Shalomy the Potato

2009-07-24T08:46:00.000-07:00

I've got a new blog!

www.fitisthenewfat.blogspot.com

Check it out.

2009-06-10T12:19:00.001-07:00

Dilettante Society Poll

2009-03-07T13:11:00.000-08:00

Icebreaker Speech

The following is an Icebreaker Speech I wrote for Toastmasters. It was my first speech I delivered for the club. I also brought pictures when I delivered it and I will scan them later.

Inside my red head

Today I am going to talk to you about my hair. It’s red. This spurs one of the questions I am most frequently asked – Are you Irish? It sounds even more original it sounds each time I hear it. Normally, this question is posed in a way that implies the person asking already knows the answer.

“You must be Irish, huh?” they’ll say with a knowing smile. Sometimes I wish I could answer no and completely blow their minds.

But yes, I am an American with Irish ancestry, and I have red hair, which is also frequently commented upon, usually by members of my family.

“Do something with that head of yours,” my mom might say. “Did you dye your pretty red hair? Why do you want your grandmother to cry?” “You’ve got a lot of gray.” (That last was said by a hairdresser who clearly didn’t want a tip.)

My parents, both Irish-Catholics from the South Side of Chicago, were pleased to be able to count a freckled redhead among their progeny. My brother and sister disappointed by being blond and brunette, respectively.

Growing up, all was well for many years – my mom would invent interesting new hairstyles for me to wear to school each day, I was quiet and never got in trouble at school, and when I was 7 I got a cute shoulder-length bob. Yes, everything was great. Until I experienced an emotionally scarring experience that some may consider a rite of passage – a truly tragic haircut. It started with my sister. My mom took her to the hairdresser to get a modified wedge. What was a wedge referring to, you might say? At that time it meant a mushroom cut, or bowl haircut – think Dorothy Hamill, or Joey Lawrence from his Gimme a Break days .A modified wedge was something far more sinister.

A modified wedge was a cut that was just completely short all over. Picture a boys’ haircut in 1988 – this was the haircut that my mom got for me and my sister. To style it, she’d do a gel and comb-over method. I looked like Alex P. Keaton in a plaid jumper.

That was in second grade, and people were still talking about that haircut in grade 8. As graduation approached, Jenny Kent, the most popular girl in my class, cornered me in the bathroom one day and inquired if I had lost my hair in second grade due to illness, and that was why I had that horrible haircut. It was like she knew it was her last chance to get the answer to this burning question. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re still talking about that haircut.

I refused to ever have my hair that short again. Aside from a brief sixth-grade interest in having awesome bangs, I also lost interest in styling it. At my all girls’ high school, styling your hair meant MAYBE you washed it that day. It was a point of pride how many pens you could fit in your bun. I still don’t enjoy the hassle of doing my hair.

However, when I was in college, my sorority sister Melissa Pirolli introduced to the wonders of the gold-plated straightener – and I’ve never looked back. This magical instrument could reduce my coarse, fluffy hair into … while not a shiny waterfall of hair, a less coarse, shinier version of itself. My hair could be so much flatter! It was amazing.

Since then, I’ve experimented with ion straighteners, ceramic straighteners, the CHI and the HAI.
For those of you who don’t know, the CHI and the HAI are to hair straightening what the 2005 White Sox were to baseball – amazing, and capable of things you never dreamed possible.

My hair became especially important when I started getting involved in comedy. I’ve studied at Second City and the IO theater. Growing up, I was always the shy girl. In grade school, I spoke so rarely that all the boys would shout at me during recess “Kristin, are you trying to say something? Kristin, are you trying to say something?” I found I could barely muster the guts to say “Not to you!” I was terrified of talking to people. I got much older as I got older, but I never would have imagined that performing was something that I could be good at. I was used to my muttered jokes being stolen by my louder friends …

But studying improv was something I turned out to actually be good at. It’s a lot easier for me to be on stage in front of a large group than it is to have a one-on-one conversation. I’m not going to be famous anytime soon, but I’ve performed at Second City in several shows and with my sketch group there, and at Chicago Sketchfest.

What does hair have to do with this? Well, having perfect hair when performing can increase your confidence by 115%. It’s proven. I still count my blessings that I found my hairdresser before my audition for the Second City Conservatory. This audition was a big deal – my idols like Tina Fey and Stephen Colbert were graduates. I knew that if I wanted to make it on my first try, I had to have perfect hair.

Thankfully, I had already discovered Goran Cobanovski, a delightful, heterosexual, Macedonian man who always tells me I’m pretty. Under the tutelage of Vidal Sassoon, Goran learned methods of styling that give me the shampoo-commercial hair I’d always dreamed of.

The day of the audition, I took off work in order to get my hair done beforehand , and arrived, face framed by glossy perfection. I nailed the audition (something Tina Fey failed to do!) and got my acceptance letter a few weeks later. Improv has been great for me, providing a creative outlet and so many new friends.

Through it all, Goran’s always there for me, doing my hair for my first sketch show, on my birthday, and other special occasions. I hope to soon embark into the terrifying world of stand-up, and I know Goran will be styling my hair for my first show.

2008-03-30T16:31:00.000-07:00

Welcome to My Feelings Journal

I rarely, if ever, write anything personal on this blog. Actually, I don't think I ever really have, save for my feelings about John Mellencamp ... anyway. I recently re-read my old diary. It spans several years, but only has about seven entries. It is utterly ridiculous and I wish I had kept more diaries because, like most people's diaries, it is comedy gold.

Note: These pictures are from 8th grade graduation. I feel I look disturbingly the same.

Here, for your reading pleasure, are all the entries it contains. I have included my thoughts and insights from the present in italics.

Monday, Jan. 31, 1994 (age 12)

Today was a pretty good day. We had a dino-decorating contest. Sheila (name changed). pushed me in the snow. I wish I could be a lot skinnier. I am mad at Kelli. Tomorrow we have a musical program and Book Fair at school. I have a good idea for teaching the class. Bye!

I remember this dino-decorating contest, I believe they were cookies. Sheila was a huge bully and emotionally disturbed. She used to get technical fouls called on her in junior high basketball and she was always fouling out for knocking people down. In junior high girls' basketball! There is no need to get that intense. Also, she tried telling the class that her parents adopted a baby, and brought in pictures of said baby, but they were clearly pictures of herself as an infant. Also, also! In one shining moment of aggression in my shy life, she was mocking me for being in the Battle of the Books (which I won twice, OK?) and I said "Whatever, Sheila. Some day I am going to be a successful lawyer, and you will be shaking a tin can begging for change on the street, and I will walk right by you." That is a really bitchy thing for me to say, true, and I don't know where it came from. Kelli is my sister. I am not sure what I was mad at her about, but given that we were 12 and 15 and shared a room, we annoyed each other a lot.

Tuesday, February 1, 1994

Today was an okay day. We had to practice for the concert. More about the concert later. Bye for now!

I never updated, but the concert was a selection of songs from Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, which we later went to see. The hottest biblical musical to hit the Catholic school system in ... ever.

Thursday, February 10, 1994

Sorry I have not written. Yesterday I saw Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. It was good. I got opera glasses for $8. I am an (I can't read the word I wrote next - I had to do remedial handwriting exercises in grade three because my handwriting was so poor. It had improved by this time but still, no effing clue what I wrote. DIARY OF MYSTERY!!) Stephanie M. is so rude! I don't like her much.

We went to see Joseph at the Chicago Theater. There are naked ladies painted on the ceiling and the boys used my opera glasses to look at them. Stephanie M. was my best friend in kindergarten and together we ruled the school. Then we were not really friends but not not friends, you know, until all her friends dropped her in grade 7 and we became best friends, but when they came back she dropped me like a hot potato. Girls are nice.

Monday, March 21, 1994

I hope that when I get older I will have kids that will read this. I hope it will be like the Jetsons. Then I won't have to do housework. I like John Doody! (Here I drew a heart.) MAJOR cute alert! Other boys have liked me but they are not like him. I heard he LOVES me! I hope so. Parting is such sweet sorrow! K.A.C.

Oh, so many things. I am pretty sure I never gave a shit if the future was like the Jetsons. Also, I did like John. But, I would never actually say things like, major cute alert! I was lame, but not that lame. I think I was reading too many YA novels. And ... John never liked me. Mainly because he was a homosexual, now out and proud, but also, he never even pretended to like me so I am not sure where I was getting that from. I never had a clue he was gay, though in retrospect, there were signs. Like the year he got a black, suede, fringed jacket for Christmas and loved it. And how he was always trying to bone other dudes. Also, and this is unrelated, but he was the only Cubs fan in our entire class. I seriously didn't know there were so many Cubs fans until I was like, 22. I was like, what? People like the Cubs and aren't mocked for it? What's going on? I don't make fun of Cubs fans though because I think the whole rivalry is stupid, but there you have it.

Tuesday, June 18, 1994

Ode to John (Doody) (written in tiny letters, in case I forgot which John I was talking about, I guess?)

I love you with all my soul,
Please make my half a whole,
The one thing I am sure of
I can't live without your love
My heart aches for you
And I think -
What would I do
If I ever lost you
My lonely soul would wander,
My love, I would squander
On some less deserving friend
I would never feel this love again
No matter how long it had been

K.C.

Oh sweet mother of God. I think I knew even then that I didn't like him this much. This was possibly at the time I was reading some kind of V.C. Andrews novel or something. Or probably those Lurlene McDaniels, everyone's dying of cancer books (see an earlier entry about these books! Yes, I'm name-checking my own blog on the blog). But yeah ... this one's pretty self-explanatory. My heart yearned for him, OK?

Tuesday, April 30, 1996 (age 14)

I have not written in almost two years. I was such a dork back then. (Oh, 14-year-old me. You're still a dork. Even now, you are still a dork.) Now I have a dilemma. I like someone, but I can't tell my friends because they think he's a perv, so I can't be set up with him now. I also like Tom, but nothing will ever come of it. Oh well!

I have no idea who this perv is that I am talking about. I don't remember meeting a ton of guys as a freshman, I had one "boyfriend" named Dan who I dumped after like a day and we never even really saw each other. I don't know who Tom is either. Oh, if only I had written a poem about one of them. Or rather, an ode.

May 30, 1996

Marlene and Jorge broke up (names changed to protect myself) last week. I feel bad for her. Also, she called Eliza May and told her but didn't tell me til the next day. I like Eliza May, but I WAS FRIENDS WITH MARLENE FIRST! Jill went to Flipper without me! :( I don't know what's up with Sister Mary Therese (code name for the girl I am talking about here, who I still dislike, for the record.) When I talk to her around lots of people, we have lots in common, but when I talk to her just us, we're so quiet. I don't know. Maybe it's nothing.

It's not nothing. Sister Mary Therese is a massive bitch. And wow. I was self-involved much? Maybe Marlene didn't want to talk to a ton of people that day because she was sad she broke up with her boyfriend! I do still hate when people are friend stealers, like you introduce two friends and suddenly they are BFF but they never call you anymore? Yeah it's still kind of annoying.

Tuesday, Jan. 21, 1997 (age 15)

Today was Rachel's b-day. I forgot. Oh well. She wasn't mad. So far the new year is cool. I have the greatest friends in the whole wide world. I (here I drew a heart) them all to pieces (in a platonic way). I'm even begining to (heart) Mike, in a platonic way. This Friday is the Sophomore Dance. I'm so psyched! I'm going with Doherty. He's super nice. I just hope he has no rhythm either, like me. Peace.

Wow, not sure why I had to clarify platonic. Except I know it was a joke with all my friends to write Love ya, (not sexually) on notes to each other so that may have been way. Mike is Mike Berry, a guy we were friends with in high school. I apparently disliked him at some point, though I don't remember this. Since I went to an all-girls school, you had to bring a male date to the dance. You could not go as a group, or dateless. LAME. One girl in the junior class had her date cancel on her and brought a cardboard cutout of Luke Skywalker and it was quite the media sensation. It was a totally ridiculous rule that has thankfully been changed. That girl is kind of made of awesome. Anyway. Doherty was nice. I was spelling his name wrong too, it's actually Dougherty. He had no rhythm, too.

Monday, January 27, 1997

The dance was fun! John skipped wrestling to be on time! :) I (heart) Mike. We're throwing him a surprise birthday party. Betsy (big sis) was like "Aww!" At first she was like, "Ew, gross!" though. I wanna go to Marist Winter Formal! 'Ris is going with Mike Johnson, but she really wants to go with John. I can't let her know I still sorta like him. She feels bad already 'cuz she still does.

John also had my corsage delivered to my house because he originally thought he'd be late. What a sweet kid he was. We threw everyone surprise birthday parties for some reason that year, and they were all quite lame. Winter Formal drama. I badly wanted to go to this dance for some reason. I think because I really liked my sophomore dance dress and wanted to wear it again.

There you are. A nice little glimpse into my lame, lame life.

2007-10-08T07:46:00.000-07:00

Hipsters Ride their Giant Bikes to the Oedipus Complex

I start this with a disclaimer saying that I love hipsters. Oh hipsters. Being around you makes me feel young again. When I am in a crowd of you and you don't look at me askance, I feel like I might not be as old as I feel. And I just found out last Thursday that you like cookies. I had thought that you subsisted on a diet composed solely of foods available only in limited quantities, for a brief period of time, that were ironically packaged and simultaneously retro and modern. Imagine my delight when I discovered you enjoyed simple things like cookies.

Anyhow, that aside, I have noticed that a common mode of hipster transport seems to be the oversize bicycles. While many people in Chicago ride bicycles, it must be said that the only people I have noticed riding these giant bikes are hipsters. I am not sure why this is so - did you guys decide at your monthly hipster meeting? Are you making these bikes from recycled parts? Do these bikes need the momentum of ironic social commentary in addition to fierce pedaling in order to move? I do not know. I only know that I have seen many people riding these bikes, and all were hipsters.

This brings me to my point. Hipsters, I am worried for you. Those bikes are so high, and you are more often than not so waiflike and frail. I fear you are pedaling straight for disaster!! For you see, much like Oedipus suffered from hubris or excessive pride, I fear you too, hipsters will suffer his tragic fate. I do not necessarily think you will inadvertantly kill you biological father over the belief you have the right of way, but I do feel that by placing yourself so high above the rest of us, you are setting yourself up for an even longer fall from grace.

Oh hipsters. Someday a good gust of wind, a baby seal or a Coke can will befoul your path, and then, then, you will tumble down from your high perch, crushing several fragile bones along the way. You might think that the Hush Puppies you bought at Thom McCann will protect you, but they will not.

I fear for your safety, hipsters! Please, invest in some normal-sized bicycles. No one should have to climb onto their bicycle. Stop trying so hard, hipsters. Just throw one leg over your normal bike and pedal fast. You'll get to the obscure rock shows faster that way.

2007-08-23T20:41:00.000-07:00

Sean Kingston's Summer Smash "Beautiful Girls" Makes My Ears Want to Committ Heara-Kiri

Friends. Something horrendous has been going on this summer. A violation of the senses so foul that it literally renders human and artistic development for the past century null and void. I am talking, of course, about the song Beautiful Girls. Please forgive the awful pun on hara-kiri, but it's late. And this song is so profoundly upsetting that it drives me to make tremendously awful puns.

I will provide a lyrical analysis in a moment, but first, a few highlights of what makes this song so unimaginably awful:

1. It tricks me into thinking it is a better song every time. This song borrows the bass line from Stand By Me. A great song, wonderful for slow dancing, movie soundtracks and just plain easy listening. I flip the radio stations a lot in my car and sometimes when I get back in I don't know what I was listening to. Each time this song starts, I have the happy thought "Oh goody, I must have been listening to the oldies station, it's Stand by Me!" This happy thought is cruelly ripped away from me moments later once Sean Kingston's weak, digitally-enhanced-to-within-inches-of-its-life voice kicks in. If you call that a voice. If there were a voice related joke like the one about brains my grandpa used to tell me (When they were giving out brains, you thought they said trains so you asked for a small one!) trust me, I'd use it here. And it would be brilliant.

2. It talks way too much about suicide in far too lilting and lighthearted of a tone.

3. It implies that one should not be too beautiful lest your boyfriend kill himself. How about, if your boyfriend can't handle your beauty you should just find a new boyfriend? Who wants to put up with that kind of crap?

4. It has an answer song. (scroll to see lyrics). From freaking JoJo. So many problems with that last one. First of all, answer songs are lame. Second, it's JOJO!! She's pre-pube. And she is providing your answer song. And it's basically the same song. With a few lyrics changed. Which means I hear the rancid notes sung by two digitally enhanced voices twice as much!! And it is clear that this is the real answer song, anyway.

Sean Kingston, "Beautiful Girls," a lyrical analysis

I have broken it into chunks.

Chorus:
You're way too beautiful girl
That's why it'll never work
You'll have me suicidal, suicidal
When you say it's over

Translation: Sean Kingston is saying: I have issues. Many, many issues of self-esteem. Instead of working through them, I am going to make it all your fault. It's your fault, girls! You make me hit you. YOU MAKE ME DO THIS! YOU MAKE ME SO MAD! And the always lovely guilt trip of threatening suicide if you break up with me is a surefire way to guarantee our love will last forever. I have found that that nothing is better than forcing someone to be in a relationship with you. Ahh, sweet, sweet unwilling lover, you will never leave me.

Damn all these beautiful girls
They only wanna do your dirt
They'll have you suicidal, suicidal
When they say it's over

Translation: Urban dictionary says that dirt, among many other things, is heroin. That makes sense in the sentence structure, at least. Essentially, Sean Kingston lets beautiful girls use him for heroin. They are junkies who don't care about him. Perhaps someone is bitter and spreading malicious rumors? Or hanging out with "beautiful girls" who only care about their next high?

Verse 1:
See it started at the park
Used to chill at the dark
Oh when you took my heart
That's when we fell apart

Translation: I am just going to assume this is literal. They hung out at the park. She took his heart. Notice the aggressive verbage he uses. Once again, he lays the blame on the girls. Oh, of course, she TOOK it from you. What an evil temptress. You had nothing to do with it. And of course, as soon as she took your heart by force, that is when the relationship was over. What a bitch.

Coz we both thought
That love lasts forever (lasts forever)
They say we're too young
To get ourselves sprung
Oh we didn't care
We made it very clear (check the slant rhyme, it makes it so deep!)
And they also said
That we couldn't last together (last together)

Translation: We don't know what love is. Apparently sprung means being "obsession being mistaken for love" so this lyric doesn't make sense. It should say they were only sprung, not in love. But Sean Kingston and his lady love don't care. They have told their friends and relatives to mind their own beeswax because they are in tru luv 4ever and they will always be 2gether and they do not care what u think u stupid meanies because they are gr8 for 1 anuther.

Refrain:
See it's very define, girl
One of a kind
But you mush up my mind
You walk to get declined
Oh Lord...My baby is driving me crazy(Repeat Chorus)

Translation: The first line does not make sense to me. I am guessing he means definite. She is one of a kind. But once again, everything is her fault! She mushes up her mind with her witchcraft. And she turns him down for sex. Thus she is driving him crazy because if she loved him she would, y'all. If you know what I mean.

Verse 2:
It was back in '99
Watchin' movies all the time
Oh when I went away
For doin' my first crime

Translation: This verse right here is where we know Sean Kingston is a damn liar. If he were watching movies all the time in '99 (therefore he is boring and never takes his girlfriend out!) how did he have time to commit a crime heinous enough to warrant prison time? Between movies and worrying about Y2K there is just no way he had time. Plus hardly anyone goes to prison on a first offense. I smell a rat.

And I never thought
That we was gonna see each other (see each other)
And then I came out
Mami moved me down South
O I'm with my girl
Who I thought was my world
It came out to be
That she wasn't the girl for me (girl for me)

Translation: I never thought we'd see each other when I got out of prison, because surely you'd have moved on. Also, I'm a big fat Mama's boy. And I moved down south and there you were. Or not you but another girl because really you are the same to me because I have some type of personality disorder (which is sad and not to be made fun of). I fall madly in love with every girl who talks to me but I really don't, it's all for self-gratification.

(Repeat Refrain and Chorus)

Verse 3:Now we're fussin
And now we're fightin'
Please tell me whyI'm feelin' slightin'
And I don't know
How to make it better (make it better)

Translation: I cannot handle where this is going because I have the emotional maturity of a 9- year-old.

You're datin' other guys
You're tellin' me lies
Oh I can't believe
What I'm seein' with my eyes
I'm losin' my mind
And I don't think it's clever (think it's clever)

Translation: I am deeply insecure and question your every move. At first this seems sweet but later gets scary and controlling. Soon I will alienate you from all of your friends and make sure they hate you until you have only me to turn to in your life. MUAHAHA.

You're way too beautiful girl
That's why it'll never work
You'll have me suicidal, suicidal, suicidal...

Translation: Everything that goes wrong is ALL YOUR FAULT. NOW GO GET ME A TURKEY POT PIE.

2007-04-08T21:04:00.000-07:00

Words of Wisdom From Bally Nutrition

When I first joined Bally's last year, I got a free month-long online membership to their Web site. On the Web site, you could sign up to get health and weight loss tips over e-mail. I was like, hmm well, I can always use good ideas, why not sign up? Well ... these tips are not so much helpful, but many of them are comedy gold (at least to me). I have been saving them, and now I will share some favorites with you, as well as my thoughts on them.

When ordering a meal, or a high-calorie beverage, order the size that you would like to be. Would you like to be small, medium, large, or super sized? It is up to you! You make the choice. This is an easy way to limit your portion sizes while eating out. Remind yourself of what you want to look like when you're ordering your meal! You can do it! Order wisely while eating out and feel great about yourself.

Wow. Holy crap. This was the first tip that I got from them ... and possibly my favorite one as well. First of all, who the eff is going to be thinking "I want to be super sized?!" No one!! At least, not anyone WHO HAS SIGNED UP TO RECEIVE WEIGHT LOSS TIPS. Idiots. And also, anyone who has signed up for weight loss tips should probably NOT be ordering meals anyplace where super-size is an option. Nor should they be ordering high-calorie beverages!! What kind of dolts think to themselves "Well, I want to lose weight, so I must limit my calories. And also, I will waste a good portion of those calories on a beverage that will not fill me up or offer much nutritional value at all." Yeah.

Basically, this tip could be boiled down to one sentence: "If you want to lose weight, eat less food."

Spice up your life and your meal plan! Spices are a simple way to add flavor without the calories. Try adding cinnamon to your cereal and smoothies, or garlic powder to your green beans. Experiment with spices you've never used. Ever tried curry, cumin, tarragon, or ginger spice? Each of these spices has exotic tangs that can enrich any dish. Spices will open your taste buds up to a realm of flavors you never knew existed!

OK, so in theory, I can't fault this tip, adding spices IS a good way to make plain, or really healthy food, taste better while not adding too many calories, etc. But I have to disagree on one point ... I know that flavors such as curry, cumin, tarragon and ginger exist, Bally's. They're not that mysterious. Why do you assume I never used curry? Or cumin or tarragon? That's so RACIST, Bally's. Geesh. I'm disappointed.

Hmmmm, should I eat a donut or toast for breakfast? Each day we are faced with tough food decisions. From food billboard advertisements on our way to work, to food commercials while we are watching TV, we are constantly bombarded with fattening, high calorie food. Make the right decision. Think before you eat, and make sure the calories are worth it. If you're not sure of a food's caloric make-up, look it up on www.ballynutrition.com.

Wow. I shouldn't eat donuts if I want to lose weight?! Thanks for the insight, Bally's. And it's not a soul-draining decision to decide not to eat a donut. (I'm being overly cynical, I get their point and can appreciate the sentiment, but seriously? The intern who writes these was clearly slacking this week).

Do You BOSU? The BOSU Balance Trainer, one of the hottest new exercise devices around, has come to Bally Total Fitness clubs. The BOSU is a bubble-shaped apparatus placed on the floor. BOSU stands for "Both Sides Up," as both sides can be used, depending on your exercise goals. The BOSU can help improve general athletic performance, strength, body tone, balance and overall body awareness. For more information on the BOSU, contact your local Bally Total Fitness club.

This tip is a completely transparent product placement!!! I also hate acronyms that have an extra letter. I know Bo is from both, but then you have S for sides and U for up. That just doesn't make sense! That O is just in there to make it a pronouncable acronym. Grr. Also, I am sure it is a great workout, but when people use them, they just look like assholes. But not as big of assholes and those people with the giant sticks who walk slowly arond the track. Those people look dumb. But I'm sure their glutes look fantastic. Or whatever.

I have so many more but I have grown weary of typing.

2007-01-24T20:01:00.000-08:00

Crazy Eyes: A Warning Sign or a Post-Psychotic Episode Manifestation?

So, I have been noticing a little phenomenon for say, the past year or so. Every time there is a picture in a newspaper or news site of someone who has just committed murder or some other heinous crime, they have complete crazy eyes. Somewhat recent examples include Christopher Offord, the man who bludgeoned his wife to death with a claw hammer because she wanted to cuddle after sex and he wanted to watch sports on television. He was recently sentenced to death.

Notorious examples include Charles Manson, who has definite incredibly crazy eyes, Timothy McVeigh, with his creepy intense stare, crazy nurse killing Richard Speck, Terry Nichols, McVeigh's accomplice who looks even crazier than McVeigh, and Jennifer Wilbanks, who wins the award for Craziest Eyes of a Non-Killer.

My question has two parts - first, did these people always have crazy eyes, or did their wild-eyed, glass stares of insanity emerge following their arrests? It's also notable that there are many killers who definitely do not LOOK crazy. Of course, many of them are not. Many are simply just evil, or sociopathic, which as I understand is quite different from being psychotic.

Secondly - how did others around them NOT NOTICE the crazy eyes? Honestly. If presumably they looked that way all the time, how in the world did Christopher Offord get his wife to marry him?

Do I have crazy eyes?!!

2007-01-10T20:21:00.000-08:00

CVS/pharmacy versus Walgreen's

I have noticed that CVS seems to be getting more and more ubiquitous. It is time for me to acknowledge this upstart challenger to that paragon of drugstores, Walgreen's.

I'm not even going to pretend to be unbiased. CVS/pharmacy totally and completely sucks, for many reasons.

1. What is up with the slash? It looks so indecisive. I get that you are trying to include both concepts, that you are both a store that sells convenient items, shampoo and also medicines, etc. Yet ... Walgreen's manages to do this in one word and they look more confident. You, CVS/pharmacy look like a bunch of timid assholes and I hate you.

2. CVS/pharmacy has carpeting, which is totally creepy. Seriously. Ew! I like my pharmacies to have bright, sparkling clean shiny tile floors. Not dreary gray carpeting with red accents. I feel so much less efficient trodding on that thin layer of gray fiber. And it muffles sound! What if a super scary clown came up behind me in CVS/pharmacy?! I would have no idea! That is truly frightening. This carpeting problem is reminiscent in my mind of the problem with Circuit City. Circuit City and Best Buy are almost the same store, except Best Buy I think has more DVDs and CDs. But Circuit City is often cheaper on electronics and less full of annoying teenage boys. But yet it never seems as crowded. I think that is because their gray and red color scheme is totally depressing. Best Buy's yellow and blue makes me feel cheerful and full of delight. Circuit City's gray and red makes me long for death.

3. CVS/pharmacy does not have Pepperidge Farm products. What the eff? Why can't I get some damn goldfish at your stores? What kind of place does not stock delicious Pepperidge Farm treats? Surely such a place is the devil's playground.

4. My parents gave me Walgreen's gift cards for Christmas. If I go there, I am spending their money. If I go to CVS/pharmacy, I am spending mine.

2006-11-19T22:31:00.000-08:00

Random Pop Culture A Go Go

I can't think of something I want to write an entire entry about it. Since Yvonne is a feckless whore, it is up to me to keep this blog going at the moment. (Just kidding, Vonners. I love you. Please don't cut me in my sleep. Again.) Anyway. So here is a random sampling of things that I want to comment on.re

1. The White Sox traded Neal Cotts. To the Cubs. I cannot tell you how dramatically upset this made me. I know Neal Cotts is not the greatest pitcher ever, but he is excruciatingly hot, OK? He made love to the camera in all post-game interviews and Yvonne and I nicknamed him the hotness. What can I possibly do with the T-shirt that she made me with his picture on it and "The Hotness" written underneath? Sad.

2. The news about Neal made me wonder if good old Carl Everett is still refusing to acknowledge the existence of dinosaurs. I am pretty sure he is, considering he once said ""The Bible never says anything about dinosaurs. You can't say there were dinosaurs when you never saw them. Someone actually saw Adam and Eve. No one ever saw a Tyrannosaurus rex."

What about dinosaur bones?

"Made by man," he says.

Dude. Carl Everett is fucking insane. That's kind of awesome though. I mean, at least he's original.

3. O.J. Simpson. As everyone now knows, OJ has written a book called If I Did It about how he would have killed Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman, if he had done so, which he did not, of course. (Pfft.) Who the hell is greenlighting this shite? Who was like, this is a fabulous idea that the American reading public will gobble up with a spoon, and have absolutely no misgivings about swallowing? Seriously? Who are these people? (I know, HarperCollins). I am clearly more qualified to be running a publishing house than they are.

4. South Africa has passed a law allowing gay marriage. Is anyone else extremely embarrassed that a country which, until relatively recently, THOUGHT APARTHEID WAS A GOOD IDEA, is more progressive on this issue than America? I know there are other factors at play but nonetheless ... embarrassing.

5. Veronica Mars is still the best show on television. It is not as good as it was the first season, but it still is awesome. I highly recommend watching it, and not just because thus far Veronica has shown to own TWO jackets that I currently also own (bought before I saw them on the show, so it means I am cool rather than pathetic.) Even though Chris Lowell appears to not so much have a neck, it is still much better than anything else. Heroes is good as well, but I just figured out that you can only watch the most recent episode on NBC. I am three behind so I guess I am out of luck. Friday Night Lights was also awesome but I stopped watching that too.

6. Ugly people. Sometimes I feel bad for actors hired to portray the ugly friend on shows. It must be disheartening, to have your agent call you and be like "Hey, so they need someone to play a fat, homely eccentric!! You're a shoe-in!!"I guess the actors just want to work and probably own mirrors, but still. Sad. Maybe I empathize because I know I would always be playing the ugly friend if I were a working actor.

7. This entry. It really sucks. I'm sorry. I have no original ideas at the moment that I feel like pursuing. The next one will be better.

2006-11-12T22:01:00.000-08:00

Evil Clowns Need Love, Too

Wow. So, the majority of my life has been spent in fear of clowns. I know, so cliche, right? I have original fears as well. For instance, I am deeply afraid whenever I am walking under a tree that a squirrel will suddenly jump down from the branches, land on my shoulder, and eat my face. So you know, I am unique.

Moving on. This photograph. So wrong in so many ways. The model's coy smile and wry acceptance of the gloved hand of that spooky clown? That's just not right. She looks like a Wakefield twin, but that, my friends is no Todd Wilkins or Ken Matthews or Bruce Patman. Not even Winston Eggbert, the class clown, went so far as to don the full regalia.

This picture looks like the cover of a junior Harlequin romance novel of some kind. Or perhaps one of those Lurlene McDaniels books where the protagonist or her boyfriend was always dying of cancer or something. A passage from which might look like this:

Page 2

Janet knew what all of her friends thought of Bobo, her new boyfriend. "They think Bobo is creepy, but they just don't understand him," Janet though to herself. "Bobo is so sweet, and tender. He puts so much time and effort into his clothing when he comes to take me out. There is enough starch in that Edwardian-style clown collar of his to poke my eye out, but Bobo would never let that happen, because he loves me. Plus, he's going to die soon from that terrible case of diabetes that went undiagnosed for so long. Oh god, it's so tragic."

Page 25

Janet thought Bobo was being awfully selfish and demanding of her time. "I know Bobo loves me, but why does he insist on constantly stroking my face with his creepy muslin-clad hands and forcing me to draw on his smile? I love spending time with him but I think we have been together long enough that he should let me see his actual facial expressions. And his actual feet. I'm getting a little creeped out. But I know Bobo loves me. Plus, he's going to die soon from that terrible case of diabetes that went undiagnosed for so long. Oh god, it's so tragic."

Page 68

Dear Diary: Bobo and I went to the circus today. I thought it would be a fun activity, and something we could do with his friends, because all my friends think he's weird. Well, I think they do anyway. I mean, I don't see how Lisa could have meant "Bobo is a grease-painted servant of the devil," in a flattering way. But Bobo's friends were a bit much for me. I mean, would it kill his friend Weeping Willie to crack a smile once in a while? And Bobo didn't even pay any attention to me during the show. He just kept muttering to himself and it was really rather disturbing. But he did let me smash a pie in his face afterward. Plus, he's going to die soon from that terrible case of diabetes that went undiagnosed for so long. Oh god, it's so tragic."

Page 126

Janet decided the time had come for her and Bobo to part ways. She still loved him, but she could not deal with the social alienation. She donned ber best stonewashed jeans, orange-short sleeved turtleneck and white leather belt to break the news. Shaking a bit in her T-strap flats, Janet tried to spurn Bobo's advances. "C'mon baby ... you know it drives me wild when you wear pigtails with scrunchies and use your sunglasses as a headband. Stop teasing me, you devil-woman. I demand you stop being a saucy temptress of delight! My pancreas does not manufacture insulin. You know I cannot handle so much sweetness."

"Bobo, look," Janet said tentatively. "You know I love you ... but I don't think I can do this anymore."

Bobo is stunned. Crestfallen, he begs Janet to reconsider. But she stands firm.

"Bobo, you might not care about being a social pariah, but I do! I lost the homecoming queen elections, none of my friends will talk to me anymore, and your makeup makes me break out. I just can't do this anymore. Plus, you're going to die soon from that terrible case of diabetes that went undiagnosed for so long. Oh god, it's so tragic."

page 154

Bobo dies from that terrible case of diabetes that went undiagnosed for so long, alone and unloved. Oh god, it's so tragic. Janet and five of her friends learn to ride unicycles and serve as pallbearers, bearing Bobo's coffin between them as they ride down the streets, dousing passersby with seltzer water and pie.

2006-10-06T12:16:00.000-07:00

An Open Letter to the TV Guide Channel

Dear TV Guide Channel,

I would just like to point out something that you may not have noticed in your many years of programming. It’s hard to believe that I have to tell you this, but someone has to do it. TV Guide Channel – you are not an actual channel. GASP! I know, I know. It’s hard to take. Here you’ve been bumbling along for years, operating under the assumption that you are a real network, when in fact you are not. Don’t fret, TV Guide Channel, I mean, I still find your information useful. It’s good to know what’s coming onto my television screen on every channel in the next hour, hour and a half and to have this information provided to me in a handy scrolling format, in case I missed it the first time. It’s very helpful for those of us who don’t want to buy your magazine. I mean, it was always slightly disappointing to purchase something that was one-eighth glossy, colorful magazine and seven-eights boring, yucky, tissue-thin newspapery-paper. But at least you had the unique book size going for you! Then you went and revamped yourself, after opening up Inside TV in what was, in retrospect, a clear experiment to see if the new format would work for TV Guide. Shameful, especially to the editors you lured away from other magazines, only to fire them months later.

But sadly, you have become less useful to me, because I discovered the same information can be found online. In a fraction of the time it takes me to sit on my couch and watch the entire scrolldown menu, I can get television listings for the entire day! Yes! I can even see what’s on the next night, if I want! And, can you believe it, TV Guide Channel? I can even know what episodes of particular shows are on! Like, all you do, TVGC, is tell me that E! True Hollywood Story is on, but not whom it is about. TV Guide.com tells me whether it is the Saved by the Bell episode, which I would totally watch, or the Evening Shade episode, which I would totally not watch. I know! Amazing, right?! And I don’t have to suffer through any Joan or Melissa Rivers commentaries.

Which brings me to another point … TV Guide Channel, what is the deal with having “shows?” Yes, even Wikipedia uses the quote marks, so you know they are shows in only the most ostensible sense. I mean, Look-a-Like has got to be the stupidest thing I have ever seen. A makeover show where you pick the recipients based on how much they resemble a celebrity? I mean, any celebrity? You’re not even casting for a particular one at any given time? I know that I personally would rather have a makeover where at the end I looked like a better version of myself, and not a half-assed version of Lisa Marie Presley or whoever. And TV Candy is exactly the same show, only with 100% more Melissa Rivers, so therefore it is the same only worse.

It makes me sad to watch you, and see what has become of John Henson in recent years. He was so funny on Talk Soup … and let’s not even get into forcing me to see Kimberly Caldwell and her tragically crispy hairdo.

I know you must be shocked to hear this news, but seriously … go back to just being a menu of TV options, and maybe, maybe, Joan Rivers will go into seclusion …

2006-09-19T07:21:00.000-07:00

Bio-engineered pets are totally creepy

So naturally I was completely alarmed when I came across Genpets online. Can you even imagine owning one of those things? Thankfully, they're not real. They're artworks created by Adam Brandejs.

But before I knew this, I read the frequently asked questions on the Web site, along with my co-workers, and we all freaked the eff out. Some sample questions: "Do they feel pain?" Answer: Yes. However the Genpets have limited vocal chords so they will not create a large amount of noise when disturbed. Aughh! That's so horrifying. It's completely like, a starter kit for little serial killing children. "No one hears your cries, GENPET!" Timmy's mother wondered why he had gone through seventeen Genpets in 4 months, but he was so eager for a pet ...

So yeah, those things totally look like they will cut you in your sleep. It was only when I saw that crazy picture of the kid on Christmas morning that I knew these things had to be fake. Kind of scary that the idea of a human/animal hybrid packaged and sold as a household pet (which you can purchase in two versions - one-year lifespan, or three-year lifespan) did not seem that impossible to me. I think it could in theory be done, and that some scientists are unethical enough (or sufficiently blinded by their love of experimentation) to do it.

Once I calmed down and scrapped plans for a force field around my home that would be impenetrable by GenPets, I thought about cloning (genetic mixing, cloning ... all scary manipulations of genes, you know). While the idea does frighten me, a clone could be dead useful, you know? If I were to receive an adult clone of myself, (who would want a baby clone? BORING) here is what I would do:

1. Name the clone. I thought about naming it Shaggy 2 Dope, but that name is already taken by a member of the Insane Clown Posse, so juggaNO to that one. I think I would call it Clone Kristin, to avoid confusion. That way, if you ever need to kill my clone, you won't accidentally kill me instead, because I won't answer to "Clone Kristin."
2. Once the clone is named and settled in, I would then have her try on pants to see how I look in them from all angles. We would then go shopping and replace all my pants, because undoubtedly this exercise would make me hate all of them.
3. While at the mall, I would get my clone a weave. I have wondered how I would look with a weave. I might also make my clone dress like a tramp, just to see what kind of reaction she gets.

4. When we got home, I would have my clone speak and record what she says, then play it back, just to prove that I really DON'T sound like recordings of my voice.
5. I would use my clone as a scapegoat. Anytime she or I did anything embarrassing (ask out a boy, fall down, get caught with my Fabio scrapbook ...) I would blame Clone Kristin. Clone Kristin will understand because if she is like me she will have a very forgiving nature. Plus, the daily reminders of how she is only here in case I need an organ will help her to toe the line.

I am sure there are more things I will do with Clone Kristin, but I can't really think of them right now.

2006-09-12T21:45:00.000-07:00

Keep on a Rock-in Me, Baby

So if you own a television or have been to the movies at least once in the past month, chances are you've seen the commercial for the new The Rock movie Gridiron Gang. It's being marketed as one of those feel-good, tough-love-coach-inspires-rebellious-little-shits-from-the-wrong-side-of-the-tracks-with-motivational-you-can-do-it-and-don't-ever-let-anyone-tell-you-that-you-can't-now-drop-and-give-me-20 type speeches movies in the vein of Remember the Titans and Dangerous Minds.

Yes, from what I can tell, the dialogue is tired and the plot is contrived. The tag line on the promotional posters is "One goal. A second chance." Which is only slightly better than Dangerous Minds' "She broke the rules...And changed their lives." Good god. If my life has gotten so pathetic that I need Michelle Pfeiffer to help me turn things around, just stab me in the face and put me out of me misery.

But ANYWAY...my point is that despite all of this, I still secretly (well, I guess not secretly anymore) want to see this movie really badly. The commercials manage to make me get a little misty-eyed watching these kids try to make it against all odds while simultaneously making me want to jump on The Rock and have my way with him. Is it wrong that in the span of a 30-second commercial, I get both sad and turned on?

I would be ashamed by all of this, except I suspect that there is at least one other slightly sad soul out there who kind of wants to go see this movie this weekend, too, who also wants to smell what The Rock is cookin' (in bed--fortune cookie rules apply). If you're that person, let me know: I'll buy the popcorn.

2006-09-06T13:40:00.000-07:00

Snickers bars are from Mars

So, this may be played out but I haven’t seen much about it, just discussed it a few times. Snickers has a new ad campaign, with billboards that say “Hungerectomy” in the same style as a Snickers bar. On the one hand, pretty impressive that their brand recognition is such that they no longer need to put the name of the product on the billboards. They’re the best-selling candy bar of all time. Well played. On the other hand … what in the Sam Hill are they thinking?

The word hungerectomy just sounds unpleasant and overly clinical. And any sort of medical procedure is decidedly not something I want to think about when eating peanuts, caramel and delicious nougat coated in a fine layer of chocolate with a mysteriously satisfying swirly layer pattern on top. Mmm. I get it, I get it. There’s a “hunger inside me” and Snickers is removing it by filling my stomach with sugar and fat. Except change “ung” to “yst” and hunger to “lady business” and you get an entirely different connotation. Yes, Snickers. I do not, in fact, want to think about my reproductive organs being ripped from my midsection while enjoying your confectionary concoction. In fact, it makes me a little nauseated.

No, I don’t want to catch a fever of flavor from your bars of heavenly delight. No, no, I do not want to come down with savor pox when eating your multi-layered candies. Heaven forbid I contract pustules of deliciousness, hemerrhoids of scrumptiousness, delirium tremens of taste, a dangerously high heart rate due to a sugar rush of sweetness … I do not want my mouth to be overly watered, my taste buds too overloaded, my tooths to grow too some, my body to grow weary of the incessance of ambrosia … leave me be, Snickers! Stop trying to kill me with your nectareous taste of epic, nay, God-like proportions! Why?!

This isn’t the first ridiculous ad campaign Snickers has dreamed up, either. I recall one that featured athletes with a “hunger inside them” who desperately needed Snickers to satisfy them after or during their sporting activities. Because nothing helps with your workout than white-sugar laden candy.

Undoubtedly, this will prove itself to be a brilliant ad campaign (it got my attention). What do I know? My ad campaign idea for Snickers (or any candy) would just be this - Snickers: Just one won’t make you fat. Probably.

2006-08-30T21:57:00.000-07:00

I'm a Celebrity In My Own Mind...Does That Count?

OK, I admit it: I'm a little bit addicted to those reality shows featuring washed-up "celebrities" dancing or singing or skating or cooking or taking a crap. True, that last one hasn't been made into a show yet, but rest assured that FOX'll have it on the fall schedule. And I'll be the one perched on the edge of my couch, shushing everyone around me so I can hear the sweet sounds of the guy who played Vicki's brother on "Small Wonder" dropping trou.

There's just something about watching Ashley Parker Angel get all cutthroat about making a better pie than Patti LaBelle to recapture his "fame" for a few minutes before the next pointless celebrity reality show comes along and nobody cares about him anymore (I wouldn't fuck with Patti, Ashley. She hits below the belt).

ANYWAY, here is my question: What, exactly, do the producers of these shows define as a "celebrity?" The dictionary says a celebrity is "a famous or well-known person."

I would love to be a fly on the wall at some of these TV show idea pitching meetings:

Producer: OK, we get the guy who played the tubby White kid on The Cosby Show, and we pair him with David Blaine, see, and they do magic! And they compete against other actors and magicians! And the prize is getting to be David Blaine's assistant for a year!

TV Honcho: I love it!! Order 30 episodes!

Like, I get Dave Coulier being dubbed a celebrity for the purpose of Skating with Celebrities and The Surreal Life: 1) He played an iconic character on an iconic show. His Uncle Joey was a man of so many demensions--he was a man who could do a Popeye impression the likes of which the viewing public had never seen, but at the end of the day was still able to convince us that he was just a simple man who wanted only to tend to his mullet, play hockey and bang DJ in the basement. Such range, Coulier! Such depth! 2) He was the inspiration for the Alanis Morrisette classic "You Oughta Know." Yes, Alanis went down on Coulier in a theater (well, maybe). Gross, but still, that song rocks.

So Coulier, you get my vote as a celebrity. Or at least a once-upon-a-time celebrity. But producers of "I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here!," having been married to J. Lo for all of nine months does not a celebrity make (i.e. Cris Judd, you are not a celebrity). Celebrity Fit Club, having a jackass of a son who MTV pays to be even more of a jackass does not a celebrity make (i.e. Phil Margera, you are not a celebrity).

I don't know, maybe I'm being too harsh. Perhaps my standards for celebritydom are too high. But then again, I kind of can't wait until K-Fed shows up in five years for Celebrity Tattoo Removal 5.

So, maybe not.

2006-08-24T22:42:00.000-07:00

Is John Cougar Mellencamp indulging in payola?

When you have a long commute, as I do, you end up listening to the radio a lot. I have contemplated making some sweet mixtapes to make the roughly 325 miles I drive each week a joy-filled musical extravaganza of sounds, combinations of songs and lyrics heretofore unexplored. I think everyone's looking for that perfect mix, the kind with songs that just take over your body and force out all other thoughts but the song. The song controls you, and you like it. For me, two such songs are "Closer" by Nine Inch Nails and "American Woman" by the Guess Who. But I lack motivation and know-how. So it's the radio for me, and as I cannot stand listening to (most) talk radio in the morning (Eric and Kathy make me long for death) it's a lot of channel surfing for me. This means my musical standards go way, way down. I'll listen to pretty much anything. One thing I have noticed? John Cougar Mellencamp is UBIQUITOUS on the radio these days. On average each day, I hear at least three of his songs. It's like Jack and Diane dancing naked fighting the law (which won, incidentally)in Pink Houses on a lonely 'ol night that manages to also be a wild night full of cherry bombs. Or something. It's insane. So I've decided that Mr. John Mellencamp has been paying off DJs, perhaps in pizza, perhaps in Diane's, to play his songs. There is no other explanation. Just picture it ...

Scene: An empty radio station, early morning. The morning DJ (let's call him Mack in the Morning) has just arrived, bleary-eyed and clutching his morning coffee. He's never gotten used to the early morning shift, despite having been a morning jock for years. He shuffles in slowly, and eases gratefully into his little spinning chair near the microphone. He snags the day's playlist and is about to slide his lusciously padded, "radio DJ" headphones onto his weary head when he notices something is amiss ... the playlist has been altered!

Mack in the Morning: whaahuh? John Cougar Mellencamp ...?

He notices that three currently popular songs have been replaced with songs recorded by John Cougar Mellencamp. Something nefarious is clearly afoot. He makes a move to cross the songs off the list, when suddenly he hears a rasping sound behind him. He looks up, and is tackled by John Cougar Mellencamp, who is foaming at the mouth!

John Cougar Mellencamp: IT"S JUST JOHN MELLENCAMP, YOU IGNORANT PRICK. And if you cross off even one of my songs, Mellencamp will end you! YOU HEAR ME? I WILL END YOU, I WILL FUCKING END YOU.

Mack in the Morning is badly frightened, but as he is a morning DJ, he is also a cocky SOB. He bounces back quickly from the fear.

MiiM: What? Are you serious? I thought you lived in like, Bloomington ... you can't be that tough, John Cougar Mellencamp. I mean ... Johnny Cougar? Then John Cougar Mellencamp? Now just John Mellencamp? Identity crisis, much?

In response, Mellencamp promptly puts Mack in a sleeper hold. When Mack wakes up 8 minutes later, Mellencamp is sitting on the floor next to his head, staring at him and gleefully snacking on a bag of Funions. Mack is deeply shaken. He now knows that Mellencamp means business, and he is prepared to do whatever it takes to get him to leave him alone.

MiiM: Whaa? What do you want, John Mellencamp?! Please, just tell me what it is that you want.

Mellencamp stares at Mack in silence. He pulls a Funion out of his bag, looks meaningfully at Mack, then snaps it in half abrubtly.

Mack jumps, startled. He then tries to appease the Mellencamp.

MiiM: So anyway, man, nice to see you in person, you look terrific. And are those Funions? Good choice man, they really put the fun in onion ... anyway, what can I do for you?

Mellencamp: I. want. you. to. play. my. songs. Got.it.?

MiiM: Well you know, John, I'd be happy to, but I don't really make those decisions around here ... oh my god! (Mellencamp has begun to advance) Yes, yes, of course I will play your songs. All of them. Whenever you want. Be happy to.

Mellencamp nods. Brushing Funion crumbs off his shirt, he gets up to leave. Before he does, he looks down at Mack, huddled on the floor. He stands over him and nudges him in the ribs with his steel-toed boot. He pulls a wad of cash from his wallet and throws it on top of Mack. Then, his face contorts into the most awful sneer, and he leans over ... and spits. Covered in Mellencamp spittle, Mack curls up into the fetal position and chokes back tears.

Mellencamp: Keep the change, you filthy animal!

Mellencamp exits.

MiiM: Did John Mellencamp just reference Home Alone? What a tool.

That's really the only explanation.

*********************************************************************************

Personal Story of Embarrassment: When in college, I was a DJ at WPGU. When I first started, I worked overnights. After a certain time , the station locked automatically to protect the precious DJs inside from unruly fans. One fine morning, I was there at about 4:30 a.m., at which point the morning paper was delivered. Bored with listening to Tool songs and trying to think of clever witticisms that no one would be listening to anyway, I went outside to retrieve it. Instead of leaning out the door to grab the paper, I walked all the way outside. It was only when I heard the door shut behind me that I realized what I had done. Yes, I had locked myself out of the station ...

Needless to say, 15 minutes or so of dead airtime later, I was rescued and let back inside. But it was still quite awful. And a completely classic "Kristin" move.

2006-08-23T22:26:00.000-07:00

My (John Mark) Karr is in Overdrive

So I wanted to make my first contribution to Shalomy the Potato a light-hearted piece on reality TV (Tina Yothers on Celebrity Fit Club 4? You go on with your badass self, girlfriend! Holla!) or a look at the hottest fall fashions (pair leggings with a hot denim miniskirt for a fab autumn look!)

But before I touch on those two very important topics, I need to get something off my chest: I need someone to get this mother f-ing John Mark Karr off my mother f-ing TV screen (and that, my friends, will be the last terrible Snakes on a Plane reference I will make. Until tomorrow. I'm sorry, I just can't resist. Apparently, neither can the New York Post. It's Snakes on a Plane mania, people!)

But I digress. Seriously, I get why people are so in a tizzy about him--he's (maybe!) the guy who (maybe!) killed a beauty queen a decade ago. It's a hot story. It's really sad that a little girl got killed, and if he actually did it, people can have some closure. He's a creepy car wreck of a dude--you don't want to look at him, yet you can't look away.

But the whole thing is a little out of control. Like, I get the feeling that President Bush could be assassinated by a tag team (back again, check it to wreck it, let's begin) of Fidel Castro and Ariel Sharon, who healed from their respective ailments with the help of Uncle Fidel's Happy Fun Time Magical Awesome Elixir, and somehow John Mark Karr and his creepy dead stare would still end up on the front page of the paper.

And I hate it, because I have somehow gotten sucked into the insanity. Like, the other day I found myself looking at the picture they keep showing of him in the Thai airport, and I was all, "Brother could use a belt." It took 2.2 seconds to think that thought, 2.2 seconds I could have used to save a kitten caught in a tree or tend to a dying flower.

And I've somehow become fascinated by his name. There's something about guys who use two first names that is really interesting to me. I spent 15 minutes at work today sticking his name into song titles. Because I'm weird (and my job is boring). Here is what I came up with:

Get out of my dreams, and into my (John Mark) Karr
(John Mark) Karr-ma Karr-ma Karr-ma Kar-ma Kar-ma Chameleon
Baby, you can drive my (John Mark) Karr
(John Mark) Karr you, (John Mark) Karr me, say it together, that's the way it should be
(I took some liberties with the last one).

Anyway, the bottom line is, let's find out if the Prince of Creep City did it and then move on with our lives. So I can spend less time worrying about John Mark Karr's belt situation and spend more time rocking out to Paris Hilton's new album. Now that is some good shit!!

2006-08-22T18:07:00.000-07:00

The birth of Shalomy the Potato (told in the third person)

Late one evening, Yvonne and Kristin were comfortably ensconced in their apartment. If you've never been, this apartment is a magnificently spacious abode the likes of which are simply unparalleled. The floors are centuries-old oak buffed with a whisper-thin coat of crushed diamonds, and the amenities include a jacuzzi and a cabana boy. Naturally, Kristin and Yvonne were wearing evening gowns, as they do every night. Yvonne's was a dazzling beaded electric blue number, and Kristin's was a fabulous confection of green chiffon.

On this fine summer evening, the girls were conversing merrily about what a proper artistic outlet for their myriad talents might be.

Kristin: I say, Yvonne ... didn't we have a simply marvelous idea for a blog a fortnight or so ago? What were we planning to call it?

Yvonne: Yes, I do recall that we did, Kristin. In fact, it was very clever, if I recall?

Kristin: I declare, it was powerful clever, Yvonne. If I remember correctly, it had something to do with courtship and the trials and tribulations thereof.

Yvonne: Yes! But alas, I cannot remember either. Perhaps it is for the best, as I think we would have a shortage of material in that area.

Kristin: Perhaps you're right. But let us not abandon the idea entirely. Maybe we can create a blog on another topic?

Yvonne: Yes, that is true. We can write a blog just about our lives, and comment on pop culture and world events!

Kristin: Yvonne, you're brilliant! Let us call upon our Irish Catholic and Polish Jewish heritage to give birth to something that combines them beautifully ... SHALOMY THE POTATO.

Overcome with emotion, Kristin faints. Yvonne, ever the trustworthy friend, comes to her aid and revives her.

Kristin: Thank you! Accept this lime as a token of my undying friendship!!!

Yvonne: Thank YOU. What a stunningly appropriate gift.

Fin.

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OK so in reality we were sitting around Yvonne's room in our gym clothes. We remembered how we wanted to start a team blog and the following conversation occurred:

Kristin: Yvonne, we should still start our blog. We had a hilarious name, what was it?

Yvonne: Hmm. I don't remember. But it was really funny ...

Kristin: I think it had something to do with dudes .... Mother of pearl, what was it? I can't remember!

Yvonne: I can't either. Although maybe we should think of a new topic, it's not like either of us are serial daters.

Kristin: I don't know, I was going out with Captain Crunch for a while ... (Kristin is the only one who finds this hilarious. Yvonne waits patiently as Kristin says "Get it? Cereal dater?" AHAHAHA) Anyway, we can just blog about pop culture.

Yvonne: Yeah, that sounds good.

Then we somehow came up with Shalomy the Potato. Shalomy is a Hebrew name and potato is a starchy vegetable with eyes. If you didn't know. According to Dan Quayle, it's spelled potatoe.

Anyway, here we will blog about stuff. And other stuff. And that stuff too. With Jesus and Moses on our side we really can't lose.