Happy Friday, folks. It’s mid-March – marking the fourth wedding anniversary for my big brudda and his awesome wife (and as my brother puts it, ‘Four More Years!’) – and inching me closer to mid-April, when I’ll get to meet my precious nephew for the first time.

I’m feeling quite random today, but it’s a Friday. It’s allowed.  I’ve learned many things this week – in no particular order:

• I’m somehow convinced that I’m the only person in my general geographic area named ‘Angela’, and thusly rise to attention every time the name is overheard (despite having, at minimum, two co-workers with said moniker).
• There really are only so many days in a row one can consume the exact same lunch of oven-fried onion chicken.
• Dog vomit has a far more enduring foul odor than other canine byproducts.
• There is no foreseeable waning of my utter disdain and disliking of Dane Cook in the immediate future.
• My mother has claimed to have stood in line for hours on end to purchase a coveted Cabbage Patch doll for me in my childhood.  And here I thought she had actually flat-out refused to, instead settling for a cheap, knock-off ‘Pumpkin Patch’ doll instead (the only lines for which consisted of angry, ripped-off little girls).  I suppose the recurring nightmares I still have about this horribly scary-looking beast of a doll are merely the residual effects of having endured two older brothers in my formative years.
• It’s possible to aspire to be both an astronaut AND a donut lady.
• The Huffington Post recommends you follow the Boston Comedy Scene Examiner on twitter.
• Mississippi is still ignorant.

Got a fun weekend ahead of me, including checking out Norm MacDonald at The Wilbur Theatre and hopefully getting back into some Sunday Morning Sketch Cinema.  And there’s that whole big ol’ premiere tonight of Shane Mauss’s first-ever Comedy Central Presents special.  That’s the good stuff right there.  Rock on, Mr. Mauss. Rock on.
That is all

Tweet This Post Stumble This Post

I can hear the always-familiar sounds of the spring morning birds through my slightly-open window, and even though there’s cause for internal emotional unrest, I quickly shake off the urge to pout.

It’s March, and in keeping with the trend of the last 20 or so years, there’s no looking back on the things which are unpleasant.  The air has a new scent to it – a promise, if you will – the reassurance that stronger sunshine will easily thwart the seedlings of self-doubt, loneliness, and misguided associations.

The world is a selfish place at times, and yet there are those among us who still gaze upon the self-serving with some semblance of shock and awe.  Not me.  I’ve not forgotten that we are merely animals, each of us consumed with an instinctive sense of self-preservation.  There are exceptions – yes – in the handful that seek out a larger, group well-being, but there are, again, the exceptions to the norm.

I find myself increasingly surrounded by the exceptions – a realization which is refreshing and encouraging – but at the same time bogged down by the intricate theatrical stylings of would-be well-wishers and monsters who hide behind thinly-veiled ‘good’ intentions.

Head above water, they will not pull me under.

Tweet This Post Stumble This Post

It finally ended.

Granted, it ended with a wasted two-week time span in which I achieved less than nothing, creatively speaking, anyway, and drove myself to the brink of insanity, only to pull back at the last minute, having forgotten my chapstick.

But alas, the crappy year which was 2009 has drawn to a conclusion, and I’ve been in the sort of mindset that I can only liken to surviving a crazed gunman’s rampage – caught up in that after-time in which you slowly confirm that you did, in fact, escape from the drama uninjured and alive. You don’t yet care what comes next, you’re just lucky to have made it out in one piece.

2009 was, more so than anything, a year of investigation and identification.  Having spent the better part of my 31 years knowing that there were some underlying psychological imprints made by the mother-ship, this was the year in which they were truly examined, poked, prodded, and – more importantly – dealt with.

I’ve learned that I’m conditioned to expect far less than what others are entitled to. Humble, maybe. Easily made into a doormat, definitely.  Who’d have thought that what is good for the goose is, in fact, good for the gander? Certainly not me, the self-professed “invisible woman”.  While I’m grateful for the natural ability to suck it up, it’s time to start knowing that I do, in fact, deserve more than I’m willing to settle for.

Comics Against Cancer was a definite highlight of the year.  The fact that two outrageous flirts could meet via Facebook, with an entire country separating them geographically, and manage to pull off an eight-comic lineup at the Somerville Theater is more than a feat.  The fact that these eight boys and girls came out to Beantown pro-bono and also prepared and served an Italian dinner for cancer patients, in addition to performing for free, is just astounding.  I am certainly looking to 2010 with last year’s CAC energy in tow as I gear up for the Greater Boston Comedy Relay.

Mr. Good.  What can I say that hasn’t already been uttered, moaned, yelled, screamed, or shouted?  Anyone who knew me during that time in my life knows the overload of irony in such a moniker.  While painful, it was certainly good to find out that, despite what he’d like me to believe, I was not crazy during that two years of my life.  There was something quite sketchy about him – something that could not simply be chalked up to his sheer stupidity.  But did I ever expect the man(child) whose mantra was, “I just don’t think I can love anyone,” would drop the girlfriend-of-three-years bomb on me? Not so much.  There is now, though, a nice and clear-cut reason to despise him, rather than simply the desire to. And nothing says move on like despising someone, right?

So, with that chunk of negative energy, I welcome you, 2010.  Have a seat, put your feet up, and get settled. For in the words of JFK, “Change is the law of life. And those who look only to the past are certain to miss the future.”

Tweet This Post Stumble This Post

It is with a heavy heart and a tear in my eye that I must leave you, my home for the past two years.  Oh, the times we’ve shared.  So many memories and things to be missed.

Oh, Mr. Handicapped-Sexual-Assault guy, how I will miss watching you angrily block the cars of those who steal ‘your’ space.  Though my bosom remains hidden from your view, I will think of you fondly each time I go to Uno’s.

To the old, skeevy Hispanic man who has seemed to live on each floor of the building, and can always be found roaming the halls at a slow pace, usually following his naked and screaming 5-year-old grandson around.  How I’ll miss the dings on my car door from you parking your van obscenely close.

I will never forget batting-glove-boy, without whom my summer days would be spent aimlessly searching for a people-watching pastime.  I admire your readiness to jump into any pickup baseball game you happen upon.

And Captain, oh Captain.  You never seemed to take my verbal assaults to heart, nor comprehend my utter disliking of you – instead showcasing your tenacity at all hours of the day or night.  Who will go on drug-induced, stalker tirades and get in the faces of my much larger male friends? Who will lurk around the corner to remind me that he’ll “be waiting for me”?

To my Latin neighbors, who seem to thrive on hours-long group screamingsessions, lasting well into the wee hours of morning – I will miss my attempts to combat your reggaeton with my own obnoxiously loud Olivia Newton John.

And to Son of Sketch, a human being who once evoked tremendous feelings of nausea and utter sketchiness.  Who would have known that even YOU would have found the Captain to be too weird? I will never forget your kind attempts to come between the forced fire-alarm conversations I often found myself in the midst of with the Captain.  You were weird, but you were nice.  You stank like a year-old over-flowing ash tray, but in an odd way, you looked out for me.

But of all the things I know I’ll miss, the scenery shall rank at the top of the list.  For no longer will I have the luxury of bearing witness to scores of meth deals in the parking lot, or guessing which kind of day the heroin addict on the first floor is having.

Jefferson Hills, you will be missed.

Like the tumor they took out of my neck last year. Yeah….kind of like that.

Tweet This Post Stumble This Post

So I logged onto Facebook the other day to find something which I hadn’t seen in ages…my old friend the live news feed.  Well, that’s cool, I said unto myself, and, smiling for a brief moment, I went about my day much in the same fashion as I had prior to this revelation.

There are others, however, who not only do not share my fondness of the streaming minute-by-minute updates from my book of Faces, but who are so opposed to this minor change that they’ve banded together to form group upon group of like-minded protesters, each with the collective threat of boycotting Facebook if the “old Facebook” isn’t restored.

Really? I mean….really?

I’ll be the first to admit that I’m more than slightly addicted to my Facebook account.  Often times distracted by flashy, bright objects and loud noises, Facebook seems to perfectly suit my insatiable need for constant mental stimulation.  I stand, proudly, on my virtual pedestal at times, pointing invisible fingers and imposing my opinions on my masses.  I whine publicly, I ponder publicly, I observe and report publicly.

But I could give two loaded craps about ‘the way things were’.

The live news feed, as a gentle reminder to my restless and irate fellow Facebookers, isn’t something all that new.  It was a core feature of a conveniently long-forgotten ‘old’ Facebook – one which, when removed, prompted a similar upheaval and collective moan and groan from its users.  Now, it’s been given back to us – but to some, it’s just more (gasp) change to fear.

And just why do we spend our energy fearing this particular change, let alone taking up our valuable time complaining about tiny little functionality changes that, in the grand circle of life, have absolutely no impact on the fruitfulness of our lives?

It’s obvious folks have a lot of negative energy to work off.  If you’re one of those who benefits from unleashing that angst upon a global social networking application, then more power to you.  I, for one, have not the time, energy nor attention span, and am happily moving on.

Tweet This Post Stumble This Post

Photo courtesy of Steve Marmel - http://marmel.com

I tend to stay out of politics whenever possible.  I have never felt as if I had enough of a knowledge base to make an educated and informed opinion or argument, and therefore, try to keep my mouth shut overall.

But to quote last night’s Mos Def show (thank you, Lamont): “LAAAWWWWWDAMERCY!”

What the hell is wrong with people these days?

The president wanted to make an address to students nationwide, stressing the importance of their educations and inspiring them to achieve their goals.  Now, I might be just entering my thirties, but I can’t ever recall a time while I was in school where this opportunity was afforded.  I’m kind of jealous.  It’s a pretty cool concept which, to me, demonstrates just how connected to the people our current President is.

Enter Texas, Virginia, Georgia….Woburn, MA even….and suddenly the President has an agenda.  He wants to impose his socialist ideals on our youth.  Our children are better off staying home from school and missing a day’s worth of education because our nation’s President decided it’s worth 18 minutes to tell these kids what I bet a lot of their own parents never do –  that yes, you can set your goals high and achieve them.  You do not have to lay down and die because of your environment.

Wow.   Is it me or should Obama be pretty frickin’ pissed off right now?  Did a lot of people suddenly forget that this man is our President? The President of the United States of America? The man against whom threats on his life, jokingly or not, will land you in a secret service prison?

If the President wishes to talk to your kids, let him.   You let Nancy Reagan tell your kids to say no to drugs, right? You let Bill Clinton be….well…Bill Clinton.  Perhaps the select group of oh-so-highly-offended Republicans are merely shaking in their boots that, not only is someone going to encourage their children to be more than their parents told them they could be, but he also happens to be a black man, who a lot of them perhaps didn’t vote for.  What right does he have to talk to MY child?

Because he’s the fucking President.  There, I said it.

This has nothing to do with socialist agenda or healthcare reform.  This is a large population of historically-white folk who truly don’t think Obama ‘has the right’ to address their children.

Our nation’s youth are losing their way, for the most part, and I, for one, am utterly saddened that when a person in power makes an attempt to lead our youth down the path of education, his motives are questioned and people’s true nature is revealed.

Today there are a lot of people who should simply be ashamed of themselves.

Tweet This Post Stumble This Post

It used to adorn my parents’ coffee table, as well as being a regular feature of our family bathroom – always readily available, but never quite sought out.  It came in handy when you happened upon it, but you’d most likely not notice its absence.  Gracing dental waiting rooms and public areas since the early 1920’s, it was Reader’s Digest. With its short, readable little stories and its featured humor page, Reader’s Digest never failed to entertain when there was absolutely nothing else left to do so.  Filled with helpful tips and inspirational true-life stories, the pocket-sized publication delivered enough variety to quell even the most inattentive and distractible person’s restlessness.

Advice, volunteer opportunities, recipes, news and games – all at your fingertips – Reader’s Digest was something akin to a paper-version of the internet.

Is it any wonder, then, that our beloved Digest has filed for bankruptcy?

Are we truly that time-strapped that we’ve no longer the need or desire for the printed word, unless staring back at us through laptops and smartphone screens?  We are hard-wired; we are electrified – and I fear the day when the power goes out.

Tweet This Post Stumble This Post

I finally did it. I finally succumbed to the curiosity and flipped my cable box, albeit momentarily, to Fox the other night to catch a glimpse of their new reality series, “More to Love”. 

The promotional spots for the show, which features plus-sized gals vying for the affections of one somewhat-chubby-but-loveable 25-year-old real estate developer, tout it as the first reality series to feature ‘real women’, i.e., women who aren’t a size 2. 

I am utterly torn in my outrage over this. 

I am all for the heavier, more realistically-sized women to have their moment in the spotlight.  For the most part, on average, women in this country do tend to have some extra weight or otherwise don’t fit the supermodel category.  It’s nice to see a representation of that in mainstream entertainment.   

However. 

These women are medically obese, which is not the greatest thing for one’s overall health.  While the show does well to spotlight the other characteristics (aside from body) that make each of us who we are, the show fails to address any sort of lifestyle change that might enable these women to get out of this overweight lifestyle. 

Dinner dates are extravagant, with each in attendance rather vocally sharing their relief in being able to ‘eat whatever they want’ while on the show.  While it’s a nice, warm fuzzy feeling to indulge and, for once, not care about the effects, I can’t help but feel it’s the show’s responsibility to provide healthier options for these folks.  The show is sending the message that, should you find yourself overweight, it’s perfectly alright.  

Don’t get me wrong, here, as I tread very carefully into enemy territory (as I struggle to hold on to my pedestal so that a heavy wind doesn’t knock my 100-lb frame from it).  I am not implying that being overweight is bad or socially unacceptable for vanity’s sake.  I wish to point out that obesity is on the top of the list for health dangers and mortality, and while we should embrace those around us for who they are rather than what they look like, I find it socially irresponsible to encourage obesity in such a manner.  These women may find true love on this show, but how long can it last if you’re destined to suffer from heart failure or other weight-related illnesses?   

I’d simply like to see the show’s producers introduce healthy activities and habits.  For example, instead of a group ‘date’ taking place on a yacht and featuring a steak dinner, how about arranging a night of calorie-busting salsa dancing with a lighter, healthier meal? 

Now, onto my real beef (pardon the pun) with this show. 

I weigh in at a whopping 103 lbs currently.  I have been petite throughout my life, inheriting an obscenely high metabolism from my father’s genes.  I am constantly suspected of having eating disorders or body issues due to my tiny frame, always having to prove my eating habits to those around me.  Even my primary care physician isn’t sure if she believes me (for those who have met my father, you can appreciate the wonder of the genetic crapshoot). 

So….that being said….am I not a ‘real woman’? Am I faking it? Is there ‘less’ of me to love because of my weight?   

I’ve always considered myself to be an average woman.  Nowadays, however, I’m left to question my womanhood as Hollywood, in a random attempt to prove its empathy with the everyday person, has suddenly told me that the world hates the thinnies like me.  I am flawed because I lack physical substance.  I am flawed, and apparently unworthy of love, because I take care of my body and exercise regularly.   

Ok, I’m calming down now (or maybe that’s just the hunger pains)…but before I head out to nourish my not-so-real self, I’ve got one last issue to point out regarding “More to Love” – I’d hate to think that if I should end up gaining, say, forty pounds, I’d be stuck trying to chase after the fat single men.  Granted, in reality, it’s probably the case, but I don’t see the point in making the assumption that because you’re fat, you’re attracted to fat.  Oh well, that could just be me. 

Damn, who’s hungry?

Tweet This Post Stumble This Post

Remember the olden days, when something written in print usually implied a certain level of topical expertise on the part of the author?  Before the days of hyper-internet-mania, one’s struggle to bring their work to the literary forefront was compounded by competition, unimpressed publishers, and the ever-present question, “Why would someone want to read it?” As readers, we could hold on tightly to the illusion that something published was something intelligent and worthwhile.

Welcome to the blogger era. An era in which anyone – soccer moms, gamers, foodies, the shady guy next door that you’re still not sure about – has the creative license to put up a blog site and blast their opinions, solicited or not, to the internet masses. 

Certainly there are intelligent and informative blogs in existence.  Just yesterday, I learned from a blogger in Toledo how to keep my bully squash plant from strangling its garden neighbors – useful advice from an intelligent woman well-versed in the areas of botany.   The advice was not, however, without opinions and bias, which seems to be a point lost on this modern world.  Blogs, while the may be helpful, are not indifferent and necessarily entirely factual – a key distinction from news and entertainment journalism.  

The blogging age has taken the usual morning-commuter-rail-conversation up a notch by providing just about anyone with their very own pedestal on which to stand and dispense their personal opinions as they see fit.  This is America – this is the 21^st century.  There is nothing wrong, fundamentally, with this new medium of editorial content – freedom of speech and the rights to one’s opinion are certainly not new ideals to us.  

What is lacking, however, are the fundamental basics of conveying said opinions.  

Blogging, in many ways, is not unlike an online argument.  A blogger makes his or her opinion known, as is inherent in a blog site, and the various readers of the inter-web make their comments known (at times far more insistently than others).  In order to maximize the effectiveness of one’s opinion, let us not forget some simple concepts that should remain fairly consistent over time. 

1. Keep it clean.  If you have to resort to trashy language or feel the need to drop random F-bombs in for good measure and added effectiveness, you’re pretty much doomed from the start.  No one wants to take advice from the schoolyard bully who’s going to resort to potty-mouthery.  You’ll simply end up sounding unintelligent, stubborn, closed-minded and foolish.  People might also laugh at you. I know I would.
2. Have something to say.   It’s really swell that you’re a huge fan of Akon, and that you want the world to know just how much you love his new album.  Unless you’re going to tell me something I don’t already know (assuming, of course, I happen to actually be an Akon fan, which I am not), such as what his plans are for future projects, who he is collaborating with, or other key bits of information, something like this would be better suited to your Facebook wall than a blog.
3. Play nice.  No one is going to agree with you 100% of the time, unless, of course, you have mastered mind control, in which case, we should hang out.  Otherwise, get used to the idea that whatever you post will more than likely receive negative feedback.  This is a key opportunity to display your intellectual prowess by responding intelligently and appropriately.  Akin to suggestion #1, you’re only going to vastly discredit yourself if you allow yourself to become wrapped up in a foul-mouthed comment tirade.  Rise above – it generally makes the other person appear silly anyway, thus achieving the same desired result.
4. Negative Nancy. None of us are truly happy (well, maybe a select few that are rather fortunate).  This fact, however, does not mean to imply that misery loves company.  Your day job sucks, you disagree with US foreign policy, or your new iPhone completely disappointed your overly-high expectations.  Don’t just complain about it.  If you’re moved to blog about something that angers, irritates, annoys, or otherwise just bugs you, provide solutions rather than simply complaining.  Everyone has a complaint or two – distinguish yourself by having a plan to minimize such complaints.  You just might help someone else who’s having a really hard time, too.
5. Know your subject.  This seems rather simplistic, but all too often, bloggers fall into a trap of trying to seem like a subject expert where they are not.  Even if you are blogging about an area that is somewhat new to you, by doing some simple research before sitting down to write your piece will help your credibility tremendously.  It’s also okay to admit that you aren’t an expert in the subject, and therefore, are citing other sources.  

As readers in this convoluted world of information overload, we must remain selective in what we choose to read or follow on the internet.  Blogging, at the end of the day, is still writing.  And if, as a writer, you expect the masses to stop and pay attention to you, it should be good writing.  Otherwise, why bother?

Tweet This Post Stumble This Post