Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Public Service Announcement
I haven't been able to watch, listen to or read much about Hurricane Katrina without crying. (This, That, Whatever's thoughts about Harvey Jackson, in particular, had me in tears), so you oughtn't look here for any deep, brilliant thoughts or discussions.
In my clumsy, Cher Horowitz donating to the Pismo Beach diaster way, I want to help in any way that I can, and I want you to, too, if you should be so inclined. Which you should be.
(It's evident that trauma makes me lose my already tenuous understanding of proper sentence structure)
So I come with links.
It's by no means comprehensive, but it's a good starting off point, no?
Mallory at 8/31/2005 04:16:00 PM
Sunday, August 28, 2005
What's In A Name?
It is becoming readily apparent to me that I am a poison of sorts; a "life ruiner", if you will. I theorized that the Royals would never win again, and they went ahead and took 2 of 3 from the A's, whose offense stopped existing mere moments after I pledged allegiance to them. I spent days craving a Frosty from Wendy's, and then had to get wisdom teeth taken out, meaning that anything cold was forbidden. Not three days ago, I mentally thanked the people responsible for ousting Kristen McMenamy from the modeling world, only to see her in a Marc Jacobs ad.
This, of course, can easily be connected to my being named Mallory which, in addition to being synonymous with Family Ties means "One who is unlucky", derived from the French malheureux, meaning ill-fated. It seems so wrong, doesn't it? It's like my parents had it out for me, giving me bad luck, a propensity for 80s fashion, on top of a name that people bastardize on the regular. Malory. Mallorie. Malloreigh.
Due to my unfortunate circumstances, I have become an advocate of sorts for the Responsible Naming of Babies (RNB). For this reason, and this reason only, I have turned a keen eye towards expectant celebrities like Jennifer Garner and Britney Spears, worrying what names that they'd choose for their own child.
I suppose it's time for me to admit my strange fascination with the Celebrity Baby Blog. I know it's wrong and vaguely (or even obviously) creepy and yet, there I am, reading about how one of the actresses who played Carrie on Days of Our Lives for, like, a minute, had a baby that they don't know the name of.
[This seems like as good a time as any to admit to having a past obsession with Days of Our Lives, to the point where I got a Days book for Christmas one year that gave me all of the backstories dating back to the first show, so I have an uncanny knowledge of it all, though I can proudly say that I have been Days free since I learned that the victims of the Salem Stalker weren't really dead, but in another world or something. If I'm being honest, I should also admit that this has more to do with conflicting schedules than it does a hard nosed boycott, but that's okay, right?]
Anyhoo, the blog gives up to the minute information of celebrity babies like Apple Martin and Coco Arquette, as well as expectant parents like Spears and Garner, and random information about Donny Osmond's grandchild (?) for the three people out there who were wondering about it. It's a good reminder of how bizarre celebrity baby names really are and it makes me both excited and wary of seeing what Britney Spears will choose (Negi has planned to trademark her guess of Kayleeley Lynn Sparkle Federline).
Oddly named celebrity offspring aren't exactly new or anything, but celebrities seem to be getting more brazen about their bizarre name choices. Some of them I don't mind (the aforementioned Apple and Coco are the type of names that can be pulled off by a certain kind of person), some are so overdone (Lola and Ava are two that come to mind) and some are just cruel.
I am all about creativity and originality and it's true that I'm glad that I never had eight other girls in my classes with the same name as me, but...Laird? Why would you do that to a child? At least Poet Sienna Rose is whimsical and somewhat aesthetically pleasing. Laird is just icky.
Oh! Throwing the whole "Writing about one topic" idea to the wind, I had just been pondering the whereabouts of Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes, and had thought about checking the news to make sure Katie hadn't been slaughtered in a ritual Scientologist sacrifice (not that I think Scientologists do any of that, they seem the type to camp out with binoculars eagerly awaiting an alien invasion), but then I picked up US Weekly (It was sitting on my desk as I walked into work this morning. Somebody loves me, or perhaps they just left it here), and saw that they have New Wedding Plans. Sources say "They can't stand to be apart!" and "[Katie] hasn't picked a dress yet but is looking at lost of styles" for the wedding that they guess will happen between November and May. The article is accompanied by a picture of Tom strangling Katie, who is smiling like a stroke victim despite the pain.
There is also a disturbing spread asking celebrities when they lost their virginity. That's a highly personal question, isn't it? Celebrities with no boundaries like Jessica Simpson, Fergie and Tara Reid answer. Hilariously, Tara says "It was down at my Jersey Shore beach house...on the sand. It was disgusting. Four hundred mosquitoes. I had hives everywhere." Hives, Tara? That's precious.
The magazine also boasts a huge advert for Tyra's new talk show, with her forehead cunningly hidden, too much Hilary Duff and a "Jessica vs. Ashlee: Who Wore It Best?" article. Can I choose death?
Mallory at 8/28/2005 02:16:00 PM
Saturday, August 20, 2005
Cruel Cruel Summer
In the weeks following Jude Law's dalliance with a nanny, I thought that my celebrity boyfriends (typing that out makes me realize how much of a goober I truly am) couldn't do anything else that could possibly shock or disappoint me. Jude Law's all hooching up the help, Tom Brady is still dating Bridget Moynahan, who I believe pees standing up, Derek Jeter's taste in women continues to deteriorate (a VJ?! I ask you) etc. Christian Bale and Mos Def would remain true, and all would be at least semi right with the world.
And then I learned the sick sad truth from a good source that Mos Def was married in Toronto. All Hip Hop remains skeptical, but I've resigned myself to the sad truth of the matter. Not the truth truth, which is that I don't know him, but the truth that he is officially off the market.
What makes this so sad is that he allegedly (© Star Jones) married a woman named Alannah whose claim to fame is appearing in Snoop's "Drop It Like It's Hot" video. Which is so very.
I will stop short of drafting a petition to boycott his marriage like some people distraught over Brandon Flowers of The Killers marrying his girlfriend or creating an "Alannah Must Die" website in the vein of the now defunct www.katebosworthdeservestodie.com. I won't even denounce video hos, because it's a noble profession in its own right and has done a lot to advance the popularity of bling encrusted thongs and breast implants.
I'm just sad, is all. I'm an upstanding person, I regularly donate clothes to charity and break for animals, and I save my video ho dancing for the confines of my own room. And yet, here I am, with my heart shattered in a billion pieces, too distraught to even listen to The New Danger.
The Duffsta is on the cover of Jane, nearly showing the world her entire ass. That sound you heard was the barrel being scraped. I like Hil but...Jane? Really. Okay.
Shockingly, that's not even the most horrifying picture of Hilary Duff I have seen this week. That honor goes to this bizarre photo.
I...what? Did they have that painted? Is it Fan Art? Whatever it is, they were obviously paid off by the Duff family to make Haylie look human in the portrait. I am endlessly creeped out.
Fergie loves Josh Duhamel for his cooking. I wonder what he loves her for. No matter what The Sun says, she's not a stunner, so it's not her looks. Her bladder problems, maybe?
Guess Who? (Please note that I say "Who", not "What". It is a person)
Hint...she just won a court battle with Lil' Cease (and if she hadn't, I'd have cried. The world is no place for Lil' Cease victories.
...she's on her way to prison.
...she's an inspiration for skanky munchkins all over the world.
Yeah, that's Lil' Kim. Horrifying, I know. I felt, like The Ring, that my life would be spared from night terrors if I shared it with other people. Sorry.
Discussion Question--Will the Royals ever win again? One would think they'd have to, but their upcoming schedule includes the A's, the Red Sox, the Yankees and the (suddenly struggling) White Sox, followed by, like, the Twins and the Rangers. So if they do ever win again, they'll only win, like, three games the rest of the season.
I get sad watching them lose. Not that I have any vested interest in the team or any of the players and coaching staff, but that has to burn. It's the same feeling I get watching Al Leiter pitch; he just seems so endearing to me and watching him throw 127 pitches in the first inning makes me feel uncomfortable.
Few things in the world make me happier than Eddie Money's "Take Me Home Tonight", followed by the Fine Young Cannibals "She Drives Me Crazy" while drinking Diet Coke with Lime.
Finally, I have become obsessed with For Better or For Worse, continuing my transformation into a middle aged woman. Could an unhealthy addiction to The Christmas Tree Shoppe be far behind?
The latest storyline is Liz being nearly attacked by her coworker which had potential to be deep and interesting, but is really being used as a deus ex machina for her to be reunited with her first love, Anthony, who saved her from her would-be rapist. Pictured here, Anthony tells Liz that he finally has something worth fighting for. Please bear in mind that Anthony is married with a child and also the same age as Liz. I have no explanation for why he so eerily resembles a grandfather.
I should probably use my rage for more worthy purposes, but I can't help being endlessly irritated with this.
Mallory at 8/20/2005 11:03:00 AM
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Etc.
I'm going to write in unrelated point form today because, well, that's how I roll.
♦It's a bad time to be Tyra Banks, huh? On the set of Ty Ty's new talk show, she got into it with rap groupie extraordinaire Karrine "Superhead" Steffans.
Says, uh, Superhead:
"Despite what she thinks, she and I are not that different," Steffans tells Murray. "I have even heard her being referred to as a 'Hollywood Hop' for the many men in Hollywood who have bedded her and moved on."
Superhead went on to threaten to rip out Tyra's wig, which has got to be embarrassing. I mean, all things considered: The girl goes by "Superhead"; she was linked with the likes of 50 Cent and Usher and while I recognize that Tyra's own dating history with the likes of Chris Webber thrown in there classifies her as somewhat questionable, at least she never let Usher touch her; and she is currently dating Bill Maher. I'll let the handy dandy ellipsis sum up my feelings. "..."
Also embarrassing? Having your ass handed to you on a coke covered silver platter by your former employee Janice Dickinson.
Says J. Dick:
Tyra’s no walk in the park. Tyra’s really righteous.
They are not of the caliber I was, or even of what Tyra was.
I walked some of the hardest pavements in the world to become a model, and that’s why I’m entitled to say the things I do, whether it’s to grope-boy Balki on The Surreal Life or to some wannabe on America’s Next Top Model. Eat that, Tyra.
Ouch! And we all know Tyra can't fight back. We've all seen her demonstrate her bad temper with the bizarre Tiffany elimination on ANTM. "I HAVE NEVER IN MY LIFE YELLED AT A GIRL LIKE THIS! I WAS ROOTING FOR YOU! WE WERE ALL ROOTING FOR YOU!" Like, yeah, Janice killed her dad, I think she could take you, Ty Ty.
♦I've discussed my hatred of PETA before and I'm convinced that they are deliberately trying to get me to go on a mass murder spree with their latest set of ads. I don't even have the words to describe how blatantly offensive I find that, but I do know that I am having a burger for dinner tonight. Anybody up for clubbing a seal?
♦Speaking of mass murder, sort of, I've been watching a lot of Lifetime movies, more than usual even, which I believe is a form of comfort. Some people eat potato chips, I watch things like Meradith Baxter Birney in The Betty Broderick Story. Okay, and I eat potato chips, too. I'm just wondering. MBB's turn as the famous husband murderer was quite good, and the second part of the movie is on tonight at 9, should you be so inclined. I've found that the most intriguing of the television movies are those that are based on true stories and those that star Melrose Place alumni.
♦Is Apple Martin the cutest baby in the world? I think she is. My adoration of Gwyneth Paltrow is well documented and, well, Apple is just so cute! She can totally make the name Apple work, I think.
♦Matt LeBlanc groped a stripper. A girl stripper
"The stripper was all over me. I was drinking, and she was crossing the line. She was in my face, pushing her breasts into me and grabbing my hands to go all over her body. She was telling me to caress her and in my head I'm thinking, 'What's going on?' If I had. been sober, perhaps I would have acted quicker, but I was pretty drunk. When I realized the situation that was unfolding I felt I was being careless and irresponsible, and I had to get the hell out of there. I could not wait to get home. The guys said a trap had been set for me and I fell right in it, and that's why I feel stupid and careless now."
...
♦I need to step away from the sports media for a day or so because the constant coverage of Terrell Owens, Ricky Williams, and Madden is causing my subconscious to dream crazy things. But really, who am I kidding, I couldn't just up and ignore the media. Where else would I read in-depth features about the continued emasculation of Bud Selig, or see pictures of Huston Street playing the guitar?
Speaking of sports, Jason Giambi--using, or not? Discuss.
♦As all people with good taste do, I'm currently enjoying the Geico commercials and the Starbucks "Hank" commercial immensely. But I have to register a complaint with Sonic for their constant commercials. I have been somewhat obsessed with Sonic banana splits since seeing their commercials every other minute for the past few months, to the point where I nearly threw in the towel and drove to Sonic to buy one. Which I would have, if there were a Sonic ANYWHERE IN THE NORTHEAST. There's not! The closest is in Virginia and while I want a sundae badly, that's much too far for me to go...or is it?
Mallory at 8/11/2005 06:08:00 PM
Sunday, August 07, 2005
Working Girl & Other Tales
You may have noticed that I have not been saying much lately. Which is odd because, as those of you who know me can attest, I rarely, if ever, stop saying anything.
I think that work has killed my brain. Honestly, it's making me more stupid by the second. I wish it had killed my spirit and self esteem instead, so that I could pen a poorly written real estate version of The Devil Wears Prada (or like Sarah and the PAG), but all its done is rob me of my ability to be creative and figure out percentages, although the latter was something I never mastered fully.
Real estate, I've learned, is one of the most unpleasant industries in the world. Not that I have experience in many, (or, erm, any) other industries, but really, if you answer the phone, you're bound to get an earful of attitude from the other end. Thus, my routine goes something like this:
8:30-->Arrive at work, coffee in hand; remind myself that today will be a great day
8:35-->Pick up the phone; get bitched at by real estate agent ("The home that I wanted to show is sold! How is that possible?!?!")
8:41-->Pick up the phone; homeowner complains ("Someone was supposed to show my house and they were three minutes late! Wahhhhh!")
8:43-->Have another coffee
8:49-->Talk to a homebuyer on the phone; get yelled at ("Everything is out of my price range! Argh!")
8:53-->Homeowner calls. "Why isn't my house getting activity?!"; try to politely think of ways to explain that the house is ugly
8:58-->An agent calls. "I sent in an offer fifteen minutes ago, nobody has called me back! I'm calling the better business bureau and filing a complaint!"; offer to give them number
9:00-->Cry
Lather, rinse, repeat. I also drink an average of 12 Diet Cokes per day and attempt to engage various co-workers in pop culture related discussions.
Me: So how about the Jennifer Aniston Vanity Fair interview, huh?
Coworker: ....
Me: OMG! Adam Ant is on the radio! ::grooves in her chair::
Coworker: ::fakes laughter::
Me: Hahaha! Oh, isn't that Scott Stapp story craaaaaaaazy?
Coworker: Scott What?
I keep telling myself that it's just a gap sort of thing, that I'll have a real job soon and I'll be the one making people cry, instead of the other way around, but then I get a phone call asking, "Now, when you say as is, what does that mean?" (Shout out to Jeff!) and I find myself wishing that I had been born to a rockstar.
I mean, just look at Lizzy Jagger, daughter of Mick and Jerry Hall. All the girl had to do was be born and she immediately had a contract as the Lancome spokesmodel, plus an awesome collection of clothes to raid, whereas my mother is half a foot shorter than I am. It helps that she (Liz, not my mother, though my mother is lovely as well) is lovely, of course, though Leah Wood is not and she had a career as a model, and is now a musician. And also under the category of "Fugly chicks with Rolling Stone dads" are the hideola Richards sisters. They look like mutants and yet, there they are as Ann Taylor models. What is happening to the world?
Granted, dealing with a rock star father would mean you'd have to be privy to embarrassing details of your father's life with groupies, forced paternity tests and other horrible things classified as Too Much Information, but...I mean, wouldn't it be fun? It would, don't lie.
But, alas, it was not meant to be. Le sigh.
Aside from work, my life has been focused mainly on baseball, to the extent that I believe only players and owners care about it more than me, which is odd since I get absolutely no monetary compensation for it. Because of the insidious influence of CLC over at Parenthetical Notations (and, okay, fine, slight infatuations I have with Eric Chavez and Huston Street, who are you to judge me?), I have been following the Oakland Athletics closely which has been fun since they pulled themselves up from the AL West cellar into a tie for first place. Truly classic.
There's also the media frenzy surrounding Rafael Palmeiro's steroid use. A SCANDAL, they call it. Which...really? The man didn't start hitting his homeruns until 1998 alongside Sammy Sosa and Mark McGwire, eleven years after he made his major league debut. Besides, the man has a pornstache
He's obviously not operating under our logic system.
His excuses were hilarious in their ineptitude. "It wasn't intentional!" Right, except not.
And, I ask this in all seriousness--why did these people do steroids with Jose Canseco? I mean...really. Even back in the 80s, Canseco was a sleaze who would sell out his mother for $5, so trusting him seems, to put it mildly, ridiculous. A horrifying, related story--the Hollywood Reporter, um, reports:
Published in February by ReganBooks amid a firestorm of controversy, "Juiced" details Canseco's use of performance-enhancing drugs and accuses some of the biggest names in baseball of cheating. Within weeks of publication, the memoir shot to No. 1 on the New York Times best-seller list. In mid-March, Canseco drew even more headlines when he testified before Congress about steroid use.
Canseco, who is looking to launch an acting career, appears on the current season of VH1's "The Surreal Life."
There are no words to describe my terror, confusion and disdain, so I will settle for "..."
I also ventured to the cutthroat world of Shea Stadium this week to watch the Mets take on the Cubs and was pleased as punch to see them win and to see a)the bullpen hold it together and b)Carlos Beltran get hits, not to mention c)David Wright. The jeers they sent to Jeromy Burnitz were out of this world, so I can only imagine the level it would have been at if Beltran didn't perform. Again. All that plus the return of Nomar Garciaparra and the continued awesomeness of Derek Lee.
All of this PLUS a Gary Sheffield hissy. That he was, uh, misquoted in. Riiight, Sheff, right. He lives in his own little world where he is a leader that everybody likes (except, you know, for everybody on his previous five teams) and where his wife never had sex with R. Kelly. It's a good world.
Mallory at 8/07/2005 12:41:00 PM