Pamie and Stee (f/ Djb!) witness the further step in the devolution of the music industry in the form of the 2005 MTV Video Music Awards, hosted by the amusingly un-self-aware leader of all that is anti-art in rap music — the man so effective at whatever it is he does that he created a posthumous rap genius and martyr out of an only moderately talented rapper who he probably was more than tangentially responsible for the death of — the man whose unapologetic embrace of The Material has probably single-handedly been responsible for more murders-over-sneakers and the financial and moral bankruptcy of kids buying Bling and cars instead of food and diapers, producer cum rapper cum actor cum designer cum party-giver cum murderer cum marathoner cum television producer cum political activist cum host, Sean
“Puff Daddy/P. Diddy/Diddy” Combs.
Right now, teachers are using DonorsChoose to propose “Classroom Care Packages” for students dislocated by Hurricane Katrina. Television Without Pity has created a special Recapalooza in support of this effort.
For every $2000 raised, a TWoP recapper will recap something weird and wonderful of their choosing (uh oh!). TWoP and Glarkware will cover any credit card and PayPal fees so that 100% of your donation goes to Donors Choose. TWoP is also matching our recapper’s donations dollar for dollar because they rock like you rock.
I felt my first real earthquake today. I mean one where I knew an earthquake was about to hit and then it did. I sat through lots of earthquakes when I lived in Palm Springs as a kid, but I don’t really remember them. We lived above the laundry facility at a hotel, so we often thought it was the machines rumbling when it was actually a quake.
One happened when Dan first moved here to LA, but I was drying my hair at the time and thought Ray was doing some dumb-ass shit underneath the apartment. By the time I realized the world was shaking, the earthquake had finished. Continue reading
It has been brought to my attention that my name (as well as Television Without Pity’s) was listed this past weekend in a schedule of events for a convention. I was never a confirmed speaker, and had informed the convention I would be unable to attend months ago. I apologize for those of you who may have attended the panel hoping to talk about TWoP.
There was a time, somewhere back last spring, when we were still trying to figure out both the ceremony and the location, that we had been excited about the notion of the following: Having Allison sing Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah as I walked down the aisle of The Wayfarers Chapel.
One week later, we’re watching The O.C. season finale on TiVo when they cut to the big wedding ceremony.
Huge, sweeping crane shot of the Wayfarers Chapel while playing Jeff Buckley’s cover of “Hallelujah.”
When we finally were able to move our mouths again, I whined, “The O.C. stole our wedding.” Continue reading
“Chick lit at its most trenchant and truthful.”
(read the rest of her interview here.)
Thanks, Jennifer! I am a huge fan of her blog. Also, she was very nice and pretty when we went to see her read over the summer. She’s a TWoP fan, and you’d think we were the ones with the bestselling books, with how much she was blushing. Her advice led me to my new book deal, so I’m very grateful that she’s so cool.
I’m currently sitting on the floor typing while another version of me is currently playing on the television beside me. I’m making copies of the Anne Heche show for someone, and I’ve spent the morning calling people while watching them perform monologues. It’s a strange meta thing to talk to someone while listening to them yell. It’s even worse to watch yourself while trying to write about yourself. I’d say it was narcissitic, but I don’t have the ego.
I generally don’t watch myself on television. I still have a copy of my episode Beat the Geeks that Michelle sent me that sits, unwatched. I find that once I see myself up there, see what I imagine other people see, I tend to get a little depressed. I don’t like my voice, my forehead, the way my hair looks tired. I don’t like the way I rush when I talk, how red my face gets when I’m excited, the way my shoulders hunch towards my neck. I don’t like the way I move, the way my chin looks when I laugh, the way I tend to tremble when I’m holding something as a prop.
The more I watch myself, the more self-conscious I get. Then I start talking myself out of what I’m doing, and the next time I’m up on stage, I can’t help but feel like I shouldn’t be there. I try not to watch myself at all anymore, as it makes me change what I’m doing, and takes some of the joy out of my work.
It’s like I’m coming up for air.
I’ve been going non-stop for a couple of weeks now, and I think right now at this moment I’m having my first second of silent, spare time. The fact that I’m filling it with writing an entry instead of finishing my book (I’m reading A Tree Grows In Brooklyn, a wonderful story that I wouldn’t have appreciated if I’d read it when I was younger), or practicing piano (A life-long goal of mine is to learn the piano. I am just now getting a chance to fulfill it. Yesterday I earned a gold star when I completed “Old Woman” without having to look at my hands), shows that I’m filled with guilt over neglecting this site this month. It’s just been pretty crazy around here.
Caught up on TiVo, and it turns out that I hate the show I thought I’d like, and I like the show I thought I’d hate. How about that? The Anna Nicole Show was so disappointing. I couldn’t even find a reason to laugh. I just sat there staring, wondering why nobody bothered to make it funny. Obviously there was enough footage that it could have been funny, but it was cut in such a way it looked like the footage right before the Behind the Music guy goes, “But Anna Nicole’s lifestyle couldn’t take much more abuse.” And then every shot of her sliding into a tub with her stilettos scratching the finish would be in slow-motion over and over and over.
Then, I’m all giggling like an idiot at The Rerun Show, a show I wanted to see because I thought I’d hate it. The guy that does Mrs. Garrett cracks me up with every line. But, as Wing pointed out last night I just find Mrs. Garrett impressions funny, mostly because they remind me of my own Mrs. Garrett impression. (By the way, when you know you’ve got a good friend when she can totally call you on your shit and instead of blushing or getting defensive you crack up because she saw the truth where you were still trying to talk bullshit to yourself.) But I did find some of the parodies funny, when the actors find that one bad acting trait the original actor had and exaggerate it. Like having Tootie never stop flopping around and wiggling while she talked. Or how Kimberly was always having to wear some kind of dance outfit.
Ignoring the segue, I need to tell you the really exciting news I received just before I left for out of town: I may already have what it takes to be a writer. It’s true. I just received the documentation.