Won't you please my neighbor?

Yesterday I met my neighbor to the right, the one who's not a middle-aged Indian woman. I hate meeting my neighbors because I always assume they overhear embarassing things like when I sing and dance in my apartment or when I play video games for 5 hours straight on a sunny Saturday afternoon or (for shame) when I am scouting X-Tube seeing if I can find anyone I know.

So I was looking in my man-bag for my keys when this guy comes up behind me and is all "Hey, you live here?" and I thought CRAP i'm getting robbed or else this is that guy from the summer who was convinced I flooded his apartment even though I don't live above him and I'd have to flood my own apartment for that to happen, and I'd remember that.

Anyway it wasn't either of those things. Instead, it was this attractive 20-something boy in a tie and sport coat. He had light brown eyes and curly hair and kinda rosy cheeks, and I decided he must go to the gym 3.5 times a week, and he is my neighbor and has been for about 2 months, which explains why I haven't heard that horrible yapping dog in about that long. I noticed he was wearing black socks with brown shoes, and they were ugly shoes, so I wasn't surprised when he mentioned a girl coming to live with him in a month. So hopefully he and the girl will have frequent sex so I won't feel guilty about my midnight Pat Benatar cravings anymore. I always pray for neighbors to have sex just because it breaks down that barrier and allows me to live my sometime-kinda-loud life without guilt or embarassment. If anyone ever complains, I can always bust out the "You only last for 3 minutes" or "You like your girlfriend to strap it on" or "You sing the songs from Cats while you're fucking" to put them back in their place.

It's fun to have a sexy neighbor and it's fun to know that I'm not the only person under 35 living on the Upper East Side.... except that his apartment is bigger because he has a bedroom, and I imagine he wears a tie to work because he makes more money than me, so I kinda still feel alone.

I told him to let me know if he ever needed anything like milk or sugar or oral sex, but something tells me I won't see him until he's moving out in 10 months. That seems to be how it goes in my building.

"We don't got no gingerbread."

What? What do you mean you don't got no gingerbread? It is 10:45 on the Monday after Thanksgiving. Of all the Mondays in the year, this is the one on which I second-most expect a cup of Christmas cheer! I hold in my hand a Starbucks gift card. This is $100 of pre-paid gingerbread lattes. So I know that when you say you don't got no gingerbread, what you actually mean is that you got some gingerbread in the back and you will now go get it for me, right? Right?

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Hello. Welcome back to my blog. As I sit here nursing a distinctly non-Christmasy vanilla latte, I am caused to reflect upon my festive holiday weekend.

Actually it wasn't festive. Thanksgiving was pleasant, mostly because I fell asleep in the living room before everyone started getting rambunctious and annoying. There's never tension in my family, but they mock-fight and horse around a lot, and I always end up with a headache. Before that was nice, though, in the way reading old issues of People magazine at the dentist is nice: it's kinda mindless and the gossip is interesting (if a tad irrelevant) but you know something yucky and torturous is about to transpire, and you're trapped in there waiting for it.

In this case, the dentist is my mom's brother, who this year announced his arrival louder than ever. We were all talking quietly in the family room with the hors d'oeuvres when suddenly: "HEY FAGGOT!" My uncle had arrived. Oh, and he was talking to the dog, not to me. We don't tell Uncle Nate about me.

So dinner. My (other) uncle's turkey is always awesome, and I get a leg. The stuffing had no mushrooms this year, which earned it an A+. And of course, we had my favorite food: can-shaped cranberry sauce. I ate so much. My cousin refuses to touch it. I tried convincing her of its merits by saying "It's like Jell-O, but gritty", but she didn't understand.

The conversation was peppered with disparaging comments about other cultures and races from my charming uncle. You know the one. Although, there was considerably less "chink" and "nigger" talk this year, which surprised me until I realized he was focusing on gypsies.

Gypsies. I was thinking "Is this the Byzantine Empire, Nathan, do we even have gypsies anymore?" But I came to understand that he was using "gypsies" to refer to "Various peoples of color when that color is not black." It was a catch-all term for Middle-Easterners, Indians, Native Americans, Mexicans, et al. Also Russians. In addition, certain individuals of the Caucasian persuasion may be classified as "gypsy" if they also fall into the category of "People Nate Doesn't Like."

We discussed the gypsies living in my grandmother's building (a nice Pakistani couple), the gypsies that my uncle arrested the other day (he's a cop), and the gypsies causing all sorts of problems in Iraq (sometimes the word "Arab" was substituted in the interest of variation). Charming, really.

So that's what was happening across the table from me. To my left, my grandmother (my dad's mom) was letting me in on America's best-kept secret. She didn't want to tell me if I was going to make fun of it because she didn't want to waste her time on people with closed minds. When I finally assured her I have the most open mind at the table, she told me. I'm going to share this with you guys because I trust you all. Here's what you do.... invest in real estate on Mars. It's going to be a hot commodity soon because we can't live on Earth very much longer. So buy land on Mars. And Jupiter too. Pluto's too far away to be profitable.

I listened. I tried my very best to keep a straight face, but I accidentally laughed a little, but I masked it well by turning the sound into the beginning of a question: "But, isn't Jupiter made of toxic gas?" At this point I was labeled as a "close-minded fool like the rest of them" and I had to convince her that it was just a question and that given enough effort, Jupiter could be made habitable as well. I finally admitted that I have no significant savings to invest, which prompted my cousin Janice to ask me about my job and salary. I could have hugged her for providing the escape route, but I contained myself.

Things looked up when dessert came because my Aunt Donna works at Starbucks, and she brought in a tray of cranberry bliss bars, which I consumed with great abandon. I even got to take a bunch home. I have one in my bag right now, but it's kinda squished. A cranberry bliss lump, really.

Then it was nap time.

So... best Thanksgiving in years, really. The rest of the weekend was spent reading 4 novels, watching How to Marry a Millionaire (on which I took notes) and sitting doing a jigsaw puzzle while watching old episodes of Charmed on TNT.

I never do my Thankfuls on Thanksgiving because it never works. I always wait until the week after. Here goes:

I'm thankful for living in New York, far away from my family. I'm thankful for cranberry bliss bars and can-shaped cranberry sauce.

I'm thankful for 2 hour lunch breaks during which you get piss drunk and then go back to work and write in your blog.

Like right now.

I'm thankful for not getting fired.

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Open Letter of Thanksgiving

Dear Nonexistent God in False Heaven,

Thanks for the America. It's really great. It fits perfectly, and it goes with just about everything I have.

Thanks for making my family totally weird. Without them, I'd have nothing to write about in my blog.

Thanks for alcohol, without which I would not have fallen asleep and survived Thanksgiving. Nor would I make it through this work day.

Yours,
~2H~

U P Yes

From Overhead in New York:

UPS Guy: I swear to you, Joey, I seen a lot of movies in my time, and this movie is not to be missed. I swear, it's definitely one of the ten best I've ever seen. And I'm a big movie buff. They have it at Blockbuster -- you have to rent it. It's called Nanny McPhee. You got that? Nanny McPhee.

--34th & Broadway

Don't you love it when sexy, manly men do and say geeky, non-manly things? Biggest turn-on ever, right? I know!

We know the guy is manly because he works for UPS, and in my experience, UPS guys are all studly, masculine men with great asses. Only UPS. FedEx guys are kinda touch-and-go, and they wear those awful 1988 polo shirts. But UPS... mmm. Just watch Legally Blonde if you don't know what I mean. (What I suggest you do not do is a Google image search because you will find out how wrong I am.)

So you can understand why this quote caught my eye. He hit that magic level of unmanly adorableness that makes me all fuzzy. It's not a "sensitive guy" thing because a chick flick place of Nanny McPhee would have been lame. I don't have time for that.

I tried analyzing why this sort of thing does it for me, but I couldn't figure it out, and it makes for a really boring blog entry that I just deleted.

I will say, though, that it's easy to go too far, and that's when "adorable" turns into "faggy." For example, men playing the flute are hot. Men playing the piccolo? Not. Guy at a baby shower: Cute. Guy enjoying a baby shower: Not. A man fussing over his hair: Yay! A man fussing over his wife's hair: Gay. Understand?

Maybe it's because liking Nanny McPhee implies that this is a guy who's comfortable with his sexuality in some convoluted way, but whatever it is, my new fantasy is opening the door to find a delivery man there holding a bottle of wine and the Chronicles of Narnia DVD.

P.S. This only works on straight guys... or, y'know, the real masculine gay ones.

P.P.S. Nanny McPhee really is awesome, and you should all go see it immediately.

I'm like the dog if you imagine the dog has only three legs and an arrow through its liver

Everything is such crap. The world is such crap.

Among things that are crap are half-million-dollar salary hikes for the president of an organization that can't seem to give it's professionals a 2% raise without a fight, dropping half of your delicious frosted snowman cookie on the dirty ground, and breaking out the one day you really wanted to look good for somebody.

Today sucks, and I really want to blame it on someone, but there is nobody to blame it on because it was I who did not shower until mid-afternoon on Sunday causing my breakout, and it was I who dropped my delicious frosted snowman cookie on the dirty ground, and I can't really blame the guy who gave himself a huge raise because hell, if I had the resources to give myself an extra half-million dollars a year, I'd do it. I love money!

But I made up a bright side! Wanna hear it? Ok, so I don't mind being poor because I love my job and the satisfaction that I am contributing to the educations of millions. Yeah, that's a good one. And I didn't need a cookie because I haven't been to the gym in 5 months and have started to let myself go. That's great too! And lastly, now the acne on my face matches the exzema on my hands! A trifecta of optimistic delusion!

I should be a grief counselor, I'm so awesome at the Bright Side. It's too bad nobody believes in that crap.

Everything is such crap.

Happy Feet

I saw Happy Feet yesterday. Here goes.

All penguins have a "heartsong", basically this one song they sing during mating season. Oddly, despite their complete isolation from human popular culture, their songs all seem to be pop hits from the 80's and 90's. Some of them rap. Anyway, there's this one penguin who's born without the ability to sing because his father dropped his egg into the ice accidentally. Instead, he does this freaky dance thing, and everyone things he's deranged, which he kinda is.

While obviously not Movie of the Year, it was still super cute. It started out kinda crappy, and then Hugh Jackman Penguin started doing this Elvis thing to try and woo Nicole Kidman Penguin, and I was thinking "Christ, please let the whole movie not be like this." And then their baby penguin started tap dancing, which is fine. A little unimpressive. After seeing the previews, I was expecting the movie to be more Stomp and less Ruby Keeler.

But anyway, the baby was sad that he sucked at everything except tap dancing, but I just couldn't seem to care. So when he got attacked by three predatory birds, I was kinda on their side and thought "Eat him! A 20-minute movie!"

But obviously, he didn't get eaten, and then the movie got better. He grew up into a post-pubescent penguin, as all penguins eventually do -- except for some reason, he didn't really develop right. Nobody ever commented on it (perhaps because it made them uncomfortable), but the dancing penguin never matured out of fuzziness, and he had this weird baby head the entire time. I spent the entire movie thinking "I bet that's like what penguin Downs Syndrome is like" and I proceeded to refer to the main character as "Chromosome" because I couldn't understand his real name. It was Mumble or Mambo or something, but nobody said it clearly enough.

But either way, the movie dealt with some neat themes. The penguins were a society of crazy, conservative religious nuts (worshipping the Great Guin, a name I found endlessly adorable.) They even went so far as to call the guy's dancing "pagan", so... yeah, I wonder what religion they were comparing it to, hmmm.... And they also dealt with conservation and being yourself and all the stuff you'd expect from a cartoon movie about penguins.

Robin Williams made the movie awesome like he always does with things. He plays this tiny penguin named Ramon and says "Let me tell ju someting" a lot.

So, cute movie. I give it a million stars.

**************************

Ok, but the real reason I went to see this movie was because it was the first release to carry the teaser trailer to Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, and in all geekiness, I'm confessing that I've never been more excited about a movie ever.

Helena Bonham Carter looks amazing as Bellatrix Lestrange. But I knew she would. Hermione's still pretty. But I knew that too. The movie looks dark and awesome. There were no shots of Imelda Staunton or the Room of Requirement or Emma Thompson or the veil, but... fine. The flight over London was neat-looking. Sadly, I think Angry Dumbledore will be back.

Dear World, I am a Harry Potter dork. I've read the books 50 times, I can practically recite the movies, and I've had inappropriate dreams about Emma Watson. Whatcha gonna do about it?

The Looking Glass Wars Review

Have you ever read a book that you really wanted to like and that even told a good story, but there was something about it that just.... sucked? I mean you try to ignore the problem(s) even though you noticed them early on, but they just keep coming back. A stupid name. A character with a corny speech impediment. Comma splices. Annoying series of sentence fragments.

I present to you The Looking Glass Wars by... ummm.... Frank Beddor. I'm about halfway through it, and I want to suggest to the author that he change his name to Frank Actuallykindaworse.

I say this because it is impossible not to compare him to Gregory Maguire (Wicked, Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister), and I'll tell you why. The Looking Glass Wars is based on the presumption that Lewis Carroll totally screwed up the Alice story. The premise is that Wonderland is real (and kinda scary) and that Alice Liddell is actually Alyss Heart, heir to the Wonderland throne until her Aunt Redd killed her family and took over as the new evil Queen of Hearts. For those of you familiar with it, I secretly call this novel American McGee's Alice: The Book.

So you get it? A reimagining of a classic children's story. Fleshing out the world and making it deep, mature, and political. Gregory Maguire! Moving on...

Anybody who knows anything about me knows that I absolutely love the Alice books and have read them more times than you have. Usually such feelings about a work make people judge related and derivitive works more harshly because there is much to live up to. I'm the opposite and pretty much automatically like anything having to do with Alice (or Harry Potter, Buffy, and Matthew Rush for that matter). So I dove into The Looking Glass Wars with extremely open arms and minds. Mind. And I'm still totally into the book. The plot's a little two-dimensional, giving it a one dimension lead on the characters, but it's fine, I'm over it. It's still Wonderland, after all.

But there's just so many little things that piss me off along the way that I can't recommend this book to anyone with intelligence. First of all, Couldbe Beddor is not a writer. He's a professional skiier. In fact, if you check imdb.com, you'll find that he's also a stunt man. So he can't write... like at all. His style is impossible. To be perfectly honest, it reads a lot like my blog.... kinda off the cuff, a little cliche, and every now and then, you have to go back and reread a sentence a few times because the grammar and syntax are so confusing. And when I say "cliche", I mean horribly corny. Upon receiving news of her husband's murder, the current Queen of Wonderland exclaims "Oh, my sweet king!" C'mon, nobody says that. Barf me out, man!

Furthermore, he has no sense of children. Alyss is 7, right, and her best friend Dodge is 10. Whatever, I'll buy it. But in this one scene, Alyss is making him dance with her, and he's having what can only be described as perverted, lusty thoughts about her. It's totally disgusting. He wants to marry her so bad, and he's smelling her sweet perfume... he puts his hand on her waist.... he had never touched the princess in this way before. I already said "barf me out" so now I'm going to go with "Gag me with a spoon!" Ten year old boys, in my experience, do not even play with seven-year-old girls for fear of cooties and getting their asses kicked by the other boys on the schoolyard. This scene was out of hand.

Ugh, and one of the things have the stupidest names! Hatter Madigan? Fine. Wondertropolis? Please. Outerwildbeastia? Get away from me. And if I see one more reference to people eating "tarty tarts" I might kill myself.

It's stuff like this. I mean, the book is SO bad, but it's an actiony, engaging story nonetheless. I don't get it.

Oh, but check out the website. It's right here. The guy's got trailers and commercials and plans to make a movie series and a card game and I just wanna say "Dude, calm the fuck down!" Authors need to have humbler beginnings. His books were released in America like two seconds ago, and he's all what? Wanting to be the next J.K. Rowling? Be patient, man. (Although... I have to admit, it would probably make a kick-ass movie. Especially because we wouldn't have to suffer the guy's writing style.)

Wow, this is probably my longest entry ever, and it's on a book that none of you care about and I don't think you should read. But it's Alice-based, so I had to obsess. I'm going to finish it. Obviously. And then I'm going to read the second and third books in the trilogy when he finishes them. Obviously. And I'll do it wrapped in a blanket of disappointment. Don't be like me. Read something else.

He-brew

There's not a lot for a Jew to get excited about with the approaching Christmas season. I mean, the lights are nice. The windows at Marshall Fields have those creepy moving dolls, which is pretty neat. They'd tell a story if my family didn't inevitably see them backwards every year. It's interesting... you find that once you know Pinocchio becomes a real boy in the end, you don't much care about his humble, splintery origins anymore.

But mostly, the Christmas season is just filled with horrible repetitive music at every store and restaurant in America, idiot shoppers literally trampling and killing eachother for a bargain on a DVD player, and people proudly advertising their multi-cultural awareness by singing the dreidel song incorrectly. "Oh, I love Jewish boys, you're sexy in all the right places. Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel is what I like to play. I mean... wait, something about clay? That's like you guys's only Christmas song, right?"

Oh, and before you ask, no, we DON'T still put up a Christmas tree.

So Christmas doesn't really have much going for it in the eyes of a lot of Jews. And don't go saying we have Hanukkah because everyone knows Channukah's lame compared to Christmas, at least in the "according to the rest of the world" sense.

But there's one thing that makes this season my favorite time of year. That's all it takes. One eensy little addition to my daily life that can sustain my happiness through the middle of January at least. I'll tell you what it is. Are you ready? Ok. It's the Christmas menu at Starbucks!

Ok, right, I know. Starbucks is evil bad imperialist corporate blah blah all the same, McDonaldsization of America and their coffee sucks too. I hear ya, and I'm on board 10 months out of the year. But from November something to whenever the menu ends, I don't wanna hear it.

My mom asked me what I want for Hannukkah this year, and the answer is a Starbucks gift card large enough that I can subsist exclusively on peppermint mochas and cranberry bliss bars for as long as I live... with the occasional soy gingerbread latte for variety. (The gingerbread lattes are awesome with soy milk, trust me.)

If for some weird reason you don't like peppermint mochas or the singularly delicious cranberry bliss bars, you can click the X button in your web browser because you don't need to be a part of my life. Then you can click the X button on your existence because it is clearly an empty one.

Last year around this time, somebody I kissed told me I tasted like Christmas. I immediately thought "Oh, yes, I had Starbucks today!" As it turns out I just had gin on my breath, but the point is that the Starbucks menu has become such an intergral part of my holiday experience that it's where my mind first turns for explanations about the taste of my... self. ...at least when I'm drunk. But I think that says something! After he realized it was gin, though, he didn't really want to kiss me anymore. ...which ended up not being a problem..... but I digress.

So anyway, there's no real good conclusion or moral to finish up with. I just wanted to pay tribute to my favorite time of year. I've been in the best moods for the past two mornings, and the Starbucks Christmas menu has just about everything to do with that. Go order something right now. If you can't or don't drink coffee, get a peppermint hot chocolate. If dairy makes you... less than fresh, I'll suggest the aforementioned soy gingerbread latte. There's something for everyone on the Starbucks Christmas menu... except the Jews, I guess. But we're used to it.

You guys know I'm allergic to peanuts, right?

So I got this raise today. It's a raise that was supposed to have come through over a year ago before I even started working here, so we got these nifty little retroactive paychecks too, which should be like a great Thanksgiving bonus unless you know my raise was like .05%.

I exaggerate, but not by a lot. From what I hear, our union kinda sucks. Yes, union, it surprised me too, but they made me join. My raise doesn't even cover my monthly dues.

On the plus side, I'm finally making 4 digits every two weeks after taxes. Yes, I know, big money. Almost like what a real grown up would make. Have I complained before about the utter bullshit that is my economic tier?

My employer emphasized our great benefits to compensate for the horrid pay scale. And they're pretty ok, I mean there are about 10 doctors in the tri-state area who take my insurance, 2 of whom I have learned are total idiots. And I get a break every day. That's pretty neat, I guess. Y'know, I can stretch my legs. And there's some sort of retirement fund, so every time I get paid I can think "Ooh boy, another 2 minutes at the rest home!"

That retroactive check will cover the jacket and sweater I shouldn't have bought this weekend with maybe a little left over to take myself to a nice meal by myself. Or maybe pay my internet bill, I can't decide which.

But for those of you who are thinking "You shouldn't have taken the job if you knew how badly it paid and how expensive it is out there", I'm gonna say "Eat it, I'd rather be poor in Manhattan than rich in the rural province of Whereinthehell."

What gets me through these crappy moods (in case you haven't noticed I'm in a crappy mood) caused by my uniquely abysmal pay rate is reminding myself (or deluding myself into thinking) that I'm just biding my time until my inevitable stardom takes affect. Not celebrity stardom, I'm not stupid enough to think I'll be famous... but professional stardom. I feel like something's going to drastically change and relatively soon too. It's part of my unshakable optimism that tends to get masked by an often cynical demeanor and tendency to criticize people's outfits.

I'm just not sure what to do to make this change happen because I don't know the direction in which I want it to be. New career? Back to school? Supplimentary job that don't suck like waiting tables does? Surprise inheritance from long-lost biological uncle (every adopted kid's secret daydream)?

I dunno, it doesn't matter right this second. And it's difficult because I do love my job and the people here. We're all smart and fun, and most importantly, we're all underpaid for our talents and educations. So there's solidarity in that, which helps a bit too. Granted, 99% of them are two-income families living outside of Manhattan, but I don't let that get me down. I'm also 10 years younger. And as much as I'd love the financial stability, I'm really ok not being a Mrs.

I forgot what my point was. But it's 5:00, so I'm gonna end this without one. They don't pay me enough to stay late for any reason.... or to quit blogging during business hours. And y'know... I'm really ok with that.

Entry about the elections

[Statement of general satisfaction regarding election results.]

[Statement of more acute satisfaction at watching Rick Santorum's son crying for some reason on national television. Liberal use of the word "pussy."] [Suggestion of where Santorum should go, what should be done to him there, and what he should eat.]

[Liberal celebration of Katherine Harris's slaughter.] [Expression of surprise that breasts did not get their own votes.] [Plastic surgery joke.] [Ironic misogynist statement about ugly women.]

[Link to alternate celebratory blog post by like-minded, attractive homosexual man.]

[Rah-rahs for Montana.] [Disappointment at voter turnout among macacas in Virginia leading to delay of results and possible election of total disaster.]

[Cynical discussion about nothing getting better as a result of the elections because democrats can be so useless, but at least there are enough people to pitch a fit that things probably won't get worse.]

[Pithy conclusion.]

Good work, America.

Yes.

I love hunky man!

What I really really want

This is the fourth time I've started this blog entry because I have nothing to say, nothing! I'm hyper and in a good mood, but every story I start runs itself into a festering pit of boring despair. I was going to talk about how I learned some Latvian today. Then I was going to talk about the Borat movie and how excited I am. Then I was going to ask everyone if that the only reason I'm seeing Happy Feet on opening night is to catch the Harry Potter trailer makes me a huge dork. But it never started right and all I did was sound like a boring, stupid, pitiful loser with no personality and a weird mole on my face and maybe some hideous skin affliction where I'm not allowed to go out in the sun.

And that's not who I am at all.

So I'm thinking of making up a story about the fabulous evening I had last night where I met, I dunno, Julia Stiles and Mark McGrath or something and then went to a new club that only lets you in if you're famous but I got in and then I got cast in the next Superman movie as Lois Lane's intelligent yet superficial gay nephew intern. And Kevin Spacey didn't hit on me. Because that would be a cooler night than you had.

But I respect you too much to lie to you.

So I'm not going to say anything today and instead wait until tomorrow after I've had my fabulous date with Johnny Depp and David Beckham shows up so they can fight over me, and while they're duking it out, I become best friends with their wives and then become the 6th Spice Girl. Because that's what I'm doing tonight.

Guilty Pleasures

Raise your hand if you like sexy, blonde, masculine 18-year-old Australian boys in tight pants.

Keep them raised.

Ok, now keep your hand up if you like obscure, badly-written television shows that barely lasted half a season for good reason.

For those of you with your hands still in the air, I am about to make you very happy because I am going to tell you about my new favorite DVD. It's this show called Roar, right, and I love it in the same way I used to love The Adventures of Sinbad, Young Hercules, and Beastmaster.

Roar

Heath Ledger plays this Celtic prince trying to unite the disparate tribes of 3rd-century Ireland against the encroaching Roman military. The show is kinda bad. It doesn't matter what it's about. Keri Russell's in a couple episodes because it's B.F. (Before Felicity... and she even has all that hair.)

Mostly, the show is my new favorite because I like the grass, Heath Ledger is so hot especially with a fake sometimes horrible Irish accent, and sometimes the music's pretty cool. Oh, and he wears these shammies the whole time. They're sorta too small because he hasn't killed enough animals, I guess, so it makes his butt look real nice.

Beastmaster

There's just something appealing about these programs, but I don't know what it is. The plots are simple, the characters are a little transparent, the villains and sidekicks are really over-the-top. The special effects are very often special... in the new "retarded" sense of the word.

So why did I spend hours of alone time staring at these on TV. Yes, I was always alone... I never shared it with anyone.

Sinbad

I'd watch Sinbad real late at night on UPN or something when I was in junior high and high school. I was totally obsessed with it, though nothing memorable sticks out anymore. I don't even know what it was about, but I remember one episode where he was in this harem with all these gorgeous women trying to seduce him. That sticks out.

Beastmaster aws on during the day sometimes, and I never caught the schedule, but whenever I found it on I was hooked. I know less about this show, but it was enthralling. My sister liked the animals. Again, I have no idea what this show was about, but I know it wasn't good.

Young Hercules

Young Hercules I didn't discover until grad school (last year) and I could only watch it with a friend (never alone), but I still associate it with the others anyway.

Right, so despite being really bad and useless, there's something so awesome about these programs that would bring me to a very special place. I'm just not sure what I liked about them.

It's the weirdest thing.

Show me the light

There are some trends that just shouldn't be. We all know this. Ugg boots, popped collars, garden shoes, obsessively belting otherwise cute clothes... historically, we're talking wallet chains, leggings, huge flannel shirts, anorexia... With all the horrible ideas attractive people come up with, it's a wonder anyone has sex at all anymore.

But there's one trend that I'm totally on the fence about, so I'm hoping to work out my feelings towards it by improvising a blog entry and seeing where I end up. I'm excited to see the result.

Today's topic is Old Lady Sunglasses.

My mom used to wear these things about 12 years ago. They were huge and dark, and she'd wear them with a big green winter coat with a huge fuzzy collar, and then she'd be chewing gum with her trademark wide toothy grin. Now that I'm older, I think my mother is beautiful when she smiles, but at 12, I was mortified when she picked me up from Hebrew school looking so bizarre. But I'm going to try to push aside those memories of the past in evaluating how these same sunglasses function today. It is, after all, a new millenium.

The Good:

The Bad Ass:

The Bugly:

Let's examine these closer.

Sarah Jessica Parker IMveryHO looks super cute in giant sunglasses. Her face is narrow, she has that nose that only I like because it's the same as mine, and the look just works, ok? It just does.

Carol Channing is the shit and looks so awesome in giant sunglasses that it makes me want to put her in a box under my bed and keep her forever. But that's mostly because she's totally crazy and if there were no giant sunglasses, there would be no Carol Channing... and vice versa. Carol Channing is the peas and giant sunglasses are the carrots. Giant sunglasses are the cream and Carol Channing is the coffee. Carol Channing is the bran and giant sunglasses are the gelina.

Now the flipside. Yes, Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan, and you have NO idea how fortuitous it was for me to find one image file where both of them are looking stupid. They are always the two examples that come to mind when I think "What are the cons of giant sunglasses?" (Well, and Mary Kate Olsen, but I don't even want to get started with her. ...maybe it's Ashley.) Paris Hilton especially looks like a giant, round-faced bug, like the one that would be the eccentric, senile, toothless grandma beetle in A Bug's Life 2. Lindsay just looks screwed up. Granted, I am one of those people who thinks Ms. Lohan has only been hot twice: The Parent Trap and the party scene from Mean Girls.... and I understand that giant sunglasses are only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the aesthetic dementia of these women, but that's not the topic of this blog so all we are focusing on today is their role as "Hells no!" in the eternal giant sunglasses debate.

So you understand the problem I have.... Two awesome people in giant sunglasses. Two...sub-awesome people in giant sunglasses. The answer "Maybe it depends on the wearer" is too easy, I want to love these things or hate them. What do I do? This is a delicate situation. Advise.