February 2009

“The Man-made Lakes of Chesterfield County” is the title to the play that I would write.  It’s about how I pretend to be on my phone the entire time that I’m in Chesterfield so that no one tries to recognize me from high school.  I went to Chesterfield Towne Center this weekend (the Mall of My Youth).  Have you guys seen teenagers lately?  They are so ugly!  Is that what we looked like?  All stupid ill-fitting pants and eyeliner?  The only reason that I would want to be seventeen again is so that I can comparatively be more adorable than teenage girls today.  I was a peach!  Or at least I didn’t look like my mouth was inside-out.  Despite being awkward-looking, Southside kids (I don’t know any other types) like to go shopping with their moms.  Aww.  Moms.

In other news, I stayed up late enough to watch the last episode of “Late Night with Conan O’Brien,” one of my all-time favorite shows that I don’t watch because I don’t stay awake past eleven anymore.  It was tough, but worth it.  I got a little choked up at the end during his acknowledgments, which is not surprising since I am sometimes so sentimental that I cry just thinking about the TV even being on.  I had to go to work on Saturday and was groggy all day, so I was a little pissed that when I woke up Richard was watching the entire episode online in the morning.  My efforts were pointless.  At least I got to watch some Letterman, too.

My favorite clip from the last episode (Conan’s favorite clip of all time, apparently) that I hadn’t seen before is about old time baseball.  WATCH.

Also, where can I go with this?

“There’s Man’s Law

There’s God’s Law

Then there’s Cole’s Law.”

I will run a contest for who can come up with the best crime show premise related to cole slaw.  The award is that I will steal your idea and swim in money during the show’s two-episode run.

I have been ignoring you.

The best way that I can find to not sit at home and eat a bag of Valentine’s candy (I don’t think I like Reese’s Peanut Butter cups anyway) is to sit in someone’s basement and help screen print my own wedding invitations.   I am really excited about how they’re turning out and I wish I had a ton of business to throw to Team 8 Press.  Maybe I will open a venue and book my new fake band Unpaid Derogs and have posters made.

Talking about this commercial has been taking up all of my associate’s time these days:

There is this white cat who roams around our neighborhood.  The previous owners must have fed it, because sometimes it acts like it’s just going to walk right into the house and open a can of pop.  The cat is partially dead, is dirty, and has a terrible cry.  Good thing I’m heartless, otherwise I might start feeding it.  We try to keep it away from the porch, but once it spots you, you can’t get into the house fast enough.

I have been rewatching Hayao Miyazaki movies, so now I’m afraid that this feral animal is actually a neighborhood spirt and that if I feed it, I will be rewarded and it will poo gold.


That is not going to convince me to feed it, though.

My sister and I made a giggly-pact after New Kids on the Block reunited that if a concert was less than two hours away and less than $30 that we would see them. Months have passed. They have announced a show in March at the Richmond Coliseum. I’m sure it will be more than $30, but will be about 15 minutes away (sources have confirmed that it’s $39, before service fees)(ok the source is my friend Mandy, whose cassette of “Funky Funky Christmas” I may or may not have taken when we lived together– I didn’t do it on purpose).

NKOTB ruled my emotions when I was 8-10. One Christmas I opened a new Cabbage Patch Kid doll, and in the box was a ticket to see them in concert.  Perfect childhood moment.  Thanks, guys. That was nearly 20 years ago, at the Richmond Coliseum.  I remember screaming all the way up into the building.  My little sign that said “Joey Joe” was crumpled by the time the show started during an encounter where I was convinced that I saw the guys on motorcycles downtown.  But even at the concert, I sat down during the second half, almost falling asleep.  I was over it a little already.

I was excited about the reunion news.  I just so happened to call in sick the day they performed on the “Today” show, and though that wasn’t really why I called in that’s what I told my supervisor, and I still hear jokes about it. But, you know, I’m not ten anymore. If I were 29 in 1988 I wouldn’t like NKOTB.  I’m even a little afraid of the Jonas Brothers (why are their jeans so skinny?). Little Kelly liked a lot of things that I wouldn’t care for now, like baloney and butter sandwiches and “America’s Funniest Homes Videos.”

I regret not seeing Fiona Apple when she came to Richmond (I love that little crazy pants), I feel bad that I didn’t see They Might Be Giants at Toad’s Place. But I think I would regret if I DID see NKOTB. It would just be too sad.

It’s dark outside, and some super shitty rap/metal song plays while a teenage boy is outside of his home.  He touches a meteor rock at the same time that a cat passes by. We can hear a parent calling for him from off screen, and by his grimace we know that he is bothered by this.  His eyes flash green as the cat turns inside out and then immediately kills a dog.


Conveniently, it is Kitten Spirit Week at the high school.  It will end with a Kitten Parade and adopt-a-thon, which Lana has found time to coordinate despite running her own business for no apparent reason.  Luckily, Clark has agreed to help although he is allergic to cats, as Pete points out.

The teenage boy from earlier, named Steve, runs by and almost knocks Chloe’s books out of her hand.  Although we have never heard of him before, he is chummy with the crew so they think it is weird that he ignores them.  Whitney or someone asks if they heard about what happened to the first shipment of cats, as they have been turned inside out.  Clark scowls (but in this incredibly adorable way)(sigh).

A boring subplot involving Lex and his father’s disapproval or generic bad boy backstory has reared its head and causes Lex to wax sadness about his relationship with his dad — let’s just skip to the end after Johnathan Kent yells at Lex and Clark has to run really fast and use X-ray vision to save Lex from being dipped in lava by an exgirlfriend.

Then some more weird stuff happens while everyone is downtown at the Talon or wherever and they notice a band of feral cats following Steve, and then an old lady dies and also Clark’s mom is chased by something.  He stops it in time.

Chloe’s online research leads her to walk around Steve’s property at night with Clark.  They stumble on cat bones and Steve approaches.  His green eyes have no affect on Clark and this confuses Steve, all of this is not forgotten by Chloe.

Right before the big cat adoption drive, Lana is kidnapped and tied up somewhere full of  kittens that will be inside-outed and emit poison (Steve doesn’t know why he now has this power or what it means but they already did bugs twice this season so now it’s cats)(also whoever plays Steve is a mildly-successful star in present day)(also are Lana and Whitney broken up?).

Then this is the part that I usually fall alseep during, but I know from experience that Clark saves everyone although the kryptonite makes his hand look weird.  Martha Kent is again privy to confidential medical information and someone updates her by telephone that Steve is in the hospital where he will never hurt anyone again.  Chloe gets another article published in the local newspaper.  Lana and Clark have a chat in the barn about lessons learned where something vague he says inspires her to move on from thinking about her dead kitten or parents.

Also Pete might have shown up again.


I have finally been forced to agreed to watch “Smallville,” and while I think it’s sweet and I like the show, it is completely bonkers.

I usually never address current events in my bjournal, but I thought I had to mention something about the Michael Phelps situation.

Remember how awesome last summer was?  He won a million gold medals and we high-fived everyone that we knew, and awkward small talk at work turned into fun chatter that led to the germ-sharing of Olympics Fever.  I know he’s supposed to be a role model, but I think being the best swimmer ever offsets any young duderey.  Michael Phelps is America’s boyfriend, and if anyone has boyfriended Americans before they know that they occasionally do things like accidentally have photographs of them taking bong hits published in British tabloids.   It’s not like he got fat* or killed someone (though, with his past DUI, that was likely but he already apologized to Matt Lauer so let him move on) — at least with smoking pot the worst that could happen is that he would try to make us a mix CD.  Give him a break!

All of this seemed more urgent to write out while I was driving home from work tonight.

*I will never, ever respect Jessica Simpson as an artist, I don’t care how much weight she gains/loses.  She can go back to her birth weight and I will still be more shocked that people book her to perform at chili cookoffs.