Continuing with my Tomato Nation love-fest, this made me laugh so hard, all the while desperatly trying to supress all laughter and not look or sound like I was laughing, that I was afraid I would burst a blood vessel in my eye and/or start seizing at my desk. I have got to stop reading this stuff in the office.
I sympathize with Sars (May I call you Sars? Or should it be Ms. Bunting?) and the whole cat-girth thing. While I've never had a Tubcat, Mongo was pretty damn hefty for a while (hence the name.) See, I got him from a shelter, and god only knows how long he'd been on the street, poor thing, so I think he basically was conditioned to eat whatever he found, whenever he found it, because who knows when he'd run across food again, right? This worked on the street, and even, to an extent, in the shelter, as he was competing for food with all the other kitties. But when we brought him home, we started free-feeding him and Bug. So there was this vat, basically, of dry food lying around, and he'd walk by it and think "Oh, look, food! Better eat it. Hey, more food! Better eat it. There's food there again! Better eat it...." and so on. So he hit almost 18 pounds, such that he was having trouble jumping up on the bed, before I switched to feeding them once a day and feeding them diet food.
For those interested in cat lore, I've discovered something very, very important: If you feed your cats only once a day, for the love of god, make sure you do it before you go to bed, not right after you get up in the morning. We made that mistake at first. Fortunately, I was living with a morning person at the time, so he was the one who was getting head-butted at 4:30 a.m. Mongo tried that with me a few times, but realized there was no way in hell he was waking me up. Tripp, on the other hand, was putty in his claws. Heh. Anyway, when Tripp moved out, I made sure to switch the feeding schedule.
Watched Buffy tonight, and Smallville. I got the Buffy Season 1 DVDs earlier this year, and it's amazing the contrast between the seasons. Buffy used to be a lot more... fun. Perky. Joyous. I still love the show, but I don't know if I'd tell someone to start watching it now. As my friend Joe said a little while ago, it's getting harder and harder to watch. It's all so dark, and everyone's so depressed and tormented. I mean, it has to be dark: Her mom died, she killed her one true love, she died and was ripped out of heaven, she's never going to be a normal girl... but damn, I feel almost guilty watching the show sometimes, because we, the fans, demanded she come back. We didn't want to let her go. We're the ones who dragged her out of heaven and forced her to perform for us. Well, actually, Joss Wheadon is, but we're not stopping him. We're enablers. The horror!
Um, yeah, I know. It's just a TV show. I still feel guilty.
Narcisisim is the bit where you're obsessed with yourself and if anything goes wrong, it's all someone else's fault, right? Apparently I'm a narcisist unclear onthe concept -- it's all about me, but it's all my fault, even the pain and suffering of fictional characters.
Note to self: Must get life.
But not yet, because men's figure skating is on! Huzzah! They're all so pretty, in their foofy shirts and spangly pants and all. And they kick serious ass, with the jumping and the spinning and such. I must admit, I don't know how they spin around so fast without throwing up. This is one of the many, many reasons I will never be a world-famous figure skater. The complete lack of coordination and the fact that I managed to break my arm walking on ice may play into it, too.
I'm finding more stuff to hate about U.S. Olympics coverage. Who woulda thunk it? They had the "poignant" piece on Todd Eldridge: about how he grew up on Cape Cod, son of a long line of fisherfolk, only to leave the life of his forefathers to pursue his skating dreams; how he's struggled through years of competition and only one award -- an olympic medal -- has eluded him; how he's come out of retirement, at the grand old age of 30 (as in, a year younger than me), to take one last shot at his goal.... All of which is true, but for god's sake, people, do you have to pile on the cheese? Look! It's poignant! Are you getting the poignancy? Well are you?!? Squeal like a pig!
The coverage of his actual program went something like this:
What I couldn't stand was the way NBC replayed his parents' reaction to the slip, and Kristi Yamaguchi crying for Todd. His parents aren't public figures -- they're just completely wrapped up in watching their son. Don't exploit them for the poignancy factor. Kristi is a public figure, but what did that add to the coverage? He messed up. He's not getting a medal. We know it. He knows it. Quit milking the moment. Let it stand on it's own. We. Get. It.
On a completely separate note, Wendy just brought up the most amusingly addressed peice of junk mail ever: My name is spelled as Sarahesild. One word. I guess they think it's like Brunhild, as in "Oh, Bwoonhilde, you're so wuuuuuvwie!"" "Yeahs Oi knooow it, Oi cayen't heeehlp it..."
Sarahesild. I knew I could be a valkyrie. Oy-a-hoy-HO!
I sympathize with Sars (May I call you Sars? Or should it be Ms. Bunting?) and the whole cat-girth thing. While I've never had a Tubcat, Mongo was pretty damn hefty for a while (hence the name.) See, I got him from a shelter, and god only knows how long he'd been on the street, poor thing, so I think he basically was conditioned to eat whatever he found, whenever he found it, because who knows when he'd run across food again, right? This worked on the street, and even, to an extent, in the shelter, as he was competing for food with all the other kitties. But when we brought him home, we started free-feeding him and Bug. So there was this vat, basically, of dry food lying around, and he'd walk by it and think "Oh, look, food! Better eat it. Hey, more food! Better eat it. There's food there again! Better eat it...." and so on. So he hit almost 18 pounds, such that he was having trouble jumping up on the bed, before I switched to feeding them once a day and feeding them diet food.
For those interested in cat lore, I've discovered something very, very important: If you feed your cats only once a day, for the love of god, make sure you do it before you go to bed, not right after you get up in the morning. We made that mistake at first. Fortunately, I was living with a morning person at the time, so he was the one who was getting head-butted at 4:30 a.m. Mongo tried that with me a few times, but realized there was no way in hell he was waking me up. Tripp, on the other hand, was putty in his claws. Heh. Anyway, when Tripp moved out, I made sure to switch the feeding schedule.
Watched Buffy tonight, and Smallville. I got the Buffy Season 1 DVDs earlier this year, and it's amazing the contrast between the seasons. Buffy used to be a lot more... fun. Perky. Joyous. I still love the show, but I don't know if I'd tell someone to start watching it now. As my friend Joe said a little while ago, it's getting harder and harder to watch. It's all so dark, and everyone's so depressed and tormented. I mean, it has to be dark: Her mom died, she killed her one true love, she died and was ripped out of heaven, she's never going to be a normal girl... but damn, I feel almost guilty watching the show sometimes, because we, the fans, demanded she come back. We didn't want to let her go. We're the ones who dragged her out of heaven and forced her to perform for us. Well, actually, Joss Wheadon is, but we're not stopping him. We're enablers. The horror!
Um, yeah, I know. It's just a TV show. I still feel guilty.
Narcisisim is the bit where you're obsessed with yourself and if anything goes wrong, it's all someone else's fault, right? Apparently I'm a narcisist unclear onthe concept -- it's all about me, but it's all my fault, even the pain and suffering of fictional characters.
Note to self: Must get life.
But not yet, because men's figure skating is on! Huzzah! They're all so pretty, in their foofy shirts and spangly pants and all. And they kick serious ass, with the jumping and the spinning and such. I must admit, I don't know how they spin around so fast without throwing up. This is one of the many, many reasons I will never be a world-famous figure skater. The complete lack of coordination and the fact that I managed to break my arm walking on ice may play into it, too.
I'm finding more stuff to hate about U.S. Olympics coverage. Who woulda thunk it? They had the "poignant" piece on Todd Eldridge: about how he grew up on Cape Cod, son of a long line of fisherfolk, only to leave the life of his forefathers to pursue his skating dreams; how he's struggled through years of competition and only one award -- an olympic medal -- has eluded him; how he's come out of retirement, at the grand old age of 30 (as in, a year younger than me), to take one last shot at his goal.... All of which is true, but for god's sake, people, do you have to pile on the cheese? Look! It's poignant! Are you getting the poignancy? Well are you?!? Squeal like a pig!
The coverage of his actual program went something like this:
Announcer: Todd is facing a terrible choice -- will he do a quad, or will he play it safe to ensure a perfect program?He flubbed the quad, and bobbled a few other things. OK, I felt sorry for him again.
Me: Well, that's exciting. Poor guy. Lots of pressure, huh.
Announcer: He's only landed a quad twice in competition. The frst time he did that, he bought himself a new Ferrari.
Me: I officially no longer feel sorry for him.
What I couldn't stand was the way NBC replayed his parents' reaction to the slip, and Kristi Yamaguchi crying for Todd. His parents aren't public figures -- they're just completely wrapped up in watching their son. Don't exploit them for the poignancy factor. Kristi is a public figure, but what did that add to the coverage? He messed up. He's not getting a medal. We know it. He knows it. Quit milking the moment. Let it stand on it's own. We. Get. It.
On a completely separate note, Wendy just brought up the most amusingly addressed peice of junk mail ever: My name is spelled as Sarahesild. One word. I guess they think it's like Brunhild, as in "Oh, Bwoonhilde, you're so wuuuuuvwie!"" "Yeahs Oi knooow it, Oi cayen't heeehlp it..."
Sarahesild. I knew I could be a valkyrie. Oy-a-hoy-HO!
posted by SAJ at
10:38 PM
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