apropos of anything

In anticipating of dropping my landline, I am looking for a hands-free headset for my cell phone, preferrably one that doesn’t make me look like a Borg. I am notorious for calling people while I am doing housework, but it’s much harder to do that with a cell, so… suggestions, please?

I didn’t see the writing credit for this week’s Grey’s. Truly, I didn’t. And yet, I still blamed Marti Noxon for it without the slightest twinge of guilt because even if she didn’t write it, she obviously had something to do with it.

AND SHE DID.

Why, Shonda, why? Don’t you love your show? If thousands of viewers can pick up the tell-tale signs of Noxon, that means she is a one-note hack. Save yourself, unless you suddenly want to save the hospital from giant phallus with only the power of a broken yellow crayon.

No beautiful things today because it has been one of those days where nothing is beautiful, so even though I had this post all written out in my head yesterday (I could tell you what the three things were, but that would be CHEATING), I can’t post it today because it’s not a beautiful Thursday. It’s just not.

Possibly that is because I am exhausted (and yes, I know, if I’m tired, why don’t I just go to bed earlier? and I am TRYING, honestly, I am, but it is hard), but more likely it’s because today was simply an ugly day in an ugly week in an ugly month, and while there were some bright spots, I can’t mention them because I am saving them for a Thursday that is beautiful.

There is no real way to segue to the actual topic without implying that tonight’s episode of Grey’s Anatomy is responsible for the ugliness and the missing Three Beautiful Things Thursday, but it’s really not. It’s just the rancid cherry on the top of a decomposing sundae. And that rancid cherry is all Marti Noxon’s fault. Even if she denies it, even if she claims to have been in Bangkok while every bit of “Some Kind of Miracle” was being created, it’s still her fault. Her residual aura is harder to escape than cigarette smoke in a bar anywhere outside of New York City.

I cringed when I read that Marti Noxon had signed on to Grey’s Anatomy. (Brothers and Sisters fans? Your gain is our loss.) I know Eric Buchman was all rah-rah-sis-boom-bah about her in his blog post, but what else was he supposed to do in a public forum? You don’t speak ill of a colleague where you can be quoted unless you’re Isaiah Washington, or in need of a lobotomy.

Granted, she’s not ALL bad. Sometimes she produces something that doesn’t feel like it’s been hit by the creative version of the Ebola virus. “What’s My Line” didn’t suck, for example. It’s just that “What’s My Line” was a long time ago, and afterwards, when she got to be in charge, she gave us Spike + Buffy = Twue Wuv, never mind that for the better part of three seasons, Spike had been doing his damndest to KILL Buffy. She also gave us the two seasons of BtVS that are unaffectionately known among fans as Season Sux and Season Sux More. Since then, she hasn’t really done anything promising… or, really, anything at all. You don’t let a shopaholic loose in Bloomie’s with your credit card, and you don’t give a producer with a recent history of suck free reign on your hit TV show. You just don’t.

But they did, and she’s up to her old tricks. Mark Sloane, manwhore, apparently has twue wuv for Addison despite cheating on her a bazillion times in two months after she got pregnant with their kid. Meredith had “a moment” where she stopped fighting, much like Buffy did, and yeah, it was painful to watch the first time around too. Oh, and Buffy’s mom died too.

What happened to my fun, frothy, flirty Grey’s Anatomy? Did taking away the opening credits make them forget the eyelash curler and the red heels? Which is not to say that Grey’s can’t be serious and weighty now and then, but the show used to be able to do that without becoming ponderous. The problem with season six of BtVS was that it was just too depressing, and BtVS always had far darker themes than bright, airy Grey’s. The show needs to stay true to itself.

Also, the instant surgery becomes a metaphor for drugs, I’m outta here. I had enough of that malarky the first time around, Marti.

1. Pitchers and catchers reported today. You know what that means: Baseball is back! Pitchers and catchers reporting is only a short step away from everybody reporting, which is only a short step away from spring training, and then, before you know it, we’re in April, looking at Opening Day. I can’t wait.

2. Believing in something. The speech Izzie gave on tonight’s Grey’s Anatomy was kind of hokey and way inappropriate (how is Meredith’s impending death about you, Izzie, and why would it be a good time to tell George how much you think his marriage sucks?), but the point of having her make it was to show that she’d regained her faith in medicine. She believed again. If you’ve ever had even a moment of being unable to believe in anything, or anyone, you know how amazing it is to finally step out of that fog.

3. Stuffed grape leaves. Sometimes all I would eat for dinner in Saudi was two grape leaves and an orange. They were a staple at the dinner buffet, but even knowing I’d get them after isha didn’t stop me from craving their tangy goodness during the day. One of the girls in the group said you can find fresh ones at Middle Eastern markets, but I haven’t found any Middle Eastern markets in Atlanta that carry them. In the meantime, I guess I’ll have to make do with canned, or I could try making my own.

The Burger King is disturbing. Very, very disturbing. Apparently, that’s the point (and apparently it works). Except me, I am not an 18- to 35-year-old male, so my characterization of this plastic-faced mascot ends with “disturbing” and never progresses to “cool.” I am not, nor will I ever be, a “superfan.” I’m totally okay with that.

What I’m not okay with is a gaggle of Burger King bobbleheads staring up at me from a desktop like a chillingly psychotic bobblehead army. When one of those shows up in your workplace, it is time to take action, my friends. It is time to form your own army.

The bobbleheads, they have been captured. They are currently being held in an undisclosed location, but we are happy to provide pictures as proof of their existence:

Only our strong moral sense kept us from crushing
these maniacal sociopaths into plastic smithereens.
Even sociopaths deserve a chance to defend themselves.

However, if our terms are not met immediately and without protest, we will have no choice but to dispose of the bobbleheads on our own terms… and I promise you, Unnamed Person Who Brought Bobblehead Army Into the Office, it will not be pretty. A taste, if you will, of what’s to come (clicking on the pictures will show you larger versions):

Meet our demands, or the King gets sucked into the Pipeline

The Burger King is pinned after receiving the
smackdown of his short plastic life.

One of his bobblehead buddies attempts a rescue…

…only to discover first-hand what happens to the
foolish figurine who attempts THAT course of action.

Hanging by a precarious slink.

If we have to, we WILL break out the big guns.

We are obviously not kidding around. One false move, and the Kings get it. If the Kings are to be returned unharmed, they must be disbanded. They cannot form groups of more than two Kings at a time. They can no longer grin maniacally at everyone who passes by. They must change expressions every once in a while.

We feel these terms are reasonable. We await your response.

I think it’s safe to say that everyone knows somebody who’s been affected by breast cancer. Either they’ve had it, or they’ve loved someone who’s had it, or they know someone who loved someone who had it. I certainly do.

I wanted to do the Race for the Cure this year, but I have an unavoidable engagement in Chicago that weekend, so I may have to settle for helping plan it in advance. But. I think this may be the year I finally commit to the 3-Day.

It’s a little intimidating, sixty miles over three days. I’m nowhere near in shape, and even if I were, I’d still have to train because it’s sixty miles in three days. The scheduling’s off, too. The Atlanta walk begins on Ramadan Eid day, my favorite day of the year, and a day I simply must leave open. Philadelphia and Michigan are during Ramadan, not that I really want to do it in Philly anyway. Chicago’s open, and appropriate, but even the Windy City can be insufferably warm in August, and I am a wuss about heat. The current front-runner is Seattle, which is completely on the other side of the country but would give me a chance to make another pilgrimage as well.

I’ve been wanting to do this for years. It’s number 74 on my 101 in 1001. I’m still not sure, though. Maybe I just need a good push. Have any of you done it before? Do any of you want to do it this year?

Insha’Allah, I’ll do it. At the very least, though, I think I will volunteer to help out at the Atlanta one (if they’ll take me for two out of three days)… because sometimes you just have to do something.

1. Untrodden snow. I have lived in the Sunbelt for most of my life. I have never had to shovel it, never had to drive in it, rarely seen it piled up, sludgy and brown, on the sides of the roads. I’ve never had to dig my car out from underneath it. I am not currently buried in it. Under those circumstances, perhaps it’s cavalier of me to say that snow is beautiful, so I will say this: Snow that has just fallen, that has yet to be stepped on, is beautiful.

2. Options. How lucky I am to be able to choose. Sometimes I think many doors are closed to me, and while that may be true, I still have a plethora choices. In a minute there is time/For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse. If I do not dare to disturb the universe, that too is a choice of mine. Maybe I am not ready to reach for the options that are within my grasp, but knowing that they are there is beautiful. And perhaps one day, the mermaids will sing to me also.

Vinegars this nice belong in your salads, not in your drains. Click on the image to go to the original photo on Flickr.

3. Vinegar. It’s a stinky miracle worker.

I have always had an issue with drains and Drano. Y’all know this. Probably far better than you want to, even. And even though the hole in the bathroom ceiling wasn’t caused by Drano, I’ve been looking for alternatives since then, just because.

Heather and Jason suggested I try boiling vinegar, which seemed odd to me, but who am I to question both Heather and Jason? Of course, it works. Expertly. So now, in addition to being a wallpaper remover, a dye remover, and an essential component of salad dressing, vinegar unclogs my drains without adding extra chemicals to my water.

Useful AND environmentally friendly. And it doesn’t even burn my fingers. Beautiful.

When the new Mac ads first came out, I kind of agreed with Seth Stevenson’s opinion that they’re on the obnoxious side, but I think the new one about Vista is hilarious.

“You are coming to a sad realization. Cancel or allow?” There’s just no way that’s not funny!

Before we begin: Because I am nothing if not up on my sports rivalries, and because I care about keeping y’all informed, Carolina just beat Duke at Duke. Let the rejoicing in Chapel Hill begin.

I just finished Zadie Smith’s On Beauty, and it was excellent. At times, I had to make myself put it down so I could go to sleep, or to work, or wherever. Smith is an excellent writer, and her characters are very real, especially because they are not always likeable.

And now, as you can see from the box on the right, I have other books in my queue. There are still more sitting on the shelf (the Chicklit thread about shelf-sitters has me motivated about clearing the decks, or at least making an effort), so it’s not like I’m hurting for things to read. Not really.

What I’m looking for, though, is a book that has characters that set up shop in my head and my heart. The Belseys and the Kippses are great, but I want someone more along the lines of Taran or Anne or Harry. Interesting that all three of those are children’s books; possibly what I’m looking for can’t really be found in an adult book, except, maybe, for Elizabeth. Even Seymour, much as I love him, wouldn’t fit this particular bill.

There’s a traveling pants book coming, and a new Harry Potter, but does anybody have any recommendations to tide me over until then?