tangent m.

tangent thirty-nine: google+ photo heist.

2011-07-12T20:00:00.000-04:00

Well, I was trying to be all "with it" and "hip" and signed up for google+. In doing so, I deleted an album that had all of my blog's pictures in it. I didn't realize it would delete them in the blog. I'll fix them, but in the meantime, enjoy the 90s-esque icons as placeholders.

Thanks for ruining my life, Google. Lucky for you, I really like those new Chrome spots.

Peace. Love. Dammit.

tangent thirty-eight. the most offended I've been in a while.

2011-06-23T15:11:00.000-04:00

I don't think I need to say anything else.

Peace. Love. Cheers.

tangent thirty-seven: NKOTBSB. OMG.

2010-11-15T16:27:00.000-05:00

Pinch me.
No really. Do it. I didn't think magic was real. That dreams came true. That Lindsay Lohan had the tenacity of a cockroach. I have proven myself wrong, dear readers. Scratch that. NKOTBSB has proven me wrong. I believe now that anything is possible. There are things you come to accept and eventually love when you get to know me. One of those things is my love for pop culture. More specifically, my love for 90s pop culture. And even more specifically, my love for boy bands. An announcement was made the other day that two of the greatest boy bands are joining forces. New Kids on the Block, pioneers of the sub-genre and Backstreet Boys, the prized objects of my affection since I first heard them on Star 94, are teaming up to go on tour. Why hasn't this happened sooner? And to all of you out there who once chose 'N Sync over BSB: You may have won a couple of battles back in the day. But look who's winning the mother f-ing war. Sure, you had Justin Timberlake in your corner way back when. Yes, he is amazing. He did all the work though, and once he went solo it was all over for the rest of them. Plus, NKOTNSYNC? No way. The current acronym is perfect. I know that to most of you this event is meaningless. And that's fine. After Millennium, the boys' albums didn't take too kindly with most people. I have bought every single one (physically, not digitally) and believe in some karmic way that this tour was meant to be for those of us who stayed true. I don't want to bore you with the other umpteen reasons why this tour will be magical. All I know is that I will be there with bells on. I will elbow my way to the front. I will call girls bitches for elbowing their way to the front. I will scream. I will cry. It will be the greatest night of my life.

Peace. Love. Dear Kevin, retirement's over.

tangent thirty-six: shitstain.

2010-10-11T23:30:00.011-04:00

Hi.

Well, I wasn't going to address this subject matter, but I've had some tequila and feel like I should. I received a comment last week on my blog that said:

Dear Ad Student, Besides being boring, shitty, and self-indulgent, your blog starts beneath the fold. Shitstain.

-Anonymous

I was offended at first. But then I took a look at some of my recent blog posts. And I have to say, Anonymous. You are right. I have been boring lately. I think you took it a little far by calling me shitty, but I'll give you the boring and self-indulgent comments. If you were referring to my work/website then I suppose that's your opinion and I should respect that. Even though I dig my work. We're told not to take things too personally. I'm not a shitstain. Nickelback is a shitstain. I'm actually pretty fun to hang out with. Ask Matt Kappler or anyone in Mexico. You wouldn't know that though. And you probably assume I'm boring and self-indulgent. My fault. I have gotten lazy, and my blog has become blah. And, yes, it does start beneath the fold; however, I'm not entirely sure how to remedy that one so I'll need some help. I wasn't given many options when I decided to revamp the look. I guess I didn't revamp it all that much. If I used emoticons, this is where I would use one of those nervous-looking ones. Anyway, Anonymous, I'm not being facetious when I tell you that you're right. My blog, as of late, is boring. There. I said it. It didn't used to be. There are some gems hidden in its past. But lately it has not been good. It hasn't even lived up to mediocre at times. I am sorry for pushing you to become so very heated and comment on its staleness. I will try to be better. I don't like being called a shitstain. It hurts. And it's foul to think about in literal terms.

Peace. Love. Skid marks.

tangent thirty-five: ha.

2010-10-02T00:40:00.001-04:00

I saw this sign today.

Peace. Love. Phallicism.

tangent thirty-four: I'm live.

2010-09-10T16:04:00.002-04:00

melissalangstonwood.com

So I'm a copywriter. With a website. Now let's just get a dank job.

Peace. Love. Go advertising.

tangent thirty-three: repeat offender.

2010-08-11T13:38:00.001-04:00

I think whoever is in charge of stock photos at NBC and ABC needs to dig more. If you pay attention to my blog, you'll notice that almost the same exact photo can be seen in tangent thirty. But it's a different TV show. The screenshot at the top is of The Gates (which is a new show about vampires, werewolves, and other things of that nature). I think someone needs to be fired. Or two people need to be fired. It's clear that Parks and Recreation and The Gates do not share the same hometown. I feel as if my intelligence has been insulted. The only thing different about this shot is that they didn't photoshop "Landmark Jr." out of it. But it's still next to the same seedy porn shop and it's definitely the same diner. Give me a little more credit, guys. And do your research about people who watch these shows in Atlanta. I'll notice. I'll notice every time.

Peace. Love. Cheshire Bridge.

tangent thirty-two: Macs get ass.

2010-08-09T22:07:00.092-04:00

Hola.

I hope everyone is having a great day. I was having an awesome day until I saw the commercial above. I don't like PCs. Now, as a Mac owner, I'm sure it sounds trivial and petty. It's not. Recently, I watched a newer PC commercial (the one seen above) and my convictions about PCs were strengthened. I hope you don't mind, but I have chosen to list the reasons why Macs get college guys laid and PCs don't:

It is obvious this kid's roommate owns a Mac. It's the only proper way to play iTunes while "privately tutoring" freshmen girls.
According to Jason, TV time is a lot more valuable than sex. According to the rest of us, Jason will die a virgin.
Jason's not wearing shoes. I wonder if he left for class like that, noticed he wasn't wearing shoes, and returned to his dorm room only to find a sock on the door (which is still the universal code for doing it). I'm glad some things never change.
Judging by the sock size, no wonder the roommate hooks up a lot.
Look at Jason's socks.
In his dreams, Jason is an attractive white male with piercing eyes who is surrounded by women. But he's still in the hallway. Not in his room getting laid. Sounds like someone needs to be incepted.
I bet Jason has a sweatpants boner. I guess that's one thing his PC is good for.
DVR isn't that innovative. Everyone has DVR. Try inventing time travel, Jason. That's the kind of thing that will make seven ladies join you in a hallway to watch TV on your computer.
His roommate totally schools him in front of the camera. He's also probably wondering who Jason keeps talking to about his stupid computer.
Jason admits to his perversion and stays to listen to his roommate have sex. All night.
The roommate's girl totally schools him again. And she sounds really annoyed. Come to think of it, it's probably a different chick. Maybe even his third or fourth chick of the day.

Peace. Love. I'm a Mac and this tangent was my idea.

(Side note: This list honestly has nothing to do with the commercial itself. It's just a mere vessel for me to convey my feelings. Anything PC-related brings me back to those days in college when I used to fight with my Dell day in and day out about everything. So, to whoever created this commercial, bravo. I just can't bring myself to buy a PC ever again.)

tangent thirty-one: Justin Bieber remembers childhood.

2010-07-27T15:37:00.001-04:00

Confession.

I like Justin Bieber. I'm not really sure why, although if you know me I guess you're not all that surprised. It probably stems from my utmost desire to stay a tween forever. I purchased his EP a while ago and had forgotten about it until today when I discovered it in my car's CD player. I've been rocking the radio lately so I didn't realize it was in there. Whatever. That's not the point of this tangent. While I enjoy the high-pitched, soprano voice of Sir Bieber, I am troubled by one song in particular. In the song Bigger Justin belts out the lyrics:

"...I was a playa when I was little

But now I'm bigga, I'm bigga
A heart-breaker when I was little

But now I'm bigga, I'm bigga
And all the haters I swear they look so small from up here
Cuz we're bigga, and love's bigga,
I'm bigga and you're bigga..."

I won't subject those of you with decent music taste to the rest of the song. You can google it or click to hear it on YouTube. I don't really want to embed it in my blog. I may like the kid, but I do have some standards. Anyway. I'm not sure what Justin Bieber sees when he looks in the mirror, but last time I checked he was still the size of my kneecap. According to the lyrics above, Justin was a playa and a heart-breaker (but not a heart-breaka) when he was little. But now, clearly, he's bigga. Also, he promises that all the haters look small from where he's standing because he and love and even I are all bigga. I'm offended by the bold-faced lie he's telling to all of the fragile young girls out there. And the fragile not-so-young 25-year-old who dedicated an entire blog post to the young man. If, in fact, he is telling the truth then what I took away from the song was this: Justin Bieber matured at the ripe age of 12, where he ceased his pimping ways and instead of having his mom drive her minivan to multiple girls' houses on a Friday night, she now only drives him to one. Due to the recent maturation, Justin's haters are all smaller than him (meaning that his haters must include Verne Troyer, a leprechaun, and ants). And, yes, Justin is in love. All because he has deluded himself into believing he is "bigga". Ignorance must indeed be bliss. Cheers to adulthood, Justin.

Peace. Love. I'm a Belieber.

tangent thirty: parks and atlantation.

2010-05-19T02:23:00.001-04:00

Click to enlarge.

I have major sleeping issues. As in I can never get any. But as I was catching up on my TV shows I noticed something. Okay, actually I can't take credit for noticing anything. My boyfriend noticed. So we were watching Parks and Recreation and one of the still shots caught his attention. Turns out it's the Landmark Diner. On Cheshire Bridge next to seedy porn shops and a tattoo parlor. Just thought I'd share. I don't know if any of you find it as entertaining. I think it's super rad. Then again, strange things bring me joy. Goodnight.

Peace. Love. ATL ho.

PS: Also, I noticed that I posted on a Tuesday without doing a tangent about music. My bad. Some of you aren't aware, but Tuesday tangents are referred to as "Tuneage Tuesdays" and although I don't really post on Tuesday that much it was a nice theme even if some of you weren't aware I was doing it. This time I did not follow through. Forgive me. It won't happen again. But it might. And probably will.

tangent twenty-nine: update on tangent twenty-eight.

2010-05-18T15:53:00.003-04:00

Click to enlarge.

Well, it's confirmed.

Peace. Love. More feet babies.

(A special thanks to Hilary Murphy for sending me this.)

tangent twenty-eight: put some sperm in your step.

2010-05-16T23:02:00.001-04:00

Happy Sunday.

It hasn't been too long since we last met. I actually just got back from NYC last night, and the only reason I told you that is so I could say that I was in NYC. Because it's cool to say that I've been in NYC. Probably because you haven't. Unless you're one of my followers who inhabits the Circus with me. In that case, you're cool too. Maybe. There are a few of you who could use some work. Yesterday, as the plane was taking off (leaving NYC, of course) I turned off my uber awesome iPad (because you can't have electronic devices on planes during takeoff, even in NYC) I started reading the SkyMall magazine. I must say that there are some pretty cool gadgets in that thing. Almost as cool as spending time in NYC last week. There are also some pretty lame gadgets and gifts in the mag, like those hanging tomato gardens. Then I came across the sneakers seen in the picture above. Notice anything weird about them? Other than the obviously atrocious art direction, there are sperm embroidered on the side of them. Yes, sperm. These shoes also guarantee to make you feel like you're defying gravity, which makes sense because sex is supposed to make you feel like that too. That's how they portray it in movies, anyway. I hope you can see the whole ad. It's a little absurd. Okay, I'm out. I have to regroup because I was in NYC last week and I am so tired from all of the coolness going on there. Truth be told, I don't think I'm cool enough to be there. I forgot the right shoes, and I'm pretty sure I have a stress fracture from wearing flip-flops all week. Too bad I wasn't wearing the sperm shoes. I could've had a floorgasm. Or something like that.

Peace. Love. Feet babies.

tangent twenty-seven: trypophobia.

2010-04-23T19:15:00.004-04:00

Holler.

So here's the deal. I'm in this screenwriting class at school, and our goal for the entire quarter is to write a one-hour original pilot script. Because of my recent Vegas trip I haven't really had a chance to sit down and research for my pilot idea. You're probably wondering what my idea is. Actually, I'm just assuming you're wondering what it is, and whether or not you're actually wondering I'm going to tell you anyway. The show's working title is "Phobia" and it probably won't change but I enjoy writing "working title" because I feel like a legitimate writer. It's about a community group headed up by a psychiatrist that meets in the basement of a predominately African American Baptist church where they talk about strange phobias. That's all you need to know. (Also, that's about as far as I've gotten with it which is why I'm not divulging any more info.) In order to create my characters I have to research weird phobias. There are a lot of people online talking about this and many sites on which to do so. I guess this whole Internet thing is taking off. Throughout my research I have found out that people are afraid of everything. From frogs to buttons to cling wrap. Literally everything. I found these people a little ridiculous until I read one thread that caught my eye. This one woman had posted something about being afraid of clusters of really small things, like holes, or ants, or spots. More people had commented on her post and had noted the same feelings of discomfort. As I was reading all of the threads about this particular phobia I realized that I was reading about myself. I become really really uncomfortable around clusters of small things. Things like lotus seed pods, fern spores, lobster eggs, chicken pox, bad cases of acne (and backne), a dead leaf skeleton, etc...If I see these things a chill is sent throughout my entire body, goosebumps appear, and I start scratching. The hair on my arms stands straight up, and I tilt my head to the side because my neck feels funny. All of this is very true. I honestly thought I was partially insane until a few days ago. Turns out I have trypophobia (also known as "cluster phobia"). If you google that word and look at the images it brings up you will understand what freaks me out so much. You may not understand, but you'll get a visual of the types of things that make me feel itchy and weird all over. When I googled the word it took me a couple of hours to get the images I saw out of my brain. Even thinking about them I have goosebumps right this very moment. If and when you google it you might discover you have trypophobia too. And then maybe we can join a support group and become besties and frolic in meadows that lack clusters of small things. Maybe. I'm not sure if you fix a thing like this or just live with it. It's not like I bawl my eyes out or scream when I see fern spores. It just feels like things are crawling on me. I don't really come into contact with fern spores that often, and I suppose whenever I have kids my husband will be on chicken pox duty. When they go through puberty and acne starts to invade I'm hoping that God will cut both my kids and me a break and not give them bad cases. I can deal with sporadic zits. I guess that's it for today. There are no pictures for obvious reasons. But google the word, and you'll see what I'm talking about. I don't think it's nearly as weird as being afraid of buttons. That guys has issues. Not me. Okay, until next time.

Peace. Love. Holey shit.

tangent twenty-six: happy joke day, fool.

2010-04-01T05:40:00.010-04:00

Two tangents in one day. What a lucky son of a bitch you are. That or I have insomnia. This will be shorter than the previous post. I wanted to include a nice little video to commemorate this glorious day of humor (or humour if you're British). Oh how I love kids.

Peace. Love. Hardy har.

tangent twenty-five: duck me.

2010-04-01T03:36:00.015-04:00

Hey.

I'm aware of the time. It's 3:27 AM. Don't go, "Holy crap, why are you still up?" That's obnoxious, and it's none of your business. It doesn't matter. This will be short. It also won't have anything to do with April Fools Day. I save those jokes for real people. Not virtual ones. There wouldn't be any payoff for me to play a joke on you. And if it doesn't benefit me then I don't really care. I'm vain. We've covered that already. I got an email from a friend tonight about this blog. I scrolled through and let out a giggle or two. Perhaps even a hearty chuckle at one point. I thought to myself, "These people suck. That face sucks. I am better than these people." Sometime later I checked my blog and noticed something. You might even notice it too. Check the top right corner (or the giant picture at the top of the post). That's me making a duck face. A small duck face. One might even say a duckling face. (How many of you laughed at that? I hope at least one and a half.) I am making a stupid face that girls make on facebook when they're trying to be sexy. In my defense, I'm next to a three-year-old and I'm mimicking her pacifier. I didn't take the picture so I could add it to my [insert popular rap song name/lyric here] album on facebook and have boys give me a virtual thumbs up. Regardless, I should be shot in the foot for such a pose. I think it's time for a Tangent M makeover. Be on the lookout.

Peace. Love. Don't duck it up.

PS: I stayed up a bit longer and changed the look. If you miss the old one or have already forgotten what it looks like (if so, bless your heart) then you can be reminded at tangent two.

tangent twenty-four: God must be mad at me.

2010-03-26T18:35:00.013-04:00

All I wanted to do was go on this cruise. Tickets went on sale while I was out of town. I even begged my mom when I found out about it. Apparently it's not appropriate for 24-year-olds to want to do this kind of thing. And apparently I'm supposed to have a job by December 9 (when the glorious boat sets sail). Well I hope you're happy, Mother, because look what happened:

Peace. Love. Quit playing games with my heart, Mom (and God).

PS: If anyone wants to sign me up for the waiting list please feel free. I'll do whatever it takes to get on that boat. Whatever. It. Takes.

tangent twenty-three: everyone Googles everyone.

2010-03-01T01:13:00.013-05:00

Hey kids.

It's nice to see your shining faces again. I'm a liar. I can't see your faces. I don't know if they're shining or not. And to be honest, I don't care all that much. Nothing against you. I just don't really know who exactly is reading this so it's hard for me to feel genuine concern for the matter. This is going to be short and sweet. I Google people all the time: celebs, myself, real people, the list goes on. I also happen to check my blog's traffic a lot. Tonight, after I exhausted my procrastination habits between twitter and facebook I decided to see who's been checking out Tangent M lately. I can't see your name so don't freak out. I can, however, sometimes see how you got to my blog. Apparently I'm not the only person who thinks Hodge Wooten is a stud muffin. So, whoever you are, you've been caught. Sort-of. I don't know your name. Only that you're from Marietta. But I know that you found my blog because you googled Hodge. I took a screenshot to prove it (click the picture at the top to enlarge). And I seriously doubt there are two Hodge Wootens running around Atlanta. If so, this city is a better place. Either way, I'm telling him. Okay, off to do work. Maybe. Probably not.

Peace. Love. Heart for Hodge.

tangent twenty-two: these are a few of my least favorite things.

2010-01-31T11:39:00.007-05:00

Hey kiddos.

How is everyone doing today? I am in a good mood except for the fact that it's Sunday and I haven't done nearly enough work. That's usually how Sundays go. I freak out because I haven't done enough work, which is really just another form of procrastination. And tomorrow I will be freaking out even more because of my freak out today. It's just how it is. I've forgotten what a weekend is. Since I only have classes on Mondays and Tuesdays my weekend consists of getting sleep on Tuesday night and then freaking out Wednesday about how much work I have left to do. To clarify, the freaking out happens in my head. I do not rip off all my clothes, run around the city, and scream absurd religious convictions to no one in particular. Enough of that. I can tell you're already bored. It is finally sunny in Atlanta and that makes me happy; however, lately it has been grey, soggy, and rainy. But it's been bad rain. Spitty rain. Spitty rain is precipitation consisting of quasi-droplets that feel more like God's cold spit on your face and less like a well needed earth hydration. So until today I have been playing the role of Eeyore: gloomy, grey, and sans my tail (which is true because I'm a human and was born without a tail. I think). It's kind of weird that today is sunny because it would be more fitting for today's tangent to be written on a spitty rain day. It's just weird. It's not ironic, which brings us to today's tangent. My least favorite things. In no particular order.

Misusing the word, "ironic". I blame Alanis. She had no business writing a song about coincidences and referring to them as irony.
Juicy Couture velour tracksuits. Victoria's Secret Pink line also applies.
This season's Real World cast (Real World: DC). MTV, could you have found six strangers any lamer? Bring back Hawaii.
Bathroom stall doors that open inward.
Music snobs. Go ahead and put hipsters here too.
Fern spores. Lots of small things in groups make me extremely uneasy.
Cats.
Houses that smell like dog. And the people who own these houses and have become immune to the stench.
Bad singers on American Idol who get record deals.
The Progressive lady.
Phantom farters. Also known as Fly-bys.
People who tag themselves in facebook pictures.
Adults using the word "tummy" when a child is not present.
Fat Luke Wilson trying to sell me AT&T.
Putting liquids in quart-sized bags before boarding an airplane. What the hell does this prevent?
Girls who talk like babies when they're on the phone with their boyfriends.
When people act like they're the most surprised they've ever been when I tell them I haven't seen [insert greatest movie ever made that I have yet to watch here]. Or when they ask, "You haven't seen [insert greatest movie ever made that I have yet to watch here]?" No, jackass. Why would I lie about that?
Goatees.
Oxygen bars. Tap air is fine by me.
Broken escalators.
Idiots who ask fat women when they're due.
Larry the Cable Guy. Not laughing.
Snakes.
Cynical people who make lists about things they hate. I don't count.

Generally, I dig life. Generally.

Peace. Love. It's usually never ironic.

tangent twenty-one: Backstreet's back. so am I.

2009-11-18T22:30:00.013-05:00

Alright.

Do you see what I did there? I included the same song lyric in the title and the greeting. I'm awesome. Although maybe not to any of you considering it's been, what? like 8 months since I last posted. I'm only a little bit sorry. Life gets busy, and I'm not a good multi-tasker when it comes to big stuff. Little stuff I'm okay with. You know, like watching a marathon on Bravo while simultaneously playing online Bingo and Scrabble on my phone. I'm not sure why online Bingo entertains me so much. I think it's because I win a lot. And even though I don't win anything but virtual tokens, it somehow persuades me to believe that I am of greater importance than the rest of the people on this earth. Or at least of greater importance than the rest of the people playing online Bingo. For one measly moment I am on a pedestal. I think it's pretty safe to say that if I'm the one playing online Bingo and you're the one being productive or perhaps playing real Bingo for real money then you're of greater importance. Well, if you actually win. If not, I'm the one who hasn't lost any money and I still get to play. I know what you're thinking though. How uncool is this chick. Maybe. But at least I'm honest. Also, I'm not uncool. Ask my mom. Okay, moving on. If you are a diligent reader and have kept up with Tangent M from day one, you're already aware that the Backstreet Boys hold a special place in my heart. And by special, I mean a place above any heartthrob who has ever held a spot as my crush, including Devon Sawa, Edward Cullen, and Alex Hau. Alex Hau was my number one crush from 5th grade until 7th grade. He's real. He's not a B-list celebrity or a teenage vampire (at least I don't think he is). He's also German, which adds nothing to this story. If he's like me and googles himself from time to time then he's in for a fun surprise when this post pops up. Surprise, Alex! We're facebook friends though, and my crush on him faded after I left Christ the King elementary school and went to Marist in the 8th grade (at which point I discovered senior football players who were older, cuter, but also did not know I existed). Even if Alex is vain and googles himself, I can't see it being that awkward if he reads this. Flattering, at most. Probably creepy more than anything. Whatever. It's not like he didn't know I had a crush on him back then. I wasn't very good about keeping my mouth shut about it. And I'm sure staring at him from across the room every day for 2 years wasn't a clue. Right. I used to try and like the things he liked. Even though I didn't. For example, due to him I own a neon green canister full of pogs and one glow-in-the-dark slammer. How do you even play pogs? That was something I failed to find out back then. It didn't matter. He never "asked me out". Because in middle school the proper way to make someone your girlfriend is by asking them out, even though you are without a driver's license and a vehicle in which to go out. But it was still protocol. No disrespect to Alex, but this tangent is not about him. This tangent is about The Backstreet Boys. You probably think I'm the only one who still likes them. False. If that were true I probably could've gotten front row seats at the mini concert I went to a few weekends ago in Charlotte. And by concert I mean an outdoor Halloween party put on by a bar and local radio station in a parking lot. Whatever. There was a stage so I'm calling it a concert. On the way up to Charlotte my friend Beth (who also loves BSB with all of her heart and soul) and I began to make fun of our favorite band for having many songs that sound so similar. Strike that. We weren't making fun, we were just commenting while laughing almost to the point of urinating. You know how that goes. Between you and me though, I felt a little bit guilty for doing so. I was under the impression that I was the only one who still fought for BSB and believed in them (because I do and always will). I was wrong. Unless, however, those skanks were there solely for the Halloween party. People enjoy dressing up. Especially skanks. Because for a night they aren't skanks. They're interesting things like bunnies and kittens and other critters that can somehow be transformed into whorish costumes. I don't have a problem with the way anyone dresses. Honestly. It's up to you how you clothe (or don't clothe) yourself. And if you have a banging body, more power to you. My problem with skanky Halloween costumes is their lack of creativity. Also, October usually proves to be a very cold month in many places so it's hard for me to comprehend how a leotard and fishnets keep these girls warm. I saw a lot of skanks at that concert. A lot. And also, if you don't have the body to wear a skanky critter costume then don't. Because now you're skanky and fat and probably freezing your extremely large ass off. I saw a lot of fat skanky Dorothys that night. There must have been a lot of XLs left on the rack. Believe me, I'm not one to harp on anyone's size. I need to lose more than a couple LBs myself; however, I did not subject myself to mockery by wearing a loin cloth that night and calling it a costume so I feel obligated to put in my two cents about those who did. I chose to wear my tried and true devilled egg costume. I've had it since junior year of high school, and I love it. It's comfortable, I can wear anything under it, and it covers my large ass. It's also a pretty freaking cute costume. Poor Beth tried to be an 80s girl but ended up looking more like an 80s hooker. She's not fat and her costume didn't have ears, so she doesn't fall under that category I mentioned earlier. That's a picture of us at the top. It was a fun night. Like I've mentioned twice already, there are way more BSB fans out there than I thought. (I'm still convinced I'm the biggest.) What's funny about it now is that the fans are all grown up. Sort of. I guess by still being fans we haven't grown up that much. In age we have though. We're all able to drink now. And we don't have to have our parents accompany us to concerts anymore (which I'm sure they're thankful about). Before BSB graced the stage with their pretty little faces, a Michael Jackson cover band played for entirely too long. I'm not saying Who's Bad wasn't great, but when you have hundreds of screaming boy band fans you're not who they're there to see. I shouldn't have drank so much because towards the end of Who's Bad's set list I had to pee. Like real bad. I thought I was going to have to pee my pants (which would have been possible considering how big the egg is), but I took the risk and made a mad dash to the porter potties. That took way too long, and I did the pee dance in front of everyone in the line. You know, when you cross your legs and hold it and sing to yourself while swaying awkwardly in hopes the urine will somehow magically disappear from your bladder. I even prayed. Yes, seriously. It was a dire situation, and I needed God to make it happen so I could run, pee, and get back to my pretty good spot to see the loves of my life. It happened. Once I went to the bathroom I raced my eggy body back to the enormous crowd of hormonal females and tried to push my way back to where my friends were. No one was happy about that. I got called a bitch for doing so because people thought I was lying about needing to get to my friends. Understandably so. I saw that stunt pulled many a times that night. I made it though. And when BSB came on I was like a drunken 12 year old who had nothing to worry about in the world. My digital camera sucks so the pictures didn't turn out too great, but I did capture some videos and will include one (or three) at the end of this tangent. When I got home that Sunday I showed my boyfriend the videos and he was speechless that grown women were screaming like little girls over, yes, the Backstreet Boys. It just goes to show that some things never get old (well, okay, the Backstreet Boys are pretty old) but you get what I mean. I'm off to do work. Hopefully it won't be so long until we meet again. Also, you might want to turn the volume down a smidge. The screaming is intense.

one.

two.

three.

Is your heart beating as fast as mine? Okay. I'm out.

Peace. Love. I'll always want it that way.

tangent twenty: gorillas enjoy Phil Collins.

2009-03-31T11:37:00.010-04:00

Ciao.

I started boot camp yesterday, and my body and I are currently in a big fight. No worries. A tangent will spawn from the experience...maybe a few tangents. Today, however, is Tuneage Tuesday. I may have stretched that term lately because the last two tangents written on Tuesdays weren't so much about music. Their titles were, which is how I got away with it. I'm in advertising. I'm quick like that. Funny I should mention advertising. Today's tangent is actually about an ad. It's an older ad, but the first time I saw it I almost peed my pants. I didn't. Don't get grossed out. Don't ask me about the ad's purpose. I have no clue. All I can say is that you will remember it once you've seen it. And you will automatically associate this odd video with the product it promotes. After watching this for the first time I let out a sigh of relief. It's good to know that once I get out of ad school I'll be allowed to make bizarre ads...even if along the way I have to sell toilet paper via cartoon bears. The following video makes my career purposeful. Please watch. Please laugh. Please come close to urinating.

Peace. Love. You're not supposed to get it.

tangent nineteen: just say no to emoticons.

2009-03-28T15:04:00.007-04:00

That is all.

Peace. Love. [Insert smiley with tongue out and brows furrowed here].

tangent eighteen: rock the vote. not.

2009-03-24T20:26:00.006-04:00

No one is voting. The poll is coming down. Maybe that means no one is reading. Whatevs. Looked at or not, the tangents will still be produced. We've already discussed my narcissistic tendencies. Ahem, excuse me. I've already discussed my narcissistic tendencies.

Peace. Love. No you can't.

tangent seventeen: cop-out.

2009-03-23T17:38:00.010-04:00

Happy Monday.

I had every intention of coming up with a new and fantastic tangent today, but instead I didn't. A little while ago I was invited to go to the Hawks game, so I'm going to steal one of those lame lists from facebook, copy it onto here, and call it a day. Unoriginal? Perhaps. But I'm not about to pass up a fun night to stay home and blog. I'd like to keep a few cool points in the bank. Anyway, the list you see below is one of those "25 Things About Me" copy-and-paste notes that take up too much time to fill out and aren't all that interesting to anyone else other than the vain person filling out said list. Regardless, here is mine. It was originally posted on facebook in February. Enjoy delving into my narcissism. And if you've already seen it, well...sucks for you.

Confirmation That I Need a Life:

I'd gladly let a hippo eat me just for a chance to hug one.
At the first sign of a tornado (warning, watch, severe thunderstorm possibly producing a funnel cloud) I'm in the basement or a bathtub. Greatest fear.
I watch Spongebob, Fairly Odd Parents, and Jimmy Neutron on Nickelodeon. And laugh hard.
My real last name is Langston-Wood.
While I respect her courageous fashion choices, I think Carrie Bradshaw is one of the most selfish fictional characters ever to grace my television set...Meredith Grey probably beats her, but I stopped watching Grey's Anatomy a long time ago and do not feel the need to analyze its female leading role.
To go along with number 5, I thought the Sex & the City movie blew.
Backstreet Boys. Yes, still.
I want to live in the Greek isles someday.
Most Friday nights I'd rather hang out with my brother at home than go to the bars.
One of the best pieces of advice I've ever received came from Maggie Kelly (my friend Natalie's mom): Don't buy expensive shoes until you get out of college. Bar funk is not partial to brands.
Diet Dr Pepper and cheese dip are necessities in my life.
I'm really good about not calling people back.
I'm scared that when I have kids it will be socially acceptable to propose to someone via text message.
I love text messaging.
I really like 6 Flags, but I hate that my hands smell like wet pennies after spending a day there.
I think energy drinks are disgusting.
My dog smells like she's wet even when she's dry. We keep her outside.
Coffee. Gross. Cigarettes. Grosser.
I fly all the time, but every time the plane takes off I still worry it's going to crash.
Not everybody loves Raymond.
A spoonful of peanut butter is guaranteed to make my day better.
I'm addicted to classic ChapStick.
In the winter you'll find me in Uggs. In the summer, Haviana flip-flops.
I don't miss college.
Right now I'm in class, and I haven't been paying attention. I'm going to have to teach it to myself. Awesome.

You probably figured this out, but #25 is not applicable anymore. I'm sure you caught that though because you're a genius. At any rate, I'm off. Go Hawks.

Peace. Love. Space Jam.

tangent sixteen: green day.

2009-03-17T14:46:00.020-04:00

O'Hey.

I am done with second quarter and feel the need to rant. I actually have an excuse because it's St. Patrick's Day. So now I'm going to talk about verde. Learn Spanish if you don't understand that. Specifically, I want to discuss what happens to many people who forget to wear green on March 17. Some people choose not to do so out of protest to conventional standards. A handful of those people sit together in corners wearing black and discussing why convention and conformity do not apply to them. I think they have somewhat of a good idea there, but their execution leaves a sour taste in my mouth. I'd prefer for them to whine far away from my ears. We aren't discussing my problem with the color black or a bunch of egocentric emo kids though. We're discussing green. Well, I'm discussing green. You're reading about it. Maybe. Back to those who don't wear green. It's your prerogative if you decide not to partake in drunken Irish festivities. You shouldn't feel obligated to wear a "Kiss Me, I'm Irish" tight-fitting baby-T or an obnoxious blinking leprechaun button. You shouldn't even feel compelled to wear a smidgen of green if you don't want to. Let's be honest here for a second. St. Patrick's Day is really just spring break compressed into 24 hours. And if that's not your thing, then so be it. I personally enjoy the quasi-holiday. I do not, however, enjoy the pinchers. If you still pinch people for not wearing green then you just volunteered your way onto my "I'd like to punch you in the face" list. Don't be an asshole. Pinching serves no purpose other than legitimate proof that someone (the pincher) sucks. And not the mean kind of sucks, the irritating kind of sucks...which is way worse. I don't care if you think it's funny to parade around the office and pinch your co-workers who forgot their tiny Paddy flair. The only reason they even wear it is to avoid people like you. You aren't 7 anymore. Let the non-greeners go through March 17 in peace. In my opinion, pinching lies on the same plane with Carrot Top. Annoying and useless. So join me in my attempt to stop the pinchers from spreading their venomous fingers. Should you choose to be witty after reading this and decide to squeeze a portion of my skin in between your thumb and pointer finger then I can almost guarantee you'll be moved to the top of the previously-mentioned list. I hope those of you who dig today have green beers in hand and are about to sway back and forth to "Piano Man" at an overcrowded Irish pub. I'll see you in a few.

Peace. Love. Ginger fever.

tangent fifteen: voter registration.

2009-02-23T14:11:00.005-05:00

Hi.

I just added something new to my blog. A weekly question that you can cast your vote about. Pumped? I knew you would be. The questions will not be hard. Unless you are an imbecile. Alright. Go knock yourself out on the bottom of the sidebar.

Peace. Love. Yes you can.

tangent fourteen: my Oscar nominees.

2009-02-22T23:53:00.003-05:00

Evening.

I'm going to make this as short as possible so I can get back to watching Degrassi, my newest obsession and time-sucker. Seeing as that I only saw Slumdog Millionaire, I don't have too much to say about any of the other nominees. Slumdog was an amazing piece of cinematic awesomeness, so I'm glad it won 694 awards. Well-deserved, in my opinion. I did make a mental list of my favorite moments tonight, and I would like to share them with you. In addition to my favorites, I also made a separate mental list of my least favorite moments. If you don't mind, I'm going to share those with you, as well. If you do mind, then I hate you. No, no. I'm being facetious. Although I might hate you anyway, for other reasons. Probably not though because I don't really hate anyone. "Hate" is, like many teachers and wise sages over the years have told me, a very strong word. So while you might annoy me a lot, I can almost guarantee that I don't hate you. There's always an exception to the rule though. And I hate to admit it, but I use "hate" a lot more than I should. Like just now, for instance. I don't really hate to admit it. But to say, "I strongly dislike to admit it" sounds ridiculous. "Hate" may be strong, but it is, in fact, easier. Okay. Enough of that. Now, for the drum roll...brrrrrrrr. (That is not supposed to look like the sound of shivering.) Here are the nominees of my favorite and least favorite Oscar moments:

Moments That Made My Heart Flutter:

Danny Boyle jumping up and down like Tigger on purpose.
Zac Efron looking old enough for me to legally date instead of molest...finally.
Robert Pattinson acting like a vampire even though he wasn't supposed to.
Mickey Rourke's nomination.
Halle Berry's dress.
Kate Winslet's acceptance speech.
Heath Ledger's family's acceptance speech.
Memorial dedication video. (Gets me every single time.)
The big musical shindig. (With a cameo from Zac Efron.)
Ben Stiller's riveting portrayal of Joaquin Phoenix.

Moments That Made My Heart Sputter:

Barbara's pre-Oscars buzz kill.
Zac Efron's trollop of a date.
Christopher Walken's creepiness multiplied due to his long hair.
Mickey Rourke's face.
Reese Witherspoon copying Queen Latifah's dress. Or vice versa. (Tsk, tsk, ladies.)
Jessica Biel sans her only redeeming quality, Timberlake.
Sophia Loren's aging progress.
Not being able to see the memorial dedication video. (I'm sorry, Academy. Not all of us have 900-inch flat-screens.)
Beyonce's sparkling red loin cloth.
Joaquin Phoenix's absence (from both the awards and the acting world).

I should mention that my short-term memory is somewhat of a faulty trait, and had I written my thoughts down while watching the Oscars, my wit would have been sharper and my writing much funnier. Oh well. I distracted you for a little while, right? Okay. Back to work, slacker.

Peace. Love. Why was Miley invited?

tangent thirteen: bite me.

2009-02-02T16:26:00.012-05:00

Guess who's back?

After an extra long vacay I'm back and ready to roll. I know I promised to write a lot during my break; however, I opted not to and did other things instead. I slept, watched a lot of unnecessary television, went to my 5 year high school reunion (AKA "shit show 2k8"), and went on a cruise with my family (and brought in the new year with a smooch on the cheek from my mother). Jealous? I'm sure. My first quarter at The Circus went really well, and it's good to know that I'm heading in the right direction in terms of what I want to do with the rest of my life. At least for now. You could probably care less about that so I'll ease into my newest tangent before you start bitching. While I did waste a lot of my time watching mindless TV shows and galavanting around Atlanta will my fellow high school chums during the break, I also divvied up some of my time to a fictional male specimen known to some as Edward Cullen. I, however, prefer to refer to him as "perfection". Edward Cullen is one of the characters in the Twilight book series by Stephenie Meyer. Now, if you are an observant and nitpicky person then you are A) obnoxious but B) also probably remembering something I wrote in tangent ten. I merely stated that I didn't understand the hype concerning Twilight. I never made fun of those who did. I retract my statement because I understand the hype now. At about 2:30 on Christmas Eve day I was perusing through Target, trying to find last minute Christmas gifts (if you know me, you aren't the least bit surprised) and a shiny paperback book cover caught my eye. There it was. A simple, yet perfect depiction of the forbidden fruit resting in the pale palms of two delicate hands. It was as if Eve herself was offering me a bite...Christmas Eve. Oh, the irony! I tried to hold my ground and walk past the preteen book section in order to make it to the DVD wall faster but something else caught my eye, paralyzing me even longer. The price sticker. Once I saw that, I knew I had been defeated. I took the bait and bought the book. Metaphorically speaking, one might say I took a bite. Eve's good. Whether out of respect for Christmas and my family or trying to salvage whatever morsel of dignity I had left, I put the book on my bed and left it there until the next day. Once I had thanked Santa for my grey Uggs and make-up, I trudged upstairs to watch A Christmas Story. (I like the 24 hour marathon...it never gets old to me.) Just as I was about to turn on the tele via remote, that faint glittery glimmer caught my eye again. Blast, there was no turning back now. Christmas dinner at Gamma's (my badass grandmother) always starts at 6 pm. It's tradition. I began reading Twilight at 2:45ish. Surely, I thought, I would have enough time to get ready. But Edward Cullen just kept luring me in, page by page, with his cold, chiseled body and his chameleon-like eyes, and I couldn't move from my spot on the bed. 4 o'clock rolls around and I'm still pajama-clad, sans a shower, and falling deeper in love with Edward. This was no school girl Devon Sawa crush. This was real. Besides, Devon is just a mere mortal. I contemplated getting up and doing a rain dance so Atlanta might become more like Forks. I even checked the locks on my windows to see if they were painted shut. They were, and I cursed them because Edward would not be able to come into my bedroom. 5:15. No shower. No movement apart from my fingers flipping the pages. Not even a bathroom break. This was serious. My mom yelled at me from downstairs to make sure I was on my way to getting ready, and she informed me that they were going to ride in a separate car. Not a good idea, Mom. Not a good idea at all. I was suddenly 12 years old again...not because I was ridiculously engrossed in a tween book series about vampires but because I was lying to my mother about my grooming progress. I had made none. Damn that 544-page temptress. I'm not sure what snapped me out of my Edward love daze, but I finally got up and bathed, making my brother and me over 30 minutes late to Christmas dinner. You might be thinking, "Melissa, isn't 30 minutes late like early for you?" Well, hardy har har, you jackass. That's pretty funny. Not. Christmas dinner was fine, except for the gaping and rapidly expanding hole in my heart, otherwise known as my incessant longing for more Edward. I couldn't wait to get back to Meyer's literary ingenuity. Some things prevented that from happening, and I was forced to put down the book for longer than I wanted to. It wasn't until the cruise that I was able to pick it back up again. I silently apologized to Edward for my betrayal and finished Twilight in a flash. I then began to read New Moon, the sequel to Twilight, and I sunk to a new low. After ringing in the new year with my mom's kiss, I left the lido deck party, went to my room, changed into pajamas, and...wait for it...wait for it...read. Welcome to 2009, Melissa. You kind of believe in vampires. You're kind of delusional. What a great start. I even went and saw Twilight the movie 3 hours after returning home from the cruise. It didn't do my imagination justice; however, Robert Pattinson can sink his teeth into my neck any day. I am currently on the 3rd book of the series, but luckily school has somewhat brought me back to reality...not by choice. I'm worried I'll never be able to date again because I've concluded that my type is vampire and seeing as that they don't exist (or do they?) I am doomed to live a life alone vying with 7th graders for nonexistent Edward's love. Of course, I am kidding...I think. I didn't want to reveal any of the books' plots and stories because I urge you to pick it up and begin the journey yourself. I get the hype now. You should too.

Peace. Love. Move over, Devon.

tangent twelve: coming attractions.

2009-01-26T19:33:00.004-05:00

For real. Updating soon. Don't get your panties in a wad. I have so much up my sleeve, you don't even know. (Comma splice? Not sure.)

Peace. Love. Wedgies rule.

tangent eleven: where are they now? (the TGIF edition.)

2008-12-05T16:53:00.022-05:00

Greetings and salutations.

I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but over the next couple of weeks my tangents are going to be few and far between. It's crunch time at The Circus, which means lack of sleep, lack of a social life, and lack of any extracurricular activity not pertaining to school. Sorry. There's not much I can do about it. I'll be sure to make up for it over my break, once this quarter is over. Okay, enough business. Let's begin today's tangent. TGIF was one of the best things that ever happened to my childhood. I'm sure many of you share this sentiment and can remember a time when a great Friday night didn't involve getting gussied up and bar hopping. Inviting a friend to spend the night, setting up a pallet in the basement, ordering pizza, and flipping to ABC were the only necessary components to make Friday night a sure-fire success back in the day. Ah, nostalgia. I recently watched Stephanie Tanner on Chelsea Lately, and I must say that the once obnoxious lispy smart aleck is actually pretty cool now. She has a real name (Jodie Sweetin), but I like referring to her as Stephanie. I want to personally thank her for inspiring me to write today's tangent. Thanks, Steph. After reading about her addiction to crystal meth a while back, I figured she had spiraled down into has-been oblivion, never to return again. Her interview with Chelsea rerouted my opinion and proved me wrong. She's doing well, she's remarried, and she has a fat daughter named Zoe. Pin a rose on her nose because I'm proud. Watching her led me to wonder what the other TGIF alumni are up to these days. I don't care about every single actor or actress who graced ABC's Friday night lineup during my TGIF era because some of them have stood the test of time and are still somewhat in the limelight. Some, however, did not rise to the fame occasion after their shows got canned. I haven't heard about these people in a while. These are the people I am concerned about. These are the people I researched. And this is what I discovered:

Scott Weinger:

(Steve Hale--Full House)

While his Full House character appeared to be a bit of a dunce at times, in reality, Scott is quite the smarty pants. In 1998 he graduated magna cum laude from Harvard. Who knew? I always found Steve so endearing because of how stupid he acted. I was very upset when he and DJ chose to go their separate ways. I was pleased about his reappearance on the Full House series finale, probably more so than I was about Michelle finding her memory. Aesthetically, Scott's suffering a bit, but I have complete faith that his old All-American look can be restored with a little Rogaine, some Botox, Mystic Tan, and, most importantly, a letter jacket.

Bryton McClure:

(Richie Crawford--Family Matters)

It was uncanny how much Richie Crawford looked like Little Richard. I felt bad for the kid because due to the striking resemblance and similar nomenclature, he was forced to sport a Jheri curl-inspired mullet for 6 years. Clever casting directors. On the other hand, now he's looking pretty slick with his short hair and chin flair. He's also strayed away from primitive sitcom acting and channeled his diverse talents toward his role as Devon Hamilton on The Young & The Restless. Now that I know this, I will make sure to make that show an integral part of my week. I'll keep you updated.

Andrea Barber:

(Kimmy Gibbler--Full House)

Next to Screech, Kimmy Gibbler was quite possibly the most annoying sidekick ever written into a show. I became so excited whenever she and DJ got in one of their rare fights and vowed never to talk to each other again. Too bad DJ was a nice person and had Danny "the moral police" Tanner for a father. They remained BFF for the duration of the series. I was always on Uncle Jesse's side about Gibbler. I was also on his side because I wanted to bear his children. Still do. As far as what Andrea's up to now...she lives in the UK with her hubby and two kids. Her children's names are Tate James and Felicity Ruth. You might be wondering what I think about her daughter's name. I'm going to be nice and plead the fifth.

Trina McGee:

(Angela Moore--Boy Meets World)

Angela was such a badass. She embodied boho chic and dated Shawn Hunter, who was also a badass. I loved him up until he decided to sport a goatee in a "glimpse into the future" episode. (Not your best look, Shawn.) Anyway, Angela was a badass then and by the looks of it, now she's a freaking smokeshow. Other than looking dynamite, she's also married with 3 kids. From hippie to hottie in a such a short time. You go, girl.

Sasha Mitchell:

(Cody Lambert--Step By Step)

I was in love with Cody (let's be honest, who wasn't I in love with back in the day?) Yes, he was an idiot. Yes, he had a weird incestual thing for his cousin. Yes, his vocabulary was very limited. But still, something about him was very sweet and likable. Sasha Mitchell played the part well; however, from the picture on the right, it appears that Sasha has taken up bartending in the Caribbean. I was disappointed to find out that my conclusion was false. I googled Sasha and while I wasn't able to pinpoint exactly what he's doing today (the general consensus is that he's in Hollywood with his 4 kids and fixes computers for a living), I did discover other nuggets of truth about the former Code-Man that might tickle your fancy. His nickname is Sash. (Question...is it pronounced "sash" or "sosh"?) He likes spicy Chinese food with BIG red peppers (whatever that means). He has a giant tattoo of a dragon on his shoulder (fierce). Maybe not as cool as his unintelligent character. But at least he's got something going for him in real life.

Shawn Harrison:

(Waldo Geraldo Faldo--Family Matters)

Speaking of morons. Remember Waldo? His stupidity was on another level, much lower than the average human being. In reality, I believe he would've qualified for the "special" category but the writers overlooked this detail and wrote lines for Shawn Harrison that oozed denseness. Waldo was a nice guy, and I was really happy when he and Maxine, Laura's BFF, began their love affair. I don't understand why the writers thought it was funny to have both his middle and last names rhyme with his first. It wasn't. Shawn is still acting. His most recent work was on a cartoon called Legion of Superheroes. Shawn provided the voice of Timber Wolf. I wasn't able to find anything else on him, but I'm glad he got rid of the flat-top and grew out a mini 'Fro. It suits him a lot better. On a random ending note, I've always wondered how much it hurt Shawn when that basketball slammed into his head during the Family Matters opening credits. It didn't look very fun.

Blake & Dylan Tuomy-Wilhoit:

(Nicky & Alex Katsopolis--Full House)

Too bad Dylan and Cole Sprouse have already covered the cute blonde twin category. The Tuomy-Wilhoit twins don't really have too much of a chance to surpass them. It's hard to pronounce their hyphenated last name, and they're not nearly as cute as the Sprouse brothers. I wonder if they were mad at the Olsen twins for sharing DualStar with the Sprouse twins and not them. Despite their poor acting skills (which hinted the boys had been trained by the Olsen twins), they managed to coax "Awws" out of Full House viewers when they played Uncle Jesse's sons. I'm sure much of that had to do with the fact that Uncle Jesse as a father was extremely attractive. After Full House, the twins chose to return to normalcy as quickly as possible. In 2004 they started High School, which means they graduated in May. I'm crossing my fingers for a Full House Christmas special. I also wonder where the Tuomy-Wilhoit twins attend college, if they do. Good luck with everything, boys. If I were you, I'd nix the hairstyles and bring back the bowl cuts.

Mary-Kate & Ashley Olsen:

(Michelle Tanner--Full House)

J/K.

Jason Marsden:

(Rich Halke--Step By Step, Jason Marsden--Boy Meets World, Nelson Burkhard--Full House)

I take my comment back about Kimmy Gibbler's obnoxious sidekick status. Any character Jason Marsden played tops anything Gibbler said or did. Talk about typecasting. He was probably most annoying in Step By Step, as JT's BFF. He eventually won over Dana's heart. She was a little weird herself, so I guess they were a good match. On Boy Meets World his character was named "Jason Marsden". Wow, someone in the show's creative department really got lazy. He was essentially the same character in both shows--the sidekick of an idiot. Full House was the only show Jason was able to break out of the box just a little bit. He played Nelson, but Nelson, although extremely wealthy and intelligent, never had a chance to end up with DJ. She just wasn't the superficial type and couldn't be won over with lavish gifts and a live, personalized performance from Frankie Valli. Plus, Nelson tried to go up against Viper. Viper was hotter and badder and made me giddy. To the best of my recollection, DJ chose neither suitor in the end thus opening up the opportunity for Steve's return. Those clever writers. Today Jason's voice is used for various cartoon characters. He's married to a script supervisor named Christy and he's best friends with Will Friedle (Eric from Boy Meets World). His favorite activities include drawing, ice-skating, blading, and swimming. He also collects Disney videos and even named his pets after the characters, Aladdin, Jasmine, and Lady. It's a shame he's taken. He seems like quite a catch.

The Dinosaurs:

( The Sinclairs--Dinosaurs)

I miss this show. Back in the day I thought they were the Family Matters family dressed up as dinosaurs...and without Steve. I loved this show, and I recently found out that seasons 1 & 2 are out on DVD. It's very tempting. I'm not sure what the dinosaurs are up to these days; however, I do have some theories. Earl Sinclair (Daddy dinosaur) was chased down by Dan Conner for copying his flannel shirt. He was then put in solitary confinement for the plagiarism, forced to watch season 1 of Rosanne on repeat. He remains there today. Fran Sinclair divorced Earl soon after his imprisonment and married Alf for money. They reside in Melmac with their 2 adopted children. Robbie and Charlene Sinclair returned back to the prehistoric era and reunited with their childhood friends. Robbie is married, and Charlene is working on her PhD. They each send a Christmas card each year and seem to be doing well. Ethyl Phillips, the grandmother, is now a fossil and can be seen in the Museum of Natural History. Baby Sinclair, perhaps the most abrasive of the bunch, was actually Elmo in a dinosaur costume. Elmo continues to work successfully on Sesame Street.

Another fun fact about TGIF: it stood for "Thank God It's Funny" not "Thank God It's Friday". I say ABC brings it back. Okay, I must digress. I hope everyone has a wonderful day. I am about to go work on my sketchbook and watch a free movie OnDemand.

Peace. Love. Adios Tanneritos.

tangent ten: the PC guy has a name.

2008-11-29T18:22:00.050-05:00

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.

2008-11-18T23:19:00.018-05:00

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.

2008-11-17T13:22:00.036-05:00

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 = ♥.

2008-11-16T11:15:00.079-05:00

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:

"Alot" is not one word. You should have learned that a long time ago.
Easy on the capitalization, bolding, underlining, and exclamations. It'll be okay. We get your drift about the importance of DEVON SAWA!!!
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.)
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.
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.
Concerning that one in a million chance about meeting him...isn't it more like one in a trillion?
I know what the outcome of that chance will be, and it's not going to work out in your favor. Sorry.
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.
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.
Regarding the trip, you do explain what happened on the next page but it is not, as you put it, really, really FUNNY!!!
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.)
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.

2008-11-14T17:03:00.006-05:00

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.

2008-11-13T14:48:00.022-05:00

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.

2008-11-11T13:55:00.003-05:00

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:

The Rolling Stones - "It's All Over Now"
Madonna - "Spanish Eyes"
Donavon Frankenreiter - "On My Mind"
Hank Williams Jr. - "Dixie On My Mind"
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.

2008-11-10T12:10:00.059-05:00

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.

2008-11-09T20:49:00.020-05:00

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.

2008-11-08T17:48:00.023-05:00

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.