tangent ten: the PC guy has a name.

Happy belated Thanksgiving.

Um, yeah. I'm really sorry about this big break of mine. Well, not so much really sorry but sorry enough. Creativity chose to find its way back into my life, and I channeled it towards school work instead of tangenting. "Tangenting" is not a word. The red squiggly line is yelling at me. I'm not changing it. Sometimes that red squiggly line is wrong, but I'm fairly certain that it is correct about "tangenting". I just googled the word, and it appears I'm not the first person to coin the term. I don't need to go into any of that though. I will take a second to tell you that as I was writing my spiel about that nonexistent word, one of those Charmin commercials aired. (I hate them, in case you forgot.) Now my neck is twitching with discomfort. Great. Moving on. Today's tangent is one that I was originally going to write about last Thursday. Clearly that didn't happen. Last Wednesday night I watched John Hodgman speak at Barnes & Noble. Before you get nervous and start googling John Hodgman, let me save you the trouble. John Hodgman is a self-proclaimed minor celebrity who is probably best known to all of you as "the PC guy" in the clever Mac commercials. He's so much more than that though...so much more. I admit that upon venturing to the popular bookstore, I myself ignorantly viewed the opportunity primarily as the chance to see "the PC guy" in person. And perhaps add a few new books to my collection. The 3-for-2 deal is so clutch. So is the clearance aisle. Turns out I had $3 to my name and could not afford to buy anything except mints from the Starbucks cafe strategically located at the front of the store. Actually, after tax I couldn't even afford those. Starbucks has very reasonable prices, in case you didn't know. Who doesn't love paying $20 for a grande-tall-skim-mocha-machi-soy-latte-extra shot of sugar free caramel-espresso? Thank God I hate coffee. I do not thank God for my love of light Frappuccinos. Bloody delicious. Bloody expensive. My lack of financial means also meant I couldn't purchase Hodgman's book. I felt a little guilty for not being able to do this, but not guilty enough to give up my seat to someone who actually bought the book. My friends, Michael and Cameron, bought the book so our group wasn't completely full of moochers and fair-weather Hodgman fans. Plus, those who had books were able to get them signed after the reading. I, of course, did not qualify for this option. Point is, I got to sit. I took notes during the reading because, as I've mentioned before, I'm very cool and figured that I might be able to squeeze out a tangent from Hodgman's appearance. I didn't plan on the tangent showing up over a week late, but I'm not apologizing twice for that. It is what it is. My expectations about this man were greatly exceeded. He impressed me far beyond my wildest imagination. Okay, "wildest imagination" is a bit of a stretch but using "expectations" again would've sounded repetitive and boring. I won't go into a full-blown CliffsNotes summary about Hodgman's spiel, but I will tell you some interesting things about him that surpass his PC persona and, in my opinion, make him just as cool as, if not cooler than, Justin Long (the Mac guy and Drew Barrymore's ex-beau). No discredit to Justin because I do think he's rather cool himself. It's just that Justin didn't impress me last Wednesday. John did. And he did so in the flesh. As he spoke, he was sporting a very nice tuxedo that accentuated the positive points of his physique. I was angry to find out that among various bloggers he's been referred to as "chubby", "round-faced", and "the pudgy PC". I do not agree with any of these descriptions. He is not overweight and while his face does exhibit a certain circular nature, I would never go so far as to call him "round-faced". I thought he looked rather handsome in his chic tux and sleek, dark-rimmed glasses. He informed us that he owns a tuxedo, he does not need to rent anymore. You see, that's one of the many perks of being a minor celebrity. He wasn't always famous. I felt a strong connection to him when he mentioned that, like many of us, he once survived on Ramen noodles. The connection swelled as he spoke about eating uncooked Ramen noodles. Be honest. You've done this too. I always had trouble figuring out what to do with the flavor packet when I ate my Ramen au naturale. It's impossible to evenly sprinkle the chicken dust (or beef dust, depending on your flavor preference) over the noodle brick. The dust is clumpy and ends up falling heavily on one spot. The result is flavor dust overkill, and it is repulsive. Hodgman used to have this problem when he was "one of us" (that's code for poor and not famous). He suggested snorting the packet. It was eye-opening. It never occurred to me to do such a thing, but it makes so much sense. The only snortings I've ever dabbled in were the inhalation of Pixie Sticks in middle school and frequent Nasonex sniffs, due to my seasonal post nasal drip (minus 46 cool points); however, through the grapevine, I've learned that snorting is a rather speedy way to get a substance into the bloodstream. It would be practical to snort the chicken dust first. That way, the poultry flavor can disperse itself evenly throughout the body just as the consumption of the noodle brick begins. I haven't tested out this theory because I still have about $3 to my name, and I'm not about to blow it on a Ramen noodle experiment. That, and I'm a bit scared of the sting my nostrils will most likely acquire as a result of the snorting. I'll try to test it out eventually. Maybe. The Ramen flavor dust suggestion is just one of the reasons I want to be friends with John Hodgman. Another reason I want to be his BFF is because he flies first class and still experiences problems us coach-dwellers tend to have...lack of extra room not being one of them. Have you ever been on a flight and sat next to or near someone (a stranger, preferably) you imagined either A) becoming life-long friends with B) dating, marrying, and growing old with or C) forfeiting all personal morality and joining the mile-high club with? If not, fly more. There have been quite a few times in my life when I thought I'd be able to write an "inspired by a true story" screenplay after the plane landed. Somehow, as I prematurely begin to work out the details of a movie in my head, Freddie Prinze Jr. ends up with the leading male role and Roger Ebert only gives me 2 stars. That's probably because in all actuality, my screenplay inspiration never makes it past a lively 5-minute conversation, followed by my potential friend/soul mate/quickie sticking on an iPod and falling asleep. Better luck next time. Hodgman has also imagined A through C. His story was a more expensive version of my flight fantasy, but I'd like to think that he and I share similar unrealistic conundrums. Concerning option A, Hodgman was once on a flight with Kurt Russell and admitted, "I would like to hug him." He also described Russell as a handsome man, which I respected because I find it irritating when men are not able to heterosexually describe other men as attractive. It is blatantly obvious when a person, male or female, is a smokeshow...get over your issues. Options B and C were imagined about the same person. Hodgman was on a flight with Rachel Hunter (possibly the same flight Kurt Russell was on...I didn't make a note of that detail), who is: a former model, an actress(ish), an ex-wife of Rod Stewart, and most importantly, Stacy's mom. He was very perturbed that he did not get to sit next to Ms. Hunter because that seat was occupied by some guy doing Sudoku, who, as it turned out, wasn't very concerned about the knock-out sitting next to him. I can see why Hodgman had his panties in a wad. I would've too if a male version of Hunter had been just out of my reach. I'm not sure who a male version of Rachel Hunter is...Antonio Sabato, Jr. seems about right. Hunter chose to recline her seat and take a nap. The Sudoku guy just sat there, and Hodgman's frustration began to grow, for it would have been socially acceptable for him to recline his seat and sleep alongside Rachel Hunter, in hopes of feeling her breath on his cheek. Problem was he wasn't in the position to do so...the obnoxious, libidoless Sudoku guy was. Hodgman's still pretty bitter about it. I related and furthered my desire to be BFFs. Like us lowly fliers, he, too, reads Sky Mall against his better judgment because he forgets to bring reading material from time to time. Subject change. John Hodgman doesn't understand the hype concerning Twilight. Neither do I. I'm not knocking the book series-turned-movie phenomenon, but I still don't really get it. Hodgman shares this view and explained, "I'm not making fun of the teenage vampires. Why would I? I want to live." Touche, John. I'm sorry if I'm not doing this man justice in terms of interesting and captivating qualities. He is very interesting...and captivating. I assure you. I've just been out of the blogging mode, and I'm having trouble making this tangent flow. Had I written this last week it would have been funnier and made more sense. Now it lacks fluidity and original humor. Dammit. Hodgman spent much of his time reading from his newest book, More Information Than You Require, and he managed to turn over my giggle box quite a few times. I suggest all of you ask Santa for this book. I haven't read it yet, but I feel confident in urging you to buy it. That's how much I want to be BFFs with John Hodgman. The GTGs stopped by Barnes & Noble and allowed for Hodgman to show off his beatboxing skills. Not too shabby. I've included a video snippet below in an attempt to make up for you not laughing throughout this tangent. Please don't remove me from your favorite links list. I just fell off the wagon a little bit. I'm back on though. Pinky promise.

Peace. Love. I'm a PC (not really though).

tangent nine: break-up etiquette.

Yo.

I hope you remembered that today is Tuneage Tuesday. If not, refer to tangent four about what that means. I was on the phone with my friend, Lindsey, the other night and we got into a discussion about the Taylor Swift/Joe Jonas saga. I've already revealed that I'm a sucker for pop culture, but I also understand that many of you have graduated from this stage. Some of you may have never gotten into this stage in the first place. Props to you. I am a weak person and enjoy delving into the personal lives of celebrities. You might call it a character flaw. I prefer to call it a hobby. Anyway, for those of you who aren't up-to-date on the Swift vs. Jonas feud, allow me to recap what's been going on as of late. Taylor Swift, the young, cute chick who sings country music, and Joe Jonas, the young, hot guy who sings pop/rock music, dated and, like most young and famous couples do, broke up. Aesthetically speaking, they were a pretty cute couple; however, it seems as if Taylor needs some lessons from an older, wiser role-model on how to tactfully deal with a break-up. I've decided to be that person for her and so I've written her the following letter, in an attempt to help her salvage some dignity from the split with Joe and also to help her prevent from making the same mistakes in the future: 

Dear Taylor,

Hey girl. I hope all is well in Nashvegas. It's pretty cold here in Atlanta, but I'm okay with that. Cold weather in the ATL means that Christmas is right around the corner, and I love Christmas. This year I'm asking for grey Uggs, various gift certificates, new make-up, tortoise shell Ray-Ban Wayfarers, and new underwear (I lose underwear a lot...not sure how). What's on your list? Probably something having to do with music. That seems practical. Have you been good this year? I don't mean to put words in your mouth, but I'm not sure it would be honest of you to answer that question with a simple "yes". You see, I've been following your recent break-up with Joe, and I've witnessed how you've been acting. As females, we tend to have bad cases of the "overs": we over-exaggerate, we're overemotional, and we have trouble "getting over"...men, especially. You seem to be having a rare, amplified case of the overs right now, and I feel it's my duty to help you through this hard time but also to serve you up with a big giant dose of tough love. It's necessary that you learn the rules about breaking up. It wasn't very nice of Joe to dump you via 27-second cell phone convo. It wasn't nice at all. In the fifth grade, my boyfriend got his best friend to dump me over the phone. As I was bawling my eyes out, I called my friend to tell her all about it. Turns out she was having a sleep-over that night and failed to invite me. She did manage to put me on speaker phone, allowing the rest of the sleep-over guests to hear my entire sob story. I contemplated switching schools after that. My mom said no. Your phone break-up wasn't nearly as traumatic. It was, however, a chance for you to take the higher road, wish Joe well, and make him look like a jackass. You didn't though, did you? You went on Ellen and made yourself look like a lunatic. I felt sorry for you at first because I know what it's like to have my heart broken. My sympathy started fading when Ellen brought it to my attention that you stalk your ex-boyfriends. Who are you taking your cues from? Glenn Close circa 1987? I could have let it slide if you had done this for one guy; however, Ellen clearly states, "You've told me you drive by their houses a lot." The fact that you're driving by more than one house is a grave concern of mine. You've been making some very promising music over the past 2 years, but I'm bothered that your inspiration was formulated as a result of stalking. After that admission, you then go on to say that you cannot stalk Joe because he has enormous security guards. Maybe all of your ex-boyfriends should invest in some of those. Forget the Ellen appearance for now. Let's move onto the doll fiasco. Taylor, Taylor, Taylor. Never say anything that makes you look like a bigger idiot than your ex. Or rather, never film anything that makes you look like a bigger idiot than your ex. I'm sure you thought you were pretty clever by taking the Joe Jonas doll and forbidding the Taylor Swift doll from talking to him. You even note that the Joe doll has a cell phone, so he can break up with other dolls. That's not funny, and it makes you look bitter. I just wish you had dealt with this whole thing differently from the get-go. But alas, you did not, and now you look like a catty 18-year-old who's still stuck on the hot Jonas brother. What you also might not have realized is that declaring war on Joe will be tricky to maneuver. You and Joe croon to the same generic target market: teenage girls. In their eyes, Joe's talented and hot. You're just talented. So I hate to say it, but, in that respect, he wins. Actually, in terms of break-up etiquette, he wins, as well. To conclude, Taylor, I want express my utmost empathy for your current situation, and while I do understand how hard it is to get over someone you genuinely cared for, there are better ways to deal with it. I used to put up song lyrics as my AIM away messages to convey my pain. Dave Matthews always said it a lot better than I ever could. Maybe you should try that. And instead of physically stalking your exes, try dabbling in a little facebook perusal. It's not quite as creepy, and your exes can't file restraining orders on you for looking at their profiles. I hope this has helped your situation. Don't feel bad about the damage that has already taken place. We've all been there. Everybody plays the fool. Just don't play the fool twice. Write back soon.

Love always,

Melissa

P.S.-Perez just informed me of your new album's debut success. Congratulations. I'm mature enough to admit my mistakes, so I apologize for jumping the gun and siding with Joe about the whole target market prediction. I am sticking to my guns about everything else though. You may have one-upped your not-as-successful ex on the charts, but he still dealt with the split a lot more gracefully. So keep up the good work, continue writing killer songs, but mainly, know when to shut up. (Or perhaps find a publicist who knows when to shut you up.)

Okay, I'm spent. I'm going to bed.

Peace. Love. It's not you, it's me.

tangent eight: Grimace.

Good day.

I hope you're doing well. I am in a bit of a funk right now because, on a scale of 1 to 10, my creativity currently ranks at about a -4. And I have a lot to do, so it's not a very cool predicament. Then again, what predicament is cool? Irrelevant alert: right now I'm watching TV and one of those Charmin commercials just came on (you know, the ones with the colorful cartoon bears) and I feel the need to express my sincere dislike for them. Whoever thought them up was clever about the campaign's underlying theme--"Does a bear shit in the woods?"--but I still think the ads are stupid. They also make me uncomfortable to the point of giving my neck a crick every time they air. Bears go number 2, yes...but they don't wipe. One of my assignments this week is to create a spread in my sketchbook about "purple". The thing about this particular class is that there are no rules. We're pretty much free to take the assignments as we interpret them and go from there; however, sometimes the parameterless environment makes my head spin, particularly when I'm in a lackluster state such as I am today. The first thing that came to mind, as I began brainstorming about purple ideas, was Grimace, the big purple thing who tagged along with Ronald McDonald and the rest of his crew. As a child, I always thought Grimace was an oversized Chicken McNugget. I never worked anything out past that. It never occurred to me that none of the other McNuggets were purple or had limbs. Perhaps I concluded that he was the McNugget King or something. I don't know. McDonald's started pushing its original characters out of the limelight just as I was learning how to eat solid food. I never got to experience McDonaldland at its finest. In lieu of homework, I've been researching Grimace. My research hasn't stretched beyond the Google search box, but I have discovered some new and interesting things about the big purple blob that you might not have known before now. I can't take credit for these facts and theories, so I'll gladly overuse the hyperlink button to avoid plagiarism. My Grimace quandary is highly unoriginal. "WTF is Grimace?" is a popular question floating throughout cyberspace, which I didn't realize until today. It seems to be a cohesive thought among adults that, as children, they were petrified of Grimace. I don't really get this. Ronald is far more frightening and I'd be more inclined to let my kids sit on Grimace's lap before Ronald's. Something's just not right about the clown. Too bad Grimace lacks a lap. Anyway, the Internet has taught me the following things about the ambiguous McDonald's character:

• Grimace is a moron. His favorite word is "duh", and he's known for his slow-witted demeanor. 
• Grimace used to be evil. Originally, he had four arms and liked to steal milkshakes.
  
• Barney pooped. Grimace appeared. 
• Grimace has a druncle. 
• According to various theories and opinions, Grimace is: a moldy McNugget, an oversized taste-bud, a moldy grape gumdrop, a large Hershey's kiss, a walking eggplant, a visual representation of an artery clog, a colon polyp, the way you feel after consuming a meal from McDonald's, a dinosaur, a purple hash brown, a giant hemorrhoid, a child molester, a potato, a butt plug, special sauce left out too long, and, my personal favorite, a Canadian. 
• Grimace can dance. And rap. Simultaneously. (Click on it. It's worth 42 seconds of your life.)

Although this tangent's research did cause me to chuckle a good bit, I still have no clue what Grimace is really supposed to be. And I'm still creatively stifled, maybe even more so than before. Fantastic. Thanks for nothing, McDonald's.

Peace. Love. The McRib should be outlawed.

tangent seven: MW + DS = ♥.

Hi.

Yesterday I had this great idea to write a tangent about John Parker Wilson (Alabama's smokeshow of a quarterback) and somehow tie in my obsession with Hodge Wooten, my favorite Alabama alum, but I just couldn't get it together in time. I'm not an Alabama fan. I just enjoy both JPW and Hodge...probably Hodge more than JPW. Hodge is worth writing about, and I'm sure you will hear more about him at some point in time. He's not a celebrity or a nationally recognized athlete. He's a very good friend of mine, and I've been obsessed with the kid for 10 years now. He knows it. It's no secret that I adore him. I gave up being covert about my decade-long crush about 9 1/2 years ago. So if you know him and plan on sending this to him to be like, "Dude, this chick has a major thing for you," you're wasting a lot of precious time. I'll probably call him after this to inform him of the post. To be honest, he should've ended up in the collage over a few things. (Hi sweet Hodge.) Okay, transitioning into today's tangent. Devon Sawa. I'm sure you remember him, especially if you're a girl in your early 20s. He had a front-running position as a tween heartthrob for a good 2 or 3 years back in the mid-'90s. I first fell for Devon after watching Little Giants. My love for him then began to grow pretty steadily once Casper hit theaters. Oh how I yearned for him to whisper, "Can I keep you?" into my ear while dancing in mid-air, two feet above the ground. Christina Ricci was one lucky gal. My infatuation was in full bloom after watching and re-watching Now & Then. Devon's perfect portrayal of Scott Wormer, the sarcastic smart-ass and love interest of (go figure) Christina Ricci's character, Roberta Martin, pushed me into a crush level that I hadn't yet experienced in all my 11 years of existence. It was, in a word, intense. Since my return from Italy, I've been gradually cleaning out my room, trying to get rid of a lot of childhood paraphernalia and attire. It's proving to be a very difficult task for a few reasons: I'm a pack-rat, I hate to clean, and I have real ADD (as in, I didn't need to buy medicine from my friends during exam time...I had my own). The other day, as I was attempting to organize, I found one of my old journals, got distracted, and stopped cleaning. I started browsing through it and found the entry that inspired me to write today's tangent. Actually, it only partly inspired me. I was also inspired because one of my friends called me yesterday and told me that she made out with a guy who starred in Now & Then (okay, not so much "starred in" as "had one line in"...whatever, I'm still impressed). True story, folks. I think I was more excited about the make out sesh than my friend was. I immediately IMDBed this guy and confirmed the validity of her confession. Then I got jealous, for I, too, would like to smooch someone who has been in close vicinity of Devon Sawa. Anyway, the first half of this tangent's inspiration can be seen below: 

Now I'm not one to doubt my undying love for Señor Sawa way back when; however, I do have a few bones to pick with 11-year-old Melissa about this particular entry:

1. "Alot" is not one word. You should have learned that a long time ago.
2. Easy on the capitalization, bolding, underlining, and exclamations. It'll be okay. We get your drift about the importance of DEVON SAWA!!!
3. While it seems very unfair in your eyes that Devon Sawa resides across the country, miles and miles away from you, it's for your own good. I know you probably haven't thought this out, but any relationship consummated between the two of you would be deemed illegal in the law's eyes and would most likely land the love of your life behind bars. (Also, you don't fully understand what it means to consummate a relationship yet, and you've still got a few years until you do.)
4. Your little "P.S." addition makes me laugh. Let me get this straight: the main reason you and Devon can't be together is because of distance? It's merely a minor hindrance that he's a famous actor and you're an awkward preteen about to embark on your first year of middle school. Yeah, that makes sense.
5. Where did you learn that Devon Sawa was coming to Georgia? I'm fairly certain he'll never make it into these parts and that you made up that information. You're known to fib a bit at your age...especially in your journal. I'm not sure why because it's your journal, but if I can make a bold prediction, Devon will stay put in Hollywood. Let me know if I'm incorrect though.
6. Concerning that one in a million chance about meeting him...isn't it more like one in a trillion? 
7. I know what the outcome of that chance will be, and it's not going to work out in your favor. Sorry.
8. Why did you choose to edit this entry at a later date? The point of keeping a journal is so you can record your current thoughts. It's not okay to go back and edit history just to suit your wants, but again, you have some trouble with telling the truth right now so I'm not all that surprised. Also, way to be inconspicuous about it with a black pen. 
9. Your love for Jared Leto most certainly does not surpass your love for Devon on June 15, 1996. Your Jared Leto phase won't ever be as big because your mother doesn't allow you to watch My So-Called Life. You have to sneak around to do so. I know, Jordan Catalano is a fox. Boy, do I know. It's just that you're trying to water down your Devon obsession simply because he disappeared after Now & Then. Little do you know he'll be popping up 4 years later to star in Final Destination. No, he isn't nearly as cute post-puberty, but it's still not very nice of you to ditch him for Jared. I repeat: editing history is not okay.
10. Regarding the trip, you do explain what happened on the next page but it is not, as you put it, really, really FUNNY!!! 
11. You might want to rethink your nicknames. Mel, Eyeore, and Peace? Come on. Could you be any lamer? (Should you choose to keep them, make sure you spell "Eeyore" correctly from now on, but I'd strongly advise you to quit them altogether.)
12. One more thing and this has nothing to do with the content of your journal entry, but where did you put that purple pen? I'd really like to borrow it.

That's it for today. I hope all of you are having a relaxing and lazy Sunday. I'm about to go do homework (surprise surprise), but Mim is keeping me company as she grades some papers. She's kind of making me feel like an idiot because her second graders' cursive is much prettier than mine is now, at age 23. Not my fault. I never had to write in cursive past the 7th grade. Okay, adios.

Peace. Love. Yes, Devon, you can keep me.

tangent six: quack.

Friday. Thank God.

Not that I ever do too much on Fridays except listen to speakers who gallivant throughout the ad industry, but I'm sure those of you sitting in your cubicle share my sentiments about the TGIF greeting. Still, I guess I should've specified..."Friday. Thank God. Mainly for your sake." I am going to my first Thrashers game tonight. In case you didn't know, The Thrashers is Atlanta's hockey team (should that sentence read, "The Thrashers are Atlanta's hockey team"?...I'm grammatically confused). I've only been to one other hockey game, but that was five years ago during my brief stint as a University of Kentucky student. From what I can remember I had a lot of fun. I don't know too much about hockey but what I do know is that the game is divided into 3 periods, a player can perform something called a "hat trick", and that players are sometimes confined in a penalty box for acting like unruly savages on the ice. Much of this knowledge was acquired by watching a popular film trilogy that, in my personal opinion, goes down as one of the best and most successful cinematic triads ever made. Not just within the '90s...I mean ever. Home Alone had the potential to make it into that category; however, due to Macaulay Culkin's choice to emancipate himself from his parents, he grew up a little too fast and some other kid was cast as the main character. He was not even a third as funny or adorable as Kevin McCallister. I'll save my thoughts on Home Alone for another day because it is one of my favorite movies and deserves a tangent entirely to itself. The trilogy I was speaking of prior to the sidetrack was, of course, The Mighty Ducks. It's very fitting that Emilio Estevez sporadically made it into yesterday's tangent. I didn't plan that, I promise. (If only I were that strategic and clever.) I can't make this tangent too long because I'm scheduled to meet Michele and Mark at 6 o'clock, and I haven't even showered yet. I'm always late, but I've decided that I'm going to try and wean myself off of that habit. It's not a very good one to get into. I'd also like to stop biting my nails, but I doubt you care to hear about anymore of that. While I'm confident that I could spend the rest of my night writing about the amazingness of these movies, I also know that I am unable to do that right now and need to stick to one interesting and humorous Ducks aspect so that I get out of here as quickly as possible. This might be taking the easy way out, in terms of ingenuity, but I seriously have to go bathe and primp. So, I am including a clip from D2. It's one of my favorite parts but after watching this again, I have one very important question: Why didn't anyone tell me Michael Phelps was in this movie?

Peace. Love. I Heart Adam Banks.

tangent five: the bald and the beautiful.

Ello, Guvnah.

Yeah, that opening was pretty uncool. Forgive me. It's still fun to say out loud though. I doubt you can disagree with that. Depending on the kind of person you are, you might have even attempted to vocalize it yourself just now but then realized that the people around you were staring, questioning your normalcy, at which point you covered it up with some ridiculous excuse. I have a lot of friends who would've done that. I probably would've done that, so don't feel ashamed if I just spoke directly to you. Enough witty banter. It's time to get serious and tangential. I was browsing around on tvguide.com yesterday, trying to decide what I wanted to use as background noise while I did homework, and I found myself drawn to The Steve Wilkos Show. Let me take a few steps back and review who Steve Wilkos is, for those of you who couldn't figure it out from the picture. Steve Wilkos is best known for being the former security guard on The Jerry Springer Show. He gained fame over the years for wearing black and breaking up various fights between transvestites, fat women being two-timed by a skinny redneck, incestual families, midgets, baby daddies, members of the KKK, and many other interesting characters who chose to display their colorful lives on TV sans shame. He was also easily recognizable because of his baldness. The female audience members of Jerry Springer ate this up and bought tickets just to be able to rub Steve's shiny head. Yesterday his show's topic was "I'm 14 and want a baby", and I now feel stupider for having put myself through 60 minutes of what can best be described as "Captain Obvious telling people what they already know" or actually, "what they should already know". There are a lot of idiots out there. The show revolved around a 14-year-old girl (whose name I never caught), her mother (whose name I never caught either), the integral, life-changing "Ghost of Christmas Future" character who has already "been there", and the child's father, Roy (the only name I caught and chose to remember...I think maybe because it reminded me of The Office). If you're an intelligent human being, I'm sure you've already pieced together how the show played out. Actually, you don't really even need to be that intelligent to be able to do this...or human. I'm quite sure an ape could figure it out. None of that is relevant to today's tangent, but I thought I should warn those of you who were thinking about maybe watching it sometime. Don't. I have to admit I wasn't paying attention during the first 10 minutes of the show because Steve's bald head distracted me, and I started thinking about this professor that Adrea and I had our junior year of college. I won't mention his name, just in case he decides to google himself (because, let's be honest, people do it all the time); however, he taught a law class that only met one night a week for what felt like 8 hours (in reality, the class was only about 3 hours). Like Steve Wilkos, our teacher was completely bald, yet attractive in a weird, "you're intelligent and have a Southern accent and could sue me for all I'm worth" kind of way. Back me up, Adrea. Around the second week Adrea and I started making inappropriate jokes about what we'd like to do to his bald head (ie: rub hot oil on it while discussing copyrighting laws). When we got mad at him, the hot oil became tar and was sometimes followed by feathers. Towards the end of the semester he got way more tar than oil...it was a hard class. Irrelevant alert: we also had a guy in our class who looked like Emilio Estevez circa The Breakfast Club. He never got oil, only snickers and snide remarks about his outdated look and cut-off sweats. Adrea and I are really nice people. Dwelling on the hairless heads of these two unrelated men, Steve and my teach, led me to today's tangent. There aren't many men (or women...I'm an equal opportunist) who can go completely bald. I want to extend my utmost commendation to those of you out there who fit into this description, and while I don't have all the time in the world to praise everyone who is currently rocking (or has, at one time, rocked) this look, I would like to recognize  some of my favorites:

Billy Zane: 

I almost wish he had chosen to sport this look while portraying his villainous role as Cal Hockley in Titanic because if he had, I'm fairly certain Rose would have taken one glance at him and dumped Jack into the water early on, skipping all of that "I'll never let go" nonsense. I'm also a big fan of his constant 5 o'clock shadow. What a man. 

George Foreman: 

This man has successfully executed the 3 B's: boxing, burgers, and baldness. Not to mention the fact that he had the audacity to name all five of his sons "George". Ya know what? I think that's reason enough to add a 4th "B" to the list: balls.

Robin Tunney:

AKA Debra from Empire Records. While I always mimicked my behavior and style after Corey Mason (Liv Tyler's character), I am able to fully appreciate the "rebel" in any movie, especially the really edgy ones found in cult classics such as this film.  In my opinion, shaving your head in a record store bathroom during work hours adds cool points to your resume. Plus, after this movie Tunney went on to make The Craft and taught my friends and me how to play "Light as a feather, stiff as a board". But that's another tangent for another day. 

Howie Mandel: 

2 words: soul patch.

Vin Diesel: 

Not only do his pectoral muscles make me feel like a natural woman, but Vin is coming close to surpassing Chuck Norris in the "Terrible Jokes About My Strength and Abilities" category. He might have already surpassed Chuck because I'm not sure Chuck could rock the baldness and still feel like a man. Bravo, Vin. 

Britney Spears:

Oh, Brit. So much to say, so little time to say it. I enjoyed this look of Britney's. Watching her deteriorate right in front of America's eyes became a favorite pastime during 2006 and 2007. This particular protest only signified that rock bottom was near and that Britney really didn't have anywhere else to go but up...or to rehab...again. But all kidding aside, I'm glad you're doing better, Brit. Say hi to your niece for me.

Michael Williams:

No, this isn't Mickey Knox. This is Michael Williams and he, like some of the contenders on this list, rocks a nearly naked noggin on a daily basis. However, unlike the rest of the people on this list, he's a normal person, as in not a celebrity, as in pretty cool in my book.

And while these people and unmentioned others are able to pull off the "bald do" flawlessly, I have a specific request for certain people who just shouldn't...unless they have to: Zac Efron, George Clooney, Oprah, Jamie Lynn Spears (your sister covered this already, don't be a copycat), Michael Cera, Jennifer Aniston, Bret Michaels, and Mo'Nique. (Confused about her? That's why hyperlinks are helpful.) Although she would look funny without hair, I really just want you to visit her website. Another thing...because I lacked a tangent yesterday, I didn't get to wish my friend, Jeff, a happy 24th birthday. Yes, that's the same Jeff who made me the sweet mixed tape mentioned in tangent two. So happy belated birthday, old friend. I hope you dance. Okay, I'm off to create things. Later.

Peace. Love. RIP Rogaine.

tangent four: musical fate.

Ciao. 

From now on, Tuesday's posts will be referred to as "Tuneage Tuesdays". Not by their titles because that would be lame and repetitive. I just mean that their subject matters will have something to do with music. I realize I'm probably not nearly established enough to have a "regular" weekly section, but I also don't think it's very fair of you to make that assessment about me. Who are you anyway? Some office worker, bored out of your mind, blocked from facebook and MySpace, looking for anything to feed your addiction to avoiding actual work? I'm sorry. That wasn't very nice of me. I shouldn't assume anything about you, especially since I want you to keep coming back. Truce? Good. See? I warned you about the word vomit issue. Can bloggers even be established? Before you answer, I'm going to go ahead and put it out there that Perez Hilton doesn't count as an established blogger. He's a celebrity now, whether he wants to admit it or not. I still thoroughly enjoy him and his website, and I will be willing to acknowledge that at one time he held a position solely as an established blogger; however, that time has passed and his fame status has significantly risen as of late. On a completely unrelated side note, I hate the words "blogger" and "blogging" (I've gotten used to their root, "blog", but it took a while). There aren't any substitutes for the two derivatives, so I don't really have a choice but to use them when I have to. I don't like them though. They make me feel like such a geek. Getting back on track...let's go ahead and dive into today's tangent, which is, as stated previously and obviously in the title, musical fate. Sometimes it's referred to as "shuffle fate", "iTunes fate" or "radio fate", but make no mistake, they are synonymous. Musical fate is a game that I play with my friends, usually in the car on some sort of road trip. Sometimes I play by myself, but it's a lot more fun with at least one other person. In terms of legitimacy, musical fate falls under the same category as the Magic 8 Ball, paper fortune tellers, and M.A.S.H. (the game, not the show). If you actually base your future on any of the previously mentioned three then stop reading now. This might be a little too intense for you. The directions of the game are simple: 

• Decide that you will be playing musical fate (because otherwise you're just listening to random songs without any underlying purpose, which is okay, just not for this game). 
• Put your iPod or iTunes on shuffle mode. 
• Press play. 

If you don't have an iPod or iTunes, an FM radio will be perfectly sufficient. If there is more than one person playing, make sure you specify whose fate the particular shuffle will pertain to. Sometimes my friends and I forget, and I end up with songs that were meant for Adrea (not just Adrea, she was just used as an example because I know she'll enjoy her name ending up in here). Occasionally we like to mix it up and ask for specific things like our career fates, love fates, or success fates; however, for those of you just starting out, it's probably best to stick to the original. So here's the object. The first 5 (or 3 or 10 or whatever limit you choose) songs you hear are your fate for that particular day (or week or minute...again, up to you). I like the number 5 because it gives me a good array of music to work with. However you choose to interpret these songs is up to you. If you're playing on the radio, you have to be sure to switch radio stations the minute the current song ends. If not, your fate lies in the DJ's hands and not so much in the music's (because, again, this is all completely serious and true). Some people disagree with me about this and conclude that it's okay to stick to one radio station the entire time. I think that's a little unfair, but I'm willing to cut you some slack should you choose to go the other route. There are, however, some non-negotiable rules you must adhere to while playing this game:

• You cannot switch songs just because one really sucks or you aren't happy with how it fits in with your life (the whole "life's not always fair" cliche works well with this rule).
• You don't have to listen to the entire song; however, you must at least make it through the first chorus...you never know what wisdom lies within those lyrics.
• When playing with iTunes or an iPod, make sure you play this game with all of your music. It's against the rules to choose your favorite playlist and go from there. Of course you're going to be okay with those songs. You picked them beforehand and in the context of this game, that's a little like trying to play God. 
• When playing with the radio, start with one station and wait for the first song to come on. If you catch a station during mid-play of a song, it's permissible to wait until the next song to start playing your game; however, if you're feeling ballsy then go ahead and count the snippet as your first song. 
• When playing on iTunes, double check that you've pressed the shuffle button before embarking on the game because I can't tell you how many times my fate for the day has started with Ah-Ha's "Take On Me". 

If you're brand new to this and still a little confused, I'll share with you my musical fate for today. I was smart enough to triple check my shuffle button and didn't begin my day's future with the classic 80s hit. Here you go:

1. The Rolling Stones - "It's All Over Now"
2. Madonna - "Spanish Eyes"
3. Donavon Frankenreiter - "On My Mind"
4. Hank Williams Jr. - "Dixie On My Mind"
5. Green Day - "No Pride"

I included the links to the lyrics of these songs. I am positive you won't read them, but I like the hyperlink button and use it whenever I can. You also don't really need to know how those songs pertained to me today because that would take up more of your time and this tangent's aim is to get you involved in the game, not my own personal musical fate. I do hope you play and have fun with yours. Once you feel comfortable with the original, mix it up and see what shuffle has to say about your love life or career path. Now I must bid you adieu and finish some homework for my Art Direction class tomorrow. Wait, one last thing...if you have any ideas about how to creatively promote Alzheimer's awareness then please let me know. I'm stumped. Okay, I'm out. 

Peace. Love. Play. 

tangent three: Hilary R. Murphy.

Happy Monday.

Instead of immediately starting on homework this morning, I chose to bide my time watching TV in bed, eventually flipping to ABC Family to catch an episode of Gilmore Girls. Damn good show but not the route I'm taking with this post. After that I got sidetracked reading emails and facechatting with my friend, Hilary. "Facechatting" is the verb used when two people are using facebook chat as a means of communication. Not to sound arrogant, but I'm fairly certain I coined the term. I'm pretty clever sometimes. If you don't know Hilary Murphy, please find a way to get to know her. She is one of my oldest and most interesting friends and never ceases to captivate me with stories about her daily life. She's listened to The Grateful Dead since birth and was genuinely sad the day Jerry Garcia passed away. I, being the consistent poser that I once was, only pretended to be upset after the deaths of Kurt Cobain, Tupac, and Biggie. Wasn't it only possible to be upset about either Tupac or Biggie? To the best of my recollection, they weren't on the same side. I tried really hard to look the part of a grieving, diehard fan. Our parents used to hold their breaths every time Hilary and I played together because it was always a gamble as to what would happen and how many things would be ruined as a result of each ridiculous shenanigan. For instance, one time we took every condiment out of her pantry and fridge (mustard, mayonnaise, chocolate syrup, ketchup, etc...) and had a condiment fight in her backyard. Her mother wasn't very happy with the outcome. Neither was mine. I think I took 11 showers that night to get rid of the putrid smell, and my guess is that Mrs. Murphy had to spend over $100 at the grocery store just to restock the various items we chose to use as weapons. Hilary and I also tried a hand in entrepreneurship, taking the classic lemonade stand idea to new heights. I'm assuming we didn't have the ingredients to make lemonade that day but still wanted to make a quick buck off of willing and gullible customers. So we proceeded to put the following items we found lying around my house up for sale: hair rubberbands (whether or not these elastics had been previously used is vague...I'd be willing to bet they had been), Murphy and Wood original paintings, done on computer paper, created in a matter of seconds right before our stand opened for business (probably because of the lack of other enticing merchandise), and stale Andes mints on sale for $1.00 apiece. I'm not sure if we were under the impression that the people of this world (or at least the people of my neighborhood) could be easily outsmarted by a couple of 9-year-olds or if we desperately needed the money to buy something as important as grape BubbleYum or slap bracelets. There's really no way of knowing. Needless to say, our profits were severely scarce at the end of the day (and by scarce, I mean nonexistent), and the "Hilary & Melissa's random objects stand" closed without any promise of ever re-opening. Another one of our brilliant ideas was captured in the picture you see at the top of this post. I am on the left, Hilary is on the right, and we are naked and covered in magic markers. Judging from the picture, we appear to be about 9 or 10, and it's your call whether or not we were too old to be doing things like prancing around naked in the sprinkler with colorful Crayolas in hand. I'm arguing we were not, and honestly, in the future, I'd rather my child do that kind of stupid thing than something on the other side of the stupidity spectrum like confess to me on Maury Povich that her vocational goal is to become a prostitute. Feel free to disagree though. Although I could easily waste more of your time with tales about my countless adventures with Hilary by my side, I must conclude this tangent here and end with a prayer that my funny friend used to say every night...Goodnight. Sweet dreams. I love you. God bless you. Thanks for being such a great friend. Don't forget to say your prayers. I'll see you in the morning. Peace, love and happiness. Hilary R. Murphy! Man, I miss her.

Peace. Love. The "R" stands for Redmond.

tangent two: the collage.

Evening.

I just realized that it might be a little annoying to read this thing without any knowledge of who I am...unless, of course, you already know me, in which case this post might be a little redundant and boring. Even so, it's still possible you're curious about the collage of pictures strategically placed at the top of my blog. I know I would be. To cease the gnawing frustration in your soul, I've decided to explain my reasons for choosing those pictures. It's not a very unique or extremely interesting tangent, but I'm still recovering from last night and my creativity and originality seem to have gone on vacay together somewhere without telling me. I hope they return tomorrow. I've got work to do. Okay, here goes. Starting with the peace sign and continuing clockwise.

The Peace Sign: I like the peace sign. Not because I'm a nouveau-hippie or because it's the newest accessory fad in Hollywood. I've always liked the peace sign. And, to delve a little bit deeper, I think peace is something to strive for. I'm not sure anyone can really disagree with that. If so, let me know who you are because I'd like to kick you in the shins.

The Backstreet Boys: I am a teeny bopper at heart. I always will be. I like overplayed pop music, JTT used to have the power to make my heart stop just by gracing the cover of TeenBeat, and I still get excited every time BSB tries to make a comeback. They're old enough to be grandfathers, but I commend them for trying. In fact, I encourage it.

Bob Dylan Signature: Everything about Bob Dylan fascinates me. Everything.

Schrute Buck: The Office is the only show currently on television that I will make time to watch. I continuously laugh out loud, and not many shows have the power to make me do that. Also, Jim is a dream boat. I know, that's the most unoriginal statement ever uttered by a girl.

Maria & Me: This is one of the girls I nannied for this summer in Italy. She is 3 going on 13 and never goes anywhere without her pacifiers (yes, plural...she has about 12). She was also a big fan of taking pictures and pretending to talk on the phone. I miss both her and her sister dearly.

Running With Scissors: If you've never read anything by Augusten Burroughs or David Sedaris, please shut off your computer now and go to a bookstore. No, but really.

The Piano: It's my therapy. Don't get excited though, I'm not that good.

Jif Peanut Butter: There aren't too many things better than the first spoonful taken from a brand new jar. Offhand, I can only think of about 3.

Word Vomit: Sometimes I get nervous and talk too much. If you know me I'm sure you've experienced this. My off button suddenly stops working. It's not a very endearing quality, but I'm not sure how to remedy the problem. Suggestions are welcomed.

Football: SEC football...one thing better than the first spoonful of peanut butter.

Italian Sunset: I adore sunsets. I love when the sky is purple and orange and all sorts of colors in between. And I like it when the moon is visible. Wow, I couldn't have sounded more like an ad on match.com.

Hippos: If they weren't so dangerous, I'd find a way to own one. Favorite animal, hands down.

Toulouse-Lautrec's "Alone": This is my favorite painting. I enjoy art, but I understand that a lot of people don't. There's a lot of art out there that I don't get either; however, this one I get and this one I love.

Pisa Picture: I was only in Pisa for 4 hours, so there really isn't sentiment attached to the city. I just liked the picture.

Inevitably Awkward: I think this speaks for itself, especially if you know me. Sometimes this and the word vomit go hand in hand. I've accepted it. Sometimes awkwardness has its perks.

Grecian Hopscotch: If you have enough money to do so, then go to Greece. Forget about any other trip you were thinking about taking and just go. It still goes down in my book as the most fun trip I've ever taken. I'm planning on being rich one day and moving there. I'm just not sure how to make that much money. I don't think being in school and living with my parents will do the trick.

So, that's me in a picturesque nutshell. The cassette tape really has nothing to do with anything other than the fact that I got bored on InDesign and got a little carried away. I did, however, receive a mixed tape from my boyfriend in the tenth grade. I still have it, and among the great classic rock songs on the mix (including "Melissa"...how sweet), "I Hope You Dance" can also be found on there. Jeff denies the fact that he ever put such an atrocity on one of his ingenious and historically famous mixed tapes, but I have proof. It's there. Not to change subjects so quickly, but I was very unimpressed with the lack of middle school attire last night. I waltzed in sporting my BSB t-shirt, Birkenstock clogs, and face glitter, only to find out that the majority of the party-goers decided that they only wanted to dabble in the keg and not in the fun of dressing up. As an added bonus to my costume, the glitter made my face break out. I really did look 13 again. Awkward. Alright, I'm going to watch Brothers & Sisters and nurse this day-long headache to sleep.

Peace. Love. Dance.

PS: Update. I have since revamped the look of Tangent M. The collage no longer exists. The photo at the top is a mere memory.

tangent one: welcome to my second blog.

Hello.

I have chosen to start blogging again. My inspiration to do so arose from reading Chadrea and The Rices...and also because of something Dan Balser told all of us Creative Circus "first quarters" at orientation about a month ago. To clarify, being a first quarter at The Creative Circus is the equivalent to being a high school freshman. And no, I do not get to tame lions or play on a trapeze at school, but you're really original and funny for thinking so. Anyway, Balser encouraged us to have some sort of creative "tangent" outside of school (hence the oh-so-clever name of this blog...I know, I know, my wit astounds me too). I figured I'd give blogging another try because even though I didn't post a lot this summer, I really enjoyed it when I did. This blog, however, will differ from The Au Pair Diaries. Aside from the obvious fact that I'm not in Italy anymore, I will not be posting exclusively about my day-to-day life because let's face it, I'm not that interesting right now. I'm also not married, which is one of the aspects I like most about Chadrea and The Rices. So that topic's out too. I have a dog, but she smells like feet and doesn't do cute things anymore so I suppose that subject has been vetoed from the list as of now. Okay, so what exactly will I be imparting my infinite wisdom about? Well, I've decided to go along with the whole "tangent" theme and write about some new random thing every day...okay, maybe not every day but at least with every new post. This probably isn't the most unique idea, and I bet you'll be a little apprehensive to visit this blog tomorrow because you're probably thinking, "Yeah, that doesn't sound funny. I don't really get it." I see where you're coming from. I'm not promising success out of this, I'm just giving it a try. If it does turn out to be lame and un-funny, then I'll shut it down and admit defeat. I would like your input about the subjects you'd like to read about. And please feel free to put anything on the table. For example, if you'd like to read my thoughts on Ian Ziering (Steve from old-school 90210 for all of you pop-culture-deficient morons out there) then shoot me a comment and I'll see what I can do. I just want to keep you entertained and satisfied. (Raise your hand if "That's what she said" just ran through your head.) By the way, my thoughts about Ian Ziering are as follows: I always had a big crush on Dylan, but Steve is who I would have ended up dating. Dylan was way out of my league...still is way out of my league. Steve probably is too, but if we're playing the dating game within the parameters of West Beverly High then I conclude that Steve and I would have had a promising future of 3 weeks of dating before he dumped me due to his never-ending love for Kelly Taylor. That bitch. Okay, before I get heated about this impossible hypothetical I'm going to stop. I have to go get ready for a middle school themed party. I haven't picked out my outfit yet; however, I'm debating between my Marist uniform, an Abercrombie-clad outfit accompanied by either Timberlands (the hiking boot kind) or Birkenstock clogs, or Express black pants, a three-quarter length bright pink Michael Stars shirt, and Steve Madden chunky loafers. It shouldn't take me too long to get ready once I choose my outfit. Straighteners and properly-applied make-up weren't big issues back then. Man, I was so hot. I'm hoping to have plenty of pictures. I'm also hoping a cute boy doused in Tommy cologne asks me to dance...especially if Keith Sweat comes on. I'm getting nervous already. Okay, until next time...

Peace. Love. Peach Pit.