Another Studio 60 post

I'm a college graduate, lifelong student. I find the show so far has been a perfect balance between stimulation and escapism. I like intelligent writing, good acting, great characterizations and happy endings, most of the time. Occasionally I don't mind watching something brilliant that bums me out. Most of what I find on TV, especially the so-called "reality shows"- is beyond depressing. It's pretty bad when CNN and MSNBC are more effective as white noise than "The Apprentice" and its ilk. I watch Studio 60, Medium, ER, and Monk. And Conan, and Dave. (Not Too stuffy- is it?..) Still watch SNL, though I have absolutely no idea why- it's like you just know a bus is gonna show up eventually- and you keep standing there at the stop, thinking "just 5 more minutes.." Hours later- still no bus. Months, maybe years later- "hey- this show still sucks!" But every great once in a while- it has its moments. Maybe not in a row, but two or three, here and there... Can't remember the last one- but it was such a surprise I nearly projectile-laughed my lungs out through my mouth.

Studio 60

Sorry- the Harriet relationship is the heart of the show for me, and without it, I doubt I'd watch every week. It's the "must-see" part of the show, and I simply don't understand any complaints regarding her character and the story line. There are people who watch the show who love the show as it is, not because of who created it, not to see if it's going to be a train wreck (in thewir own minds)... There are many of these people, I am one of them- the rest of you can watch more conventional fare, and I hope you're happy and satisfied when this show is gone. No wonder I watch less and less TV nowadays, listen to less and less new music... The news- well, now everything is tabloid, and all TV will soon be "reality." Jerry Springer has finally taken over the world without running for office!

Britney's meltdown

Anyone thinking that ...

Anyone thinking that this is anything other than a grotesque, pathetic meltdown is already in their own trailor park toilet. You don't need pills to OD- and her drinking alone, as well as the self-destructive course she is on, will make her the next Anna Nicole. Those kids should be far removed from her. And, sorry, folks- tattoos are not art- but a visual representation of an utter disdain for one's self and creation, an egomaniacal display of an attempt to be one's own God. And fn-ugly! auramac on 02/18/2007 11:18AM

Please

Please, please, God- let her be pregnant tomorrow. Let us be pregnant and have a healthy, happy, miracle baby. It must happen because we both so badly want and need it. It is meant to be- surely,she doesn't deserve to be so hurt. Please, God, it's in your hands. I have no idea what to do if it doesn't happen. It'll be like a death... a big, multiple death.... We're waiting for the good news. i don't want to see Anne's heart broken- is it any wonder my intestines are turning inside out. Ah, I was so scared, in denial, even when I always knew I wanted it- now I know, I know, I know!!!! Please, God. We're waiting. Can she/he come in?... Please?

snow

The dude plowed, but I still had to brush a few tons of snow off the car, shovel a thin path to it.. then figured I'd probably just die. Not that long ago, you quit when you were tired- in other words, done. You did it, then bitched. But you did it without thinking. Or dying.

I prefer "out of shape" to "old.." shit, I'll be 96, lift a shovel, gasp for air and fall down, mumbling that I shoulda renewed my JCC membership. Yeah, and that frozen shoulder still stands up in the air because I once again neglected to do my exercises. If Anne doesn't bitch to me about it, I'll probably just kick myself.

"See?- use it or lose it, ya lazy bastard!"

I must be a lazy, out-of-shape bastard- not up to my usual superhuman performance of wiping out all snow that fell anywhere on or near my driveway, watching it part like a white sea as I walked amongst it deciding where to throw each shovelful. ("But I just Walked there!..."  "So what, let's not get anal about it..")

Well, at least I got the car door open. Turned on the heat. Made the stuff on the windows melt. The snow that fell from my coat, now on my car's floor, will remain solid till spring. Every day till then, I'll be sitting and stepping in the shit- the Snow that followed me. The Snow that doesn't melt. Even when the ground is totally sweeped and shiny, those snow piles will sit beside me and go wherever I go.

Beats the heat and humidity, though.... but hell- no way was I gonna make it into work today!

Too.. much like... winter.

Howard K's tears?

Your comments:
I don't know, and I don't think anyone else does, either. Blogs is not
the news. It's certainly not necessarily the Truth. What we do know is
that Anna loved her baby, her son, and Howard K. Stern. We know that
she hated her mother, had not been face-to-face with her "sister" for
10 years. Zza Zza Gabor's husband? We know that he either has
alzheimer's, has a flair for "sick comedy," and undoubtedly wears
Depends, if he can go at all... Crocodile tears?- The Brickhead dude
who claims to be the father and "cries" over his daughter- now That's
acting!

RS's "Best and Worst Cover Tunes"

My post:

auramac | 2/9/2007, 7:45 pm EST

Some good choices here- Hendrix, Sinead, Johnny Cash’s “Hurt”- but G & R doing Dylan or pretty much anything else by them is a good thing to listen to if I ever need to quickly empty my stomach.

passwords

I couldn't add an entry to this in Firefox or Safari- so I tried to log in, ended up not creating or recreating password for this but losing my10-year password for my screen name! Long, long, long story short- was on phone with AOL tech support, and even tried changing back on iBook with OS 9. No dice- end of an era. I now have a *&^%#?!! 6-digit alphanumeric password.

New "Guitar gods"

They just don't move me. I know you can't reinvent the wheel, but real guitar gods did their best work in a more inspired context. These are less innocent, but much shallower times. Soul moves. What happened to it? It used to fuel the "performance." Now the performance is the act. And it's toilet paper.