I remember everyone making fun of Clint Eastwood talking to that empty chair awhile back. Admittedly, it was kinda weird. The first couple of minutes were entertaining—I remember laughing from my spot on the living room sofa—but after awhile I just wanted someone to kick the chair over and drag it off the stage. Sorta like my younger kids repeatedly kick over my barstools (to use as forts) and drag them into the dining room. And that’s why almost all of them are either wobbly or broken. I swear, it doesn’t matter how often I get onto them for this. Every single time I walk in from the grocery store/bank/school at least one of my stools is lying on its side with a blanket/basket/kid sitting on top of the legs. Drives. Me. Nuts.
But I digress.
Anyway, the chair thing was weird. Slightly annoying. Kinda awkward.
I wish it could’ve moderated that Presidential debate last night.
What was that? Every time Jim what’s-his-name asked a question, he began interrupting exactly six seconds into the answers. No one could finish a complete thought. At first, I tried so hard to concentrate and wade through their broken, partial responses. But finally, I gave up and stopped listening altogether. And it had nothing to do with the fact that I had no clue what anyone was talking about.
Seriously. A chair would never interrupt. The folks in charge need to keep that in mind when they start planning the next battle round.
And speaking of battles. Is anyone watching Revolution? Well, if you’re not, get yourself a Hulu subscription, turn on your television, and press play on episode one. Only three episodes have aired so far, so it won’t take you long to catch up. But y’all, it will be worth your time. This show is awesome. This show is unique in a good way. (Not in the way almost every Academy Award nominated movie is unique. Which translates, for those, into gouge-your-eyes-out awful).
Revolution starts with a world-wide power outage, and within seconds it’s apparent that the lights aren’t coming back on. Like, ever. (I’m not giving anything away here—you’ll find this out within seconds of watching the first episode). So…well-manicured neighborhoods are turned into farmlands. Anything that used to run on power—jets, hotels, Ferris wheels, Wrigley Field—are abandoned and covered in brush. It’s weird. It’s creepy. It’s something that I seriously hope never, ever happens (mainly because I am terrible at farming—my tomatoes were sooo pathetic this summer).
But it’s awesome. Watch it, and lemme know what you think.
Now, as I’ve said before, I was not planning to watch American Idol this season. Because last season stunk badly. As did the season before. But then they had to go and add Keith Urban to the judges table. And I like Keith Urban, because he is easy to look at. And because he plays an impressive guitar. And because he’s from Australia—which has nothing to do with anything—except that I love love love his accent.
But even then, I still sat on the American Idol fence. To watch, or not to watch? I just couldn’t decide.
But yesterday. Yesterday. I fell over the fence.
Apparently the lady judges are talking trash. They’re two seconds away from a public slap-fight. They’re one manicured nail away from a full-on smack down.
So y’all, I’ve gotta watch the show now. Because I do not want to be the only woman in America who has to read about Mariah Carey pulling off Nicki Minaj’s pink afro wig in the middle of Joe Slow from Ohio’s audition, where he had to keep singing “I Will Always Love You” while the two woman went at each other across the glass table while Keith Urban looked on in countrified confusion—on the cover of The Enquirer magazine in a supermarket checkout line.
I. Will. Not. Be. That. Girl.
So I guess I’ll be setting up my DVR. This is SUCH an unwelcome hassle, but whatever.
Moving on to happier news.
WE ARE SUPPOSED TO GET OUR FIRST FROST THE WEEKEND.
Now, I realize that sentence will probably earn me a couple of death threats from my neighbors, but I don’t care. These are the same neighbors that, when invited by me to a midnight snow dance rehearsal last January—completely stood me up. Not one person showed. And do you have any idea how humiliating it is to be the only person playing a tambourine-slash-cowbell in the middle of the cul-de-sac when the police drive by with really bright flashlights shining in your face? Do you have any idea how difficult it is to explain yourself when this happens? When they accuse you of heavy drinking, among other questionable activites?
Well, my neighbors don’t. Because they were all asleep. So to them, I say this:
WE ARE SUPPOSED TO GET OUR FIRST FROST THE WEEKEND!!!
So cover your plants, bring in your ferns, and kiss your summer squash goodbye. Snow is coming. It’s just around the corner. It’s blowing through our neighborhood, whether some people like it or not.
(who will be so ticked off if this winter winds up as sucky as the last one…and she’ll totally know who to blame.)