I fear for humanity. Vol. 1

Craig's List missed connections. How did I not know this was a thing?

Please accompany me on the most jaw-dropping look into the sweetness and utter depravity of guys. I have to say if this is the best idea they've come up with for meeting women, my generation will never reproduce. Instead of smiling or talking you that foxy lil' gal on the subway, you ignore her and then throw a tiny sentence out to the infinite universe of cyberspace. Stellar plan. Really top notch.

This is the first of so, so many looks into whatever the hell is going on here. (Click to enlarge)




Pluses: Attention-getting headline. Girl involved would probably remember the situation described.
Minuses: She was with someone, so she's probably not trolling for a missed connection.



Pluses: Good specifics on the location
Minuses: Not many girls would appreciate being called out on having unshaved legs, or want to talk to a guy who was into that.



Pluses: She's probably not got the highest standards. She can likely be yours for the right price without getting messy feelings involved.
Minuses: It's just business, baby. You're old.



Pluses: He knows it's crazy. She's his bitch. Calls Sharlene out by name.
Minuses: Does not make sense. Calls Sharlene out by name.

Not returning reporters' calls is really the only bad thing I can remember about Sen. Helms

Uhhhhhh, OK Google

I think Google has a God complex. They're so quick to jump in with suggestions about how to correctly spell tricky words like Cincinnati and embarrass but now they just can't stop themselves.

Glamour says: Just jump on him! Sneaky.

Hey Glamour can we chat for a sec? Thanks. I love you for hiring my favorite lady Mariane Pearl, and yet your bloggers should all be wearing Special Olympics helmets to write, lest they fall off their couches under the weight of their own ridiculousness.

And then there's this month's article featured in your Sex & Men section. (Sextion?)

When you use the word "sneaky" and "seductive" it conjures up images of a teasing flirtation tango. A Jim and Pam will-they-or-won't-they titillation. A giggling behind a fan that culminates in delicious eye contact.

Or you could be sneaky the Glamour way and just jump a bartender or announce out loud you'd like to have sex or you'll die.

What I learned about the girl sitting behind me at The Rocker

Last night I got to go see a screener of The Rocker starring Rainn Wilson as a drummer kicked out of his band who joins his nephew's high school group 20 years later. Yes, I know what you're thinking and he does drum naked in one extended scene.

Verdict: Solid, but no Sarah Marshall. Rainn Wilson is good, of course, but if the movie were made five years ago, you know they would have wanted Will Ferrell.

The rest of my faves (Will Arnett! Jason Sudeikis!) were way underused. I just looked on imdb and Will Arnett isn’t even on the cast list. Weird.

But even the best story couldn’t have held the attention of the girl behind me who continued to carry on a normal-voice-level conversation with her boyfriend.

As my English friend Will once said, “My God, it’s like listening to DVD commentary as you’re in the theater.” (Only, since he’s English, he probably said “theatre”.)

Here’s what the back third of the theater learned about the girl behind me:

• She’s hungry for a cheeseburger

• And fries

• Ooh! And a vanilla shake.

• She thinks the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame is the Louvre, even with the sign saying “Rock & Roll Hall of Fame”

• She sleeps on an air mattress

• She knows all the words to the song

• And she’ll sing them

• She’s not sure what a marionette is

• She recognizes that actor

• She likes to pretend to talk like a trucker when she sees one onscreen

• She just learned the symptoms of gonorrhea

• She likes how that girl’s hair looks

• Something about that shirt/tie combo is bugging her

• Thinks when people sleep with their eyes open “that shit crazy”

• Wasn’t quite sure what the actor who spelled “t-a-i-l” spelled

• “I seen Gigi fall like that drunk before”

CNN does not rock

There are at least 11 things wrong with this.

Please leave and take the two Coreys with you

A vignette from last week

Me: Did you know it’s Canada Day? That’s so cute. You get a whole little day for yourselves.

Canadian friend: It sucks. Black people get a whole month.

Me: You’re too polite to take a day in February.

CF: Once you go black you never go back.

Me: Once you go Canadian, you never go gay again?

CF: Ever hear people sometimes call black people “Canadians” as code?

Me: You know, I tend to get along well with black people and I hate and stereotype
Canadians.

CF: Really?

Me:. I realized not long ago I hate everyone I know from Canada.

CF: You’re so racist.

Me: Canadians aren’t a race. They’re just the generic store brand to America’s Coca Cola and Oscar Meyer.

CF: Nice.

Me: I’ll put a boot in their ass. It’s the American way. Or, as the Canadians would say, “I’ll tap you with my loafer, if that’s not too bothersome, eh?”

But what will become of the sad housewives?

Quite a while ago - before I got my current job with my Daytime Baby - I interviewed at a magazine directed at sad housewives. It’s that type of magazine that prints 50 diet tips on one page, then molten chocolate brownie recipes on the next page. They cancel each other out! I did not shout in the interview. Can’t we just print blank pages and call it a day?

Despite me not pointing that out, they still didn’t hire me. I was bummed at the time, even though it was a job I knew I’d hate. It was like a really ugly guy asking out your friend. Part of you is like, “Phew, dodged that bullet” but you’re also like “Wait, why didn’t he like me?”

Anyway, I quickly bounced back from not having to cheer up America’s sad housewives and hadn’t thought about them since. But I found out they shut down yesterday.

A pondering

Is there a more existential way to spend your Saturday than at The Container Store shopping for empty boxes?

Health class dismissed

The fallopian tubes and uterus look like some wonky Olympic mascot coming in for a hug.

Take on the world!

Whether you're teaching middle school math or taking your religion door to door, show the world you've got it going on with a short sleeved white button-down shirt.

Because you're a man of discerning tastes you only want the best. The best TV you can get on layaway. The best entree at TGI Friday's. And the best used Honda Accord on the lot.

So why settle for anything but the best when it comes to shirts for your active lifestyle? How many times has this happened to you: You're trying to write at your desk or knock on a door to spread the Good News, but all of a sudden ... sleeves! In your way! What's a man to do, hack off the sleeves with a letter opener? You're not Larry the Cable Guy or a contestant on Survivor, are you?



Show the world you're a man of refinement with our poly-cotton blend that sure to keep you cold on cold days and warm on warm days. Act now and we'll guarantee pitstains in the first two weeks or your money back.

Short sleeve white button-down shirt! Buy yours today!

Plaid! It's gonna be huge, says Gap spokesman

America has realized they're all stocked up on solid-color Ts and relaxed-fit chinos, thankyouverymuch. Unfortunately for the Gap, this is all they know how to sell.

Like a person in denial because life is just too horrible to face, the Gap has simply decided to pretend it's 1993 again and everything on the horizon is sunny. Kuwait is free, Kurt Cobain is making great tunes, seven strangers are picked to live in a house and do something besides drink in a hot tub, and - in the forefront of the national consciousness - a young Kate enters 8th grade after getting a drastic haircut.

And anyone who's anyone is rocking the plaid. Get your plaid dress today!

Quick question

Which one is a guy on Match and which one is Robbie Rotten, the villain of the Swedish children's show LazyTown? I can't tell either.

Women camp out for CBS’s Early Show

NEW YORK – After driving over 1,700 miles from their home in Boulder, Colo., Vicki Carter, Nancy Snodgrass and Rachel Brown spent Sunday night camped out on 59th Street to ensure they didn’t miss a moment of CBS’s The Early Show.

“We knew it would be worth it, because whatever happens on The Early Show is always buzzed about the next day,” Snodgrass, 54, said of the perennial also-ran morning program. “Harry (Smith) and Julie (Chen? Chan? Nobody even cares.) have that kind of chemistry can’t be manufactured.”

While The Today Show and Good Morning America regularly have devotees lining up in the wee morning hours for a spot on their favorite show, The Early Show generally sends interns and junior-level producers to recruit audience members. But don’t tell that to these best friends and self-described “Early Show Heads”.

“You’ve got breaking news, interviews with top celebrities, plus they always somehow get the first interview with (CBS’s) Survivor castoffs,” said Brown. “I don’t know what a 1 share is but I know great TV.” A share is the percentage of TVs in use at any given time.

Indeed, the ratings-deficient show, which has struggled to second place only twice in the past 30 years – the weeks of January 17, 1977 and December 28, 1998 – has been just as challenged to find live audience members to line the plaza outside the CBS studios next to the Apple Store.

“I was going to get an iPod for my daughter’s graduation, when a woman grabbed my hand and handed me a sign that said, ‘I (heart) Harry’ and forced me to wave it,” said German tourist Hannah Eisenbach. “It was awful. Oh, God, is she gone? Can someone call the German embassy for me?”

But the trio from Colorado has no regrets about their long road trip.

“We sang the theme song, played trivia games and glittered our signs,” said Carter. “The hours just flew by.”

After catching a few hours’ sleep in their tent, the ladies even had an exciting run-in with one of the hosts.

“I thought they were homeless,” admitted Julie Chen, “I called security but they explained to me they were apparently – what’s the word? Fans?”

Now with the addition of so-called fans, the sky’s the limit for the show that airs in the former Captain Kangaroo timeslot. The weather segment recently replaced crayons and a coloring book page with an actual map purchased on eBay. Chen and Smith have yet to be informed the cameras are plugged in, thinking they’re still practicing for their debut. The concept of ratings was recently explained to Smith via hand puppets.

As of press time, Good Morning America refused to make eye contact with the loser program, while The Today Show tripped The Early Show in the cafeteria.

Trifecta?

All righty, I agree, this one is relatively minor, but nevertheless, Merriam-Webster says "counter-culture" isn't a hyphenated word. I hope this continues to be the source for all your nail-biting hyphenation news.

UPDATE: Eh, I think this counts. Partial credit at least:

Rue the day you messed with me, MSNBC.com. Go on, rue it.

UPDATE: YEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSS! I win.

Frank always hated proper grammar

Can I do it two days in a row? "Anymore" should be two words. Your move, MSNBC headline writer.

Marketing opportunity via gchat

Me: What’s up with it, vanilla face?

Friend: Not much, strawberry face.

Me: If anything, I'm super vanilla face. I’m the color of not just vanilla but soft-serve vanilla. The super bleached-out white stuff.

Friend: Ha. I don’t think so.

Me: It’s true. I’m worshipped as an albino god in some corners of the world.

Friend: Haha.

Me: With cinnamon freckles. I will also accept being called cinnamon face.

Friend: Wow... Ben & Jerry's have got a flavour for you

Me: Yummers. freckle ice cream! It can be a charity one for a skin cancer foundation. They have one for mole awareness too. It has raisins

Friend: If I saw it at my local grocer, I would eat Cinnamon Face

Me: Totally! Who doesn't love mole raisins?

Friend: Cancerous mole raisins at that

Me: Irregular. It just gets tastier and tastier

Friend: Low fat could be benign.

Me: I realized like 70% of my recent blog posts were ice cream related

Friend: Way to go, cinnamon face. Let's get that number up to 90%

I blame Frank

I'm choosing to read this as MSNBC blaming one man in particular. Good work, lil' buddy.

UPDATE: I make things happen, yo! Within seconds of me posting, here's the headline now. Check it:

Sorry about breaking into your home. But thanks for the asparagus.

When my grandmother died last summer, our scattered family gathered to tell her stories and congratulate ourselves for the good fortune of having her genes. Among the many aunts, uncles and cousins (many from the last category drinking from a flask at the wake), I also met a sweet old couple.

They were both adorably gray and pocket-sized, spry and dignified and so smiley. The man had an indeterminate European accent, like Arianna Huffington (or, if you prefer, Rainier Wolfcastle). They were adorable and I just wanted to collect them and put them on a shelf.

We were introduced (I assumed my mom had caught how we were related) and started chatting. Turns out we all lived on the Upper East Side. Now, when I say I live on the Upper East Side, I mean I live in the relative ghetto. A walkup, more bars than small dogs, etc. I keeps it real. They, however, live on the UES you think of, a pre-war building near Central Park with some marble-encased lobby.

They invited me for dinner and I marveled how sophisticated and worldly we were eating organic veggies and making witty puns. The husband literally described some New Yorker cartoon, which was my second most Upper East Side moment ever (just behind having to shut my window because my neighbor was singing opera across the courtyard). Haha, look at me being so fancy! I think.

Then I make the mistake of asking how we’re related. “Your grandfather’s stepbrother George is my cousin,” the man said.

A small bell went off in my head. George? My grandfather didn’t have a stepbrother George.

“George? Your grandfather didn’t have a stepbrother George.” My mom confirmed that night.

“Then who the hell were these people? Who did they think I was?” Had I been a hostage? Was I breaking and entering?

I thought about this story yesterday out of the blue, then I read the obits last night and it turned out the woman’s brother (not George) had died this week. While it's not quite the paranormal stuff my friend and I were talking about that afternoon, it is a weird coincidence.

To this day, almost a year later, I still have no idea whose apartment I was in. They were really nice though.

It's come to my attention I'm maybe not so good at being an adult

Friend (eating ice cream): I can't believe no one can stop me from eating ice cream for dinner if I want. Isn't being a grownup awesome?

Me: I know! Plus, you get to work as much as you want and nobody will stop you!

A snack, with a sidenote apology to the Jews

What’s the deal with airline peanuts Tasti D Lite? (Or as I, and I alone, call it "Tasti D".)

It’s not ice cream or frozen yogurt, or uh, good. No, good is not an adjective I’d use to describe the stuff. Cold. Cold is the word I’d pick. I want it to be like fat-free soft serve, but it’s some sort of whipped chemical “fudge” or “marshmallow” or “raspberry” flavor.

It doesn’t actually matter if it’s good though, because your tongue goes numb from the chemicals long before you’ve finished a cup of it. I don’t know why I keep forgetting this lesson. Like a person with short-term memory issues, when the weather gets warm, I stop by to try one of their 400 rotating flavors only to pitch it halfway through when I start smelling burnt hair and tasting pennies.

As my friend Julie told me around this time last year, “It’s a lesson we all have to learn. It averages out to three tries before you realize it’s always gross.”

(Unrelated: I thought I saw Julie in Midtown the other day, so I pointed at her and said, “Hey! Ju-” before realizing it wasn’t her. So essentially I pointed at some random girl, yelled “Jew” in her face, then retreated into the crowd. I’m still awesome. This might top the baby I used to watch who called juice “ju” and she’d demand it from strangers on the street with her tiny little j’accuse finger pointing at them. Sorry, Jews of the tri-state area.)

I'm sticking to the Mr. Softy truck from now on. It warms my heart in the summer to see businessmen in suits waiting patiently while their cones are dipped in rainbow sprinkles.

Who doesn't want to look like a member of the Johnson administration?

I'm trying to fight it, but it's coming to my attention that I'm the phoniest phoney that ever did phoney: I really, really want a pair of black-rimmed glasses. That's right, I want to kick it Weezer style. Or like a balding member of the Johnson administration cabinet. Or like every damn writer I know. How else are people going to know I write? Uh-huh. Gotcha.

The problem I'm running into is that I can only find the drugstore kind with sight-enhancing glass. Damn this perfect vision of mine! Damn you 20/20! Even I can't see the logic of wearing glasses that make your vision worse.

I think I need to just get a pair of joke disguise glasses and take the moustache off.

Oh really, Denise Richards, is your life complicated? IS IT?!?!?!

So, uh, how was your week last week?

That sounds nice.

Me? Weeeeeeeell, not the best. I like to keep things happy here at Postcards, but last week was truly the week Jesus himself took a crap on me.

It started off with a total and complete betrayal from one of my oldest friends, which ensures we'll never speak again. There was also a small matter with a crane nearly killing me in my sleep.

My sister pointed out that bad things come in threes. I was kinda hoping that the Sex and the City movie being sold out could be my third thing, but no.

My computer, my beloved little refurbished laptop, went to that Genius Bar in the sky.

Steve at the Apple store: Uh...hmmmm...uh-huh.

Me: Oh no! Talk to me Steve; you're just making sounds.

Steve at the Apple store: Um, it's your logic board.

Me: That does not sound promising.

Steve at the Apple store: It's what we like to call a "vintage computer," which means Apple doesn't make the part anymore. So what you'll have to do is go online and research getting the proper logic board for this model, then find a repuitable person to install it prop -

Me: I'm gonna stop you right there, Steve. I'm not going to be doing any of that.

I've never been so happy to see Monday morning come so I could put last week behind me. I usually go by the rule of thumb that the worse you feel the better you should try to look. (I guess so people can say, "What a cute skirt!" instead of, "Why are your eyes all puffed shut?") I looked in my closet and didn't have anything fancy enough to fix my bleak mood.

If I did, I'd be blogging in a prom dress right now.

Don't taunt the cranes

Anyone remember this post o' mine?

I was joking because hahaha there's just no way this could happen twice. HAHA! Uh, yeah, turn on MSNBC. It crashed into the luxury building next door to me. 50 feet from my front door! 50 feet! My mom in Kentucky saw my apartment from News Chopper 4.

The whole building shook with such an epic force I thought there was no way it could be anything man-made. To be every clichéd witness ever: It sounded like an earthquake. The rumbling went on for maybe 15 seconds. The sirens started almost immediately after. I wondered what the hell fault line I lived on and where my nearest emergency shelter was. Do I own gauze? Should I flee with my own canned goods? Would I be asked to give blood? I DON'T LIKE GIVING BLOOD! IT MAKES ME QUEASY! DON'T TAKE MY BLOOD!

The front of the building is sheared off. The whole street is filled with ambulances now.

And yes, I’m sort of disgusted with myself that my first response was, “I’m so filled with angst I just gotta blog about it!”

P.S. There were two cranes and it was the white one, not the red that collapsed. They better fucking take that red one down. I'll try to post pictures when I'm allowed back in my building.

Vindictive is not my color

Breakups, no matter the relationship: It’s like a car accident. You’re cruising along, doing everything right, signaling properly, hands at 10 and 2, and someone who made a wrong choice slams you out of nowhere.

Yum-o!

My ongoing one-sided feud with Rachel Ray continues. She’s having a ranch dressing week on her show. Ranch. Dressing. Week.

First of all: Fuck that noise. Leave the ranch alone.

Second of all, her recipes include (not making this up): Ranch mixed with salsa, ranch mixed with pesto, ranch mixed with parmesan and bacon, and ranch mixed with barbeque sauce.

Sweetie, stirring things into other things is not cooking by any stretch of the imagination. If you think it is, you’ll want to purchase my new cookbook Microwave Magic! Making Things Hot That Were Cold wherein I make things that were formerly cold into things that are now hot. Old pizza, frozen broccoli, veggie burgers. There’s nothing I can’t cook!

Oh, Rach, will your diet tips never end?

I was watching Rachel Ray the other day (my babysitting family gets three channels and, sadly, RR was the least terrible option.) She's making pasta and fried mozzarella, and she was literally in the process of breading cheese when she said, "This would make a nice, light lunch."

I just needed the world to know.

PSA

It's free coffee day at Dunkin Donuts. Adjust your lives acordingly. I'm not saying that you should go from Dunkin Donuts to Dunkin Donuts around your city, just that that's what I'll be doing.

Tonight's also the season finale of The Office. It's kind of a big day for Kate.

Update

Yeah, so Tumblr sucks. It keeps crashing on me when I try to post. So blogspot, you win my heart by default. Feel my wrath, Tumbr.

The site is now ReasonswhyIdumpedyou.blogspot.com. Please link to it and keep spreading the word. Your stories are hilarious and whatever the opposite of heartwarming is. Y'all are some ruthless bastards.

And I have no idea why my profile is all wonky.

Dump on me. No, wait, what?

Hey party people. I'm starting another blog. It's called reasonswhyidumpedyou.tumblr.com and it's gonna be awesome, but I need you, the reader, to help out.

What's the silly little reason you knew your relationship was dunzo, the dumbest reason you didn't accept a second date or just a ridiculous fight you've had?

My favorites so far are:

You looked at me in the eyes and said "Thank you for showing me neat things like fireworks.. this was my first time I have ever seen fireworks." You were 25

You spent the entire first date doing your Nicholson impression.

You forgot my first name and started calling me by my last name.


Good times, right? Well, this is the sort of hilarity you can expect on a semi-regular basis over at RWIDY. Check it out (in a few days, or whenevs I get officially started).

Email me at reasonswhyidumpedyou@gmail.com and spill it.

Suddenly a new contender emerges

Well, it's been a long search, but I've finally found the Match guy of my dreams. He's easy going (says so right in the first sentence, kinda twice, so you know it's true.) He can commit (a 27-year-old who's just getting out of a 10-year relationship? So healthy!) And he's a property (co)owner. Oh yeah, and he's mastered the shift key quite impressively...

VERY EASY GOING GUY WHO JUST GOES WITH THE FLOW.JUST GOT OUT OF A 10 YEAR RELATIONSHIP WHICH DIDN'T END WELL.WE OWN A HOUSE TOGETHER THAT IS NOW UP FOR SALE BECAUSE IT JUST DIDN'T WORK OUT.YOU FIND OUT ALOT ABOUT SOMEONE AFTER 10 YEARS. LOOKING FOR SOMEONE TO CHEER ME UP AND START A NEW LIFE WITH.

In which I out myself as a total geek

I’m amazed I had any friends at Grant Wood Elementary School, because I honestly used to run around correcting people’s grammar. If this applies to you, here’s your apology. I cringe thinking about it.

Am I proud of the little voice in the back of my head that screams, “Even though using it as a noun is commonly accepted, even by Merriam-Webster, it’s not ‘a myriad of’ because myriad is an ancient Greek word that means 10,000 and you wouldn’t say ‘a 10,000 of.’ "? No, but there it is nonetheless. So – in a career move that would have surprised none of my teachers – I channeled it into a stint as a copy editor.

I sat down at my desk the first day and looked to my right. My friend Justin was taking a swig of coffee, alternating with (no joke) glugs of Mylanta straight from the bottle. He was all of 22 at the time, not 45. I like this place, I thought.

Everything can go wrong. Every word has the potential for a correction. Things you were sure you knew are wrong. You type fast and “assess” becomes “asses”. So it’s with a sense of sympathy and schadenfreude that I read the correction section. And for the past three years, I’ve clipped out my favorites. (Shut up.) The best one is something like: Due to a transcription error so-and-so director of “Happy Endings” said, “I love foreign films because of the dialogue” not “I love porno films because of the dialogue.”

Awesome, right? Who’s got a geeky hobby now? Still me? Ok. I accept your judgment.

Also, check out my new favorite blog, regrettheerror.com, which is where my favorite recent correction came from (And, yes, I sort of want to sit down with you and rehash the prepositions-at-the-end-of-sentences debate):

The Columbia Spector. April 17, 2008

CORRECTION: This submission misstates that one Dalai Lama admitted to having sex with hundreds of men and women while knowing that he had AIDS. Additionally, the submission misstates that many monks participated in the dismemberment of female bodies. In fact, there is no factual evidence to substantiate either of these claims. Spectator regrets the error.

Bitch, this ain't Jeopardy

It's spring (!), which means for me it's new roommate time. When I was showing people the place, I had just a few simple questions for candidates:

1. Would you end each sentence in upspeak as though everything is a question? Cause bitch, this ain't Jeopardy.

2. Do you like to be thanked when you buy basic household goods, such as toilet paper, whilst also not thanking your roommate for cleaning or buying things?

3. Are you casually racist? Would you say something like "I mean, black people? Is there anything they won't do?"

4. Will you leave your company's dishes in the sink, and when your roommate asks you to do them, will you say, "Well, you bought them, they're your dishes. You do them." ?

5. Will you hang up on your roommate when I apologize for not being able to leave work to let your guest into the apartment?

6. Will you not only not notice when I clean, but also accuse me of never cleaning, despite the toilet, tub counters and floors generally being spotless?

7. Will you insist on paying your rent late every month? And when I bring up the fact that this puts me in financial distress, will you tell me that's my poor communication skills in action, because you didn't know that paying on the 1st was important?

If so, welcome aboard!

Memo from Dick Wolf

To: All staff writers
From: Dick Wolf

Subject: Free pizza

Hey guys,

I’m sure you saw the headline yesterday about the DC Madam being dead, and here at Law & Order you know what we do to headlines: We rip from them.

That’s where you come in. Cancel your weekend plans because I’m locking you all in the writers’ basement until you come up with a thinly veiled account of the story. You know the drill.

I’m thinking she was murdered for knowing too much. I’m thinking she was set up. I’m thinking it goes all the way to the top. Here’s a tentative beat sheet:

• Jogger/dog walker/arguing couple is startled to find dead body

• First cop on scene says it’s a suicide, plain and simple. Her face is gone, and there's no ID, but there's a bill in her purse with her address.

• Go to her house.

• Detective sees full plate of food on her table, has a hunch it’s (Chung chung!) murder. “How many girls you know who kill themselves before eating dinner?” Exactly.

• That black lady in forensics says they’re working on a ballistics match “on your Jane Doe”. But wait! Her DNA matches the famed madam.

• Detective recognized the picture she pulls up and gives all the back story through dialogue to another detective.

• Joke about detective going to a hooker.

• Cops talk to her friend, who steers them to the madam’s local bar.

• Interview bartender who won't stop doing his job as he's interviewed but remembers every detail about the random client because “she was a real good tipper. Dressed up real nice too. Don’t get many of that kind in here. She was always with a new guys. Must’ve had a lot of boyfriends.” Detective: “Something like that.”

• Commercial break.

• Friend just remembered to tell them the madam had a boat.

• DA goes to court but the judge won’t let them search it for some obscure legal reason.

• But the friend has a key for the boat and she finds signs of a break in.

• Work in a high-speed water chase.

• Somehow, her little black book turns up.

• Judge won’t allow it as evidence.

• Friend says “Wait, Judge Smalls? Walter Smalls?”

• Turns out judge is in the book.

• Commercial break

• Blah blah blah detecive work

• Judge is the killer, but he goes free on a technicality.


This is one of the “thinking episodes” I like to do where the detectives debate wealth and privilege. Get your Emmy speeches ready.

Also: I’m leaving my Gold AmEx in my top drawer. Bob has the key. Order pizza, but let’s cap the toppings at two.


Chung chung,

Dick

An open letter to American Idol

Hey American Idol!

Wazzupwitchu? How are the kids these days? Good, good. And David Archuleta? Puberty any day now, right? Totally.

Listen, you know I don't watch you. I have my reasons. But I caught a commerical your "singers" did last night for one of your sponsors, Ford.

Quick comment: The song was about cleaning up pollution or something. Whatevs. Earth blah blah. Anyway, David Cook sang and the leaves went back on the tree. That's not really cleaning up the Earth so much as it is reversing time.

I say this as someone who has been punched in the face by springtime: Every spring brings new leaves, new flowers and new allergens. Don't panic. It's natural to feel guilty, but don't blame yourself. You may pollute the air, but I guarantee this one’s not your fault good Will Hunting. It's not your fault.

Every year the trees will grow and lose leaves. This isn't something Ford needs to concern itself with. It happens every fall as part of the trees' natural rhythms. Don't worry though. It may not stay green all winter, but I promise, come spring the leaves will come back.

Look out your window! It could even be happening right now!

Keep it real,

Kate

P.S. Just admit you need Soul Patrol to come back. You can't top that Guy Smiley magic

Ironically, I did not excel

Yesterday I interviewed at a temp agency that specializes in getting people jobs in creative companies like TV production and advertising. The Chandler Bing in me knows I could come up with great slogans. (“Cheese…it’s milk…you can chew!”)

The downside to the interview is that I had to take an Excel test. You can’t fake that! I’d plugged numbers into spreadsheets before, but this mofo was intricate. They were all “Group row C and create a blue border and plug in the appropriate formula to calculate the sum” and I’m all “Whaaaaa….?” It was the same feeling I had in college as when I sat down in a European History class and it was in German for some random reason. Nowhere on the syllabus did it say “in German”. The teacher just walked in and started speaking German without comment and nobody else seemed surprised the class was not in English. I simply fell through a wormhole into an alternate reality.

It was like that, just like me using my 8th grade German to catch every third word. Only this time I was frantically poking through the toolbar (is it called a toolbar? Fuuuuuuck.) to follow every third instruction. The verdict: I got 15%. That’s clinically retarded territory. I’m not really sure how I’ve managed to not choke to death on my spit by now.

Just as bad was that I had to wear a button down collar shirt and – as my dad would call them – slacks. I look ridiculous, a tossup between someone about something to fax a memo to the team in Pittsburgh ASAP and an ’80s comedienne.

For reals though, your last name is Jonas and you named your son Joe?

What the hell is a Jonas Brother? Like, they’re really brothers? As in they just looked around the living room one day and whoever was within arm reach got incorporated into the group? Unacceptable. You want to be in a proper boy band, you get your asses down to Orlando. Back in my day, you got cast in a group with four of your new best buds and you rehearsed until you could all dance in place in place in perfect union. (Except Hanson. Nevermind. Shut up.)

I saw the girls weeping on Oprah for you, but the fact that you have a single called “Dear God” tells me you’re in on the joke.

And there are two with curly hair? Merciful Lord of the Flatiron. Did you learn nothing from Timberlake? You shave those fusilli spirals until you’re a freshly shorn lamb. And no frosted tips? For shame! Get the peroxide, Jonas. How are the girls going to know who The Cute One is?

Speaking of the roles, there are only three of you. That does not work. Everyone knows there’s The Older Brother One (uh, I’m looking your way, literal older brother. You nailed it.) The Cute One, The Shy One, The Rebelious One and The Fat One (oops, sorry, that’s The Fatone). (Come on, you know you loved 2Ge+her .)

What do you have? A tambourine player named Joe Jonas. Joe Jonas! You know him from such musical moments as tripping at the American Music Awards and needed backstages stiches.

There’s also this sad little tidbit on Wikipedia: “Kevin, Joe, and Nick also have a younger brother, Franklin "Frankie" Nathaniel Jonas, also known as the "Bonus Jonas" and "Frank the Tank". He one day hopes to play drums for the band.”

If only he had some sort of in. Did your brothers leave on tour with Hannah Montana and not forward their contact information?