BRITNEY SPEARS STEP AWAY FROM THE SKANKS I REPEAT STEP AWAY FROM THE SKANKS

Britney, Britney, honey! I am not being snarky here. I like you, sincerely. I see your soul, Britney Spears. Listen to me. It’s bad enough that you’re hanging out with Paris Hilton. It’s just not okay to go out without your panties, even though I’m pretty sure she told you it was hott. There will be a time in the not too distant future when you will be very very happy you opted even for the scant protection of a thong. But more importantly, that Brandon dude? He is Satan. He’s worse than Satan. He’s all of evil everywhere. He said those reprehensible things about your other new BFF, Lindsay, did you not hear about that? I know, you’re having fun right now, that it’s probably a difficult time, but you must trust me here. Please, please, go home to your babies and do not let the likes of those two come near them, ever. ‘Kay?

Pinter Moment

Last night Ben and I watched a movie we enjoyed but I can’t tell you the title right now or I’ll ruin part of the movie (sort of). Later in the movie, Ben asked me, “Who played the old man who died?” I said, “Which old man? You mean the one who died?”

Gummy Flake Update

Ben likes them.

A total mystery. I said “Good, you can eat it, it won’t go to waste.” When we ran out of cereal last night, he tried to convince me it was good. I said I’m not eating it. He tried to convince me to eat toast. Toast – really does nothing much for me. It’s the kind of thing I’ll eat – if it’s there, sometimes. But it’s not something I seek out. Fortunately, there was a bowl’s worth of Cheerios left this morning.

On Trying Generic Raisin Bran (Don’t)

This morning, eating my Whole Foods brand raisin bran (which I had to plunder to find raisins, and don't get me started about the 'bran'), I said, “This raisin bran is really bad.”
Ben said, “Did you try adding sugar?”
I said, “I never add sugar.”
He said, “Maybe you should try.”
I said, with a mouthful of gummy fake raisin bran, “I don’t think sugar would help.”
Ben said, “What?”
I repeated, “I don’t think sugar would help.”
He said, “Oh I heard what you said. Did you?”

Moral of this story: Sugar always helps. Except with generic Whole Foods Raisinless Gummy Flakes.

Ok, Brit, I Guess I Have to Concede You Did The RIght Thing

Kevin, brah, dude, this - is so not going to help your case. Not that you had one anyway. But still. What I wish now is not so much that these crazy kids would work it out, but that it had never happened in the first place.

Levels of Mind-sticking.

I saw this on Ellen yesterday, and if in any universe I could retroactively vomit up every last Tab I ever drank, (which was not a few, back in the day), in front of Tab headquarters (aka Coke), I would. This is messed up on so many levels, and yet, absolutely riveting, mind-sticking in it’s utterly and uniquely horrifyingly, hilariously absolutely unfeminist way.
Level 1. The obvious. I’m not sure what year this was made, and I have no memory of it so it could have been late sixties, but it seems to me that this must have appeared right smack in the middle of feminism in it’s glory years, which is truly stunning.
Level 2. Creepiness of the singer.
Level 3. Okay, putting aside the wrongheadedness of the message, lyrically, it’s just hard to imagine the jam session that produced this song. Were these guys on acid? Were they trying to hypnotize the women of America with this repetetive, weirdly insidious song? It’s impossible to imagine what made anyone think these lyrics were either catchy or like any other jingle that was out at the time.
witness:
a) Don’t you want to have a good shape?
He wants you with a good shape.
Shape with Tab.
b) When you can’t be with him, be in his mind.
Be a mind-sticker.
What? Be a mind-sticker?
And then, in case the song isn’t enough, enter the male voice over, a sexily but psycho-killer-type persuasive voice, who first repeats one of the lines of the song and then later says, “You know, keeping your shape in shape has it’s rewards. Be a mind-sticker.”
There’s really nothing else to say. Except that this ad will stick in my mind for all time.

Why So Arty All The Time, Arty Movies?

Dear Arty Movies,
Look, I’m as annoyed with mainstream ‘cinemah’ as the next guy. Ben and I regularly bemoan the lack of actual movies on our Netflix queue (as opposed to episodes of Nip/Tuck, Deadwood, and whatever else we don’t see on cable). So recently we tried to remedy this by moving some movies up on the queue. One week we watched Blow Up. Or we started to. I fell asleep after the third extended arty sequence about... nothing. About Vanessa Redgrave running away from the photographer for ten minutes. Although I did enjoy the crazy sixties fashion, that was about all I enjoyed. This weekend we watched Brick, on the hearty recommendation of some friends. I do not care for movies like this. Yes, I appreciate the effort to make something different, but in the end, what I want is to feel something. I don’t want to be made to feel something, Hollywood style with big music, and I recognize and even appreciate your efforts to combat this. I want to just feel something. I also enjoy thinking something. What I don’t enjoy is being made to recognize your artiness, arty movies. Plus, I also enjoy being able to understand what the actors are saying. None of this rhythmic pin-brick-doad-brain nonsense.
Arty movies, I cite Me and You and Everyone We Know, Lovely and Amazing, Amelie, Eternal Sunshine, anything by Wes Anderson, as sufficiently arty for my taste, and I suggest you take their cue – these movies are your kin, not your mortal enemies. You do not have to be obtuse and unpleasant in order to be arty.
Many thanks for your consideration,
E. Crane
PS Arty friends, I know some of you are going to be upset with me, but it had to be said.

I Guess I Should Have Known

Well, the day has come, the Federlines are soon to be no more. Was I crazy to have held any little hope that those crazy kids would get some marital therapy and maybe go to college and grow up and raise them boys right? Yes, yes I was.

Good Lord No, Just Hearing the Announcement Was Painful Enough

“Coming up next... Anna Nicole cuts her baby’s umbilical cord...”

Who’s going to stay tuned for this? Who? Why? What the hell is wrong with the world? I’ve lost my sense of humor! I’m too horrified to be funny! This is just SO WRONG!

Just When You Thought I Was Through With The Federlines

I have a piece up on the hilarious and juggling Hillary Carlip’s site, Fresh Yarn. Check it!

Avenue Is Not Closed

At the nearby Jewel plaza, where we do some of our grocery shopping, there’s also a K-mart, a Blockbuster, a Subway, a Dunkin’ Donuts, a Staples soon to come, and a low-priced chain women’s clothing store called Avenue. The other day Ben and I were in the parking lot and he saw the Staples going in and he said, in all sincerity, “Oh no, is Avenue closing?” After I stopped laughing, I apologized for mocking his grief over the closing of the low-priced chain women’s clothing store he’s never been in that isn’t actually closing.

Smokin' Links

I added a few linkies to the side of some new BFFs. Check it.