Jami's Letter to Charlie Sheen

Dear Charlie, I like Two and Half Men. It's cute. Get help. I don't know what happened with this new wife, and judging from Denise Richards's choices since your divorce, I'm not going to lend her wild accusations too much credence, but there is clearly a problem. If you can't be married, don't, and stop knocking these young women up. Don't hit women. Don't threaten to kill anyone. Maybe have a Diet Coke instead of a mixed drink. Thanks so much, Jami PS - just because the character gets laughs on 2 1/2 Men, doesn't mean we like a drunken jerk in real life. Just saying.

Jami Explains "Memorial"

I have to admit, I didn't watch the Michael Jackson memorial. The honest-to-goodness truth is that I'd grown fairly disgusted with it long before it even started. I have to admit, I haven't really been a fan of the man since the 80's, but I think had I actually been really into him and his music, this would have turned my stomach all the more. When I saw them talking about dress rehearsals and all the celebrities who wanted to perform, that's when I started to think this would be less funeral and more concert. Maybe those who watched it can correct me, and I hope so. I actually read a couple reviews which seemed to indicate that mostly only people who actually knew him sang or spoke, and I hope that's the case. At a memorial service, any music should be something that was meaningful to the person, and hopefully sung by someone who is paying their respects to a loved one, not trying to get their face on international TV. If you admired Michael, but weren't actually acquainted with him, and want to pay tribute to him, you do that on your own time. Funerals are for family and friends to say goodbye. To say anything they need to say and move to the next part of the grieving process. I read about Paris, Michael's 11-year-old, speaking very briefly and I thought "She gets it." All these thousands of people who wanted to get into the Staples Center, the person I saw on CNN saying "I have the hottest ticket in town", the one who said "This is a once-in-a-lifetime event" and the several reporters who talked about the excitement and anticipation in the air - you didn't get it. That little girl and her brothers are saying goodbye to their dad. That's what it's about. Not about who is there and what they are wearing or singing. Not about how many people are trying to get in, or have traveled from X just hoping to get close to the event. Not even about the gold coffin. It's about the grieving loved ones, and their final farewell. Massive kudos to Elizabeth Taylor, someone who I believe actually knew and loved Michael, not just his fame. In a super-classy move, she explained that her friendship and goodbye would be private and just between her and Michael, as it had been in life. As the Husband pointed out, Taylor comes from an era where celebrities actually tried to maintain some dignity and class, and even though her life has not been without scandal, Taylor's decision to eschew this public spectacle elevates her, at least in my opinion.

Jami on Jacko

Any death is a tragedy. Some deaths are tragic because the person didn't get to live enough - a child or someone with a condition that prevented them from living in the way we consider normal. Sometimes the tragedy comes because the person is so deeply loved by friends and family and no matter how old or ill the person is, losing them leaves an irreparable hole in their loved ones lives. For some people, they have so much talent or skill or whatever to offer or they've already given so much joy that losing them means a loss to society. A sudden, unexpected death rips our hearts out, a long lingering illness wrenches our hearts daily. Every death is tragic. I've been thinking about Michael Jackson, not just because of his death but also because the media won't let you not think about him for more than 5 minutes. Farrah Fawcett's death the same day is sad, but certainly far less surprising after her illness. Of course, Jackson was instantly recognizable the world over, both for his talented contributions to the music world and his enduring oddness. When a celebrity dies, it reminds us that you can't be too rich or famous or talented or smart or funny or loved or anything for death. Completely non-discriminating, death comes for us all, regardless of our race,age, gender, status or skill and not caring if we understand or accept it or not. However, with Michael Jackson, part of the tragedy is that his life seemed somehow unreal and awkward. I think it must have been a very lonely life, because how could he have friends while being on tour and recording through his childhood? And then, by the time he's old enough to have control of his own life, he'd never learned to make friends. He'd been told all through his childhood, "you're different, you're special" but not like we tell our children that they are special because of who they are, he was special for what he could do and what he earned for others. He was a sex symbol probably before he could understand what that meant. By the time he could make friends, how could he have had a concept of who to trust or who liked him for himself and not his fame and money, or could he even conceive of that? He couldn't have found a friend close enough to him to say, "You can't do that" or "You need to do this" even when it's hard to say that. Then we witnessed the shockingly sad desperation of a man who never was a child trying to build a childhood for himself. Pedophile? I don't know. Definitely he made some inappropriate choices when it came to how he dealt with children, but I can't say that he molested anyone. He didn't have a friend to say "Michael, it doesn't look right to have 12 year old boys sleep over in your bed." Was he just recreating the slumber parties he missed out on? His years of plastic surgery a quest to be someone else, his bizarre behavior the desperate cries of someone fighting to get back that which had be lost and can never be regained. His music and videos changed the face of pop culture. Clearly he had talent, but in the end, I think that may have been his downfall, or a good part of it. Loved and valued for what he could do, he never got to become who he should have been. It's sad, his life, and his death. For someone who clearly brought entertainment and joy to a wide variety of people, I wonder how much joy he experienced.

Jami,Fashion Victim

Now that Eddie's in preschool at our local high school, I often make use of the track while he's in class. It's so much easier than trying to find a reasonably flat route around my house and I love the springy-ness of the track. Anyway, because of that, when I dropped Eddie off the other day, I wore a jogging suit and a ponytail, no make-up. I pondered as I crossed the school campus how horrified I'd have been, looking 20 years into the future from the time I was starting 9th grade at that same school. I clearly remember the day I could not get over the fact that my mother planned to spend the whole day (in our own home) in a jogging suit. What if a BOY stopped by? What would he think when he saw her? (no, I never considered why a boy would be stopping by my very out of the way house on a Saturday morning, unannounced.) I remember moaning into the phone to a friend that even when I was old I wasn't going to dress like that. But there I strolled, dressed just like that. Of course, these days, even the cool kids dress like that. I'd've died a thousand deaths before leaving the house in my PJs, but now girls go to the store in the them, sometimes slippers, too. Track suits were for old people and the occasional mafia dude, now they are hip. Where's the effort? Sure, it's more comfortable and you can make a case that we looked a little ridiculous in the 80s, but we put work, thought, planning into looking that ridiculous. You didn't just throw your hair in a ponytail! You moussed it and teased it for 30 minutes, then coated it with a 1/4 inch shell of hairspray. You had to peg-roll your jeans, layer your socks and be sure all your collars were popped. You had to put on enough make-up to actually make your head heavier. You had to find earrings large enough for birds to perch on. It took time! It took effort! We looked totally awesome, and it showed. This goes double for rock stars. Take a look at Kanye West, Coldplay, the Jonas Brothers. These could be totally normal people you see walking down the street. Now, compare that to Poison, Motley Crue, and the Bangles. See the difference? There is no question these people are special. You can't always tell which are the men and which are the women,except when the men wear vests with no shirts underneath. And we're not even going to talk about Boy George or Flock of Seagulls. Conclusion? Fashion is silly, no matter what. But at least in the 80s, we worked at it.

Jami and Will

If you haven't read my blog much, you might not be aware that I adore Will Smith. Mmmm, Will Smith . . . . I, uh, what was I saying? Oh yeah. So the Husband manages a video store, and the movie "I Am Legend" was out recently. It came to the store with a nice tall Will Smith stand-up. I called dibs on it and began looking for good places to put it as soon as I saw it. So, imagine my horror when I heard the assistant manager mention that the guy who'd asked for it had picked it up! "Picked it up as in lifted it?" I asked the Husband hopefully, "And then put it immediately back down?" Alas, no! He had given away my Will. A weaker woman might have wept, but I held it together. The next day - surprise! Will is in my house!! Another store had given us their Will! Now, he's not totally life-size, but still. The dilemma became: Where to put him? I felt on the ceiling of the bedroom might be a bit disrespectful to the Husband, though he claims he wouldn't mind. The living room would be great, but to be totally honest, a 5-foot Will doesn't really "go" with the decor. So Will's on the wall in the bedroom, held up by oodles of super-strength double-sided tape. He's right in front of where the treadmill unfolds so that when I'm walking, I'm heading for Will. If I get nice and skinny, it'll be thanks to him. Well, goodnight, folks. I'm going to go up snuggle into my comforter and gaze lovingly at Will. . . ..

Jami, By Any Other Name . . .

Will someone please explain celebrity perfumes to me? First, how can the perfume smell like the celebrity since he/she probably already wears a scent that exists? Hmm. Also, I get the idea that wearing the make-up/clothing line/ hair color that a celeb makes you think you look more like that celebrity (please note: it doesn't). But why on earth would you want to smell like Paris Hilton, Ashley Olsen or Antonio Banderas? Your friends won't think "Gee, Bob really smells like Beckham" because, and stay with me here, your friends don't know what Beckham smells like. We know what they look like, and maybe you can recognize the voice of your favorite famous people, but you don't know what they smell like and neither does anyone you're trying to impress. Today I saw scents for: Celine Dion Shania Twain Mary Kate Olsen Ashley Olsen Paris Hilton Britney Spears Mariah Carey Beyonce David Beckham Posh Beckham Sean John Jennifer Lopez Antonio Banderas And that's just off the top of my head. Also, Britney Spears' scent is called "Curious". Please - what could that girl possibly be curious about at this point? Or, do they mean it in the odd sense, like "curiouser and curiouser"? Just saying.

Jami Crushing

Ah, the Crush. I gotta be honest, dear friends, I love nothing more than love. Crushes, aren't love, they are l-u-v. They are the fun and silly part of luv that you know will never go anywhere. You'll never find the little niggly things that make you want to smack the object of crush in the forehead. They never are annoying or forgetful or snore. That's what's fun. I love luv, too. Paperback Writer, the brilliant friend who got me into blogging (blame her!!), posted this list of her current crushes. It's a fun list and one I agree with on some points. I "get" girl crushes by straight women, just like guys who have man-cruses, but the truth is, I couldn't think of one to save my soul. As I've sort of alluded to here and there, I've had some troubles with girl friends and part of that still lingers, I guess. So, here is my current all-boy crush list. Probably partial, because I'm not spending a lot of time on it: Will Smith - duh, always number one. If Jada weren't so perfect and in great shape . . . Al Yankovic - you may know him as Weird Al. Brilliant. Funny. In shape. Hines Ward - happy, gorgeous and has a Super Bowl Ring. Sheldon on the Big Bang Theory - He's so adorable. I want him as a pet. Johnny Depp - Now with Singing! Steve Buscemi - like a pug, so weird looking, you just have to love him Hank Azaria - could anyone be more under-rated than this guy? Plus, see him starkers in Run, Fatboy, Run Alan Tudyk - just because he played Wash on Firefly and I still think I'm Zoe. Spike from Angel/Buffy - not James Marsters,the actor who played him, I love Spike. Dr. Cox on Scrubs - Again, not the actor, the character. I can love a fictional character - don't judge me. Ewan McGregor - just watch Down with Love and Moulin Rouge and try NOT to luv him. Brad Pitt - cliche? sure, but let's be fair, this man's just plain tasty. Jay (of Jay and Silent Bob) - the real Jason Mewes is probably very nice, but again, it's Jay that got my heart. Val Kilmer - never could "get" why Tom Cruise was the star of Top Gun, who even noticed him next to Val? Even with the weird "teeth snap" thing. He sings, too, check out Top Secret. The Rock - He's just big and like, meanly pretty. I don't know what that means, but it's what's I think. M. Night Shyamalan - Not a great actor, but a neat brain and Indian men seem to like me Naveen Andrews- Hot, plus he's Indian, see above. Jay Chandrasekhar - continuing with my Indian theme, smart, funny and the director of the Broken Lizard's movies, which earns him extra props. Data - Shut up. I love him. Harrison Ford - who could be hotter than Han Solo AND Indiana Jones? no one, that's who. and briefly, people I would have a crush on, but they are flawed: Jack Black- smart, funny, sings, BUT he'd have to be able to turn it off, or I'd have to put a barbecue fork through his tongue. Penn Jillette - he's tall, he's funny, he's smart. But he's soooooo outspokenly atheist, I just can't get past it. Peter Tork - it is with great regret I move Pete to this list from the above, but he's just getting a bit too old. John Cusack - I love him, but really, it's just the brotherly way. Michael Cera - adorable and great comedic timing, but just too young. Robert Downey, Jr. - Dude - STOP DOING DRUGS. Thank you. River Pheonix - Beautiful, talented, but you know, dead. And finally - Sarah Silverman- adorable and so hilarious, but a chick. That's all for now, folks. Feel free to share or discuss.

Jami and Oscar

For many years, I watched the Oscars in breathless wonder. I saw as many of the nominated movies and performances as I could (considering that for most of that time I had no premium channels and a small entertainment budget). I had my picks, I knew who was presenting and I cared about what people wore. Oscars meant dignity and grace, style and recognition, and most of all - winning. It's the glory. In my younger days, I'd thought of being a TV and then eventually movie director. I have pretty good visual sense for things and I love bossing people around. I'd totally be a kick-butt movie director, no doubt. But I left my TV dreams for my love of radio and I left radio for need of money. And then of course, I left the workforce all together for Mommying. But I digress. What I wanted, more than anything, was an Oscar. I still do, really. I want an Oscar (and I want a Stanley Cup ring). I don't want someone to give me theirs or to get one at some sad auction for a celeb gone wrong. I want to win one (that goes for Stanley, too) and I don't even care what for. But, as Eddie would say I really, really do want it. I do. However, and I can't pinpoint where this happened, I got sick of the Oscar ceremony. Maybe it was a few of the crappy hosts. Maybe it was the celebrities starting to dress like lunatics instead of glamorous (and yes, several still do go for the glam). I know that part of it is that many of the movies being nominate I just despised. That started with Titanic. What a piece of 垃圾(luh suh) that was. This year I haven't seen a single nominated best picture, though I do want to see Juno. So I didn't watch the Oscars. I watched the hilarious Death at a Funeral instead, with some of the Evil Fudge That is Still Beating Me. We had a great time.

Jami Believes There is Someone For Everyone

Don't believe me? http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080213/ap_en_ce/people_gary_coleman So there.

Jami Thinks You Need to Read This

I'm not reviewing this book - I'm telling you to go out and buy, borrow or download it and really read it. Murdered by Mumia - by Maureen Faulkner & Michael Smerconish Faulkner is the widow of the murdered police officer and this story is not about the trial per se, as much as the living legend Mumia has become after the trial as well as the things that she has had to endure since the murder. This book is not about whether or not the death penalty is right, and that's not the point, either. Of all involved, who has the most interest in being sure that the right person is convicted? The one who loved him the most, his wife. Faulkner attended every day of the trial and has even published the entire transcipt at http://www.danielfaulkner.com/ This is a hard book to read on many levels, but I challenge you to read it, regardless of what you know, or think you know, about the murder of Danny Faulkner.

Jami Dreams a Little Dream of You

Well, not all of you, but my dream last night featured three of my regular friends/readers: PW, EDW and Patrick. Also, two celebrities. Basically, EDW, PW and I were scheduled to appear on Dr. Phil. I'm not entirely sure why, I think it had something to do with people who blog. Patrick told us he lives close to where they film Dr. Phil (not true in the waking world) and we could stay with him. When we got to Patrick's house, it turned out that his wife was not at all happy about the arrangement. She didn't believe we had been invited there for the Dr. Phil show, she believed we were "some internet hos" that Patrick had "ordered up for himself". Not the best hostess, she called us very not nice names and even spit at us. Nonetheless, we stayed at her house, since Patrick had set up a nice little work area where we all had laptop docking stations. We had Dr. Phil call Patrick's wife to explain that we three happily married women were not purchased online, and after talking to her, Dr. Phil decided that they made a better story than the three blogging girls, so we were out and they were in. Disappointed, but not out of options, PW, EDW and I went to a casting call for a commercial. They were looking for a "mother type" which we decided that at least one of us must look like. Piers Morgan did the interviews and none of us were chosen. So we all went bike riding, Piers included. I guess overall, it's a good trip if you get to go biking with Piers Morgan.

Jami's Celebrity Filled Dreams

Lately, I seem to have had a streak of dreams featuring celebrities. I've had plenty of dreams with the rich and famous before, but not with this frequency. Not sure why, it's not like I'm particularly into pop culture at the moment. Of course, my all time favorite one was when I married Will Smith. I had a beautiful huge wedding dress - that was a very dark purple. This past week, I've been on Mythbusters, played an acoustic set with Eddie Van Halen and David Lee Roth in front of a packed crowd and helped Brittany Spears manager corral her during a rampage. I had Bruce Willis over for dinner. I think I did something at the White House, but that one had gotten a bit fuzzy. I won't bore you with the entire stories, and I don't have a point. But I do wonder what I'll be doing tonight, with whom.

Jami's Friday Feast

Feast 171 Appetizer What was the last game you purchased? Mah Jongg for Poddy. We don't get to play much, but it's nice to have for when I have a few minutes. Soup Name something in which you don’t believe. I don't believe in having kids and then putting them in daycare for the majority of their waking hours. Salad If you could choose a celebrity to be your boss, who would you pick? Sandra Bullock. She seems to have her head on straight and I've heard she's a really nice person. Main Course What was a lesson you had to learn the hard way? There are a limit to the number of second chances you should give someone. Dessert Describe your idea of the perfect relaxation room. It would be very warm, probably in the mid 80s, humid, very dimly lit. There would be a large soft bed with warm fluffy covers, a big comfy recliner, with warm fluffy covers, tea and diet Coke available, a big screen TV, a selection of my favorite books, a white noise machine (for when I'm not watching the TV) and a masseuse.

Jami's Security Issues

The past few days I've been making the switch from summer clothes to winter, which felt strange in the upper-70's weather we've been having, but I know that if I don't do it now, I'll wake up to 3 feet of snow and sub-zero temperatures and not be able to find a single sweatshirt. Part of my routine is to run all the clothes through a short cold water rinse cycle in the washer and then the dryer to get them all nice and smelling fresh. One of the loads yesterday contained the baby's winter blankets. I scooped them up and tossed them in without looking. And what did I find as I transferred them to the dryer? My WOOBIE!! If you're a regular reader, you'll know I struggled with whether or not to keep it, being that I'm a bit old for a security blanket, but the truth is, I kept it until it got too hot to have a fleece blanket wrapped around my head at night. The plan became: I'd throw it in with Eddie's blankets and when I got it out this fall, I'd be over the whole woobie thing. Wrong again, Jami! I couldn't wait for the dryer to buzz and when it finally did I triumphantly freed my woobie from the pile, wrapped it around my head and shoulders burka-style and happily wore it the rest of the evening. It went back to my bed last night and is waiting for me still. I'll admit it's odd. I've been attached to objects before, but generally only when I've been sick or had a serious stressor in my life. When I miscarried, I got super-attached to my body pillow, Madrid, and I carried him from room to room and sat or laid on him everywhere. When I had the flu, I couldn't let go of my blue beanie baby bear, and dragged him along until I didn't feel like I might die at any moment. But right now, there's nothing critical or serious going on. Sure, I have stress, but not more than any other given week. Still, I love my woobie. Yes, the normal time for having a woobie, lovie or security blanket/object is ages 2-4, and I am just a few years past that, but hey, I've never done anything the "normal" way; why start now? Speaking of Lovies, I can't for the life of me understand why Lovie Smith's parents would name a boy that. I can see calling your baby Lovie and all sorts of other endearing cutesy nicknames, but come on! You knew that little baby was going to grow up and have to be Lovie in junior high and high school. To make matters worse, Gilligan's Island started airing when Mr. Smith was about 6 years old, with a rich white lady named Lovey. This has nothing to do with my woobie, I'm just saying.

Jami Is McAnnoyed

I will admit it: even though I'm a pop culture geek, I don't know what a McDreamy is. I gather it has something to do with Grey's Anatomy which I don't watch and certainly won't start now, what with all the McDreamy this and that I hear everywhere, all the time. Or so it seems. McDreamy, what-or-whoever that might be, is one of those things that makes me disproportionately angry. I don't worry to much about that because I think we all have the one thing that just irks us to no end for no real reason. For the Husband, it's Daniel Cook. This rather innocuous little kid is the host of a 6-minute, Canadian import "show" during which he interviews seemingly random experts. Yes, the kid has less of an attention span than me on a caffeine high, but hey, it's not like he's covering emergency breaking news that we need to know. Doesn't matter. The Husband hates this kid. He cringes at the theme songs. He roots for catastrophic events during the brief interviews. The Husband, for reasons he can't even really articulate, just despises this little Canuck. That's how I feel about the mere word McDreamy. It just rankles. It irritates me every time I read or hear it. I don't know why, and I don't care. I just can't stand it. I don't care if every actor and/or director and/or writer I love works on one super-episode of Grey's Anatomy, I am so mad at them for the whole you-know-what craze that I still couldn't bring myself to watch that episode because I just know they'd say that over and over until I'd have no choice but to walk out of my house and just start punching people. It's more annoying than the whole "let's join celebrity couples' names" fad which is so stupid that even tabloids should be ashamed, assuming they have the capability. Please, America, stop saying, writing and even thinking "McDreamy", for all our sakes.

Jami Begs You, Don't Have Sex with This Man

You may have heard that Denver Broncos running back Travis Henry is in court with the NFL over some drug testing issues. Basically, the dude uses pot and keeps getting caught. This is not my main problem with him, though. Mr. Henry has managed to create 9 (nine) illegitimate babies by nine totally different baby-mamas spread out over 4 states. This is enough bastards that even an NFL player can't afford to support them and has written bad checks for support. And we're not even going to get into how visitation would work for a quagmire that like. This is why I am begging you, every woman in the world, to not have sex with this man. Sure, he's got some responsibility here, too, but this is a guy who can't even figure out how to test negative for drug tests that he knows are coming and will prevent him from making big money. On the other hand, if you want to ensure that your child has a more absent father, lower common sense and higher likelihood of accidentally committing incest than the other kids in his class, by all means, ignore me and seek out this fine specimen. If you have a brain, for the love of Pete, don't sleep with this man! I don't even think standing too close to him is a good idea.

Jami Tells You About Another Dream

My friends either get sick of hearing about my dreams or else can't wait to hear more. I have bizarre, intricately detailed dreams all the time, and remember at least one dream at least 4 or 5 days a week. Mostly they are uninteresting, sort of the equivalent of a normal day. Sometimes they aren't. Last night I had a dream that Brent Spiner was determined to woo me away from the Husband. He and I apparently worked at the same elementary school: me as a teacher, him as some sort of administrator. He even used his authority in that role to set up situations which placed us together and the like. It culminated in the school's Renaissance Day (what, grade schools don't have Renaissance days?) in which not only did Brent use his power to name me the Renaissance Day Princess, he also bought me a gorgeous gown and one of those pointy princess hats, and he even arranged for the prince (him, of course) to pick me up at my house and take me to the school in a horse-drawn carriage. Because my brain is seriously warped, as we climbed out of the carriage, one of the horses peed, somehow hitting his shirt, which he had to change. I expected him to be in shape, but his Bowflex Infomercial body surprised and impressed me; the jailhouse-looking tattoo, however, was a little off putting. We danced at the Prince and Princess Feast, and when he tried to kiss me, I immediately put an end to that and reminded him that I am happily married. Brent informed me that he didn't care about that "minor detail" and that he'd pursue me for the rest of our lives, but "not in a scary way". I was very flattered, though I knew his efforts would be fruitless. Here are some points I find most interesting about the Brent dream:

• I've never been attracted to Brent. Not that I'm repulsed or anything, but he's not really my type, plus older than my dad, if IMDB is to be believed. He's a fine actor, but not one that I ever considered as a possible future beau.
• I'm not a teacher and if I were, it wouldn't be in an elementary school. That is my least favorite age of kids - that's right, I'd take Junior High over third grade any day.
• In many of my dreams, men other than the Husband are interested in me (and why not? I'm great!) and there are basically three scenarios: 1. I basically spend most of the dream flattered, but resisting the advances. 2. The Husband doesn't seem to mind me dating other men or 3. the Husband is gone, either having left me or just mysteriously vanished and no one thinks anything of it. This clearly was a 1.
• Notice that I made myself princess and not queen. Also, as much as I dearly love tiaras, I didn't have one. Just the pointy hat with the scarf-thing. Is there a name for those?
• For the life of me, I can't explain why he had nicely ripped muscles (you know, shaped, but not gross) and a seriously disturbing tatt. I don't know that much about the actor, but it's my guess that neither is really Mr. Spiner's style.
• Apparently, in my subconscious, stalking is fine as long as it's performed "not in a scary way".

Jami's Friday Feast

Feast 157 Appetizer Say there’s a book written about your life. Who would you want to narrate the audio version? Well, me, obviously. But if we mean someone famous, that I like to listen to speak? Will Arnett, Val Kilmer or Christian Slater. Oooh - or George Takei! Soup Take the letters from your favorite kind of nut and write a sentence. (Example: Perhaps every avenue needs understanding today.) Please, everyone, only pick little elderberries. Salad If you could go back in time and spend one week in another decade, which decade would you choose? If I were wealthy and had servants so I didn't have to figure out how to do things like laundry, I'd go back pretty far, sometime where I could wear one of those huge dresses - maybe the 1850s? If not, maybe the 60s so I could see some of the classic bands in concert. Main Course Name a song that brings back memories for you. When I See You Smile. Dessert Do you prefer to wash your hands in cold water or warm water? Hot, if possible. Warmer is better.

Jami and Paris

Gosh, I wonder what all the news channels are doing now that Paris Goes to Prison is over? So sad. I have to admit to ignoring a good portion of it, but my basic feeling is that her serving the time she did seems fair and right - about what anyone else would serve and a nice reminder that sometimes rich people can't buy their way out. Sometimes. I mean really - if anyone can afford to take a cab after a night of drinking, it's Paris. But mostly, I don't have feelings in any direction for Ms. Hilton. I don't understand hating her - what's the point of that? She's not evil, just sort of pointless. And it isn't entirely her fault, I can't imagine her parents set the bar too high for her, in the acheiving for herself department. Of course, I haven't met her in person, so maybe we'd be buds. But I sort of doubt it. Mostly, I think we'd not have much in common. I think it would go something like: Paris: So, uh, hi. Jami: Hi. (long awkward pause) Read any good books lately? Paris: No. I meant to, but I've been like sooo busy you know? I should get some of those books on CD. Jami: But weren't you just in prison? Paris: Totally. It was awful. I hope you'll buy my book . . . I'm going to read it on CD. Jami: Ooooo-kay. Paris: Umm, don't you hate it when your personal shopper buys the wrong brand of gourmet muffins so you have to eat the other ones while you get your daily massage? Jami: I, uh, yeah, that sounds awful. Paris: So, do you like, uh, stuff? Jami: Sure. Paris: Me too. Totally! Jami: Well it's been great talking to you . . . I hope Paris really does pull it together and make something of herself. If she doesn't, well, I won't be suprised. I don't think I could even work up disappointed. I just can't feel much either way. She isn't bad, she isn't great, she just, well is.

O, Maury, Who Art Thou?

In college, I watched The Maury Povich Show. He did shows about issues - surrogate parenting, living with disabilities, that sort of thing. I stopped watching the show when I graduated and got a real job. Now, it's called Maury, and apparently it's turned into Jerry Springer Lite. I catch bits of it now and then when I'm in the bedroom (the TV without the TiVo). I've never even been able to watch an entire episode. There seem to be three available topics - "Who's My Baby's Daddy" (usually sub-titled "Paternity Tests"), "Take a Lie Detector Test to Prove You're Not Cheating", or "My (fill-in-the-blank) Dresses Like a Ho." The blank for the last one is usually "Teen", "Wife" or, sadly "Mom". Why, Maury, why??? Isn't there enough total crap on the air? And seriously, the girl that I saw that brought THREE men on to take paternity tests and they were all negative, maybe she doesn't have the judgement necessary to be a mom. If you can't even accurately narrow it down to the top three, you don't make good choices. Or suck at math. Either way, not good. Maury, I know you probably wanted to do real journalism at some point. Sure, you started on one of those tabloidy things, and maybe you feel bad because your wife got to do more serious stories. But that's no reason to encourage the embarrassing underbelly of society to appear on national TV and make us all collectively stupider. Come back to the light side, Maury! On a personal note, no, yesterday didn't kill me. I did skip my daily treadmill walk, having visions of ending up somehow stuck under it until the Husband got home. As a penance, though, I walked to the grocery store today and bought salad to have as dinner.