This Week In My Brain

In No Particular Order…things I've been thinking about/obsessing over...

Kit’s Krazy Avant Garde Dress, Or “Now I Know I Have No Fashion Sense.”

If you don’t watch Project Runway, you may skip this. I love this show. I love the frantic pace, the catty comments, and the clothes…some inspired, some that should go directly to the clearance rack or be set on fire. I love Tim Gunn and wish to be his good friend who joins him for dinner. The judges are thoroughly annoying and more so as the years progress…Heidi who thinks everything looks cheap, bored little Nina, and Michael Kors and his aversion to those “insane crotches.” Whatever. My dream three designers to make it to fashion week? Christian, because he is 14 and fierce; Sweatpea, because she really is talented despite her own biker-hippie aesthetic; and Chris because I just love him. Not Ricky and his hooker outfits made through rivers of tears, not Jillian and her tidy, cold soul, and definitely not Rami, who is genuinely mean and knows how to do one thing—drape. He should work at the Home Décor department at Macy’s where he could drape all the live long day…and in New York he could be as mean as cats tethered across a clothesline. M’kay?

But here’s this dress, made by Kit (at left), intended to be “avant garde.” Kit was never a favorite for me, but I really liked this dress. I felt that it certainly fit the assignment criteria (and by leaps and bounds over Rami’s damn draperies) but she still got the ax for it in the end. Her everyday wear counterpart dress was pure dishrag, granted, but the “main” piece was not. I just don’t get it, I guess. Or I’m just too Crabtree and Evelyn to ever understand real fashion.

Curry in a Hurry, Local Time

We secured our visas for India today—I have my passport in hand, now sporting the Official Sticker and Stamp of Authority as required to travel to India. I called the travel agent and booked it all out—I just have to get final word from the vendors and then we can lock the itinerary down.

I can’t lie: I’m nervous. Traveling to a very different country and experiencing a very different culture is one thing…having to do so while evoking a certain level of professionalism and (gulp) authority is quite another. Next comes the shots…and the packing, and the plotting, and the worrying! Huzzah! Nevertheless, I am very excited. And I have Adairdevil, in part, to thank. Nice pep talk, yo. We fly in March!

Warning: Watch Animal Planet Never! If You Want to Live

The new torture is a Pedigree commercial. Want to burst into tears? Go ahead and watch the damn thing. You can also watch the older one to squeeze your wee heart into a little broken nugget of sadness.

Man on Mars, Or “Gimme Something to Believe In…”

God I hate that song. You could really vomit blood if you had to hear that crap back-to-back with “Every Rose Has Its Thorn.” I digress.

You’ve all seen him, right? That little space rover rumba vacuum cleaner thing took a picture of this view (right) and now everyone is trying to make everyone else believe that it is a being…an alien being from Mars.

Okay, I am a Star Nerd. I am way OK with that. I mean, Kaplah, Oo-tee-nee, and live long and prosper, but come ON. First, Mars is so played out…it’s old school sci fi. I’d be willing to accept the existence of fossilized algae on Mars…but a space dude? Second, it looks kind of green. Doctored? Yes. Where’s the originality, people? Little green men on Mars? Ridiculous.

I knew what it was the first moment I saw it: It’s a statue left behind by a race of hyperintelligent space beings for us to find and freak out about. Duh.

Corn Chex Is the Devil’s Kronch

Ack. I haven’t had Corn Chex for many, many years. I’ve looked at it longingly many times, but then I would force myself to grab the multi-wheat-bark chex because it was “healthier.” I don’t know what drove me to break down, finally, but I did. I did it. And it’s magic. Corny magic.

Sea Foam Comes Alive, Eats Australia

Sea Foam

Is Disgusting. I can’t stop thinking about it.

Burnout Paradise Makes You Take Your Turn

One of my favorite video games is the Burnout series of racing / crashing games brought to you by the clever blokes at Criterion. Mad, mad love greets each successive game and this one is no exception. I got to play it for about 20 minutes on Wednesday night (before passing out at 8:30, can you say senior discount?) and it certainly seemed very promising. It will require a lot more memory than I’m used to harnessing, but the gameplay is as rowdy and violent as ever. As a true blue road rager, it does it for me. However, one very, very bad thing: Only one person may play at a time. I can’t even guess how many hours it will take to complete this game. That leaves one very unhappy boyfriend waiting in the wings, pretending he doesn’t care when I know damn well that he does. What the hell, Criterion?

People Die

There’s no mystery in the overwhelming reaction to Heath Ledger’s death. You don’t have to actively seek out information on celebrities anymore…every detail of every minute is everywhere. It makes sense that people feel that they know him.

I thought it was sad news and I would bet that it was an accident, a mixing of too many pharmaceuticals too close together. I didn’t have a particular feeling about him, really, but I always thought he was good at his job. I was kind of bored at the prospect of a new Batman movie, but his approach to the Joker as seen in the brief teasers made me want to see the movie.

It is okay to be affected by a stranger’s death. He was a talented and decent-seeming person who made a positive impression on this world. Some will be more upset than others. All OK and natural and I don’t think that shouldn’t be mocked or shamed. What should be? The inevitable slide into hellbound vapidity as the entertainment media’s vampiric greed finds them sucking the tears off the face of the whole grim affair. So, acknowledgment to a sad loss. And a big fat Suck It You Evil Jackals and Stop Courting Damnation to the entertainment press. Thx!