I’m wondering whether I should succumb to The Emo Side and register for a LiveJournal account. I don’t expect to ever post anything with it, but at least then I wouldn’t be an anonymous commenter and people I’m close to with LJs can friend me.
But… it would involve having a LiveJournal account, which smacks of joining the ranks of millions of angsty teenagers. I outgrew that phase of my life years ago.
“I opened-up a yogurt, underneath the lid it said, ‘Please try again,’ because they were having a contest that I was unaware of. I thought maybe I opened the yogurt wrong. …Or maybe Yoplait was trying to inspire me… ‘Come on Mitchell, don’t give up! …An inspirational message from your friends at Yoplait. Fruit on the bottom… Hope on top.’”
“I had a stick of Carefree gum, but it didn’t work. I felt pretty good while I was blowing that bubble, but as soon as the gum lost its flavor, I was back to pondering my mortality.”
And now we’re all pondering it too. Thanks for the laughs, Mitch.
Johnnie Cochran has died. Jerry Falwell has been hospitalized with pneumonia.
So if famous people die in threes, and Jerry doesn’t make it, who’s going to complete that trifecta? Michael Jackson?
And will OJ show up at Johnnie’s funeral, declaring the brain tumor’s innocence and vowing to find the real killer?
So this is all I will say about the Carnivale season finale:
They hedged their bets. They resolved the story to the point where they don’t need any more time to wind it up. But they left it open enough that they could keep writing for a while if they get another season. It’s pretty impressive that they walked the line, actually.
I can only compare it to when you’re watching a major Hollywood action movie, and at the end you think, “Oh, they want to make a sequel.” That’s sort of what this is like, only the ending wasn’t as cheesy.
Smart, but now I’m all hoping for a new season. *sigh*
Anyway, Happy Easter, all.
Like Michele, I’m making Easter Bread tonight, only Easter Bread in my family isn’t lemony and fruity, it’s anise-flavored.
The funny thing is, I don’t even like anise. I can only eat Easter Bread on Easter and maybe the day after- it’s good with ham- but after that, I’m not interested in it at all. But I decided to make it this year anyway, and share the extra loaves with my friends…
I’m at the point in my life where I’m constantly having to choose between making the trip home to participate in my family’s holiday traditions, which are comforting and, well, familiar, and trying to establish my own. The smell of the bread dough was nice- it gave me a sense of continuity.
But somehow I missed the part when my mother was making it where it has to rise for 12 hours. So I’ll be getting up at the crack of dawn to punch it down and let it rise again. Happy Easter to me. 
(Update: I added the title because apparently not having one breaks comments. So if you’re itching to say something, have at it.)
You know what really grates on me?
When people express an opinion by starting their sentence with “I feel” rather than “I think.”
You don’t FEEL that Terri Schiavo’s feeding tube ought to be replaced, and you don’t FEEL that the war in Iraq is wrong. You THINK these things. These are opinions, not feelings.
You FEEL sad or angry about Terri Schiavo, or you FEEL sad or angry about what’s happening in Iraq, but in order to have an opinion about something, you must THINK about it. Feelings are the result of opinions and you only make yourself sound like a wishy-washy idiot when you confuse the two.
The season finale of Carnivale, probably the series finale, is on tomorrow night. A while ago I had thought it might be cool to look up the tarot cards used in the opening title sequence, because they seemed to point to clues about the show itself- every costume, every line, every facial expression in that show is deliberate, so it’s likely that the title sequence would have some clues in it, right?
Well, I never got around to it, but the nice folks at HBO have put up their own explanation.
Kevin Kline, in a thick French accent: “I lost all of it. One hand of poker. Hahahaha!”
Meg Ryan: “You lost your birthright, in one hand of poker?”
Kevin Kline: “I am an asshole, what can I tell you?”
From French Kiss.
One of my coworkers is going to be out of town for the next week and a half, but one of her (major, national-brand) clients has several open orders that need to be filled while she’s gone.
I’m apparently the only one who expressed any interest in working on it with her, so guess who gets to work the account for the next week?
Yeah. Your blog-hostess.
In the space of about 30 seconds, my internal monologue was sort of
*excited!*
*panic!*
*excited!*
*panic!*
Someday, I will be confident that I’m good at what I do. Until then, Lisa has promised to be all nice and supportive and stuff.
Dear Blame:
Please offer this shirt in a cute girlie size. I own enough shapeless unisex tees and would like witty ones designed to fit people like myself, who have boobs.
Love,
Tiff