Category Archives: television

Aug 10 2 comments
smells like quarter-life-crisis, television

Punky Power Existentialism

Every time someone announces her engagement or pregnancy, I have a two-second existential crisis.

Second One: DEAR GOD, WHAT AM I DOING WITH MY LIFE?

Second Two: What is wrong with ME?

Yep, I congratulate you, and then I immediately make it about me. Don’t worry, though — you ought to know that 1) I have a phenomenal therapist, and 2) this is an equal-opportunity neurosis, which also applies to people I don’t know personally. Like Punky Brewster.

I had just read an article over at Hello Giggles about Soleil Moon Frye’s new parenting book. You’ll notice that this was posted at 3:39 am. A time of night not commonly associated with clear, uplifting thoughts. Somehow I let Punky Brewster bum me out and make me feel old.

But that’s the OPPOSITE of what she was. Ladies of the 80s, you know what I’m talking about. Punky Brewster was the ISH.

(Fact: The guy who wrote the Punky Brewster theme song also wrote the themes to Cheers AND Mr. Belvedere! Where were we before Wikipedia? I don’t even want to THINK of a world where I went around unaware of TV show theme composer catalogs! I digress!)

We were all obsessed with orphans in the 80s/90s - Punky Brewster, Annie, Boxcar Children. I even had Punky Brewster sneakers (bright converse high tops, one pink, one purple). And all of us were traumatized by that “Hide and Seek” episode where Cherie hides in an old refrigerator and Punky has to bring her back to life with the CPR skills that she thankfully learned, like, THAT DAY.

OH NOES!

OH NOES!

(I even referenced this the other day, then Bogey became fascinated with trying to climb into the fridge: “Bogey!” I cried. “Don’t do that! What if I shut you in there and you’d be like Cherie when she almost died?!” / Bess: “..the fuck you talking about?”)

But, aside from all this, when it’s 3:39 in the morning, and this person who symbolizes the simplicity of your youth shows up in your Google Reader, and she has like, seven kids already and seems to be doing something really meaningful with her life, and you’ve spent your night eating a Lean Cuisine and blogging about Harry Belafonte, and where is your book deal, already, is it because you write in constant run-on stream-of-consciousness? — that’s just a lot for a girl to handle.

Then I realized that I’ve been lacking a key ingredient that Soleil Moon Frye has been rocking this whole time: Punky Power.

“It’s believing in myself, it’s never giving up, it’s faith that things are going to turn out okay. But most of all it’s knowing I can do anything I want, if I really try.”

Also, PUNKY DON’T NEED NO MAN:

I CAN CARRY MY OWN BOOKS.

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Aug 07 4 comments
ACK, television

Weekend Reflections.

I’ve been kind of boring the past couple weekends.

I’m trying to save up for a couple weekend vacations this month (Nashville! New York!), and the only way I know how to save money is to sequester myself in my house and watch television programs on demand until I fall asleep. If I don’t literally lock myself in, I spend oh, so much money at bars and the fast food drive-thrus that follow. Now that I’m not testing my liver to its limits, my face has de-puffed, and my stomach has deflated from its frat-boy proportions. (#fellas.) Except now I’m not in public for anyone to see it and appreciate it.

Anyway, this weekend, I watched 6 hours worth of HBO’s “Game of Thrones.” HAVE YOU GUYS WATCHED THIS SERIES YET? OH MY GAH. After hour 1, I declared (to no one in particular) that it was “The Tudors” meets “Lord of the Rings,” but apparently SO DID THE ENTIRE INTERNET, so I guess you still have a job at describing things, Roger Ebert.

The truth is, I couldn’t watch more than a couple seasons of “The Tudors” because it was historically inaccurate; THAT’S how big of a dork I am. But I do love all the scandals and the sex and the costumes. So when you combine the medieval storylines with a history that I cannot wikipedia for accuracy because it’s fictional? BRILLIANT.

I wish I could tell you that my favorite characters in “Game of Thrones” are the feminist icons or maybe the swash-buckling noble lords, but I really just like the barbarian horse lord dude.

He doesn’t say much but he has his own weird horselord language, and, GAH! ACK!

You guys? Bess was out of town last night, so I got in bed with a bottle of wine (and some frozen cookie dough, that I stole from Bess) and churned out half of season one. It was one of the best dates I’ve ever been on. I’m pretty sure “Game of Thrones” is my equivalent of a harlequin novel.

AAACK! Forever alone.

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Aug 04 0 comments
television

Dr. Shoshana Schoenbaum.

Did you guys ever watch United States of Tara, on Showtime? You probably didn’t. No one watched it — which sucked when I went on a TORRENTING WHIRLWIND, watching Seasons 1 & 2 in one weekend and no one cared. NO ONE CARED.

And now the show is cancelled. Enjoy another season of Jersey Shore, America.

United States of Tara was a dramedy (does anyone use that term anymore?) by Diablo Cody that followed Tara (Toni Collette), a woman with dissociative identity disorder. There are a total seven personalities, or “alters,” and one of them is a Jewish therapist with a New York accent from the 1970s. Her name is Shoshana Schoenbaum.

And THAT is the character I unknowingly channeled with I got dressed this morning:

shoshanatwins

Outta sight!

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Oct 01 8 comments
Dialogue, books, indianapolis, television

Starstruck.

It’s not every day you get to meet someone from your Top Ten List.

For those of you playing the home game, I am a huge fan of Chef Anthony Bourdain. Like huge. When I found out the Indiana Humanities Council was bringing him and his buddy Eric Ripert to do a talk here in Indianapolis, I started counting down the days. And when I discovered I was going to meeting them? I panicked. My memory wandered back to the “Sufjan Stevens Debacle of 2009,” in which I experienced complete social paralysis around the indie darling. (I mustered the courage to tug on his hoodie and gave a quiet, “hey..” and he was JUST about to turn around when someone called his name. I bolted, while everyone in a five-foot radius cringed.)

BUT NOT THIS TIME. NOT WITH TONY, I had decided. I took to social media to ask what my icebreaker should be. The number one answer? “Put a boob out.”

Nice.

Last night I headed to Clowes Hall on the Butler campus with Bess, a talented cook in her own right and a Ripert-lover. We were giddy, giddy schoolgirls. By taking advantage of the presale, we were able to get really great seats about five rows back.

The two sort of interviewed each other, sipped on local beer, and then opened up the floor to questions. My favorite was from a little girl who asked, “When you were little, what did you want to be when you grew up?”

Bourdain: I wanted to play bass for Parliament Funkadelic.

Ripert: I wanted to be a Chef first. But I also wanted to be - how do you say - a Park Ranger?

I paid a little extra to gain access to the reception, which included a meet ‘n greet with the two Chefs. This is where I started sweating. I had spent the past couple weeks ruminating over WHAT I was going to say to such an inspiration to me. I watch No Reservations to escape to far-off places for an hour at a time, yes, but what keeps me coming back is his exquisite writing style. I would read his books and swear I could taste the food. On my daily commute, I’d listen to his audiobooks in my car and miss my exits.

When a woman handed me a post-it note and a sharpie and told me to write down what I wanted Tony to write, it came immediately:

Guys, this only slightly resembles my actual handwriting. A) I was literally writing this in the palm of my hand and B) I WAS SHAKING.

I took a deep breath and approached the table.

“Hi,” I said. “This is the one thing I wanted to ask you.”

He took the post-it and held it at arm’s length so he could read it better. (Only then was I reminded that this man who is on my Top Ten list is old enough to be my father.)

“It says To Jenn, with two N’s, and then write what is your one piece of advice for an aspiring writer.”

He took a pause, looked off into the distance, and put the marker to the page.

“If you can do that…” he trailed off, as he slid the book back over the table. He looked me in the eyes, smiled, and nodded, as if to finish, “…you’ll be fine.” Sincerely I mouthed, “Thank you” and I think we had kind of “a moment,” which probably only occurred in my head, but this is my blog so I don’t care.

After that, Eric Ripert is going to be a piece of CAKE, right?

So this happened:

Me: Lemme just WHIP THIS OUT HERE (I pull out his massive book from my purse. He begins to sign.)

Me: And I’m Jenn, with 2′ns. (You laugh, but after 27 years of being 1 of 2349823423 Jennifers, you learn that people won’t remember “Jenn,” but they will remember “Jenn with 2 n’s”)

Me: I am SO JEALOUS of your birthplace! (he had mentioned that he was born in between  Cannes and Monte Carlo, aka the French Rivera, aka, My Favorite Place on Earth Pretty Much. Prrrrobably could have articulated that differently.)

Eric: Oh yes?

Me: Yeah, I’ve been there a couple times. (as if to say, I know we’re among Hoosiers here, but I’VE been to EUROPE.)

Eric: …..

Eric: Yes, it iz very nice therr. Very beautifool.

Me: Yeah, not half bad, huh? (Oh my God, Jenn.)

Eric: New York Cittee iz nice, too.

Jenn: Yeah, I’m thinking of moving there.

Eric: Iz very nice.

Jenn: That’s what I’ve heard. (AWWWKWARRRD. Inner monologue: “You need to end this, now.”)

Jenn: HEY, would you mind taking a picture with me?


Oh well. At least we look good.

I went home and went to bed, but couldn’t sleep. It was very Audrey-Hepburn, I-Could-Have-Danced-All-Night. I kept throwing my head face down in my pillow and screaming, like the night of my first kiss.

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Jul 25 7 comments
television

Time to Celebrate Misogyny on Sunday Nights Again!

I’m waiting for Katie and Sebastien to get up, and for Matt Matt to come over, so that we can crash Greg Goodin’s pool. Again.  So basically it’s noon and I’m sitting restlessly on the Cockpit Couch in my bikini and sundress, smelling of Coppertone and itching to be outside outside outside outside, c’mooonnn, wake UPPPPPP.

While I’m waiting, a little blurb:

If you know what’s good for you, you’ll be watching the Mad Men season premiere tonight. And if your experience with Season Three is similar to mine, you will have NO RECOLLECTION WHAT HAPPENED BECAUSE YOU WERE DRUNK FOR EVERY EPISODE. (This is what happens when your primetime show airs during football/mimosa-and-jalepeno-poppers season.)

Here are:

My Top Three Favorite Mad Men Scenes, I Mean Maybe, This is Just Off the Top of My Memory, There are Probably Better Ones

THREE: ONE, TWO, CHA-CHA-CHA

See also: Every scene Joan Holloway is in.

TWO: THE PITCH

A) Okay, who WROTE this, because they should be given BJs on the reg. Straight up.

B) I watched Mad Men Seasons 1 and 2 in a whirlwind, streaming back-to-back episodes for days on end, and I worked at an ad agency at the time. I was telling my dad this story about how our creatives gave a pitch to a potential client, and how it was so good that they canceled all their other interviews. As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I realized I was TOTALLY CONFUSING MY REAL AGENCY LIFE with MAD MEN. Proud moment for my father, to be sure: “Oh shit. Nevermind. That didn’t actually happen. I was confusing it with a cable tv show.” whatevs, I heart you Don Draper.

ONE: THE THREATENING FINGERBANG

THE MEDIUM IS THE MESSAGE.

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Jul 21 1 comments
Dialogue, smells like quarter-life-crisis, television

TODAY IS! WHERE YOUR BOOK BEGINS! THE REST IS STILL…

There’s a reason There’s Your Karma has a tag for “quarter-life crisis.” While I’ve been cringing at that term nowadays, there’s no better moniker for these little pockets of restlessness that seem to pop up on an all-too-frequent basis. The pattern is always the same: I’ll settle into something in my life, follow my tail in a circle three times before sinking into that bed of stability, thinking that it’s going to tide me over until my “real life” begins.

It never does.

I get anxious to start the next chapter, to push the re-do button until I stumble upon a Life that makes sense to me.  Luckily, I’m not alone in this one. My beautiful BFF Katie and I have spent endless hours on the Cockpit Couch, imagining a total overhaul of our lives. We don’t know where it will take us — or if we’ll take on the adventure together or apart. We just know things need to change. And when we get tired of talking about it?

We watch The Hills.


…like for 6 hours, on a Sunday. Both of us were fair-weather Hills fans, only tuning in for a couple episodes here and there. But a few Sundays ago, we needed complete, mindless escapism. Enter MTV. We got so into it that we planned our entire Tuesday night around the series finale, complete with a bottle of wine (PER PERSON). We laughed about it, mocked ourselves…until three glasses in, and Kristin says something like “I need a change, y’know?” and we slurred, “Oh my gaaaaah, this is SO US. SO. US.”

Hence, this G-Chat conversation:

Jenn: We need a theme song.

Katie: Something like…’feel the rain on your skin.’

Jenn: Oh yeah. DUH.  We already have one.

Katie: Hahaha.

Jenn: Shit…and then when we’re feeling super emotional, we have to find that unplugged version.

Katie: Oh man, the unplugged version! Omg I’m listening to it right now…why does it somehow make me feel better? This is sick.

Jenn: I don’t know. This is totally one of those things where we like it ironically until we start to like it unironically.

Katie: Okay, I’ve hit a wall. That must mean lunch time.

Jenn: GO GIT IT! Your lunch is still uneaten.

Katie: Wow.

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Dec 02 0 comments
Video, television

Tore My Heart is RIGHT.

Let’s face it - love sucks, a lot of the time.

It also inspires some  gorgeous artistic tributes, like one of my favorites -  Veronese’s Scorn.

Cupid FTW

Lately I’ve been playing with the idea that love is only romantic when it’s unrequited.

It’s all very tragic and stupid.

AHEM.

THAT SAID? Go watch this awesome piece on last night’s So You Think You Can Dance, before the big bad network pulls it. Beautiful. Choreography by Sonya Tayeh.

(Link to video here.)



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Jun 30 5 comments
Nostalgia, Video, television

Finally, a explanation why so many of us are f*cked up.

Bess and I were sharing our childhood career dreams at lunch today. I wanted to be a cashier at Meijer because I thought you got to keep the money that was handed to you.  Nice gig, I thought, at age four. Bess wanted to be a tightrope walker. This was based on her obsession with a character she saw on a children’s show in the 80s.  As she was describing it to me, the faintest of memories came back --yeah, it was live action puppets, and the cat was a tight-rope walker, and there was a dog and a lion, and a circus, and…We couldn’t remember what it was.

It was like my television memories were being held nicely for twenty years like water in a reservoir, until that one hole that I patched with gum had just sprung a leak. Then we consulted YouTube and the whole damn thing busted open. And I’m all, “YEAH! THIS WAS IT! TOTALLY…THIS..this…wow.  This is sh*t is f*cked up.”

[Link to Video.]

The more these memories come flooding back, the more I realize that a lot of the shows I watched as a kid were seriously creepy. Today’s Special, anyone?

[Link to video]

Then there was The Letter People.  Readers, I can’t tell you what I had for breakfast this morning, but I can tell you that the first day of Kindergarten in 1988, we watched The Letter People episode featuring Mr. M.  Granted, by the time I got to Kindergarten I could already read.  I like to imagine my five year old self, clad in Oshkosh B’gosh, sitting with crossed arms on the back row of floor mats and looking at my fellow classmates as if to say, “Can you believe this sh*t?”

[Link to Video]

Seriously — What was with the disturbing puppetry of the 70s and 80s?

What odd childhood memories of television have resurfaced for you lately?

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May 21 1 comments
television

American Idle

I didn’t really care who won American Idol, and to be honest I was more excited about Cyndi Lauper.  Okay, and Lionel Richie. I was very bitter after Jorge, the Puerto Rican with a heart of gold, was voted off like week 2 and totally effed my chances of winning our agency’s Idol pool.

There seems to be a good deal of people on the Adam Lambert Love Boat, and I’m kind of with the people on the shore who are waving gleefully as it sets sail on the sea of Hair Metal and Octaves That I Can’t Reach. Is Lambert talented? Very.  Would I love to see him doing “Rent” or something? Totes magotes. But really, it’s all a little over the top for me. Just because you CAN doesn’t mean you always SHOULD. Certain songs command respect.  We get it, you can wail. What else ya got.

I recognized the Elvis Presley references at first, but then I watched the ‘68 Comeback special and remembered how awesome Elvis is and HOW DARE YOU COMPARE ANYONE TO HIM.

(Direct Link)

I mean, look at him. I would lick the sweat off his face.

Also, this is a good entry to bring up one of my favorite videos of all time, “La Plus Horrible Jour de Ma Vie.” Which is weird, because it’s in English, but nevertheless relevant in this space.

(Direct Link)

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May 08 8 comments
television

Doing a Body Good

At home, my parents still use dial-up.  They’re going to make “the big switch” to high-speed relatively soon, and I was telling my mom how much it will open up her world, and by “open up” I basically meant “waste away your time.”  I explained that, before, when you had a brief moment of nostalgia for a song or television show — something you figured you’d never see again — you’d just let that moment pass.  But now? Now you can spend HOURS on the minutae of something you saw twenty years ago! IT’S GONNA BLOW YOUR MIND, MOM!

SEGUE!

Do you guys remember Slim Goodbody?

He was the dude who taught us about human anatomy and health.  He did this by wearing a skin-tight, flesh-colored unitard with all the organs showing.

[photo via  The Ladybug Picnic]

I don’t know whether to look at his jew-fro or his printed prostate gland. I mean, if anything, this get-up screams, “Hey. Lady. Eyes up here.”

I went to YouTube, God Bless it, to jog my memory:

And now a part of me just wants to get stoned and watch this again.  Which, I realize, Mr. Goodbody, defeats the whole “treasure the pleasure of being me” part, but hey. As you can tell from the TWENTY YEAR JUMP IN AGE in that video (you look awesome, buddy, but you ain’t foolin’ nobody), Slim Goodbody is still educating the masses, touring all the way through 2010.  I’m thinking our agency should get our healthcare client to book him for their sponsored pavilion at the State Fair.  Although I’m not sure much would top “Coco the Colossal Colon” with “Polyp Man” and “Eneman.”

[photo via geardiary.com]

Obviously, the original Slim Goodbody can’t do it all, so he has minions (Slimions?) doing school assemblies. This Slim is kinda more, um, muscular than the original.  Oddly, I got turned on for about .25 seconds until I got a weird feeling with so little clothing between a grown man and all those children…..Also, his nickname is “Goose.”

[Link to video.]

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Apr 06 3 comments
Video, television

I Can’t Really Explain Why, but…

I would like nothing more than to be the principal lady dancer in this video.

I think we all would.

Scrobble to the 1 minute mark and see what I mean.

Hair teased out to here, spandex and legwarmers, effeminate sweaty latin dancers vying for your attention, flight simulation, HALL AND OATES.

The only thing that’s missing, clearly, is Oates’  ’stache.

[Link to video]

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Feb 27 0 comments
Health, television

A Bunch of Posts I’ve Started

but haven’t completed because I’m too busy trying to distract myself from the fact that I haven’t eaten solid food in seven days…

1) I just started watching How I Met Your Mother and even halfway through Season One,  I’ve decided that it is WAY better than Friends. While I liked Friends, I was never one of those girls that was like Squee, best show evarrr. Friends was a great, timeless sitcom, but every episode I’ve seen of HIMYM has been brilliantly written and makes me want to write for television.

2) Damon and I were wandering around the Whole Foods the other day (getting my 324234 pound bag of lemons) and he pointed over at a huge chunk of parmagiano reggiano.  I mean, HUNK of CHEESE.

It was a block, like this:

So we laughed and joked about whether or not it was for sale. An employee in a white coat came out of nowhere and proceeded to tell us it would run us like $1250 or something.  Then, probably the best thing to happen to me that day:

Him: “I carved that myself, actually.”

Me: “Oh, really? Cool.”

Him: “I hold the world record for carving parm, actually.”

Me: **cartoon double take** “Uh-whaaaa?”

Him: “It’s a group world record.”

Me: “That’s the greatest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He then went on to recommend six or seven fabulous cheeses. And then I died. Because I was on the Master Cleanse. And you know what put me in the position to go on the Master Cleanse? That wheel of brie you’re touting, Parm Boy. I’ve learned from experience that people who are into cheese? Are reeeallly into cheese. (See Russell and The Cheese Cart, March 08)

3) Speaking of Master Cleanse, I am on Day Seven. This day is supposed to  be particularly hard detox-wise, but I think I felt worse last night. While my energy has increased and I definitely feel good, I still don’t have that surge of crazy new energy, that joie de vivre that I got last round.  A question I get asked often is how many pounds I want to lose or how much I have lost. The answer is, I don’t have a clue, because my scale is busted.  That’s okay by me.

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Jan 12 0 comments
television

Mah TV Boyfriend, Let Me Show You Him.

I don’t know what the opposite of a “cougar” is.  What would you call a 20-something woman going an older man? I suggested “bobcat,” a term which which [amazingly] is backed up by Urban Dictionary. Either way, that’s what I am for Anthony Bourdain. Rawr.

It was a love I hid, a crush I only revealed to those closest to me, but now I can’t hide it. He is too brilliant.  I shout it from the rooftops: I love this man.    Yes, I got it bad, but I never realized how bad until I caught my face inching closer to my monitor while reading his blog entry on Venice.  Like I was leaning in for a kiss.

Even in the middle of tourist season, we managed, I think, to make Venice look hauntingly empty. A single street sweeper in an otherwise deserted Piazza San Marco, backstreets populated only by Venetians, sipping their drinks and looking idly out at the world, a private world of simple good things set against a backdrop of Europe’s most beautiful living museum, slowly sinking into the Adriatic.

Source: Anthony Bourdain’s Blog on TravelChannel.

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Array