I admit it....I watch American Idol. It all begins with the oh-too-tempting "These are the losers" shows, and it just balloons from there. American Idol is really just an exercise in cruelty. These poor shmucks are paraded in front of the nation and then bashed by a panel of has-been or never-were judges. We're watching torture!!! Or maybe they're just trying to torture those of us watching at home (did we all see Constantine's rendition of "Kiss from a Rose?").
There also seems to be quite a bit more sexual harrassment occuring this (almost said semester) season. First Simon wanted to be the Latin chick's microphone, and last night Paula got sloppy after the dark man with the glasses did his rendition of "Let's Get it On." Hornballs.
The one Dallasite went home tonight, and I can't say that it was a bad decision to send her packing. Celena Rae (Ray?) sounded strained with every note during her last performance. Bye-bye Celena....even though you look like Martina McBride.
Bo Bice...make me proud, brother!!
**********End of American Idol Post***************
In other news, I went to my daytime book discussion group today (Books Sandwiched In...we bring our lunch). Joe and Hazel (80-year-olds) weren't there, but Sammy (my cousin the retired postman), Nancy (40'ish-never-married-YMCA-morning-worker), and Carol (slightly-stuffy-intelligent-well-traveled-older-local-newspaper-writer) showed up. It seems to be the pattern that I've just finished some oddly titled book whenever I go to "report" at these meetings. Today I discussed The Sex Lives of Cannibals, and I actually coaxed a guffaw out of Carol. I think that's gonna be the highlight of my week. As I recall it was the diapers on the reef that really threw her over the edge. I freakin' love this book. You all have to go get it. It'll be a napkin by the time I mail it to all of you blog readers.
I've been swearing off library books until I whittle down my own stacks, but at Valerie's recommendation I picked up Bet Me, by Jennifer Crusie, today. I don't know what's going on with me and this chick lit/romancey jag. Sooooo very unlike me. I'm slightly terrified by the image of high heels and cherries on the cover of this one (that's just too much!), but I'm trusting you, Val.
Jennifer Weiner is still a goddess. I spent the better part of my evening reading her blog entries from as far back as 2002. I'm determined to work my way through her blog in its entirity 1) because it's educational if you're a wanna-be writer 2) it's fookin' hilarious. Her dog's name is Wendell. What's not to LOVE!! *Note: Dash (our one-eyed weenie dog) got himself buried so thoroughly under a blanket tonight that all you could see was the black tippy tip of his nose. There are pictures coming.
I don't have anything more intelligent than this in me tonight. Sorry my lovelies. Maybe the porn post will come tomorrow (no pun intended). And it appears that I'm bound and determined to push parentheses to the apex of their possibilities. And my collar bones are protruding nicely due to the aforementioned diet/exercise regime. It's all about the small pleasures in life.
On TV: Nothing! I turned the mofo off!
MP3: Bruce Hornsby....That's Just the Way It Is
Reading: The Beauty Myth....didn't make much of a dent today
In my head: gray matter...I assume