VH1 has a series going right now: The 100 Greatest Child Stars.
I watched #40-21 and was fascinated.
They found Corey Haim.
I'm sorry, but he's a pudge. It looks like he either cleaned up from drugs and got fat, or is bloated from drinking. In his profile, he stated that he didn't have any regrets and was exactly where he wanted to be in his career. That's curious, since I don't recall having seen his name on ANY marquee anywhere since like, 1989.
The kid who played "Robbie", the kooky little cousin on The Brady Bunch looks like a hairy, scary beast. Joey Lawrence doesn't want you to call him Joey, and he is really hot. Infact, I think he and Ricky Martin may have been separated at birth.
Now I'm watching Kept: Former model and ex-Mrs Jagger, Jerry Hall, is trying to find a nice boy toy to hang off her arm. The show is about selecting one; by way of contests, dates and elimination. They model in a fashion show, pose naked for an artist, hang out in a castle and write poems. I think two are plants. They're just too vapid, self-absorbed and immature to be worth her time or anyone else's.
Amazing how MTV programming shuts me down. I have been sitting here for 20 minutes with nothing to say even though the behavior of some of these men deserves lengthy comment. Ads are over now and the show is on and I apparently can't write and watch at the same time.
The next time I write, it should be from North Carolina. Overdue vacation starts now.
Excellent.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Monday, June 13, 2005
Elixir of the Gods
gren·a·dine
n.
A brilliant scarlet non-alcoholic syrup made from the juice of pomegranates. Used to color and flavor drinks and desserts. Called grenadine because was originally available only from the island of Grenada in the Caribbean.
(I did not know it was originally made from pomegranates. Now I truly must have more.)
When I was a small child, one of my favorite drinks was the Shirley Temple. It's gingerale with grenadine. They normally chuck in a cherry and orange slice too, which I NEVER eat. I always thought it was cherry juice. Years later I would learn the truth, and it was good - one bottle of grenadine means many Shirley Temples are possible.
Tonight, I am drinking a homemade Tequila Sunrise. I used Dole Pineapple Orange (or Orange Pineapple) juice, Cuervo and grenadine. I put in more grenadine than the recipe called for. It's my drink, it's my grenadine and it's my house so I will have as much as I like. I have also had Grenadine liqueur in the house. That makes a REALLY good drink with gingerale. I call that one the Shirley Temple Black....get it? No? Ask me and I'll tell you.
Last night I had a "Sweet Tart" (pineapple juice, cranberry juice, vodka and lime), and earlier with dinner we had daquiris. It's too hot for beer. Don't ask me to explain.
I think I'm over Cosmos. The only places I've had them done really well are Shampoo and The 8th Floor. Otherwise they're kind of boring.
Back to grenadine... it's just delish. I wouldn't put it on ice cream though. My husband would.
I just like it in drinks. Imagine that; it originates from the Pomegranate. I can't imagine they bother anymore, what with companies being able to manufacture specific tastes from god knows what.
I refuse to comment on a certain news story from today. Grenadine is much more important.
n.
A brilliant scarlet non-alcoholic syrup made from the juice of pomegranates. Used to color and flavor drinks and desserts. Called grenadine because was originally available only from the island of Grenada in the Caribbean.
(I did not know it was originally made from pomegranates. Now I truly must have more.)
When I was a small child, one of my favorite drinks was the Shirley Temple. It's gingerale with grenadine. They normally chuck in a cherry and orange slice too, which I NEVER eat. I always thought it was cherry juice. Years later I would learn the truth, and it was good - one bottle of grenadine means many Shirley Temples are possible.
Tonight, I am drinking a homemade Tequila Sunrise. I used Dole Pineapple Orange (or Orange Pineapple) juice, Cuervo and grenadine. I put in more grenadine than the recipe called for. It's my drink, it's my grenadine and it's my house so I will have as much as I like. I have also had Grenadine liqueur in the house. That makes a REALLY good drink with gingerale. I call that one the Shirley Temple Black....get it? No? Ask me and I'll tell you.
Last night I had a "Sweet Tart" (pineapple juice, cranberry juice, vodka and lime), and earlier with dinner we had daquiris. It's too hot for beer. Don't ask me to explain.
I think I'm over Cosmos. The only places I've had them done really well are Shampoo and The 8th Floor. Otherwise they're kind of boring.
Back to grenadine... it's just delish. I wouldn't put it on ice cream though. My husband would.
I just like it in drinks. Imagine that; it originates from the Pomegranate. I can't imagine they bother anymore, what with companies being able to manufacture specific tastes from god knows what.
I refuse to comment on a certain news story from today. Grenadine is much more important.
Sunday, June 12, 2005
Real World Land of The Dead (Brains)
Zombies are not coming to get me.
That statement may require a little exposition for clarification, but once again, time has lapsed since my last post and I have catching up to do.
Re: Gas Panics
1: The weekend my mom came down to visit for Spencer's birthday, we smelled gas in the house but then didn't, and thought nothing of it, considering two major forms of public transportation pass by on both sides of our house. We had a huge birthday party for Spencer, family crashing overnight, and so forth.
Tuesday of the following week, the new owner of our home came to visit with potential tenants and their moms. Spencer and I were home, doing our normal afterschool routine, and as they entered the house, they immediately became alarmed by the smell of gas...the OVERWHELMING smell of gas, which I did not smell at all in any way.
Thirty minutes later as I sat outside on the porch with my purse, keys and Spencer in my lap, PGW arrived with sensors a-beeping. The service guy walked through my dining room with a contraption that looked like something from Ghostbusters. It beeped loudly and steadily and increased in beep strength as he entered our kitchen. The stove was an immediate culprit. Then he headed to the basement where things went crazy. Gas=off. No heat, no hot water. He replaced our meter, which was leaking, but could not determine the rest of the problem and left me to cold showers and take out.
The plumber came the next day, sprayed our pipes with bubble liquid, and sent air through the pipes and looked for bubbles. Ten minutes in, he called me downstairs to show me a major union joint under the middle of my house looking like the set of the Lawrence Welk Show. Bubbles everywhere. It turned out the problem with the stove came from the problem under the house, so it wasn't really a problem. He fixed the union joint thingy and another small leak in under two hours. PGW was not so efficient, refusing to send anyone out until the following day. They're busy, you know. More cold water and take out. Actually, we have a large water heater and were able to get almost two days worth of showers out of it without using hot water for anything else.
Gas Panic Part Deux: On the way up to Maine, my mom and I stopped our cars at a rest stop near Sturbridge, Massachusetts. I pumped gas and waited for my mom to do the same.
On the other side of the island from me, a simpleton attempted to pump gas from a pump marked OUT OF ORDER. Promptly, the hose fell off and gas literally poured out on top of his car and all over the place. So, thinking like a crazy panicking mom, I ripped Spencer from his car seat and ran away. My mom followed suit until we, and other patrons, realized a not so smart patron had gotten back in his car and was starting it up. So we all yelled at him until he pulled over and turned off his car.
A very nice fellow driving a vintage car helped us move my car away from the immediate area and the frightened gal inside the quickmart adjacent to the station called the fire department. We made a hasty exit before we could be rounded up as witnesses, victims or annoyed and inconvenienced bystanders.
Now about that zombie thing: They keep showing ads for Land of The Dead. On my way out of the tv room to go brush my teeth, I imagined a zombie coming up the stairs out of the darkness at me with glowing eyes. I almost had to say "There are no zombies" as I headed down the hall.
This is the worst side effect of having a wild imagination: I can literally imagine something terrifying in a completely normal, safe environment.
Ok ewww. There is a man and a dog asleep in the room with me, and one of them farted.
Now THAT is a whole different kind of gas panic.
Some young lady is being cut apart and sewn back together again on an MTV plastic surgery show. It's about time for me to go bed. Especially since now I have seen every ad for Real World: Austin that's been created. I am an MTV zombie. GRRRRRRR brrrrrains...
That statement may require a little exposition for clarification, but once again, time has lapsed since my last post and I have catching up to do.
Re: Gas Panics
1: The weekend my mom came down to visit for Spencer's birthday, we smelled gas in the house but then didn't, and thought nothing of it, considering two major forms of public transportation pass by on both sides of our house. We had a huge birthday party for Spencer, family crashing overnight, and so forth.
Tuesday of the following week, the new owner of our home came to visit with potential tenants and their moms. Spencer and I were home, doing our normal afterschool routine, and as they entered the house, they immediately became alarmed by the smell of gas...the OVERWHELMING smell of gas, which I did not smell at all in any way.
Thirty minutes later as I sat outside on the porch with my purse, keys and Spencer in my lap, PGW arrived with sensors a-beeping. The service guy walked through my dining room with a contraption that looked like something from Ghostbusters. It beeped loudly and steadily and increased in beep strength as he entered our kitchen. The stove was an immediate culprit. Then he headed to the basement where things went crazy. Gas=off. No heat, no hot water. He replaced our meter, which was leaking, but could not determine the rest of the problem and left me to cold showers and take out.
The plumber came the next day, sprayed our pipes with bubble liquid, and sent air through the pipes and looked for bubbles. Ten minutes in, he called me downstairs to show me a major union joint under the middle of my house looking like the set of the Lawrence Welk Show. Bubbles everywhere. It turned out the problem with the stove came from the problem under the house, so it wasn't really a problem. He fixed the union joint thingy and another small leak in under two hours. PGW was not so efficient, refusing to send anyone out until the following day. They're busy, you know. More cold water and take out. Actually, we have a large water heater and were able to get almost two days worth of showers out of it without using hot water for anything else.
Gas Panic Part Deux: On the way up to Maine, my mom and I stopped our cars at a rest stop near Sturbridge, Massachusetts. I pumped gas and waited for my mom to do the same.
On the other side of the island from me, a simpleton attempted to pump gas from a pump marked OUT OF ORDER. Promptly, the hose fell off and gas literally poured out on top of his car and all over the place. So, thinking like a crazy panicking mom, I ripped Spencer from his car seat and ran away. My mom followed suit until we, and other patrons, realized a not so smart patron had gotten back in his car and was starting it up. So we all yelled at him until he pulled over and turned off his car.
A very nice fellow driving a vintage car helped us move my car away from the immediate area and the frightened gal inside the quickmart adjacent to the station called the fire department. We made a hasty exit before we could be rounded up as witnesses, victims or annoyed and inconvenienced bystanders.
Now about that zombie thing: They keep showing ads for Land of The Dead. On my way out of the tv room to go brush my teeth, I imagined a zombie coming up the stairs out of the darkness at me with glowing eyes. I almost had to say "There are no zombies" as I headed down the hall.
This is the worst side effect of having a wild imagination: I can literally imagine something terrifying in a completely normal, safe environment.
Ok ewww. There is a man and a dog asleep in the room with me, and one of them farted.
Now THAT is a whole different kind of gas panic.
Some young lady is being cut apart and sewn back together again on an MTV plastic surgery show. It's about time for me to go bed. Especially since now I have seen every ad for Real World: Austin that's been created. I am an MTV zombie. GRRRRRRR brrrrrains...