Brian and I rented Season 1 of Saturday Night Live over the weekend. (Ok, so maybe I surreptitiously added it to our Netflix Queue, and by ‘our’ Netflix Queue, I mean ‘the Netflix Queue that Brian lacks a password for and which only I update’. Just to clarify.) I have always enjoyed watching vintage SNL. I’ve always loved Gilda Radner, Lily Tomlin, Jane Curtain…come to think of it, maybe part of what I love is watching brilliant, hilarious women. So many wonderful female comedians got their start on that show. Sure, I also loved Chevy Chase and Steve Martin…but I couldn’t grow up to be like them. The women of early Saturday Night Live were inspiring because they were rough and tumble and edgy just like the men. They weren’t playing it for sex appeal, and even when the joke was on them, it was funny because of the characters they played, not simply because they were women. I recall disliking the show during the dark days of the early 1990s, when the cast had barely any women and most of the female characters were played by men in drag. There was something lost by not letting actual women in on the joke.
In any event, while my sister and I used to rent old episodes of SNL when we were growing up, after a long hiatus, it was rather jarring to see them again. It’s a little strange seeing legendary comedian John Belushi performing in low-rent, un-hilarious skits, back when he needed a paycheck and was willing to wear a Bee costume. Saturday Night Live has certainly been through rough patches; even classic episodes have their share of drek. But it was fascinating to catch a glimpse of the show’s primordial, formulative episodes. There was a dark, disturbing and poorly written skit featuring Jim Henson’s Muppets, since it was in the days before The Muppet Show earned them a place in the Pantheon of children’s television. There were fake commercials and a raggedy-edged Nightly News sendup. If nothing else, at least the bad skits were short. There were also several monologues by guest host George Carlin, one of which was about how stupid religion is. “Religion,” he says, “is like a lift in your shoe. If you need it for awhile, and it makes you walk straight and feel better – fine. But you don’t need it forever, or you’ll become permanently disabled.”
This blew me away. I know George Carlin has always said whatever the hell he wanted; that’s part of his greatness. But still—can you imagine a comedian on a major Network taking on religion with such frankness? Perhaps I just don’t watch enough Saturday Night Live, or enough comedians on major networks. But it was pretty great.
My favorite part of the episode was the satirical advertisement for the “Triple-Trac”, a revolutionary 3-blade razor. A simple (and very familiar) animation simulated how the first blade lifted a hair, the second primed it for being cut and the third cut it. The very idea of a triple-bladed razor was clearly unbelievably ridiculous—to a 1975 audience. The tagline said, “The three-blade razor— designed for people who’ll believe anything”. I can’t say I didn’t wince at that. How far we’ve come.
I know it’s just because I didn’t get much sleep last night, but right now the idea of dressing up as a turn-of-the century strongman, in a red-and-white striped male unitard with a massive handlebar moustache, wearing big black boots and hefting a giant, extremely old-school and ergonomically nightmarish barbell in a jerky, haphazard fashion, is THE FUNNIEST IDEA EVER.
PS: Merry Festivus, Everyone!
I’m cleaning the house, because I’m hosting my family for Christmas. This is thrilling, and terrifying, like a roller-coaster ride in the dark. With your family.
This weekend I washed the dog, washed the car, washed the couch cover, washed about eight loads of laundry, decorated the tree, made spritz cookie dough, tidied the guest bedroom, swept the floors, and had a minor meltdown.
I knew I needed to slow down a bit this evening, when I went to get a bowl off the top of the highest cabinet in the kitchen. I needed to jump to reach the bowl, and halfway in the air I realized that the bowl likely had two smaller bowls nesting in it that I couldn’t see. I ignored this thought and swiped at the bowl to knock it down . And all three bowls sailed off the shelf and hit me in the head on the way down. I now have quite an egg on my forehead. It’s good to have unexplainable bruises on your face when your family comes to visit you and your boyfriend.
Wish me luck, it’s going to be a Christmas to remember!
Pride and Prejudice!
Netflix queue I love you so
Brian wants you dead
Foreign language films
How come you are so often
Blatant sausage-fests?
I don’t think Brian
Bought a 50″ TV
With these films in mind
Hi-definition
Is for fight-scenes and sunsets
Not male genitals
Damn you, misleading hippie gardening websites! Everything you have told me is the opposite of what is going on in my Guest Room Garden! (You too can make a Guest Room Garden! Just follow these three easy steps:
1) Take a rarely-used bedroom in your two-bedroom apartment
2) Fill the window with plants that will die if left outdoors in the winter cold
3) Lack friends who might ever possibly stay in that guest room. Watch as the foliage gradually overpowers the room and makes it feel like a creepy-ass jungle.
See-it’s easy!)
“Planting mint will keep flies away from your house and garden,” says one damn hippie gardening website. Thanks for the tip-but actually, it’s my mint plants that are crawling with little fruity-looking flies. What now, website? Any other helpful advice for me? I just spent half an hour sitting in front of my mint plant killing flies as I spotted them like some sort of crazy gardening sniper. There has to be a better way.
“An organic method of getting rid of aphids? Plant basil,” advises another damn hippie gardening website. Fine and dandy, except it’s my basil that’s crawling with aphids. Should I plant other basil next to it, and maybe THAT basil will be ok to eat? Is that really the best thing I can do here?
Also, aphids are gross. They look like little green sesame seeds. They are ruining bagels for me. And they don’t ever move! Any bug that just sits there like a Zen master and takes it as you brush it off your plant is playing mind games that are too sophisticated for me to be able to handle at this point in time. Passive resistance is only ok when I’m the one employing it.
Several websites have recommended introducing Ladybugs into my garden to eat the aphids, but I’m not sure I want to interfere with my guest room’s delicate ecosystem. I don’t think you could call what I’ve been doing today ‘gardening’, since I spent most of my time sitting on the edge of a bed. Still, I managed to work myself up into something of a frenzy this afternoon trying to deal with the ailments my various plants have come down with. What is not that bothersome when your plant is on a porch, becomes more of a problem once it’s indoors.
I keep going through a weekly cycle of going out for a couple of drinks on Friday night, then waking up sick on Saturday, and slowly regaining my strength through the weekend and during the week—just in time for a couple of drinks to ruin my good health again the next Friday.
But when they’re a couple of free drinks at an after-hours office function, how can I refuse? How can I say “no thanks” to a plastic tumbler filled with chardonnay? To an outdoor DJ spinning AC/DC in 30-degree weather while my bravest coworkers and I dance around a flaming space heater?
I like office holiday parties. They’re merry, and everyone dresses to the nines, and underneath it all lurks the possibility that you might say or do something that will jeopardize your career—the likelihood of which is increased by the presence of a Karaoke machine. Fortunately, Brian knew it was time for us to go last night when I began to seriously consider pressuring my coworker into singing Def Leppard with me. Possibly my reputation at work could survive an inebriated performance of “Pour Some Sugar on Me”, but this is not something I am willing to risk…until my third tumbler of chardonnay. This is why it is advisable to bring a date to your office holiday party. They are there to navigate you away from a discussion of politics with your company president. To distract you so that you don’t notice when the DJ starts playing “The Macarena”. Finally, it is their job to steer you toward the car when you begin teetering on your ill-advised stilettos and stuffing your face with shrimp cocktail and Swedish meatballs like you’re storing up for the coming winter.
I suppose this post is a tribute to the Office Holiday Party Date. Boyfriend or girlfriend, husband or wife, friend or roommate, or maybe someone who just is there because they lost a bet; thank you for shepherding us through the treacherous, glittery, intoxicating waters of our Holiday Parties. This week, let’s all do something nice for our Holiday Party escorts. Take them out to dinner with the some of the money you are still bringing in each week thanks to them. They’ve earned it.
When I am at work and I am having one of those days, I sometimes calm down by picturing myself at home at the end of the day, relaxing with a chilled glass of wine. Is this a warning sign? Or an excellent stress-management technique? Or maybe both?
The other weekend I took a quiz called ‘Are You an Alcoholic’ on About.com. I don’t think I am an alcoholic. Honestly, I took the quiz out of morbid curiosity mingled with self-righteousness. I took the quiz because I am fairly certain I am NOT an alcoholic. I figured it would be like one of those soft-ball quizzes they have in Seventeen Magazine entitled ‘Does He Like You?’ where the questions are extremely obvious. (“You sit next to him in class and he: A) passes notes with you B) Ignores you C) Punches you in the throat”). However, THIS quiz didn’t pull any punches. My results told me I probably have a drinking problem. Apparently that’s the verdict if you answered ‘Yes’ to three questions.
First of all, what kind of quiz is that? Every answer on a quiz is not supposed to be ‘No’! About.com! Isn’t that kind of obvious? Mix it up a little here. Not only that, but I don’t think all of the questions on this quiz were equally serious. Take one of the questions I answered ‘Yes’ to:
‘Do you drink to escape from worries or trouble?’ Can anyone reading this say ‘No’ to this question? Anyone I would get along with, anyway? What other reasons are there to drink, except maybe in celebration—and don’t celebrations, like weddings, or company Christmas parties, make most people kind of miserable deep down anyway, which they then drink to escape? Ok, fine…I may have other problems.
Furthermore, if someone says ‘Yes’ to the ‘escape from worries’ question, would you be more or less alarmed if they also said yes to THIS question:
‘Does your drinking make you careless of your family’s welfare?’ WHAT. Ok, a ‘Yes’ to this question should be worth at least 5 points more than a ‘Yes’ to the previous question. Having a drink after a long day at work or a bad breakup is not on the same level as endangering your family’s welfare (unless you are drinking at a family reunion, which is highly advisable).
All right, here’s another question I said yes to: ‘Do you drink alone?’ Again, is that always so bad? Particularly since this question is not very specific and could therefore reasonably encompass many different kinds of solitary drinking. I mean, there’s “It’s Saturday night and The Wedding Date is on Lifetime and me and this bottle of wine are going to watch Debra Messing be unconvincingly dowdy together until I turn in at 11pm” alone-drinking. Then there’s drinking alone in the bathroom at work, or in your parked car underneath the turnpike. About.com, can you please be more specific here? When should I really worry?
I don’t remember the other question I said yes to; the one that pushed me over the edge into problem-drinking territory. It was probably something similarly ambiguous and open-ended, such as, ‘Do you drink because you are shy around other people?’ or ‘Do you drink to raise your self-esteem?’ No, I drink because I feel too hydrated.
That’s what I get for being honest. I guess when it comes down to it, are there really any legitimately good, healthy reasons to drink? Does a quiz like this automatically set you up to fail? One thing is for sure; from now on I’m sticking to quizzes that help me discover my fashion IQ and tell me which kind of Spirit Animal I am most like. If any of those quizzes tell me I have a drinking problem, I’ll listen.
I Heard Tell 