TV character blogs: Good or Bad?

Slate has an interesting article about blogs written by tv characters. They conclude that "most of these blogs kind of stink."

I don't know if I agree. In fact, browsing through my archives, I saw that I mentioned two that I like before: Barney from How I Met Your Mother and Dwight from The Office (Creed's blog is kind of creepy, though).

I think that, to a very large extent, whether you like the blog is going to depend on whether you like the show and the character. I think Barney and Dwight are hilariously entertaining fictional characters, therefore it's likely that I would be entertained by fictional blogs written from their fictional perspectives.

But I agree that blogs written from the perspective of a tv character don't always work. Even though I watch Grey's Anatomy, I think the nurse's blog is a waste of time - it's not from the perspective of a main character, and all it seems to do is recap the episodes. It doesn't add anything.

Now that I think about it, I think that's the difference between any promotional website for a show or a movie or whatever -- does it capture my attention, and does it add to my enjoyment of whatever it's promoting? Like when I first started watching Lost, I would go to the various websites to try to figure out what stuff meant, which added to my enjoyment of the show. Or maybe added to my confusion and frustration. Bad example. Whatever.

Dorm room beds

Growing up, I always had a twin bed. And no tv, but that's a story for another day.

Sometime around my senior year of high school, my parents got my sister and my brother -- both younger -- queen size waterbeds. Their purported justification was that I was going to be moving out soon. I was annoyed, but even at 17, I would have understood that buying me a new bed was probably a waste of money (that might have been better spent on clothes and shoes).

When I moved into my first dorm room, I looked at the stained little twin mattress in horror. Not because it was so small, but because it was not particularly clean. And it was ancient. But you know what? It was comfortable, and I somehow managed to live with it for the entire year.

My second year, I moved into a historic dorm that had just completed renovations. My dorm room had a new twin sized mattress. Unfortunately, it was covered in vinyl, which made it exceptionally uncomfortable. Still, I lived with it.

I bought a full-sized bed when I graduated and went to law school. But that's not the point.

One of the things I learned in college was that it is possible for two people to fit on a twin-sized bed, even if one of them is over 6 feet tall. It might not be perfect, but it works. Heck, it's a right of passage. And people have survived worse. (Sleeping on the bathroom floor comes to mind, but I'm sure there are worse things than that, too.)

So it really annoys me to read in The Washington Post that whiny, spoiled college students are now getting larger dorm mattresses because twin mattresses are too small.

University officials hoping to keep students on campus and compete with off-campus housing are trying new room designs and all manner of amenities to appeal to the millennial generation, especially those seeking the comforts of home while in school. Some have given single rooms to students not used to sharing. Others have offered maid service and microwaves. Now they're giving them a larger space on which to lay their heads.

Maid service too? Sheesh. What's next, wash-dry-fold?

Still, I had to laugh about how the students all basically said the same thing:

" . . . And it is easier to fit multiple people."
". . . students also indicated 'that sometimes they are not in the bed alone.'"
". . . And it's definitely much easier to have another person in the bed if the occasion arises."

I'm sure their parents are all so proud.

Ba-dum-chhh

I left work early this afternoon to drive my sister to the airport. After I dropped her off, I drove back to work.

Sadly, her flight just took off 5 minutes ago. But at least we got to send somewhat amusing texts back and forth the entire time. Here's the best one:

Sister (9:13 pm): I'm still here. Maintenance issues on the plane. They don't expect us to take off until at least 9:30.
Me: I'm so sorry. Would it make you feel better to hear that I just got home from work and was stuck behind a marching band on the way?
Sister: Depending on what they were playing.

At least she kept her sense of humor about it.

A challenge, or maybe not

I had a comment posted in Gene Weingarten's chat today. If you can correctly identify it, perhaps we can discuss it.

Guest photo blog

I tried to get my sister to write something while she was in town this weekend, but she doesn't like to share her thoughts with people. So instead, here are her pictures from this weekend:

Friday:







Saturday:



Sunday:





And here are her favorite cheers that she learned from the annoying kids sitting near us at the ballpark:

(1) "In your face!"
(2) "That's what I'm talking about!"

Concert meme

HoneyKBee posted this meme, and I thought I would play along.

Here's how it works: Copy this list, leave in the bands you've seen perform live, delete the ones you haven't, and add new ones that you have seen until you reach 25. An asterisk means the previous person had it on their list. Two asterisks means the last two people who did this before you had that band on their list.

1. Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers*
2. Dave Matthews Band*
3. Bob Dylan*
4. Counting Crows*
5. Bon Jovi
6. Goo Goo Dolls
7. U2
8. The Police
9. Fleetwood Mac
10. Matchbox Twenty
11. Willie Nelson
12. Queensryche
13. They Might Be Giants
14. Sister Hazel
15. Eric Clapton
16. Everclear
17. Beastie Boys
18. Nirvana
19. The Breeders
20. Cheap Trick
21. Dixie Chicks
22. Gin Blossoms
23. Sugar Ray
24. Velvet Revolver
25. Smashing Pumpkins


I'm not tagging anyone. But it's a fun exercise, so you should totally do it.

Five Guys, the cure for all ills

I've been feeling kind of sick all week. Kind of headachy, really fatigued -- more than usual -- and dizzy when I stood up. First I thought it was a prolonged hangover from this weekend, but it kept on lasting. Then I thought I was dehydrated, but I've been drinking enough water -- at least 64 ounces each day. So then, after talking to my mom (who's diabetic), I thought my blood sugar must be too low. So last night, after services, I ate a really big meal, and went to sleep kind of early.

When I woke up this morning, I felt worse than ever. I could hardly drive to synagogue.

In the middle of services, I realized what it was: my iron was low. I thought about it, and I couldn't remember the last time I had red meat -- it had to be over a month ago. And I'm covered in bruises -- my elbows, my knees, even one giant one on my upper arm. So, when I left services, I headed straight to Five Guys and bought myself a burger. Mmmm, burger.

I'm feeling better already. Maybe I'll have steak this weekend.

Random thoughts at inappropriate times

At Rosh Hashanah services this evening, something -- I'm not sure what -- caused me to think about whether a native Hebrew speaker reads the prayers in Hebrew or English. Lucky for me, I was sitting next to such a person, and I got to ask. This progressed to me asking whether she translated from one to the other in her head, which language she thinks in, which language she dreams in, and whether she feels herself shifting between languages.

It was an interesting conversation, although maybe we should have been concentrating on the praying, all things considered.

Rumination on why I need to go grocery shopping more often

Because I'm going to be out of the office this afternoon and tomorrow for Rosh Hashanah, I worked late last night -- until 9 pm. Which put me at the Pentagon City metro stop at 9:22, before the mall closed. So I thought I'd grab a quick food court dinner before rushing home to try to catch the end of the Nationals game (ugh, what a disaster) and my normal routine of responding to emails and paying my bills.

Lately, for me, "food court" translates into a salad at Subway. But I wasn't in the mood, and the line was very long -- unusually long, especially since there was no line at McDonald's, which is usually insanely busy. So, with that in mind, I decided that I would try some of the new fancy chicken strips at McDonald's.

As an aside, I almost never eat at McDonald's. Every once in a while, I crave their fries or their ice cream sundae, but the feeling usually passes quite quickly. It's not that the food doesn't taste good -- it does -- but it tastes good in the same way that Kraft dinner tastes good. It's for kids. Real mac and cheese tastes better, as does a real hamburger or thick cut steak fries. Or a bison burger. Mmmm. But I digress . . . .

Anyway, I walked up to the cash register and the cashier mumbled something about not having cheeseburgers. Or fries. Or some other things. I didn't really understand much of what he was saying because (1) he had a thick accent, (2) he mumbled, and (3) he spoke waaaaaaay too fast.

At this point, I realized that this scenario explained why the line was at Subway. The McDonald's was out of food. So I said, "I don't want a cheeseburger. Or fries. Does that help?"

He looked at me like I was crazy.

So I said, "How about telling me what you are not out of?"

Same reaction. Clearly it's me. I mean, I definitely should have anticipated that the McDonald's in the food court of one of the busiest malls in the region would be completely and totally out of food. No chicken strips, not even chicken nuggets.

I wound up with one of the new chicken snack wrappy things. It was okay -- not quite low carb, but only 32 grams, and 330 calories. Still, it was an awful lot of effort for something ultimately neither healthy nor satisfying.

Postscript

Last year, I blogged about my journal entry from 9/11, and my memories of that crazy, crazy day. But two weeks ago, I was reminded of a funny thing that I left out of my account.

I had forgotten that when we were all huddled up in my friend's apartment in Cleveland Park, watching CNN, her toilet was not functioning properly. The maintenance guy came up to fix it, but told her there was nothing wrong. My friend got annoyed and started arguing with him, while the rest of us sat around looking very uncomfortable. Eventually, she threatened to have us all pee in the toilet then and there. Another friend broke the stunned silence by loudly protesting "But I don't have to pee."

Despite everything, we laughed about it that day, and we continue to laugh about it now -- at least when we remember. When it happened, it was a respite from unthinkable tragedy. Today, it's just better than thinking about Bin Laden tapes, the war in Iraq, or even the offensive truck I saw driving around my office today with a picture of the twin towers in flames, a comment about god hating homosexuals, and a warning of how, if we're not careful, he'll let similar tragedy strike again.

A little humor never hurt anyone. Or, as Gene Weingarten said six years ago, and reiterated today, "When people are filled with grief, they need to cry. When people are filled with fear, they need to laugh."

Sometimes the industry gets it right

It makes me giggle that this (NSFW) won an Emmy:



I mean, the Scrubs musical was good, but Dick in a Box is riveting. I'd go as far to say that it was the best thing SNL did all season long.

Of course, it's an extra added bonus when all the news outlets have to edit the title of the song out of the story.

Nihil declarandum

I have developed a horrible habit of bookmarking things that I want to blog about, and then completely forgetting about them when something else catches my eye.

So, since I have nothing of importance to say today, here's my overly-organized version of a linkdump. It is, admittedly, ginormous. Feel free to read any or all -- or none -- of these things, and comment accordingly.

Language:
Fun with latin.
The overuse of exclamation points.
Compendium of lost words.
Rules of language, via the Columbia Journalism Review.
How to speak Yiddish.

Reading:
On The Road is 50 years old.
The greatest fictional travelers.
Children's Book: Why Mommy Is A Democrat.

Social Studies:
The most interesting scam. Ever.
Even lottery winners get the blues.
Sad story of Theresa Duncan and Jeremy Blake.
Congressional Food Stamp Challenge.
Fat Like Mommy.
Why we love dogs.
The Maiden Name Debate.

Music Appreciation:
Rock stars die young.
The A.V. Club's Guide to Festival Survival.
The A.V. Club's review of Lollapalooza '07.
Top 10 karaoke songs to avoid.
Name that Boy Band & Name that Hair Band Quizzes.
100 Worst Cover Songs.
The Archive of Misheard Lyrics.

Mass Media:
Median age of TV shows (and related graphic).
My So-Called Life finally on DVD.
Top Cult Shows.
TV Guilty Pleasures.
Donnie Darko, explained.
50 best high school movies.
20 Best/Worst Celebrity Blogs.
List of celebrity Scientologists.
Top 10 secret celebrity Scientologists.

Home Ec:
Guide to sweet tea.
What your drink says about you.
What your drink really says about you.

Arts & Crafts:
Subversive cross-stitch.
How to knit Space Invaders socks.



Have fun. This might take a while.

Religious intolerance and its effect on art and history

Several years ago, before September 11th put Afghanistan on the map and introduced the Taliban into our collective American consciousness, artists and historians and anthropologists and the like were all up in arms about the Taliban's destruction of ancient sculptures -- particularly Buddhas -- because they were contrary to Islam.

I vaguely remember signing some sort of petition that went nowhere. Go figure. I mean, it's not like the government really cared all that much about art or the destruction thereof. But then Al Qaeda and Osama bin Laden attacked, and we fought back. And people started talking about the destruction of the art as one of a laundry list of sins committed by the Taliban.

Why am I thinking of this now? Because I was reminded of this not-too-distant history while reading this article. It describes the destruction of native religious artifacts in Nigeria by fundamentalist Christian evangelists who believe that the native traditions are linked to the devil and therefore urge their destruction:

Born to a family of traditional priests, Ibe Nwigwe converted to Christianity as a boy. Under the sway of born-again fervor as a man, he gathered the paraphernalia of ancestral worship _ a centuries-old stool, a metal staff with a wooden handle and the carved figure of a god _ and burned them as his pastor watched.

"I had experienced a series of misfortunes and my pastor told me it was because I had not completely broken the covenant with my ancestral idols," the 52-year-old Nwigwe said of the bonfire three years ago. "Now that I have done that, I hope I will be truly liberated."

Generations ago, European colonists and Christian missionaries looted Africa's ancient treasures. Now, Pentecostal Christian evangelists _ most of them Africans _ are helping wipe out remaining traces of how Africans once worked, played and prayed.

***

Ikechukwu Nzekwe, a 48-year-old farmer who belongs to a traditional masquerade cult, rues the action of his younger brother, a born-again Christian who destroyed the family's masquerade costume, including pieces dating back seven generations.

The masquerade cult was once part theater, appearing at festivals to perform songs and dances, and part traditional police _ its members helped enforce mores and customs. Now its role is largely restricted to theater, including performances and races by men in costumes depicting ancestral spirits.

Ukpai, the evangelist, tells followers the artifacts bear "curses and covenants" linked to the gods they represent.

According to the article, the lack of tolerance is comparatively new:

Early missionaries to Nigeria condemned most traditional practices as pagan. Roman Catholics and Anglicans later came to terms with most practices, even incorporating some traditional dances into church liturgy. But there was no room for local gods once their erstwhile worshippers became Christians.

Similarly, Muslim preachers in Nigeria's predominantly Islamic north forbade interaction with figures dedicated to local idols, although many cultural dances featuring traditional masks are still tolerated.

So let's get this straight: The native religious customs survived for hundreds of years and were, at a minimum, tolerated by Catholics and Muslims -- but can't survive the Pentecostals?

Money may not buy happiness, but at least it can get you really fancy accessories

Over the long weekend, the Post had an interesting article about Coach handbags. (Disclaimer: I have at least six. And a wallet. And two wristlets. And now I'm reminded that I never did follow-up on my promise to blog about my handbag collection. But I digress.)

The point of the article -- I think -- is that the Coach brand has come to represent an affordable luxury item. Which is an oxymoron, right? But at any rate, it's a category separate and distinct from higher-end brands like, for example, Louis Vuitton -- and their $52,500 handbag.

Which brings me to my real point: $52,000 for a purse? And it's not even all that cute?*



$52,000 is more than my car cost-- almost double. And I have a pretty nice car. Even if I had that kind of disposable income I don't know that I could pull the trigger on such a ridiculous purchase. I mean, think of all the shoes $52,500 could buy.

The world is a crazy, crazy place.




*The Post's Ruth Marcus described it as "[N]ot the world's priciest handbag . . . but it may be the ugliest. The Empress's New Purse is -- shh! -- a hideous hodgepodge of 14 recycled Louis Vuitton bags cut up, stitched back together and festooned with gold chains. If Frankenstein's monster carried a purse, this is what it would look like." Ouch.

The Bowden Bowl

Florida State plays Clemson in less than two hours, and I can already feel my heart pounding in my chest as if the game is tied with seconds left in the fourth quarter and FSU is attempting to win by kicking a field goal.

I don't know why I'm so nervous. I mean, it's Clemson, for crying out loud. They're not even ranked this year. It's nothing like last year when my 'Noles started the year against Miami and I had to turn off the tv and have a friend call me to tell me that it was okay to turn the game back on.

Still, I take the whole thing so damn seriously. Too damn seriously. I think this is why people drink when watching football.

I agree with Bobby Bowden: The Bowden Bowl is just not fun anymore. Plus, if Florida State loses, my whole fall is going to be shot, and it hasn't even started yet.

Artist's rendition

So, on Pop Candy, they posted a link to this nifty little program that alters your photo in various ways.

I've been playing with it for a while. This version of me as a Botticelli is my favorite:



I also like this Modigliani:

Proof that you can still be mean after death

How much does someone have to dislike her grandchildren to disinherit them -- while leaving $12 million to her dog?

I wonder what the grandkids did to deserve this.

The Hipster Olympics

"Empanadas are the new cupcakes." 'Nuff said.

On further reflection

I finally watched the last episode of The Two Coreys. It was anticlimactic. They fight, Haim leaves, and Feldman and his wife breathe a sigh of relief. All is right with the world, blah blah blah. Especially since both Coreys really are making a sequel to The Lost Boys.

I've been an apologist for this stupid reality show. Admittedly, I enjoyed it. I love the idea of two former child stars -- both of whom have survived substance abuse and are now trying to resurrect their careers -- living together in a house. Especially since they're both complete disasters: Haim is messy, disorganized human chaos with no guidelines, no respect, and no clue -- but Feldman is an overly meek and mild mannered vegetarian, somewhat delusional as to the current state of his career, and incessantly and increasingly bossed around by his wife. It's The Odd Couple meets The Real World meets schadenfreude.

. . . Only Feldman already did that on The Surreal Life. And no matter how needy he is, as a 35 year old, Haim probably shouldn't have been staying indefinitely in his best friend's house in the first place. But I guess there's not enough drama if Haim is just the annoying neighbor who drops in uninvited all the time.

Oh well. I was wrong. It's not a great reality show. It's a good idea for a reality show that just didn't live up to its potential. But at least their advice column is funny.

F*cking Monday, F*cking Metro

Today started so innocently. The clerk at Firehook gave me the wrong kind of tea. And then the very important package was delayed due to security, and my co-counsel was VERY CONCERNED. But I tracked it down, triumphantly.

Work was busy, and I got distracted with drafting a motion. It was going well. So well that I didn't even think to take lunch until well after 2. I quickly ate my crappy lunch, and then went back to work on the brief.

Sometime after 4, my mom called, upset, due to difficulties with her uncle, who has dementia, and who she's pretty much taking care of with very little help from anyone else in the family. So, I stopped to talk to her, and forgot to save my brief.

When I was getting ready to leave -- at a normal hour -- I printed it out. But I noticed a typo, so I went to reopen it and fix it.

It wasn't there, surprise, surprise.

But at least I had a hard copy. So I spent the next couple of hours reconstructing it from the hard copy (read: retyping every word and every single legal citation). All this while my next-door office neighbor entertained his very young son. It was, well, distracting.

Finally, at around 8 pm, I finished. I made sure to save my work this time. And then I painstakingly assembled the motion, brief, exhibits, and proposed order to be filed tomorrow morning. I recycled my last Diet Coke can, and headed out the door.

Of course, that meant heading out to Metro, which, unbeknownst to me, was pretty much shut down -- again. First they said it was just green and yellow lines. But that's easy for me: I can take blue. So, I went to Metro Center, and hopped on a blue line train.

That was the worst decision I made all day. I should have taken a cab. You see, the blue line trains were all stopping at Arlington Cemetery -- which, in the dark, is not an easy walk to my apartment.

But Metro was running shuttle buses, right? Well, yes -- at least that's what they were announcing. Too bad the station manager had no idea what we were talking about, or any clue where to direct us. So there we were, hundreds of people waiting around at Arlington Cemetery. The crowd was insane, and enraged.

Finally, two buses pulled up -- on what was, logically speaking, the wrong side of the street (i.e. heading back towards D.C.). All of a sudden, people ran across four lanes of traffic, and were pushing and shoving to get on the buses. Some small kid almost got trampled. And the bus drivers weren't sure where they were supposed to go at first. So the buses just sat there, full of people.

The crowd was getting restless. People were yelling. The touristy girls near me were amused, they kept taking pictures with their cell phone cameras. I actually said to them to not take a picture of me, because my day had been bad enough. (I did, however, quietly suggest that they take a picture of the crazy guy in the ill-fitting suit who was kneeling on his bus seat pretending that the window was a piano, playing along to whatever crazy music he was listening to on his headphones. I'm not sure if they took my advice.)

Later, much later, the shuttle bus pulled up to Pentagon City. There were firetrucks everywhere, and the traffic was busy for this time of night. Once I got into the mall, pretty much everything except McDonald's was already closed.

I walked the rest of the way home, and got in my apartment about 15 minutes ago. Just long enough to have flipped open the computer and written this. I haven't eaten, and I'm in need of a shower from the whole experience. But instead, I'm going to sleep early, just to make sure that today can't get any worse.

Thank god for Tuesdays.