Room 1100: Where In The World Is...Me?

It's amazing all the things you can find in this world to waste your time. Some much more justifiable than others but diversions and avoidances nonetheless. I haven't updated this blog in over a month. Nothing happened at all worth mentioning? I'm sure something did happen. Political crap, celebrity deaths, new PBS specials. But I couldn't be bothered. I was too busy doing geography quizzes on Sporcle. Sporcle is the devil in website form. It's not overtly evil but you start one timed quiz and then another and then you're ninety. And you look back and think, "What is my legacy?" And it turns out it is the knowledge of East Timor's capital. (It's Dili!) There's all types of quiz categories but I'm currently obsessed with geography ones. Particularly, naming the countries of the world. I can spell Kyrgyzstan. And I didn't look it up either. Yeah, I know the former countries that used to make up Yugoslavia. But I don't want to brag. I do, however, think that one of my Time Machine wishes now would be to go back and compete on the kiddie game show Where In the World Is Carmen Sandiego? (I know, kill Hitler first. But if I also had time for something frivolous...) Remember the theme song by Rockapella? I'll give you a hint: it goes "Where In the World is Carmen Sandiego?" You may know it better as "Where In the World is Matt Lauer?" Yep, they adapted it for the special segment on the Today show where Matt Lauer travels around the world while the other three try to guess where he's going and try to guess what gifts he's bringing back for them. (Side note: they changed the Matt Lauer theme a while back and then this year scrapped the segment all together. Too expensive? Maybe. Meredith, Ann and Al complained? Let's start that rumor!) (Side note of Side note: How come Ann Curry gets all the dangerous locations when they send the four of them out? The Antarctic where she's freezing? Kilimanjaro where she gets altitude sickness? I bet Lauer's behind it. Let's start that rumor!)

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! Really? Where was I? OK. Merry Christmas, everyone!

Room 1100: Located next to International House of Pancakes. Check-in in 8 minutes or less.

Room 333: I've Started This Thrice

My topics were "Wasps", "Retinol" and an untitled about how Jesus himself would have to come back to Earth to get me to go see New Moon. I scrapped all of them. Why? The wasp at lunch was annoying/funny/terrifying but not sure if the little guy warranted an entry. Not enough drama. No one was allergic and no one got stung. I cannot regale you with tales of epi-pens.

I also decided against going into detail about how Retinol is wreaking havoc on my face. I went to the dermatologist as a referral for a mole and left with Retinol samples and a $50 off coupon in case my insurance doesn't cover the full prescription. Also, got a crazy price list of cosmetic procedures that are definitely not covered. Again, not enough drama. The mole I had forever and was not the least bit worried about it. If it was going to cause trouble, it would have done so a long time ago. Unless, of course, my mole is as lazy as I am.

New Moon. Enough said. The only drama here is the insane rant that bubbles up in my throat at the mere mention of it.

Amenities of Room 333: Three complimentary meals. Three towel sets. Third Floor Suite.

Room 354: Where Did This Month Go?

Good question. I was here, I think. I did go on vacation for a week. But Halloween is this Saturday. What happened?

Oh, here's the Grand Canyon:

This was taken from the Rim Trail. (Sounds naughty, doesn't it?)

November, take your time, please.

Amenities of Room 354: Digital clock that is five minutes fast. Majestic landscape oil painting. No wake up call service.

Room 1017: Twilight

I caved. My brother netflixed it. So technically I didn't cave; he did. I merely, out of sisterly love and duty, watched it with him and a friend so that they wouldn't have to endure it alone. That's what I tell myself so I can sleep at night. Would you like my one line review? "I am offended." Now I'm not a hardcore feminist. But there are things that don't sit well with me (I believe I've mentioned ad agency sanctioned stereotypes in cereal and jewelry commercials).

Twilight was way hyped to me (I'm looking at you, Entertainment Weekly!). I do admit to not disregarding some of the sources: i.e. nineteen-year-old interns at work. "Is it better than Harry Potter?" "Oh yes!" Even some of the twenty-five-year-olds I know loved it (yes, I know but I was hoping those few years since their teens made a difference in taste). Now before I go on my Twilight rant, I have to admit that I have not read the books. But a twenty-four-year-old intern did admit that they weren't that well written but had a great page-turning story. So the movie should be interesting, right? Perhaps, it should have tapped into the thirteen-year-old that still lingers inside me, right? I think even in eighth grade, I would have been outraged. Speaking strictly on the movie alone, here is why:

1. Mopey, passive, reactive heroine. Sorry, did I say "heroine"? I meant female character that we assume is the heroine except for the fact that she's uninteresting, borders on bitchy, is kind of cold to her new friends, and falls for a guy who is a dick to her at first and then a creepy stalker next. What a fun two plus hours watching someone I don't care about do nothing but pout and wait to be protected by...

2. Creepy stalker love interest. He acts like he's going to puke when he meets her and is rude to her. But, hey, that's intriguing! He then follows her, watches her while she sleeps, and then tells her she's his personal brand of heroin and he wanted to kill her. But he's a vampire so that makes it OK apparently. You know, he's the undead so it's not creepy, it's romantic!

3. Their oh-so-healthy relationship. She suddenly stops hanging with her friends when she and stalker boy start dating. She's OK with him being a vampire. She loves him instantly. And she begs him to make her a vampire at the end. I guess so that she, too, can sparkle like diamonds in the sun. Yep.

(Story aside, the movie drags. Enough of Bella and Edward in trees.)

And now I can't believe I'm going to type this but...is this the message to send to teen girls? I'm all for anything that gets people reading but come on, man. Weak heroines, just reacting and waiting? Behavior that most rational people would call the cops on but here it is to be considered passionate and sexy?

I haven't even mentioned the supposed abstinence/Mormon overtones. Do yourself a favor and rent the Buffy the Vampire Slayer series.

Amenities of Room 1017: Forest view. Morose cleaning staff. 24 Hour Surveillance.

Room 933: Labor Day

Three Day Weekend, kids! I know I should be contemplating whatever it was that prompted this holiday but instead I'm savoring three days of not being at work. Like the rest of the country. Now what does that mean? Does it mean we Americans are overworked and are desperate for time off? Possibly. Or perhaps it's because we as a nation are selfish and lazy and don't want to do anything? Both are probably true. So for your enjoyment, and also so you don't have to do this yourself, I will paraphrase Wikipedia's entry on Labor Day. Excuse me for a moment while I open another window...

Highlights: It originated in Canada! Some American labor dude witnessed a labor festival in Toronto and totally stole the idea! Grover Cleveland rushed the Labor Day holiday law through to make nice after some US military and government dudes killed some people during a strike! The holiday was to honor "the strength and esprit de corps of the trade and labor organizations", followed by food!

And now, in the words of Wikipedia, "Labor Day is celebrated by most Americans as the symbolic end of the summer." It then goes on to unsexily list the forms of celebrations that can occur on Labor Day including water sports and public art events. Yowsa!

So, capitalists, I hope you enjoyed the day off that was inspired by the country with government funded health care, eh.

Amenities of Room 933: Special rates on rooms in the North Wing. Butler service. Bible re-written in short, modern slang.

Room 493: ANTS!

I killed about a thousand ants in my kitchen this evening. And that is not an exaggeration. They came in through the wall, found the dog dish and swarmed. I consider myself to be someone who loves all living creatures but these ants don't pay rent here and I consider this to be a home invasion. You know, so it was self-defense.

Amenities of Room 493: Complimentary window cleaner. Special rate for Anger Management Workshop.

Room 740: Netflix

Once again, late to the party. Couldn't justify Netflix before. Had cable. But I've recently downgraded to good ole fashioned antenna and need to supplement the twelve PBS stations I have (Don't get me wrong. As you know, I love the shit out of my PBSes but they tend to have the same shows on them. And I don't really need to see the same Masterpiece Mystery Miss Marple movie twice. I know who did it).

So I signed up for the $4.95 a month plan on Netflix. And hell yeah! Two week free trial before I'm charged. Now the $4.95 plan is one DVD at a time, 2 max a month. I own and have borrowed a few DVDs that I have yet to watch. Ergo, basic plan. You know, supplement the library I already have. Logical, right? Watch one Netflix, watch one borrowed, watch one of mine, then watch the other Netflix for the month and get nothing done. Well, the two week trial ended yesterday and I've already upgraded to the $8.95 plan (one at a time, unlimited a month...unlimited!). What happened to my brilliant, logical plan? One word: Torchwood. It was a two DVD set. The first DVD wasn't available right away so I got something else (The Extras Christmas Special...I now have closure). I sent it back and TWO days later my next selection arrived: the first disc of Torchwood, Children of Earth. Yes, I watched it immediately. So now, with the $4.95-er, I would have to wait another week and a half to see Ianto die (Damned if that Entertainment Weekly didn't spoil that. I guess it didn't care because it wasn't Twilight. And dear EW, would you be so kind as to lay off the Twilight covers. I haven't read the books or seen the movie. And I'm getting that rebellious feeling that I get when everyone tells me how great something is and how I should see it and so I say a silent "F-You" and refuse to see it and I feel all cool and non-conformist when really no one cares that I don't see it. So because of that I'll probably Netflix that bitch). Back to Ianto dying. I didn't wait the week and a half because, as I spoiled above, I upgraded to $8.95 before I ever had to pay $4.95.

I also have about 70 DVDs already lined up in my queue.

Amenities of Room 740: No Cable. Complimentary paperback of Twilight, unread. Free upgrade, two weeks only.

Room 974: Random Poetry

I don't visit the realm of poetry much but I came across these pieces in my journal. Am I ready for a Slam?

Laundromat Haiku

Guy:
A Quarter Needed:
Underwear and Two Socks
Are Within My Grasp

Girl:
A Quarter Given:
Now Wash Those Boxer Briefs
To a Wint'ry White


The Ciao! Limerick

There once was a man from Torino
Who lived in a topless casino
He threw the die
Smack in the eye
He hit a woman with a Pinot

Midnight Cow

At the strike of twelve
She Grazes
Cud chompin'
Hoof shufflin'
Faint Cowbell


Full disclosure: This is what comes out when I sit down to write real stuff. Clarification: This is what came out before the advent of Facebook quizzes.

Amenities of Room 974: Iambic Pentameter TV Guide. Laundry service.

Room 622: Online Sudoku

I rarely opted for Sudoku in the past (Side note: somehow I want to pronounce soo-doo-koe and not soo-doe-koo. I'm sorry, I forgot to ask you if you cared). Mainly when at my mechanics when the local paper was the only viable reading option besides car magazines and Better Homes and Gardens (you know, for us gals!). I would do the crossword puzzle and then tackle the Sudoku. Mostly in an effort to appear engrossed in something as to avoid going out to lunch with the owner. Very nice man who pays for lunch (it's the least he can do since I shell out quite a bit of money to his establishment) although one time he did start massaging my shoulders and that was a wee bit creepy (not during lunch because it would be hard to chew with that going on but rather when I was waiting to get my car keys and flee). I was OK with the free lunch (obviously! Free. Lunch.) and the French song CD he burned for me (I know! A mix tape! I chalked it up to the holidays) but the rubbing of the shoulders? I've worked in many theatres and I'm not easily sexually-harassed but yeah: Weird.

Anyway, Sudoku. I also would do them on airplanes. I would get quite pissed if the ones in the in flight magazine in my seat back pocket were already done. But I would delight if just the "Easy" one was done. And in pencil. Amateurs! But as of late, I've found myself obsessed with online sudoku. Maybe it's because I know I'm being bad! Our IS department at work blocked some sites mostly ones with the word "games" anywhere on the page (killjoys). But the not-blocked realage.com has a section on Keeping Your Brain Sharp. Lo and behold, it contains online crossword puzzles and not one but TWO different versions of Sudoku. And one of the versions has four different levels of difficulty each day while the other increases in difficulty as the week goes (kind of like the New York Times crossword with Sunday being the hardest). Are you salivating? I am!

So now I have the daily ritual of doing online sudoku. In the comfort of my massage-free office.

Amenities of Room 622: Mandatory Spa Services. Complimentary lunch with staff. Word Find Emergency Instructions.

Room 398: Good Belly

Yet another product designed to make me feel good about my food choices (like the vegetable chips). And it's organic! Just pull the cap off and suck face with the Good Belly plastic cup:



And try not to think about the image of fruit juice oozing out of eyeballs.

Amenities of Room 398: Workout Room. Open Face Sandwiches for lunch.

Room 588: Warner Brothers Poster Issue #1

My neighborhood movie studio is Warner Brothers. My dog and I walk by a few of their buildings everyday. So when a new poster goes up, I go “Oh” and Mallory pees for the sixth time. Well one night, I turned the corner and was slapped in the face with the Orphan poster AKA New Creepy Child Movie. “There’s Something Wrong With Esther” is the tagline. Yeah, there’s something wrong: Esther immediately reminded me of the Shining Twins (I still wince at those bitches but they did inspire the name of this blog so it’s Love-Hate). The Big Head of Esther stares at you blankly while you pick up dog droppings. She even has the gall to reflect herself in the windows of apartment buildings just to make sure our walks are nice and uneasy. I’m happy to report, though, that I’m getting used to her and even imagine that she is the Poor Relations of the Grady Twins. Like they laugh at Esther and her singleness. Not that they can laugh since they only have the one emotion: creepy.

Amenities of Room 588: Pet friendly room. Mirrored closet doors. Special End of the Hallway Suite.

Room 589: Warner Brothers Poster Issue #2

The Time Traveler’s Wife poster went up. The movie comes out in August. I now only have until August to read the book.

Amenities of Room 589: No Bible. 24 Hour Ten Commandments Channel.

Room 590: Warner Brothers Poster Issue #3

Warner Brothers Executives are probably thanking the Harry Potter series in their Now-I-Lay-Me-Down-to-Sleeps every night. Well, Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince opens this month. How do I know? Besides seeing the trailer on every channel and being a wee bit of a Potter nerd, Warner Brothers decided to help remind me by displaying a massive three storey poster at the intersection that I drive through everyday. Hermione and Ron are standing to the side with their Intense Look. Dumbledore is all wind-swept and leaning back like he was caught off guard. He has a “Whoa” look on his face. And Harry is pointing his wand at me, looking like he forgot something. (Side note: there is also a seven storey or so poster in Hollywood of the villains. The other night my friend and I drove by it and there was only one light on in the building: in Snape’s nostril. He has magical nares.) As I said before I am a Potter nerd in the light, recreational sense in that I’ve read the books (some maybe twice…or more) and I’ve seen the movies and have said “I can’t believe they cut out [insert subplot here]”. So I was excited to see the poster holding court over my hood.

On a related topic, today the same friend asked me out of nowhere if I was related to Daniel Radcliffe (AKA Harry Potter for those of you younger than a week old). Because of my affliction known as Say the First Smart Ass Thing That Comes To Your Mind, I said “Yes, we’re related. Ancestrally. Back around the time of William the Conqueror.” Which actually is not that smart-assy. It’s kind of true. My family were once Radcliffes. Apparently, when we came to America from England, we decided to drop some letters and change it up. You know, like the new girl at school who decides that now she can be who ever she wants to be and no one will know that she used to be on the math team! So it may be sad for Daniel to hear that we could never date because we have too many letters in common in our last names and our ancestors were cousins or something. It’s kind of like incest, isn’t? Or perhaps “Ancest”. (On my mother’s side is the Key family. Sorry, Francis Scott.)

Feel sad for me, too. I totally called it that Radcliffe would be cute when he got older. (I’m pretty sure I said this when the third movie came out. My brother insists I said it when the first one arrived at theatres. I answered this with five words: Natalie Portman In The Professional. OK? Don’t throw stones.) No need to be grossed out. I was just pointing out a fact. (Yes, it’s a double standard that women can recognize potential while men get an FBI file.) Need proof of Radcliffe’s potential? See Equus publicity photos. I saw them on the internet with an expression of intrigue and horror (“I can’t look away! But I should! And there’s a horse!”) OK, I’ll be honest: there was a moment when I thought jail was in my future. He wasn’t eighteen yet in those pics. And although apparently the legal age is sixteen in Britain, I’m American and so is my vagina and I must abide by eighteen.

Good night, Warner Brothers. Tease.

Amenities of Room 590: Family rate. Complimentary copy of Cougar Feed.

Room 1005: Rick Steves

Keep on Traveling...

That's Rick's catch phrase that he says at the end of most of his PBS travel shows. (I know, more PBS. I'm obsessed and a wee bit shamed because there was another Pledge Drive this weekend and I once again did not donate. And the PBS Lady called me out on it. She said something like "If you are one of the nine out of ten regular PBS viewers who do not donate, well now's the time!" It kind of pissed me off and ignited a sliver of rebellion in me. Hence, no donation.) Rick, if I can be so familiar and call him Rick, has had a European PBS travel show for as long as I can remember which means within the last decade. He also writes a hell of a lot of guidebooks. His Europe Through the Backdoor (snicker) is all about budget traveling, packing light, money belts, and shoulder seasons. Don't know what "shoulder season" means? Go read Rick! His city and/or country specific books are great for museum tours. (My friend Krista and I were perplexed by the lack of guides/maps in Italian museums. Insert Shout Out for Rick here. On the subject of Krista, Rick and Italy: Rick's newest disciple, Krista, decided to read to me from the Rick Steves Italy book every night of our trip. She also read aloud the Rick Steves Venice canal tour description while we were actually on the Venice canal tour. Nothing says tourist like cold reading a Rick Steves book. I'm sorry I meant nothing says American tourist. Because we were not the only ones with a Rick Steves book. In fact, it was like a secret handshake. But replace "secret" with "obvious" and "handshake" with "blue Rick Steves book".)

Rick has a new book out now called Travel As a Political Act. I have it. Signed. By Rick.

Explanation due, I know. I get an email from Krista (surprised?) that says that Rick is speaking on the 17th and do I want to go? Hell yes, I do. Contrary to what you may have gleaned from above, I'll admit to being a minor Rick fangirl (not in a he's so dreamy way because no. More than one person I know has likened him to the SNL character, Lyle the Effeminate Heterosexual. I like him because he loves traveling and teaching people about other cultures. That's the dreamy part). I've seen almost all of his shows and have been known to tape an ep or two. I have Europe Through the Back Door. And I pack light. So yes, I very willingly went. And was really inspired. Rick had a slide show of pictures he's taken over the years and tells stories about the things he's learned about other cultures and how that has shaped his perception of the world and America's place in it. He alluded to his political leanings (as in referring to the "last 8 years" a lot but not uttering the name Bush) as well as revealing his membership in NORML which is a group that promotes legalizing marijuana and responsible non-criminal drug policies. Rick, you old hippie!

Rick even had a mini Q&A session where an Iranian guy asked him why his Iran shows didn't show the whole story and if he was asked to do a show on Germany during Hitler's reign would it have been different. It was an "oooooooooooo" moment. Rick responded in a mildy testy, defensive way that he is a travel host and not a journalist. Yep, I almost witnessed Rick Steves lose his shit! But he recovered nicely and was friendly. And even took a picture with the guy. Did I mention Rick also posed for pictures? No comment.

Amenities of Room 1005: Room with a back door. Drawer space only fits contents of one carry-on. The Holy Bible, Rick Steves Version.

Room 896: Writer's Block

Instead of writing I've been watching more PBS pledge specials (Excuses Begone! with Dr. Wayne Dyer. I took a shitload of notes and briefly considered typing them up. Maybe just the affirmations. Or maybe I'll come up with some excuse not to.), listening to my iPod obsessively (I've been having brief bouts of insomnia, most likely stress-induced. So I've been listening to music at bed time. But what I want to listen to is Punk and that's not very serene. Needless to say I then had Antsy-ness on top of my Insomnia. And the next morning I had lovely pronounced dark circles under my eyes...you know, like when you take NyQuil.), and taking a lot of random/useless Facebook quizzes. Ah yes, the Facebook quiz. Here are some of my results:

Disney Quotes? Obsessed (I totally guessed on most of this...don't judge me!)
Jane Austen Character? Anne Elliott from Persuasion
Past Life Career? Jester
Past Life Person? Marilyn Monroe (So I was a Sexy Jester!)
Disneyland Ride? Roger Rabbit's Car Toon Spin (You know, the ride where you pull muscles in your shoulders?)
Type of Artist? Eccentric Artist
True Theatre Calling? Triple Threat (My acting is not as threatening as the singing and dancing...)
Black Books Character? Bernard (I'm a grumpy drunk Irishman)
Kind of Hipster? Supreme Being (what does that mean? I don't know but there's a pic of John Lennon so I'll take it.)
Bowie Identity? Folk/Hippie Bowie (and I would have been proud of any Bowie Identity because Bowie.)
Patronus? A Dog
Hogwarts House? Ravenclaw (Where are my fellow Ravies at?)
True Age? 18 (I'm legal!)
Soul Age? Very Old (Wait. What?)
Kind of Soul? A Raven (Where are my fellow Ravies at?)
Shakespeare Character? Viola from Twelfth Night (minus the drag)
Musical Theatre Leading Lady? Mrs. Lovett from Sweeney Todd (aka the Meat Pie Lady)
Muppet? Kermit the Frog
Greek God? Apollo (Reminds me of a high school drama skit where I said "Apollo is like a total babe.")
Political Idealogy? Very Liberal (no surprise there)
Dog? Doberman (kind of butch but whatever.)
Joss Whedon character? Faith (this was surprising and yet kick-ass!)
Writer? Jack Kerouac
Disney Princess? Cinderella (Doesn't quite fit with Jack Kerouac, does it?)
Punk Rock star? Patti Smith (Hell Yeah!)
Where should I be living? Seattle
Secret Inner Nationality? German (I would have bet money that I was Inner British. What with all the Monty Python in my formative years and my mad love for Liverpool Football Club. And of course, my obsessive watching of BBC America. Hotel Inspector? Sure! I'll watch...with a stein of beer.)

I still don't feel completely self-actualized yet. Perhaps I can find a How Many More Years Will You Be Single Because You Don't Turn Off Your Computer? quiz...

Amenities of Room 896: I got nothing.

Room 555: Sex Pistols Babies

This popped into my head in the shower this morning. It's a theatre piece that I wrote a few years ago that was inspired by the Sex Pistols Wikipedia page and the Muppet Babies cartoon.

Sex Pistols Babies

Lights up on three men dressed as toddlers (training pants and all). Each are in possession of a toy musical instrument: Paul Cook has a drum, Steve Jones has a microphone and Wally Nightingale has a guitar. They are “jamming” to an old Rod Stewart tune. There is sign above their heads that reads: The Strand day care at the Let It Rock school.

A disembodied voice is heard…

Malcolm (v.o.): Hello, lads, welcome to “The Strand” day care. My name is Nanny McLaren. What’s yours?

Paul: Paul

Steve: Piss off.

Paul snickers.

Malcolm (v.o.): Steven.

Wally: And I’m—

Malcolm (v.o.): That’s nice.

Sign now reads The Swankers day care at the Let It Rock School.

Del Noone enters with a toy bass and sits down.

Steve: Who the hell are you?

Glen Matlock enters and takes the bass from Del and Del exits.

Wally Nightingale gives his guitar to Steve Jones and he exits.

Malcolm (v.o.): We have a new student. Johnny, come in…

Johnny Rotten enters wearing an “I Hate Pink Floyd” shirt and a big safety pin in his diapers. He grabs the mic from Steve and screams into it. Steve, Glen and Paul nod in agreement.

Malcolm (v.o.): You are going to be the next Bay City Rollers.

Sign changes to Sex Pistols day care at the EMI School.

Jam session of Anarchy in the UK.

Glen: Fuck.

Johnny: Shit!

Steve: Fucking rotters.

Giggles. Sign changes to Sex Pistols day care at (blank).

Jam session of God Save the Queen.

Johnny takes bass from Glen and pushes him. Glen leaves.

Sid Vicious enters. Johnny hands him the bass. They continue their jam. All look at Sid banging on the bass. Johnny shrugs. Continue the jam.

Nancy Spungen enters in a Communion-esque dress and sits by Sid.

Nancy: Sid!

She hands him some Pixie Sticks.

Nancy: Sid!

Sid eats the candy.

Sign changes to Sex Pistols day care at the A&M School.

Nancy hands Sid more candy. He eats them. Sid can barely play his bass. The others continue to play.

Sign changes to Sex Pistols day care at the Virgin school.

Nancy: Sid!

Johnny: Bollocks.

Paul: What?

Johnny: Never mind.

Jam becomes more intense. It then disintegrates into fighting.

Sign disappears. Silence.

Malcolm (v.o.): Steve. Paul. Come with me.

Steve and Paul exit. Nancy coaxes Sid off with more Pixie Sticks.

Nancy: Siiiiiiiiiiiddd.

Sid and Nancy exit.

Johnny is left alone.

Johnny: Ever get the feeling you’ve been cheated?


Lights out.

Amenities of Room 555: Play area for the kids. Inscrutable Emergency instructions.

Room 867: Morning Pages

Today was the first day of my The Artist's Way Morning Pages. I'm capitalizing Morning Pages because they are supposed to be so damn important. (Side note: did you hear that cynicism creep in? It's a constant competition between my new agey, spiritual side and my perpetually rolling eyes.) Anyway, I started the Morning Pages today and even though Julia Cameron tells me not to reread them, I thought I would reprint some of my gems from 8:15am this morning:

"Hands hurting. Need to use the bathroom. My mouth tastes nasty."
"Wonder if it's cheating to do Morning Pages after potty time."
"I love ellipses."
"Foot's falling asleep. At least my eyeballs are awake...kind of."
"Sorry, Universe, Morning Pages had to come with me to the toilet."

I fear a common theme will thread itself through each day if I don't give myself the permission to make the Morning Pages second on my daily To Do list.

Amenities of Room 867: En suite bathroom. Stream of consciousness TV Guide.

Room 1022: Random Earth Day Thoughts That Have Nothing To Do With The Earth

The current list of podcasts that I subscribe to:
This American Life – Ira Glass and his weirdly sexy Chicago staccato voice.
Real Time with Bill Maher – Salman Rushdie and Mos Def. And that’s just one episode!
Dr. Andrew Weill – New Age Holistic Santa Claus with a medical degree.
Rick Steves – A hero to all travel nerds. What would Rick do?
Coffee Break French – 15 minute French language tutorials taught by a Scotsman.

I hate the Multi Grain Cheerios cereal commercial: “What else does the box say?” “The box says shut up, Steve.” Yes, Cheerios. All women like to make men feel stupid. (But my all time most hated ugly-acting-woman commercial? The diamond ad: Woman tells man to shhhh after he yells “I love this woman!” But then he gives her a ring. Then she hugs him and whispers “I love this man.” Yes, ad, women only love men when they give us diamonds.)

I love nature movies but I always watch them with a sense of dread. See a beautiful gazelle lapping up steam water? Don’t get used to it. Hello, Leopard!

CG Chester Cheetah is kind of smarmy.

Oh, and please recycle!

Amenities of Room 1022: Menu with today’s special of fresh meat, cheese puffs and cereal. Human interest hotel directory. No HBO.

Room 647: Paranormal State

I love ghost stories but not enough to actually witness anything. You hear me, ghosts! I have read all about Resurrection Mary, the Bell Witch and the Brown Lady. I’ve even lived in a haunted house. Or so I’ve been told. I didn’t witness anything. (However, I would not use the hall that went by the attic door. Ghost related? Maybe. But I think it may have more to do with my friend Amy and I exploring the attic and pretending an axe murderer lived up there. Oh, kids and their childish games!) Really, only the series of community theatre actors that rented rooms in the house “witnessed” things. And by witness, I mean, heard footsteps in the upstairs hallway. One night when I was seventeen, I came home to find all the lights on in every room. I turned them all out and sat down to watch TV. Then Theresa, an actress/tenant, called and said “Mandy, are you home? I couldn’t stay there by myself.” She would also sleep with a knife under her pillow. Not that the knife would do much to a ghost. Or an attic-dwelling axe murderer for that matter. (Side note: Theresa was the first person I ever met who had fake breasts. In fact, she was so proud when she got them that she demanded that I feel them. That was my brief stint with lesbianism.)

And this brings us to Paranormal State on A&E. This is one of the few ghosty investigation shows (like the aptly named Ghost Hunters!). PS is centered around a guy named Ryan who, because of some childhood ghostiness, is obsessed with the paranormal. He formed the Paranormal Research Society at Penn State with some spooky-lovin’ friends. Ryan is earnest. His voice over introduction is so fabulously dramatic: “We are students. We are seekers. And sometimes, we are warriors.” Awesome.

So the PRS goes and interviews people who are having ghosty problems. They often bring in a medium named Chip (!) to give some insight. He’s also dramatic. His assessment usually ends with revealing that someone died there and they are not happy. The team then has “Dead Time” when they and all their electronic toys are monitoring the house. “Dead Time”, according to Ryan’s earnest voice over, is the time when paranormal activity is most prevalent. Say 3am to 4am. Usually the time when I have to get up and go to the bathroom. It’s good to know that I’m not the only one wandering around at that time.

So what happens during “Dead Time”? Well, there’s a lot of infrared camera work and a whole lot of “Oh my God! Did you see that?” (No, we didn’t. You were too busy shaking the camera.) But if you’re lucky, you might hear some demonic voices on a tape recorder or if you’re really lucky, a possession!

The house is then blessed. And then we get a postscript that the family members are now OK and haven’t had another encounter. And then Ryan has a closing earnest voice over where he earnestly unveils what he “learned” from this week’s case. Earnestly.

Boo!

Amenities of Room 647: Attic-less Suite. Special Dead Time wakeup call. Complimentary Room Cleansing.

Room 1303: The F Word

More specifically, Gordon Ramsey’s The F Word. (He means “Food”; wash out your brain!) The F Word is my new obsession. And I should know by now not to watch even one minute of a new BBC America show because I’ll be hooked. (I haven’t done an in depth analysis yet so I don’t know whether it’s the accents or I’m easily entertained.)

So a little background. Very little because I don’t much about Gordon Ramsey except that he’s English, a chef, a former footballer or rugby-er, and he yells at people. And I’m not 100% on the sport thing. Besides The F Word, he has a show called Ramsey’s Kitchen Nightmares that is also addictive. This is where he goes to run down restaurants and kicks everyone in the ass and makes the restaurant fab. There’s always one employee of the restaurant who tells the camera that Ramsey can go fuck himself. That employee either ends up crying or quitting. The criers always thank Gordon at the end. The quitters are just bleeped a lot.

So. The F Word. I never had any desire to watch any Gordon Ramsey show but I caught the credit sequence. It’s Ramsey walking down a brightly lit hip restaurant corridor in a suit which he takes off in slow motion and dons his chef coat. This is all done to the tune: The F Word’s here and the F Word’s there. Laa la lalalala. That’s what did it. I watched the entire hour. I was just thankful it wasn’t a marathon day…

The main story of The F Word is that 50 guests come to his restaurant and he replaces his staff with 4 amateur chefs. They prepare an app, an entrée and a dessert. With each course, Jean Baptiste, the maitre d’, comes back and tells Ramsey and the amateurs how many of the 50 guests are paying for that course. Ideally, they want all 50 to pay up. After the dessert course, they add up the “pays” and that’s their score. And I guess (and I say “guess” because I haven’t been watching from the beginning and I’m watching out of sequence) that the highest “scorers” get supreme bragging rights at the end of the season.

And in between the courses and Ramsey yelling at the amateurs, there’s some fun food stuff: like teaching various East Enders how to cook for friends, feeding his pigs beer to give them a better flavor, testing Cliff Richard’s wine palette, and asking some Brit foodie to guess which animal’s testicles he’s eating.

Need I say more? Laaa la lalalala…

Amenities of Room 1303: Expletive laden hotel directory. Complimentary chef coat. Mini bar filled with Cliff Richard Cabernet.

Room 693: The Four Twitter Agreements

1. Be impeccable with your tweet.
2. Don’t take any tweet personally.
3. Don’t make any assumptions about tweets.
4. Do the best tweet you can.

You were put on Twitter to be happy and have fun.

Amenities of Room 693: Radio tuned to the Mash-up station. The Holy Bible in 140 characters or less.

Room 1274: I Am a Metal Pig

I cannot remember the origins of this but one day at work I asked everyone what their Chinese Astrology animal is. You know, being born in the Year of the Rat, etc. My co-workers would either look at me quizzically or say "I'm an Ox!". Well, it goes even beyond that: apparently, besides the animal, each year has an element as well. Earth, Water, Wood and Metal. Hence, Metal Pig. (Contrary to some Facebookers belief, it does not mean I'm into Megadeth and I'm messy. Oh, yes. The words "Metal" and "Pig" found their way into my Facebook status. I love statuses. Where else can you say you watched a Lakers game with Voldemort?) Now, I won't go into what Metal Pig means (besides being awesome!) but it brings up in me another obsession: books/websites about astrology/personality types. I'm not obsessed in the sense that I take stock in it or live my life by what some random stranger "says" is me, but I do have love for reading my type/animal/sign/archetype and going "huh."

Besides Sagittarian Metal Pig, I'm also a Comfort Seeking Nine with a One Wing ("The Dreamer") and I won't go into my Archetypes because, well, that's personal (Fun Fact! Everyone has twelve archetypes and four that everyone has are The Child, The Victim, The Saboteur and The Prostitute. The whole world is one-twelfth whore!). I'm now looking into what my Star Wars sign is (I'm guessing I'm a Han Solo with a shade of Jawa) and which of my Seven Dwarfs is the most dominant. Right now, it's Sleepy.

Amenities of Room 1274: Constellation mapped ceiling. Extra storage space for all personalities. Comfort bedding for the comfort seeking.

Room 785: Valentine's Day

I guess I'm just now able to talk about it.

I ate movie theatre refreshment stand cheese pizza while wearing 3-D glasses...alone. Then I went to Ross and bought three non-practical bras and a basket for my magazines.

There is so much wrong with those last two sentences. Who goes to Ross for sexy bras? I guess I have a wee bit of a commitment issue if I can't part with more than $6 for a turquoise push-up. I have to confess, though, that I love them. But I am a little disappointed that I didn't search for matching panties. Never underestimate the power of a matching bra and panties. I find that the older I get the more I want to be matchy in my lingerie choices. Now, don't get me wrong: I don't have to be so matchy that the bra & panties match and/or compliment the outer garments. Because that's not sophisticated and sexy; that's obsessive compulsive.

Oh, and I concluded the holiday by hand-washing those bras and hanging them to dry.

Amenities of Room 785: Complimentary white robe that goes with the complimentary white slippers. That does not match the drapes.

Room 989: Planet Hollywood

Yes, they are still around.

I saw one a few months ago when I was in NYC. I don't need to see anymore. You see, I used to work at the PH in Chicago. In fact: I was Planet Hollywood. I was hired as host and then became a host trainer, then a server and then a server trainer and I also worked in the office on Sundays. I wore hideously busy shirts and vests and said "Welcome to Planet Hollywood. Are you here for dinner, drinks or just looking around?" (Side note: that was not the official greeting. I adopted it from my fellow host that I went on two dates with because he didn't want to admit that he was gay even though he was living in a city with an area called Boys Town.) During my two year stint on Wells Street, I served lots of Chicken Crunch (you know, chicken fingers breaded with Captain Crunch cereal. Sounds weird or yummy? It's both!), saw way too many prom dresses, went out drinking after almost every shift, held women back from touching Mel Gibson, served Michael Dorn AKA Lt. Worf from Next Generation, witnessed for the first time someone doing cocaine, made the mistake of being roommates with that someone, saw Charlie Sheen's brother in his underwear... in my home, learned all the lyrics to What a Man by Salt-n-Pepa, witnessed a server spit into a customer's coke, heard the Fugees for the first time, won $90 on the Kentucky Derby, flashed a surveillance camera, had money stolen, had one of my guests vomit daiquiri on the Terminator 2 statue, was named Host of the Quarter, served too many Bulls, Bears, Cubs & White Sox to mention, learned that Scottie Pippen was known as No Tippin' Pippen, and had to answer the phone with the hello "Thank you for calling Planet Hollywood, your answer to all your gift certificate and holiday party needs. This is Mandy. How may I help you?"

Yep. I'm done.

Amenities of Room 989: Unlimited refills of ice. Celebrity Hand Print wall feature. In room entertainment includes All Stallone, All the Time.

Room 630: 10,000 Steps

Yes, I watched Oprah's Best Life Week last week. I love that shit.

For those of you not in the know (i.e. women under 25 and men), Oprah had a thyroid condition which in turn inspired her to have a series of "master classes" on how to live your best life. (She kept saying "Put yourself on your To Do list!" But weirdly, she did not say it on Friday which was the Sex 101 episode. I think she missed an opportunity there.) Monday was an interview with her and also her trainer Bob Greene about how she gained a bunch of weight back (Hello Thyroid!). Tuesday was Dr. Oz. He told me to avoid High Fructose Corn Syrup (way ahead of you!), know your resting heart rate (way behind you!) and sleep. Oh, and walk 10,000 steps a day. So of course, I had to get out the pedometer. Yes, I own one. It was given to me as part of a work conference welcome packet. (Hey, it was better than the weird smelling plastic bottle we got the year before. Can water really be made to be unappetizing? Yes, in that bottle.) I clipped the pedometer to my belt and went about my day. I walked 7443 steps. So I'm guessing that I got about a B on that exam. I'm fine with that. I don't need to march in place at my desk for eight hours. I'm not an overachiever.

Wednesday was all about Spirituality. The panel was some spiritual lady who has an Oprah & Friends show on satellite radio, one of The Secret guys and some priest from Pasadena. He hasn't written a book so I'm not sure how he got on Oprah's radar. Anyway, I tried to really tune into what they were saying but every time they showed The Secret guy, I couldn't help but think he looked like Predator. Kind of hurled my spirituality out the window.

Thursday was Suze Orman. I have to admit that I've seen her show on CNBC. The SNL parody is pretty dead on. She says things like "OK Boyfriend, show me the money!" and "Girlfriend, what do you want to buy?" And people call in to ask her if they can afford to buy things. For instance, maybe some "Girlfriend!" wants a Gucci bag at nine hundred crazy-ass dollars. Suze asks for her numbers and Girlfriend! starts with her take home each month, then her mortgage and then she says "And in credit card debt, I have..." And Suze says "DENIED!" And she will deny you every time if you have one cent credit card debt. But time after time, people try to get her permission and each time they are DENIED! I ask the TV, "Haven't you seen this show?" And seriously, you're an adult. Do you need a shoulder-padded TV host's permission to buy something? If you are severely jonsin' for that Gucci bag, buy it and suffer the consequences. Think for yourself!

Now if you'll excuse me, I must await further life instructions from Oprah...

Amenities of Room 630: Amenities tailored according to Debt to Credit Ratio. Plus a complimentary basket of fiber and omega-3 fatty acids.