A while ago I was on the radio on a local station. And I talked about college applications. And I vocalized a lot of pauses. And it sounded like I had dry-mouth. But please listen nevertheless. And please don't laugh too hard at me.
And speaking of radio, I really want to be a DJ. The other day when someone asked me if I was applying for this great job in the paper, my response was "Yes. But I also might just learn how to DJ".
Thanksgiving is hands-down my favorite holiday. The only expectation is to overeat and spend time with loved ones -- no gifts, materialism, or stress -- just some old-fashioned quality fun. We hosted fifteen at our house, and it was my very first time in charge of the turkey. I went with the arduous deconstructed version from Julia Child, where you de-bone the thighs and take off the backbone (I wrestled with the carcass for nearly an hour to accomplish what she did in mere minutes), and it was a true success of tender perfection.
Stuffing, gravy, a train building adventure, too much wine, and a table full of desserts later, we unbuttoned our pants and reveled in how amazing a nice meal and simple acknowledgement of gratitude can fill not only the belly but the soul as well. Our ten-year-old photographer captured some amazing moments of our evening spent otherwise devoid of technology.
I first met my best friend Shannon on a blind date set up by her mother and my aunt when I moved to Spokane at age 12. I was a grumpy tomboy, outfitted in a uniform of multicolored Saucony sneakers, basketball shorts, and oversized shirts. She, on the other hand, was clad in Abercrombie and had a comfortability and confidence with herself that I had never seen in a pre-teen girl. We were destined to be friends, although you wouldn't know it from that first frappucino-meeting in Starbucks, which we should write and pitch to SNL. We had nothing in common, and the weeks that followed proved further hilarity as our mothers forced us to become closer, whether it be at school lunches when Shannon begrudgingly invited me to her table, or when she came to my house after school to swim.
Even then, as we slowly developed a friendship that will last forevahhh, she was a sports fan. I was the tomboy, but she was the one who could spit out the stats of the Gonzaga basketball team, and knew more coaching tactics and strategy about football then any boy in our middle school or their fathers for that matter. And to my male-dominated sports family who worships baseball above all else (advice from my father was always baseball-related, like 'the game is 90% mental' -- I mean, I am a Brett), Shannon was a welcome addition to the family. My uncles and I have always said that she had the spunk, the looks, and the knowledge to have her own show on ESPN. Hell -- who wouldn't watch that?
10+ years later, Shannon is still chasing sports and giving insights like a domino. Her blog, Now Break it Down for Me, teaches girls how to watch and enjoy sports -- and her latest post features an interview with my uncle George covering the World Series (read it here). Why am I writing this? I just wanted to give Shanny a shout out for being awesome and a shout out to her mom and my aunt for setting us up -- thanks a million. And if anyone from ESPN is reading this by some miracle, give the girl a show already!
I love TV. I wish it weren't so, but alas -- I become obsessed with shows, often spending an entire Tuesday in my pajamas watching multiple episodes of my new addiction, whatever it may be, my heart palpitating with every plot twist. But then, something changes: the characters and plot become stale, too tangled (Lost, anyone?), or seriously stupid (PLL) -- and I find myself spending ANOTHER day in my pajamas, watching multiple episodes, just so that I can get the stupid series over with (I cannot leave anything undone, and will finish books I despise 5 pages in as well).
I know I haven't tried all of the TV out there -- Scandal, Mad Men, and Homeland are still on my to-do list (I am waiting for winter when it is only light for like 4 hours to indulge) -- so I cannot speak for them, but I can speak for countless others and ask the TV industry what the point is of starting new bright stars, just to let them fizzle out? Do first seasons that sparkle and die make enough money that it doesn't matter? Do they not realize that people have large imaginations and are vested in their favorite character's fake future, and when things get cancelled their character souls just float around without direction? And how, please tell me, does The Big Bang Theory exist? I am not pretending to know anything about how difficult the industry is -- I would imagine incredibly taxing and incredibly impossible -- there are a ton of smart people trying to make it in Hollywood-land as writers, etc., but like all Joe-schmo viewers out there, I feel like I totally have the right to go off on all of it (probably not true or nice of me).
I do have one positive example to mention: New Girl. A series that in its first season had me smiling like a weirdo, alone in my living room, entranced, while watching each week. Something fun and witty and sweet! Loved it. Unfortunately, I watched my interest wane in the second season, abandoning it completely in the third because I was so disappointed in the few episodes I saw -- and I NEVER do that. To my surprise, I tuned in for the opener of the fourth season to fall in love all over again. I don't know who amped up the writing team but I thank you for returning a little faith to the sit-com! All of the other new shows that seem to be spinoffs of other failed pilot seasons suck. But New Girl is back with a vengeance.
And seriously, New Girl writing team, if for some reason one of you sees this, I would be happy to join the table with you and freestyle some dialogue for Jess and the others -- when she mentions to a romantic prospect that her first 'sexual feelings' were towards teenaged Simba, I peed a little. NAILED IT! And I am embarrassed to say that I feel for Jess in that moment, because Casper and Simba were definite crushes for an entire generation of girls at sleepovers, along with favorite movies being listed as 'Now and Then', 'My Father the Hero', and 'Clueless'.
I will get back to you with whether or not my winter line-up of time wasting delivers on entertainment, or if it just ruins my life. And since I am a binger, usually in bed when things actually air, or waiting for Netflix so I don't have to pay for cable, I am no stranger to the spoiler alert-ers, and I shun you --particularly Dana, who managed to ruin the entire third season of Downton Abbey for me in five minutes, and who I know has already seen all of Homeland. But I forgive you girl --xx.
TV Time
We moved into an amazing little pioneer cabin six months ago. Built in 1889, it lacks closet space, so I have been using a spare attic-y bedroom as my dressing/pile area. It is outrageous that it took me so long, but I finally undertook the daunting task of buying (cringe) some closet organizing materials, getting the dogs off of the cozy sweater corner, and building myself a respectable place for all of my materialistic fetishes. The unveiling - is - now!
Before:
After...
