Archive for the ‘more about me’ Category
I used to have a real weakness for Kevin Bacon and just shut up because He Said, She Said was an excellent film, as was The Big Picture. The downside to any sort of Bacon preoccupation is that it’s impossible to think or talk about it without the Footloose theme song running through your head which is happening to me right now and I don’t like it.
Anyway, there’s this post on Defamer about Househusbands of Hollywood which is going to be like the male Real Housewives or something but all I could think was “Hey, that guy looks just like Kevin Bacon, I think that IS Kevin Bacon?!” and that I’ll probably have to watch the show now. Turns out it isn’t Kevin Bacon, it’s his doppelganger Danny Moder and I won’t have to watch the show.
Note the Bacon-likeness:
I should add two things. 1) This picture is via Gawker via Getty or something meaning I did not take it myself with my Le Clique camera. 2) My Kevin Bacon infatuation kind of died a little when I interviewed him years ago and he was super professional and just wanted to talk about his movie and his family. “Really?” I asked, tugging at the sleeve of my cable-knit sweater to reveal a half inch swatch of wrist. “That’s fascinating!” I murmured, slowly readjusting the neck of my Lands end turtleneck. He was immune though.
Synesthesia is where your senses blend and you can see music or smell colors or hear your broccoli. Well I propose there be something called Nauseasthesia to describe the condition where whatever song is cycling through your head when you’re sick makes you feel like you’re going to puke. Or am I the only one? Whenever I get sick the illness tends to feature one song prominently. I’m sure I’ve written before about the Great Flu of 93 Starring Rush’s Big Money? It may have been 92 or 91 actually but there was an unfortunate rhyme. Anyway, earlier today “Kokomo,” which has been in my head since we talked about it yesterday in Canada (it was national Kokomo Day) was threatening to make me vomit (Ok fine, it wasn’t national Kokomo Day. We were talking about classic TV families on Switch and Full House came up and we talked about that episode with the Beach Boys. Actually one of my co-panelists mentioned the Beach Boys and that Full House episode in the green room and then when we were shooting she didn’t mention it so I said something like “Weren’t you saying how awesome it was that the show featured the Beach Boys?” or maybe I said preposterous instead of awesome or maybe I just turned to her wearing a lei and making a mai-tai as a way to jog her memory. Anyway, the point is that I’m kind and saintly, obviously) And the lights in this room certainly weren’t doing my wonders for my Island loathing gag reflex. I had to get to a cool dark Kokomo-less place, preferably not on Key Largo or Montego.
So I repaired to my boudoir, which I’ve never called a boudoir before and I’ve certainly never “repaired” to, and took a nap. Before falling asleep I had a vivid dream-but-I-wasn’t-yet-asleep where an interior decorator came to my living room (yes, I’m still thinking about this) and advised me to put a “chair with a sofa bed” in one corner and “a tablespoon” in the other.
Because I agreed to do Red Eye on Valentine’s Day. I plan to wear red. Or just a diaper while holding love’s bow and arrow. Take the high road on that one please.
Also, speaking of Fred, despite my plans to stay home hanging with my houseplant while working on new moves to fold in (seamlessly, of course) to my competitive ice dancing routine, I just put in a full day at Page Six Magazine, where I’m acting as senior editor for a bit. I worry the ice dancing will suffer, is the thing.
Also, I felt that moment where I realized the lobby, which has always been about Red Eye for me, is about to become about Page Six for me. Does that make sense? And then some day I’ll go to do Red Eye and it’ll be like going to do a show in the building where I work or once worked, as opposed to now, where I’m still flummoxed by the elevators. “I’m going to one, are you going to one?” a man asked me today, by the elevator bank. I just stared at him, dumbfounded, as if he were speaking a foreign language which I once knew. Then I began drooling. The thing is that I’ve always prided myself on my ability to discern up from down—left and right not so much—and so if I lose that one I will be directionally challenged in 360 degrees, which is really going to suck. Some other sense will just have to overcompensate. Hopefully a useful one, like my sense of humor. Or my sense of which peppers are spicy. Or my sense of which movies are going to suck, except I really made a judgment error when I dragged my mom and sister to see Out to Sea.
Elated and then scared and then exhilarated and then freaked out and then peppy and then nervous and then jumpy and then hesitant and then bucolic and then urban and then sinuous and then puffy and then viscous and then runny and are you still reading this? I stopped awhile ago. Also, I wrote my favorite ever Red Eye intro that won’t ever see air, and for good reason probably, since it’s highly offensive. But anyway: “[She's so smart] if brains were a baptismal, I’d put a baby in her in church.”
Look, it’s ME-bonanza! A festival of ME! A ME-palooza! A Me-varee! A ME-ding! A ME-splosion! I could keep going. Also, completely unrelated, I was thinking lately how much I enjoy brainteasers and riddles and things so if you know any, leave them in the comments!
Alright, because you guys have asked, I’ll do this again and make it a little harder:
a) When I was six I wanted to be a psychiatrist
b) Sometimes I say mirror when I mean window and vice versa
c) I collect puppets
d) I hate horror movies
e) I love the smell of laundry
“One of the least attractive personality combinations is arrogance mixed with insecurity,” writes Gretchen Rubin of The Happiness Project, in a post about humility. It’s so simple and yet profound that I thought I’d repeat it here.
In other news, I finished a whole book yesterday which is notable because I hardly ever finish book anymore since I … what was I saying? Exactly. It was Steve Martin’s Born Standing Up and I’d recommend it for anyone who finds themselves thinking about performing, comedy and the nature of performing comedy. He lived in Orange County for awhile, which I didn’t know. Also, he described the time of his life when he was most in the public eye as when he was most alone, which I can relate to, not in a tears of a clown kind of way but in the sense that I’ve identified this somewhat reclusive streak in myself and the more I spend time on air the less I feel the need/desire to perform socially, which somehow results in my wanting to spend a lot of time at home. I suspect there’s something off there: that obviously there is a way to be social without performing, but sadly I think I’m a bit confused on that front and moreso as I get older. That said there are plenty of people I can be myself around, but I’m still slightly—like just a hair—more myself when I’m alone.
It’s occurring to me now that it might appear that these two paragraphs are related but they aren’t intended to be.
How odd is it that just when I say I need my comments, they get stuck in some comment holding place? Some comment purgatory? Some comment queueueueue? I think it’s weird. And it makes me feel powerful. I just haven’t figured out how yet to harness that power. So I have a post banging around in my head about how people keep confusing me with Julia Allison (and her with me) and yet I can’t quite bring myself to write it for fear of exacerbating the situation or appearing to somehow want to glom on to her internet popularity. In fact, I think the whole phenomenon of her (and it’s likely just a local thing) is something warranting some kind of boring academic semiotics based discussion and yet I won’t do it, because I don’t want to be responsible for any attention about the attention (meta-attention? metattention? blech), good or bad. But I will say that at first it was just fan letters and the occasional question that had nothing to do with me (“You’re really good friends with Rachel Sklar, right?” to which I’d say “No, you’re thinking of Julia Allison.”) (I’ve also received questions about Halloween costumes I had no intention of wearing, compliments on my HD debut, questions about why I hadn’t been on Red Eye lately when I’d been on the night before, etc. I don’t know what she gets about me, but she told me she’s gotten mail meant for me. But then a Fox security guard told me he gets us confused because “you look just like each other” which takes this to a whole new level because I thought it was the name and the TONY association plus maybe the dark hair. So, that’s weird, because looking like her is very much not how I see myself, though I’m becoming more and more aware that I don’t see myself as I appear. Um, I lost my train of thought. Okay then!