In the 80’s, everything was copasetic.

(I originally posted this back in August of ‘05, but now with my 20-year reunion a’loomin’ and me feeling wicked nostalgic and whatnot, I thought I’d do a little DWM REWIND and post it again, slightly altered for timeliness. Because it’s my blog and I CAN, that’s why!)

Feeling nostalgic. That is all. Feel free to add to the list. In fact, I strongly encourage you to do so!

Things I Miss from the 80’s:

1. Seeing 95 pounds peeking out at me from my scale. *le sigh*

2. Cruising for boys on Gurley Street with my homies, blasting the remix version of Billy Idol’s “Catch My Fall” (killer bassline, y’all), sipping Sundance Sparklers (nonalcoholic!), screaming “Memory! All alone in the MOOOOONLIGHT!” every time we passed by the scene of a make-out or break-up. Of which there were several. Ooooh! And “Old Man Driiiiiiver!” (to the tune of “Old Man River”) whenever we passed by guys WAY TOO OLD to be out cruising. Of which there were several. Huh, Di?! Huh?!

3. My ginormous Esprit and Guess? bags, which held everything from my Adventures in Literature textbook to my clunky cheer shoes to five or six really radical to the max cassette tapes to my assorted jelly bracelets and banana clips. And sometimes my lunch.

4. Rainbow-colored eyeshadow and blue mascara. And blue eyeliner, of COURSE. Duh.

5. Wham! The Wham Rap? Classic, y’all. CLASSIC. I still know all the words. Ask anyone. Go on. Try me. Do it. No, really. DO IT.

6. The Solid Gold Dancers. No, seriously. LOVED. THEM. Wanted to BE. THEM.

7. Saying “psyche!” Oh, and “freak!” Wait…

8. Star Search. When it was GOOD.

9. The Brat Pack.

10. Crimped hair, big bangs, strategically placed headbands, bangle earrings, and Swatch Watches with jelly Swatch Guards.

11. Cyberpunk Max Headroom. CATCH THE WAVE!! ‘Member, guys?! Do ya?! Dude. That was totally our Homecoming slogan one year. Go, Badgers!

12. Atari. I mean, c’mon… Frogger? Pitfall? GALAGA?! Hello?!

13. Spandex biker shorts under my paint-splashed, acid-washed denim mini. It just LOOKED COOL, okay?! Geez.

14. Debbie Gibson…. What?! I DO! And if you must know, it is possible that I miss Tiffany, as well. PERHAPS.

15. A time when I actually WANTED my MTV.

16. Echo & the Bunnymen, Cutting Crew, Scritti Politti, Tears for Fears, and Orchestral Maneuvers in the Dark.

17. My acid-washed jean jacket covered with ENORMOUS, entirely superfluous silver buttons and an assortment of safety pins with multicolored beads strung through them. Which meant I was very popular and had lots of friends. Right?

18. Sleep overs with my girlfriends, at which we listened to KISS FM, gossiped about boys, experimented with our hair, traded comfy pink Esprit sweatshirts for zip-tapered, pastel-flowered Guess? jeans, and– contrary to TGIM’s much-fantasized belief– DID NOT engage in naked pillow-fighting. But TGIM? Said girlfriends DID teach me how to French kiss. That one’s all yours, baby.

19. Slap bracelets. Preferably neon. Lots of ‘em.

20. Freezing my ass off while cheering at home football games. In the snow. In a cheerleading uniform. With NO pantyhose or tights. Because that would have been TACKY.

21. Singing along to “Wig” by the B-52’s at the top of my lungs on the bus during away football trips: “What’s that on your head? A wig! Wig, wig, wig! Wig’s on fire! Wig’s on fire! Wig’s on… fire! It’s 2525 and we’ve got the most wigs alive!” Why does nobody REMEMBER this song?

22. Tanning on the roof with a fluffy towel, my boombox, and big-A bottle of Hawaiian Tropic Dark Tanning Oil. For the Tan of the Islands! Or more freckles! Usually more freckles! Whatever!

23. Every single solitary stinkin’ John Hughes movie. I mean, sometimes I used to watch The Dead Zone on USA just to see Farmer Ted (AKA: The Geek from Sixteen Candles) and reminisce. “I never bagged a babe. I’m not a stud.” Seriously. Who writes movies like that anymore?! No one, that’s who!

24. Jams with coordinating t-back tank tops.

25. Comfy, unlaced Keds.

26. First REAL kisses. Cheetos optional.

27. Boys in cuffed jeans and unlaced Reebok high tops. I don’t know why, really.

28. Slouch socks. Ooooh! And slouch boots! Because they totally hid my freakish chicken ankles, all right?

29. My mini black lace ra-ra skirt, a la Madonna in Desperately Seeking Susan. HAWT.

30. Wearing sunglasses at night. Hey. Don’t be afraid of the guy in shades, oh no.

Sadly, I could go on and on and on…

Not that NOW isn’t good! Oh, I LOVE now! But your high school years, they stay with you, you know?

Which, once you think about it, is at the same time slightly comforting and absolutely horrifying. Especially, it seems, if you lived out your teenage years in the 80’s. Just sayin’. That’s a hard era to shake. The hair, the styles… I mean, just look at all the Mom-Pants out there. Totally 80’s! Honestly. It’s 2008! Lose the MOM-PANTS, ladies! LOSE THEM NOW.

And sometimes, guys? Sometimes? I have this almost overwhelming desire to poof up my bangs. You know, just a little. Like, “Oh, just an inch or so won’t hurt….” But it would! Dear lord, it WOULD!

Oh, NO. I just realize that the bulk of my childhood was spent during the 70’s! Don’t even get me STARTED on homemade polyester bell-bottoms, roller skating rinks, my Donna Summers fixation, tetherball wars, and hula hoops. PLEASE. Just… don’t.

That’s a post for another day, y’all. A post for another day…

More Singing Along with Dr. Horrible

So, if for whatever reason– illness, family emergency, personal crisis– you haven’t yet managed to see Joss Whedon’s Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog, a three-act internet musical starring the super awesome Neil Patrick Harris as a blogging, low-rent super villain named Dr. Horrible, who longs to gain entrance into the Evil League of Evil and talk to the pretty girl at the laundromat, feel free to take a look-see at the sneak preview:

Teaser from Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog on Vimeo.

Okay, so I have now seen all three Acts, and DUDE. I have Thoughts. Of course, my thoughts would be considered spoilers to any and all Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog virgins, so be warned. DO. NOT. CLICK. Unless you want to be spoiled. For real. Clicking equals No-No. Unless you’ve seen the whole thing, in which case, come on doooooown! (In other words, click on the “read more” hyperlink below… if you dare. Mwah ha ha.)

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Singing Along with Dr. Horrible

Okay, I fully admit I had NO IDEA that Joss Whedon had gone live with his latest project (bad Joss Whedon fan! BAD!), Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog, a three-episode internet musical starring the super awesome Neil Patrick Harris as a blogging, low-rent super villain named Dr. Horrible, who longs to gain entrance into the Evil League of Evil and talk to the pretty girl at the laundromat. Seriously. No clue.

But he did.

And I had NO IDEA that if I decided to watch said super villain internet musical while, say, riding the Metro into work this morning, there would be the possibility that I might, perhaps, nearly bust a gut laughing and freak out the very nice-seeming gentleman in the army uniform sitting next to me, who might then, maybe, swiftly move across the car from me and stealthily watch me for signs of The Crazy, fully intent on taking me DOWN if need be.

But I did.

But, c’mon. By the time Captain Hammer (played by the super awesome Nathan Fillion) jumped atop the wonderflonium-filled courier van that had been hijacked by Dr. Horrible’s Horrible Van Remote application on his iPhone, I was gone. I mean, a blogging, singing super villain?! With an iPhone?! Loaded with applications of super villain evil?! How genius is that?!

Hey. You know who’s an evil genius? Joss Whedon, that’s who! Honestly. What I wouldn’t give to work with that man!

Well, probably not my first born. Or my soul. Or, you know, anything remotely dear to me. But still! I would so love to hang with the man for a day. Pick his brain. Learn his process. See how he does it. Check for signs of soul-sellage, what with his evil genius and all. Maybe take him out for a beverage of some sort. You know, geeky stuff.

Enough with the sharing. If you’ll excuse me, I’m off to watch Act I, Episode I again while, perhaps, this time singing along. Because it’s Dr. Horrible’s SING-ALONG Blog, that’s why! Sheesh. Keep up.

As you were.

I’m Shameless When It Comes to Plugging You…

Okay… well, that was supposed to be a play on the lyrics of Billy Joel’s “Shameless” (or Garth Brooks’, whatev, pick your poison, I don’t judge), but I realize now that it just sounds dirty.

Eh.

So I made this wicked awesome header logo for my Chassy Studios website (to match, but not totally match, DWM and TechnoGeekery) and I want to brag and whatnot, not to mention plug my services (dude, again with the dirty), even though I am actually too busy right now to take on any new clients, which is completely beside the point, clearly, but I thought I’d mention it, so step OFF me! GOSH.

What?

Ah, yes! The header logo! Shameless plug! Because of the wicked awesomeness!

Check it:

 

Eh? Eh?! With the Chassy Car and the Chassy Town and the Chassy Tree and Chassy Buildings and e’rything?!  Right?!

Wicked awesome. I’m just saying.

So… there you have it.

Oh, I’m shameless. I just wanted you to know.
Oh, I’m down on my knees… shameless.

Hmmm… there’s a joke in there somewhere. I just KNOW it.

*UPDATED I’m Thinking!

There are thoughts being thunk. I promise! But I’m in a funk. Not to mention the fact there are, unfortunately, not enough hours in my day to plunk out said thoughts being thunk…

Aaaaaand now I’ve gone all Theodor Seuss Geisel on your ass– er, bootays. How incredibly lame.

I need a vacation.

That being said, I have a story. It’s a good one. It involves six impatiently eager children, six gaily wrapped presents, one tinsel-covered Christmas tree, and a dream. Oh, and Uncle Ron. We can’t forget him. This story spans years and years and has recently come to a rather interesting conclusion. Or beginning. I don’t know…

When I gather the thoughts I’ve thunk, the keys I will plunk.

Oh, dear lord. I’m LAAAAAAAAAME.

Until I get my blog on, feel free to click over to TechnoGeekery for my latest shows:

TechnoGeekery Show #29: What the Widget?!

*TechnoGeekery Show #30: Send Videos…One Click!

Seriously. What the widget?! Did anyone ELSE know a person with Safari and Leopard could DO this?! SWEET.

* Plus, to prove people watch, I need your videos now! Send whatever you want, except porn ain’t allowed! (Hey, that sounds like a song…)

Videos Before Ho’s

“Hey, Momma, since you’ve never seen it, we should go see ‘Horton Hears a Ho’ tonight!”

*snorts of laughter*

“What did I say?”

………………………………………………..

And speaking of ho’s, Chassy Pimp makes an appearance on the latest episode of TechnoGeekery. And she RAPS, yo? Right?! I’m sayin’. Sweet.

TechnoGeekery Show #16 (actual #26): Blog Books and Blurb Raps

Please note that the latest episode of TechnoGeekery is also available in the DWM sidebar. Right over there –>. And by clicking on the “Toggle Full Screen” icon in the lower right-hand corner of the sidebar’s Podango player, you can watch the video–wait for it… wait for it– full screen! Just so’s ya know.

Yes, I said “Man Boobs.” What of it?

Guess what?!

Okay, a raise of hands: How many of you just reflexively shouted out “chicken butt!” (or at least thought it enthusiastically)? Don’t lie! I don’t judge.

But we were guessing, right? After indulging in a moment of juvenile humor, of course. Seriously, stop denying it.

I’ve been MIA for a bit of time– just a teensy bit!– because I finally “officially” launched my little side bidness I mentioned, oh, say, about a year ago? Give or take? Yup. Check me out! I am ALL about the website design and maintenance! Yessirree, Bob!

CHECK. ME. OUT.

I’ve already got some clients (hoo! I said “clients”! in a sentence in which it refers to people who will pay me money! MONEY! exchanging HANDS!), so I’ve been a little busy getting my bearings and whatnot, but I am determined– I’m making my determined face right now– determined, I say! to get back to blogging the snark on a regular basis.

Plus, we have TV again, so download Skype and give me a holler if you want to shoot the snarky breeze with Chassy Cat and friends for the TV recap podcast I am STRONGLY considering calling Boob Tube REWIND. Just so you know. I’m not sure if boobs will be a prerequisite for chatting, but if we swing that way, perhaps man boobs will be sufficient.

And I just said “boobs” way too many times for one whole post that is not in any way related to the loverly Kat McPhee.

Chassy Cat, OUT.

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.

Nathan Bransford’s Surprisingly Essential First Page Challenge

Oh, Bente… Have I told you lately that I love you? Hmm?

So, yeah. Yesterday I got an email from an Aussie/Canadian friend o’ mine, Bente, regarding a literary agent dude by the name of Bransford. Nathan Bransford. Apparently, said literary agent dude opened a contest looking for up-to-500-word submissions of a person’s manuscript’s first page. Right?! RIGHT?! Dude, I’m SAYING. I mean, limiting myself to 500 words? HARD.

However, hundreds and hundreds of aspiring writers had already bombarded the blog by the time I heard about this contest, so it is fortunate that said literary agent dude had the prescience to solicit the assistance of a co-judge– a non-publishing-industry type by the name of Holly Burns (author of the Nothing But Bonfires blog)– who, incidentally, has a British accent, but not like Gwyneth’s or Madonna’s or Britney’s, but a REAL British accent, having been born English and whatnot.

Wait. What?

Oh! Contest! Shut up. I’m totally focused.

So, without much more than a cursory glimpse at Bransford’s– Nathan Bransford’s– website, I proclaimed him legit, threw caution to the wind, took my chances, threw myself in headfirst, pinned my hopes on a cloud, took the leap, jumped in with both feet, grabbed the bull by the horns and freaking wrassled that sucker to the GROUND… er, okay, I’m out.

I submitted an entry.

Yay! *sarcastic jazz hands*

What can I tell you? I’m a crazy person. Ask anyone. They’ll tell you. CRAZY. PERSON.

And now? NOW? Well, I’m all aquiver with anxiety and self-doubt.

So thanks for that, Bente. No, really.

(No, really.)

Take a peek at my 498-word-entry (and feel free to critique) after the cut:
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