! And I can’t believe I just used the word “DANDLING”! Because who SAYS that?!

Of course, the contents of said email are private and close to my heart, so BACK OFF.

Anyway, now I’m feeling a bit nostalgic, so I thought I would re-post my interview –okay, FINE, Paige was there, too, but whatever– with the most awesome Michael Muhney, who is obviously, like, my BFF now, right? Right? Oh, BTW, Paige, Sheriff Lamb, I mean Michael Muhney, says, “Hi.” But whatever. He still likes me best. Clearly.

**Aside to My BFF, Michael Muhney, Intended to Display My Self-Importance: Michael Muhney, you know I think you rock. And since you apparently know Joss FREAKING Whedon (squeeee!) well enough to have actual conversations with him… *just breathe… breathe…*… well, here’s hoping he realizes how rockin’ you are, too. **

Man. I don’t remember the video being THAT long. But still? AWESOME!

Also, don’t forget to check out my — I mean, OUR (my bad, Paige!)– special tribute to Sheriff Lamb, lovingly produced after his life was cut tragically short by the almighty crack of a baseball bat to the head.

Veronica Mars REWIND… er, Rewind

I thought I would re-post a few of my old Veronica Mars REWIND episodes because Michael Muhney rocks. Click HERE for more info!

American Idol is WAY more exciting.

Dude. How very anticlimactic.

So, apparently the Surprisingly Essential First Page contest judges have not watched enough American Idol to learn how to go about informing the public about the contestants’ elimination from a public contest. Right? All I’m saying is they obviously don’t have an appreciation for how awesomely the judges and my wee Ryan bring the UN!COMFORTABLE! to the elimination process. Like the time– during the Best. Results Show. EVER.– when my Ry-Ry was all “Chrisyouaregoinghometonight.” And Chris Daughtry was like, “What in the which where? WHO IN THE WHAT NOW?!” and Kat McPhee was trying to do the Snoopy Dance of Joy and cry at the same time, and Taylor Hicks (soooooulpatrooool) and Elliott Yamin were like “Yes!” (*fist pump*) “Wow, sorry, dude”? And Chris was pissed– like, seriously, he looked like he wanted to reach through the television and kill me dead– but it was just so AWESOME?! And now they use Chris’s song as the farewell (AKA: See Ya, Wouldn’t Wanna Be Ya) song and he is totally kicking ass with his very own band which he named after his very own self so it all worked out in the end? You know?

Because, honestly… how fun was THIS?! No fun at ALL, that’s how fun! We put ourselves out there, lay it all on the line, and what do we get? Nothing! A big ZIP. Nada. Zilch. ZIPPO. What about the bottom three? And the agony of staying in the bottom three until “after the break”? And where was the anxiety? The tears? The almost unbearable stress? The gratuitous “You look great tonight” and “You moved me”? The thinly veiled homophobic posturing? HUH?! Seriously. I’m saying.

But I have to give the judges their props, yo? 675 entries? Hey, I mean, Simon, Paula, and Randy get a gagillion contestants or whatever, so they could be all like, “Oooh, ‘wah!’ 675 entries? Bitch, please.” But there’s THREE of them– not just two, right?– so there you go.

But whatever. I’m not discouraged. No worries. As God is my witness, if Chris Daughtry can headline his own personal shouty band, I can get myself published.

So it’s all good.

Cat, OUT.

Validation! Concurrence!

Guess which new TV drama won the People’s Choice Awards?! Just GUESS! Gossip Girl? NO! Private Practice? UH-UH! Journeyman? NEIN! Could it have been… oh, MOONLIGHT, perhaps?! Hell, YES!

Be truthful. How sexy is that Australian accent? DEAD sexy, that’s how sexy! Not that I care. Just thought I’d point it out, is all. Ahem.

Man. I love validation. What can I say? I’m needy like that.

Moonlight: The Little Show That Could

I recently acquired Final Cut Express HD for TechnoGeekery.com, as a step up from the very basic iMovie software I’ve been using to create my vidcasts. Up to now I’ve just been playing with FCE– like one plays with a shiny new toy, all careful and hesitant and unsure of just how far one can push and prod before breaking something–and I’ve discovered something I did not know. Dude. This software? It’s wicked COMPLICATED, yo?

So to practice setting up bins and entering in and out points I decided to make a sort of faux-promo for CBS’s fall sleeper hit Moonlight, my most favoritest underdog show of the season. Admittedly, I intitially watched out of love for all things Jason Dohring (Team Logan!)– and truthfully, I was not initially impressed, but I powered through (Team Logan!)– and I have to admit, by episode 4, “Fever”… yeah, it was all about Alex O’Laughlin. Oh, yes it was.

See, he’s my new TV boyfriend. He does this thing with his eyebrow…

But that is neither here nor there! (I was just saying.) The show–which is rooted in a sort of modern-day noir–continues to improve exponentially from week to week, and my favorite aspect is that there aren’t any demons or magic or curses… just Mick St. John, a P.I. in L.A. who is out there solving cases, kicking bad-guy ass, dealing with his issues, and, oh yeah, who just happens to be a vampire.

Right, then. There are no bells and whistles here, no awesome effects or transitions, just clips from the show set to a wicked good song: Ecstasy by Black Lab. So… enjoy! Or not. Whatevah.

Cat’s Fall Super Cool TV Picks

My Top 5 NEW fall shows, in no particular order, except for by how much I like them:

Pushing Daisies
Samantha Who
Chuck
Reaper
Aliens in America

And then there are the guilty pleasures of the I’m Sure I Shouldn’t Enjoy This As Much As I So Totally Do variety:

Bionic Woman
Moonlight

And finally, my Number 1 Oh, If Only It Could Have Been So fall show:

Veronica Mars, FBI (NOTE: This link takes you to the actual 12-minutes of video shot for Rob Thomas’s pitch to the network. Favorite quote: “There’s lesbians to fend off and hazing rituals to be endured … I’m on a schedule.”)

Only Seriously Snarky TV Viewers Need Apply (Part II)

With regards to this post requesting interested parties to email me about co-hosting a brand-spankin’-new weekly audio podcast TV Rewind ramma-lamma-bing-bang (I’m looking for several hosts, by the way, not just one), I was reminded by a hopeful future podcaster that I left out the following shows that we may want to discuss:

The Bachelor, Survivor, and Nip/Tuck.

My bad! Any others?

Only Seriously Snarky TV Viewers Need Apply

If you are a pop culture junkie and are interested in joining a weekly audio podcast (via Skype, which is free and I can totally help you install it) that will provide episode recaps, offbeat opinions, and the inside scoop about the hottest shows on TV, send me an email and I will send you more details.

FYI: Possible shows that we would discuss each week (naturally, you wouldn’t have to watch all of them):

Dramas:
Bionic Woman
Bones
Chuck
CSI (any)
Desperate Housewives
Dexter
Friday Night Lights
Ghost Whisperer
Grey’s Anatomy
Heroes
House
Law and Order (any)
Lost
My Name is Earl
The Office
One Tree Hill (as much as it pains me)
Private Practice
Pushing Daisies
Reaper
Prison Break
Smallville
Supernatural
Ugly Betty
(and possibly Gossip Girl)

Sitcoms:
30 Rock
Aliens in America
Back to You
Big Bang Theory
Everbody Hates Chris
How I Met Your Mother

Reality:
So You Think You Can Dance
Dancing with the Stars
America’s Next Top Model
American Idol (2008)
(any others?)

Flight of the Conchords: Talking About the Issues…

… but keeping it funky!

Sorry. I couldn’t resist sharing one more. Call it my weekend present to you, mm’kay? Honestly. They’re the Neo-Smothers Brothers! Not that anyone under… um, a certain age that is way older than me… even knows what the heck I mean by that, but I can’t help it if I am preternaturally hip to the comedy duos of the 60’s.

The actual song starts at around 2:32, but the conversation beforehand is quite funny. And, incidentally, the conversation after the song is hilarious, and could conceivably be Michael Scott’s– of The Office– dream come true. And if you get what I mean by that, then we should totally be BFF’s. For real. ‘Cause you GET me.

Boob Tube Mania: The Fall 411

Okay. So, I accidentally slammed my hand in my car door and I think I broke it. Don’t worry! I only lost consciousness from the pain for, like, five seconds or something, so it’s all good. But the whole typing with a hand I possibly broke thing makes typing a bit difficult–just a tinge!–you know, with the shooting pain and whatnot, so this premiere edition of “The Fall Television Season Lineup Looks Frakkin’ Awesome” will be short and sweet.

So, guys? The fall television season lineup looks frakkin’ awesome! Like… AWESOME awesome. Of course, since TGIM and I canceled our cable back in May, viewing my favorite new shows maybe be problematic. Especially since Apple and NBC can’t play nice. Boys! Boys! You’re both pretty! Now cut it out!

Then again, I DID actually already view several of the fall pilots (and have Bionic Woman and Aliens in America all geared up for tonight! I’ll let you know!), so you may be wondering if my viewing these shows for the rest of the season will be as problematic as I’m insinuating.

To which I say… good point.

Disclaimer: I have done nothing “illegal”… at all! Er, yeah… so step off me, yo?

That being said, on with the show.

Cat’s Fall TV RECOMMENDATIONS:

Chuck (I love me some Chuck! The Nerd Herd never looked so good!)
Premieres: Monday, September 24, 8/7 central, NBC

Reaper (although they DID recast the main love interest, but I’ll still give it a shot…)
Premieres: Tuesday, September 25, 9/8 central, The CW

And last, but certainly not least, as I frakkin’ [heart] this show with a blazing passion:

Pushing Daisies (a morbid yet so, so purty forensic fairytale)
Premieres: Wednesday, October 3, 8/7 central, ABC

Check ‘em out. That’s all I’m saying. Or not. Whatever. I don’t even care. But I’m jazzed–that’s right, I said JAZZED– because I think there are several witty, quirky shows to chose from if Paige and I feel compelled to start a new Rewind vidcast…

Fooyah!

And OW. Must go ice hand now.

*Updated to add: Bionic Woman? Eh. Underwhelmed. Which is too bad, as I have fond memories of the original. Plus, I got to be the Bionic Woman at Universal Studios when I was a youngin’! For real! I jumped over a plane! And ran super fast! Sha na na na na… sha na na na na… In any event, I’ll have to get my hands on the recast, retooled pilot. Maybe I’ll be pleasantly surprised. Otherwise… just, eh.

Flight of the Conchords: Just For Fun

Why? Because I’ve had a bad, horrible day. And they make me laugh. Right out loud. I mean, they are New Zealand’s fourth most popular folk parody duo. Says HBO, anyway. I bet they’re, like, number two now. At LEAST.

Business Time

“I turn it into a sexy dance…” Classic.

The Humans are Dead

“Binary solo! 0000001, 0000011…” Oh, they kill me. (”Sniff this one, it’s dead…”)

Okay. Feeling better now.

That Thing You Do

You know how sometimes you do that thing when you’re all alone? You know… that thing? C’mon! That thing? YOU know. Where you get all comfy in the bed and turn the lights down low and pop the two-part Season Two finale of Buffy the Vampire Slayer into the DVD player, then sit back and enjoy the wiggins when Willow goes all uber witchy, then cry like a baby– big, heaving sobs, you know?– right there at the end, when Buffy kisses Angel, her true love, then runs a sword through him– to save the world!– and the haunting strains of Close Your Eyes crescendoes and Angel whispers, “Buffy…?”– all confused-like– just before he is sucked into hell, and Buffy is sobbing and then the ache in your throat is too much to bear so you begin bawling and hysterically sobbing “Whyyyyyy, God, whyyyyyyy?!?!”– just letting it all out, you know?– especially when Sarah McLachlan starts in with Full of Grace, AKA The Heartbreaking Song O’ Sorrow and PAIN?

You know? That alone thing? That you do?

No?

Yeah. Me neither.

Coke Pants? Well, of all the luck!

I gave up Diet Dr. Pepper three days ago. Add PMS to the caffeine deprivation and you’ve got a Desperate Working Momma wearing some seriously cranky pants!

Speaking of pants…

I am vexed. Lindsay Lohan is vexing me!

As I stated previously, TGIM called me at work last week to keep me abreast (pun totally intended) of Lindsay Lohan’s drunken, coke-pants-fueled spiral into infamy and unemployment.

Lindsay’s party planner, chaperone, and sometimes mom, Dina, said Lindsay “sounded good,” according to… um, sources. She added, “You know, people slip. Hopefully, she’ll get back on the wagon and she’ll be fine.”

Oh, Dina.

Dina, Dina, Dina… Freaking mother of the year, that’s what you are.

But whatever. Get back on that wagon, Linds! Go on!

(Just so long as she doesn’t get behind the wheel of that wagon, am I right?)

But here’s the thing. Freshly minted Promises rehab center graduate LiLo allegedly wrote in an e-mail to Billy Bush of Access Hollywood, “I am innocent… did not do drugs, they’re not mine.”

You see, Lindsay claimed the coke-laden pants weren’t hers, but belonged to her (I’m assuming now former) friend.

Ratfink, much? Honestly.

(Of course the car she commandeered didn’t belong to her either, but that is tertiary to the umpteenth DUI and the borrowed coke pants, yo?)

In any event, the pants? Not hers. Which begs the question: why in God’s name is LiLo wearing other people’s pants? Doesn’t she like her own pants anymore? Are her pants uncomfortable? Is there too much crap in her own pants pockets, weighing her down?

Personally, I like my own pants. My pants are comfy. My pants are hand-selected to flatter my chassy badassy bedonkadonk. And except for the occasional monetary windfall, I know what I’m carrying around in my pants pockets.

In all honesty, I cannot remember the last time I borrowed a friend’s pants for a night of drunken, coke-panted, highspeed car chasing. Probably not since high school! Minus the drunken, coke-panted, highspeed car chasing part, naturally. Just the pant-borrowing part.

Well, with the notable exception of that time a few months ago when Paige and I were filming a Veronica Mars Rewind podcast and eating junk food into the wee hours of the night and I ate too much Chubby Hubby and had to borrow a pair of Juicy trackpants in order to be more comfy while I finished off the Turtle Chocolate Check Mix, but the trackpants I borrowed didn’t even have pockets, so it really doesn’t apply in this case.

All I’m saying is that it seems to me that the problem with borrowing someone else’s pants is that when you put them on, you’re instantly and unwittingly weighed down with all the crap they’ve left in their own pockets. You’re stuck lugging around someone else’s baggage. Their baggage es su baggage. And why would you want to do that?

Frankly, my cranky pants are heavy enough.

Gonna Miss the Buggers

I have been a bad, BAD blogger, my peeps. Lo siento mucho, pero no era mi intención. But here are some PICTURES to make up for it! Eh? Eh?! Okay… well, how ’bout THESE, then? C’mon! See?! With the SAGUAROS?! Saguaros have got to be worth something. Just sayin’.

So, here’s the deal. TGIM and I have been traipsing all over Arizona, which, HELLO HEAT! Anyhoos, it’s the yearly trek Out West to drop the kids off with the grandparents in Podunky Small Town Arizona, and boy howdy is it hot here. And don’t give me, “Well… at least it’s a DRY heat…” Are you FREAKING KIDDING ME with that?! It’s ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SIX DEGREES outside! I don’t care if the heat is dry, I am burning up! BURNING UP, I tell you! Honestly. When they call Phoenix “The Valley of the Sun,” they mean it literally.

You don’t buy it? Okay, well, let me tell you, on the Fourth of July it was so hot that when we pulled into my sister-in-law’s driveway and opened the car door, the wave of heat was so intense it took away our breath and nearly tumbled us back into the car. And then? As we struggled out of the formerly air-conditioned car– now roughly 110 degrees and rising as we let all the cool air out– we were all, “If we can just make it to the house, then we’ll be able to breathe again! And maybe we won’t melt! Or have a heat-stroke and die right here on this pavement radiating with thousand-degree heat!” But when my sister-in-law took about 60 seconds longer than should have been necessary to answer the door (like her three-year-old NEEDS help on the toilet?! whatever?!), I am positive I suffered some sort of mini heat stroke (although TGIM tells me I was just being a big ol’ drama queen– I know, right?! RUDE.) and nearly collapsed on the spot.

Anyhoos, we’ve escaped the heat of Phoenix and are now safely established in Podunky Small Town Arizona, where my mother is introducing me to culture, like, “Flip This House” and “Confessions of a Matchmaker,” and I have just finished a wedding video for my brother-in-law, who is getting married on Saturday. Gettin’ hitched, if you will.

Good times, these.

Yet all the while, I am dreading tomorrow, when TGIM and I head back down to Phoenix to catch our flight home. But not because of the heat. Nope. I probably won’t even feel it this time around. Because I’m leaving the kiddos here. And though I know they are in safe hands, and I know they are in for a summer of swimming at the pool, biking at the park, hiking around town, and playing with cousins and friends… I hate to go. Because our house is so, so QUIET when they’re gone.

So quiet.

*sigh*

I’m gonna miss those buggers.

The HELL you say?!

You let me down, my peeps. Why didn’t anyone TELL me?! Huh?! My Secret Greek Idol Luvah gets an actual, honest-to-goodness acting part–with lines and e’rything!– on a popular daytime soap opera, and you don’t give me a heads-up? What’s up with that? A little “Okay, so Constantine is neither Bold nor Beautiful, but did you hear he was cast anyway?”? Or perhaps a quick “Hey, Cat, guess what!”? Honestly. A little courtesy, my peeps!

C-O-U-R-T-E-S-Y.

This is completely unacceptable. I mean, do I ask too much? Do I?! GOSH.

It’s almost as if you don’t care anymore.

He can always get braces, that’s all I’m saying.

In order to try out my brand-spankin’ new video player plugin, I give you a video clip of a cell phone salesman named Paul Potts– an operatic wannabe– who actually brought a SMILE to Simon Cowell’s face (who knew Simon was capable of genuine feeling?!) on a somewhat familiar-sounding show called– wait for it– Britain’s Got Talent.

Allow me to say… BOY, do they ever.

That’s Captain Obvious to you…

So, my good blogging buddy Charlotte sent me a link to the HSM2 (that’s High School Musical 2, for the uneducated masses) music video sneak preview clip “What Time Is It?” I graciously thanked her for the link and let her know that she totally made my– I mean, my children’s day. Because High School Musical is all about the children. Obviously.

So, we watched the clip, my kiddos and I, and boy howdy! Hello? With the FUN? For the CHILDREN! I just stuck around to make sure there were no computer malfunctions during the viewing of the clip. A mother’s work is never done, I tell you what.

So, the clip begins with a group of students counting down the minutes until summer vacation. With contagious energy rivaling the Greasers and the Jocks and the Nerds and the Pink Ladies and… um, Bad Girl Sandy, they celebrate the last day of school with a wave of spunky, over-the-top dancing and enthusiastic singing that carries them through the halls and spills them out onto the school lawn. Now, I have to admit, while they’re singing about summer vacation and romance, all I’m hearing is “dip da dip da dip do whap de dobby do” and “boogy boogy boogy boogy shooby shoo wap shoo wap!”

Not that I’m saying they’re blatantly ripping off any Broadway musicals or hugely successful 1978 film adaptation of said Broadway musicals. Nope. I’m just saying “a womp bop a looma a womp bam boom!” came to mind, okay? And if, say, I suddenly envisioned Troy and Gabriella driving off into the sunset in a vintage hot rod that could inexplicably fly, I wouldn’t be like, “Huh.” Hey. I can’t help the way my mind works. That’s all I’m saying.

So, anyhoos, after the final “What time is it? It’s party tiiiiime!” and “YEAH!”, we– I mean, the children were all, “Woo! Cool!” Then I felt a tug at my sleeve, and I turned to see Alli smiling up at me over her glasses.

“Momma,” she said, pushing her glasses into place, then pointing at the computer screen, “I think those kids are excited for summer vacation.”

“You think?” I replied, smiling down at her. With overwhelming love and pride, obviously.

Because, WOW, right?! She has a firm grasp of the obvious, that daughter o’ mine.

*so proud*

Thank God Almighty for YouTube!

Don’t tell Blake and his pants (I refuse to acknowledge the argyle; I have issues with the argyle), but… Jordin Sparks was so frakking awesome (the first time she performed “This is My Now,” and when she won American Idol and performed “This is My Now”) that she actually brought me to tears. Twice. Because of her wicked awesomeness? Then I laughed, because when my Ry-Ry stood next to her and tried to comfort her? He looked like a wee leprechaun. Because of his adorable wee-ness? Hee. I just pictured the scene again. Good LORD! That man is WEE!

Okay, so Jordin rocks, that’s all I’m saying.

Uh-oh. TGIM just caught me posting about American Idol! Oh, TGIM, you know AI means nothing to me. I was weak! I WAS WEAK! I just wanted to see Blake and his pants–just one more time–and maybe catch a little La-la Percocet Paula Sunshine, and perhaps a bit of Simon’s snark, but it was all about Jordin! Because she was AWESOME! I’m not lying! Watch! You’ll see!

But I never meant to hurt you, baby. It will never happen again, I swear.

(Okay. Gotta go. See you next year. Rock on, Jordin!)

That’s just plain rude.

Okay, seriously?

I don’t know whether to be flattered or genuinely insulted by this dude’s blatant rip-off of my podcast name. Honestly. One quick Google search for “Veronica Mars Rewind” and anyone can see that someone is already using it.

For real. Show a little originality, people.

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