a new way to kill time.

Category: lazy post

a to do list for this blog

You know, I just can’t seem to get things done in a timely fashion.  Just to kick my bum into gear, I am going to write up the things that I have been knocking off of my 101 list, starting with these things:

  • Learn to tango.
  • Learn to make excellent risotto.
  • Find a hat that looks good on me.
  • Visit a friend who is far away.
  • Eat a mangosteen.
  • Grant a wish.
  • Write my Senator.
  • Write my Congressman.
  • Find a rockin’ pair of glasses.
  • Go a week without wearing make-up.
  • Storm out of a room, dramatically.
  • Get to 400 blog entries.
  • Learn the Presidents, Vice Presidents, and a few bizarre facts about each.
  • Have a conversation with a stranger.
  • Spend an entire day in my pajamas.
  • Read 5 books that I own, but haven’t read.
  • Finish 5 books that I have started.
  • Watch five movies that I pretend I’ve already seen.

While some aren’t, most of them are completed.  And bitches, I’ve got the photographic evidence to prove it!  That is, on some of them.  So by the end of next week, I will have completed my list of things on another list that I am to document.


good grief…

Okay.  It’s been far too long since I have been updating this thing.  And why is that?  Probably the same reason why nobody else seems to be rocking their blogs.  

Real life.

Well that, and I have been seduced by the facebook.  Maybe it’s the combination of speed, feedback, and instasnark that has me so beguiled.  Why spend an entire afternoon spell-checking something that may or may not be read by anyone when I can throw out one or two smart ass comments every hour or so?  

On the downside, I think that my writing skills have atrophied beyond redemption.  So October ninth resolution, get back to it.  

Egad, this is like taking antibiotics.

remarkable things in half-hour intervals – part 4

What follows is part 4 of a true story of a girl (me) and her on-going battle with addiction.

[continued from part 3]

My father believed that television sets should be like Americans: huge. I can’t recall what the screen dimensions were, but I remember it seemed enormous. Then again, I was very small.

I remember the furniture in the living room was arranged so that the television was the focal point. Every seat was angled in such a way that we would all get a good view of the set. For the greater part, this was an ideal setting. The only time this caused a serious problem was during the occasional prime time viewing of Hollywood Squares.

For some reason, I was extremely disturbed by the presence of Wayland Flowers, and more particularly his puppet Madame. The wicked looking Madame was considered to be quite a wit. Perhaps this was true. I don’t know. You see, every time she appeared on the screen I would scream in terror. It was a combination of her skull-like features and extra large nostrils that sent me into conniptions. Seeing her was torture; I did not know what I had done to deserve such agony.

Madame would arrive in my world completely unannounced. There I would be, lying calmly with my head resting on my mom’s leg when this witch of a puppet cackled her way into my line of sight. Everywhere I turned, her evil eyes and giant chin seemed to follow me. I knew that if I didn’t escape, she would bonk me across the temple with her grotesque head, and then chew off my fingers. That’s right. She nosh on my digits like they were 98° vienna sausages, with Mr. Flowers holding the jar of mustard. Rather than soothe my 5-year old soul, my parents would laugh at my discomfiture. Or perhaps it was howling. Who could recall such details?

My only recourse was to cover my ears while screaming bloody murder and run upstairs to my dear grandmother’s room. There, I would be reassured that no matter how much she seemed to want to, the carnivorous Madame could not climb out of the set.

The following morning, I needed to be certain that Madame was no longer infecting my airspace. I would walk past the television, double back, quickly turn the knob, and dive behind the couch. If she couldn’t see me, she couldn’t see my delicious fingers. Thankfully, her cackle was not for the morning. She was probably off terrorizing another little girl.

Or perhaps working off a hang-over.

continued in part 5…

remarkable things in half-hour intervals – part 3

What follows is part 3 of a true story of a girl (me) and her on-going battle with addiction.

[continued from part 2]

How did it pass that by the age of four my sister and I were speaking in full, if slightly juvenile sentences in both English and Korean? I believe the credit might belong to the Helena Rubenstein Foundation and the Children’s Television Workshop.

Grover was always my favorite monster. From the moment I saw him flying through the air with his knight’s helmet and “Super Grover” cape, I was smitten. He was cute, funny, fuzzy, and blue. With his exhaustive yet hysterical repetition, he taught me near and far. With the help of John-John, he taught me to count backwards. He was the main reason I sat still for Sesame Street, and still do on occasion.

To be honest, I can’t think of any other reason to watch Sesame Street these days. Maybe I’m too old, but I don’t remember this show being so boring. I blame it on the introduction of the ubiquitous Elmo, whose only redeeming value is that his segment’s Mr. Noodle is played by the brilliant Bill Irwin. Rather than being showered with baby talk, watching classic episodes of this show reminds me of a time where monsters spoke to kids like they were little adults. And what is with the “Elmo loves you” junk? Sure, Grover doesn’t use contractions, but at least he does not refer to himself in the third person. But I digress. With the help of Grover and his pals, English seeped into my mind, as did my affection for the television set.

Growing up, I remember thinking that our television was beautiful. I am not saying this from an addict’s perspective, but from a strictly aesthetic point of view. The picture tube lived within solid maple housing. The simple design offered but three knobs: the on/volume knob, the knob for VHF channels, and the last for UHF channels. The design was simple, yet versatile. Everything was placed in the exact location it should have been. It came with no instructions, save for the warning label stuck to the back saying “Removal of this panel WILL cause electric shock.”

I loved that set. It was functional art. Those were the days where you were expected to crochet a vast doily to protect its delicate surface. It was a time when built-in sound was the only option. It was an era where picture quality was adjusted by hitting the side of the cabinet, but only after failing with the tuning rings. It was the decade when cable was only for perverts.

My father believed that television sets should be like Americans: huge. I can’t recall what the screen dimensions were, but I remember it seemed enormous. Then again, I was very small.

continued in part 4…