Dancing With The Stars - American Idol: the last word, sort of

Indulge me while I write about my true interest in life: television of the reality genre. T'is true that I'm a People mag sort of girl. Actually, I prefer US because they never try to be high-minded about their gossip and besides, my friend, Stefanie Wilder-Taylor does fashion reviews for them.

Stephanie and others do round-up/wrap-ups of shows like American Idol and Dancing With the Stars. I prefer to just pop in occasionally for the brief--140 character--insightful comment, which is why you may want to follow me on Twitter one of these days.

This week, unfortunately, my fleet fingers were otherwise occupied, so the final finales (as opposed to the penultimate finales) of both shows went by without my wit and wisdom. Or at least my wit. Or maybe just wisdom. I dunno, 'cause I tend to think I'm funnier than I am.

DWTS: Of course, Shawn Johnson won. She is, after all, America's Sweetheart. And we need to appreciate her more these days because when she finally grows up--and out--her body will settle into something resembling a fireplug, and we won't like her so much because she will no longer be Cute. Think Mary Lou Retton. Not only that, but Hair & Makeup really did right by her. Compare the look she sported in the Olympics, when I assume she was responsible for her own glitter and eyeshadow, to Tuesday night's, and there alone you're talking the difference between a girl and a woman. Now I'm wondering if she'll maintain that look--false eyelashes and all--for the 2012 Games.

American Idol: Of course, Krissss won. And I don't think it had anything to do with the homophobia thing. I think that is just an easy excuse, like the stutterer who couldn't get a job on radio because he was Jewish. Nor do I think Kris got the Christian vote. Actually, I didn't know there was a Christian Vote until he brought it up. I voted for Kris and I'm not Christian. I voted for Kris because I don't think Adam will wear as well in the public eye. The thing that made Adam so brilliant was that he Performed his songs. What he lacked was any real connection with the music and the audience. If singing is a form of communication, then Adam was Narcissus, creating the perfect picture--for himself.

Tonight begins So You Think You Can Dance, and I'll be there. As I will for the season opening of Jon and Kate Plus Eight. Aren't you excited????

Do you Twitter?

This is a test. All questions will be graded and put into a saucer of milk for the cat.

If you Twitter, why do you Twitter? Hear this in a plaintive tone first--and then in a WTF demand. Both plaint and WTF are heartfelt.

I have been Twittering for a donkey's age, it seems, but now that EVERYONE is Twittering--I'm kinda meh about it. No, I'm not just meh-ish, I'm downright antipathetic. And dumbfounded that anyone would friend Oprah or Demi Moore. To what end? As in, what's the point? Do you really care what bon mots those two women are flinging through the airwaves?

And all this excitement about BUILDING COMMUNITIES ON TWITTER. Again, to what end? Like I don't know enough people from the blogs that I read? I should gather arbitrary individuals to my Twitter bosom so that I can say, "Lo! I am this popular." Well, lo, I have better things to do. Like file my nails. And wash the dog.

Why not just join the Rotary if you're into building communities? Or Kiwanis? Hey! What about Toastmasters?

And while I'm on subject--not to mention a tear and a rant--what is with Social Media going up close and personal? Isn't the point of the internet to be that we don't have suck in our stomachs and wear mascara? Or comb our hair, for that matter. Or wash it? But now these Social Media groups are MEETING. In public. For chrissake. I don't have the wardrobe for this. My Spanx are getting stretched out and my cute little shoes are wearing down at the heel.

Didn't I write this post already? And post it some time back? Is this Early Onset? Or am I just a tad forgetful?

Social Networking: Why?

I wish it weren't so, but truly I suck at social networking. I sucked at networking when it was just business-oriented. I sucked at networking when it was a school dance or party. It's not that I'm a wallflower or pathetically shy; it's just that I can't get myself to care. Even when I know I should do.

Last night I went to a Twitter meetup in Sacramento. After years of local people saying to me, "Blog? What's that?" and "Twitter? What's that?", the Web 2.0 scene has finally come to Sacramento. I am, of course, thrilled. Or think I should be.

But there is something about all those earnest people Getting Acquainted! Exchanging Cards! Sharing Business Concepts that creates in me a massive case of Don't Give A Shit!

But I should give a shit. Because I've got some business concepts worth sharing. And I've got cards to exchange that go with those concepts. And really, I go to these events ready to meet and greet and.....

Maybe that's the problem. Why do I go to these events? Actually, it's the first thing, the Getting Acquainted, that draws me. Top in my list of Life Goals is "Know Interesting People." After that is, "Have Good Conversations." And "Laugh A Lot"--that's probably number three. Not remotely near the top is Meet People Who Can Help Me In My Business. If it happens, that's a bonus.

Last night I found myself doing a circuit around the perimeter of attendees. Round and round I went, looking for a likely person to Get Acquainted with. Mostly they were all very busy doing what they had come to do: trolling for contacts, honing their Elevator Spiel. Every once in a while I would stop and introduce myself--there were definitely some people there who were Interesting People--and we would chat for a while. And then, they'd go their way. And I'd make another circuit of the room.

I think I was overwhelmed by the intensity of the Desire in that room. And maybe, depressed. Because shouldn't I have that same Desire? And if I don't, does that mean I'm doomed to fail?

Monday Monday -- I Like It Like That

My dark and woeful mood has lifted somewhat. I think it is the weekend that does me in. Seems to me that I've spent a lot of Saturdays over the past year or so sitting on the sofa and watching movies during the day. Maybe other people do that all the time, but me--no, except on these Saturdays when I can't think what else to do with myself.

Sunday is my Food Network Day. That's an allowable excursion into TV Land, mainly because I don't do it sitting on the sofa. Rather, I'm standing in the kitchen, cooking up my own Food Network show. Yesterday I did some conglomeration of bacon and pork and onions and greens. It was what I had in the refrigerator.

Please do not tell God that I had all that pork, because we're right smack in the middle of the Days of Awe. If God gets mad at me, he will not write me in the Book of Life for 5769 and consequently I WILL DIE.

So not only is the American Stock Market continuing to tank, but the rest of the world's as well. If I am not going to die this year, then I WILL NEED AN INCOME. Anybody out these hiring a good, marginally shop worn writer????

And what about them Cubs. Or was it the White Sox? Twitter is all a-tweet with the boys watching the game. Or maybe they're watching football. I'm not quite sure, because I haven't paid attention to boy-talk about sports, like ever. Even in high school, when I had to seem to listen, I'd really just perfected a round-eyed, rosebud mouth, "Oh really? Fascinating. Huh. That far." God knows what they were saying, because my ears were elsewhere, and you know something, no one ever called me on it. This is not a special talent that I had; it's one that most girls learned quite early. Think of it as the precurser to the "ahu hu hua ha hu hu eeeeeeeeeeee" in When Harry Met Sally. You know, the line that provoked the response, "I'll have what she's having."

The Best Laid Plans, etc. etc.

Tomorrow I leave for Blog Word Expo, a weekend of fun and frolic with other geeks in Las Vegas. I've done BlogHer three times now, but this feels different. For one--maybe for only--there are going to be boys there. Yeah! and yeah again!

My intention was to write an incredibly moving, erudite post that would showcase not only my swift brain, but my sterling writing talent as well. But--well, but whatever. This is all you get.

It's better than a T-shirt, don't you think?

The Martian Has Landed: A Post About Nothing & Everything

...earth to Jane, earth to Jane....

I must confess that I have been a less than constant blogpal lately. I went away and then I came back and somehow I just couldn't work up that much interest. And looking at my stats, the feeling must be mutual. Is it me? Is it thee? I dunno. My SOM* is OK, better 'n OK I'd say--and certainly my alliterative, not to mention rhyming powers are intact. So what gives?

For one, there seems to be an awful lot of babble on the net these days. Blog babble is one thing, but Twitter babble--that's just plumb ugly annoying. You know, we have monkey minds, as the Buddhists say. Thoughts, large and small, important and inane, are forever to-ing and fro-ing through the jungle in our heads, leaping and swinging and making incessant noise. Those who practice Mindfulness (hear monks chanting; smell incense burning) work to quiet that Monkey Mind. So what's with the Twitterers who are gleefully sharing each and every leap and swing, burble and belch with those of us who for whatever reason are their Followers (you asked me; you like me; you really like me). They must be practicing Unmindfulness.

I could work myself into a whole rant about this, but then I'd probably insult people, and, jeeze, that's not something I ever want to do. At least not on purpose. Unless one (the ubiquitous One) has pissed me off. Nah, not even then. I have a sharp tongue, but a soft heart. So, I've turned my Twitter phone messages off. That's what we call "taking care of oneself."

It is also called "taking care of oneself" to only read people and posts that interest me. This is a new tack: formerly I read just about everybody I had ever met or wanted to or thought I should. But it was taking me ages every day to work my way through this one and that one's whatever. In fact, some days it became the One Thing I Did: read every blog on my Google Reader. Good girl. Well done. Go fetch. What I'm finding with my new discernment (is there such a word? there is now) is that the blogs I am really attracted to are those where the writing (a) is really really good, and (b) the writer lets me in to their life. Right now these are the blogs I don't like to miss: Thursday Drive, Mad Marriage, A Walkabout's Weblog. Is it any coincidence that they're all writers? Hmmmmmmmmm? I think not.

*state of mind

Addendum and so on...

Point, the First: I sashayed through a local AT&T store to see what they're offering and promising. The guy there (what does one call them these days: clerk? salesman? cell service facilitator?) on hearing where I lived informed me in no uncertain terms that the only cell phone service who actually had service to my area is--AT&T. Actually I believed him, which only made me more pissed off with SPRINT for having strung me along for all this time. Stupid stupid stupid--they got some money from me, and in return garnered a huge amount of ill will. I Shall Not Forget....
Point Two: Twitter is terrific for live blogging a conversation. I watched the Oscars tonight with Neilochka, KarlErickson, Schmutzie, and Suebob--and we were all in different cities, if not states, if not countries.
Number Three: This is the Habu Wool/Stainless Steel yarn. The colors are sort of off: the blue is inkier and the beige is not so gray. It's very, very, VERY fine. Habu sells it as a kit to make a cardigan of sorts, but I don't have enough for that, I don't think. So maybe I'll make a scarf. Or maybe I'll just admire it for a while.

Here She Comes...

When I was a kid, watching the Miss America contest was right up there with watching the Oscars. Yeah, it's been a joke all these years since, but I was willing to see if they could actually make it more relevant and contemporary and all those other things that they've been advertising. I watched the Miss America Reality Check where the judges were trying to get the women to lose the makeup and the hair spray--and they did for that show, pretty much. In the ads for the actual contest, you could see that we were supposed to think of Miss America as another American Idol or Dancing With The Stars. But someone forgot to tell the organizers of the state competitions, because by and large what they've put in front of us would be sneered off the stage by the likes of Cowell and Bruno. In the talent competition, there was only ONE contestant that was remotely 21st century. The others were ballet dancers (make that mediocre ballet dancers) opera singers, and a violinist, who wasn't bad but what do I know about violin playing?

I've been live Twittering the finals, so if you want to see my scoop, eyes right:

Blogging From My Bed....

Last night I couldn't fall asleep, I was so wired. My mind was a Tilt-a-Wheel, with Debate, Blog, BlogHer, and D, all careening madly around, crashing into each other. I finally gave up and came into my office. Maybe I could purge myself on line, I thought. It sort of worked, but really, I'm thinking I should get a cow. That way when I get up in the wee small hours, I can go milk her.

The clashes from the crashing Tilt-a-Wheel yielded the following sparks (with apologies to the late Marlene Marks, who used to keep my metaphors in line. But Marlene's gone so now there is no one to squelch my urge to, as she once put it, "put the bow on the box.")

1. The Debate: I Twittered it, and you can read my comments, such as they were, there. I've avoided reading any commentary today; isn't my own opinion enough, for god's sake! Which is:

• Hillary--looks good. She's witty, warm, strong, smart and there's no doubt she could conquer the world.
  
• Obama--eh! He is long on slogans and short on substance. I don't get what the fever about him is.
  
• Edwards-- I like him too, and he's got passion in the right places, but I think he's stronger on domestic, than foreign policy--and god knows we need a savior out there in the world.
• Biden--can't keep his foot out of his mouth. I'm sure the NRA guy appreciated being called nuts, which maybe he is, but still, Joe, not nice, not nice.
  
• Dodd--he comes across as mad, rather than impassioned, which I found somewhat threatening.
• Richardson--another one who comes across as mad
  
• Gravel--really furious, really scary
  
• Kucinich--I just want to bat this guy. He's like Howdy Doody--yap yap yap.
  
• Cooper, Youtube & the debate: loved it. Not just for the clever videos, but for the ones that put the metal to the pedal (is that right? or is it the other way around? and what does it mean, really?). I thought it really gave the candidates a chance to do more than sloganeer and some of them took it. Not Obama, though, Or Kucinich. I have loved (in the most filial way) Anderson Cooper since he was hosting The Mole. He is my kinda journalist: a human being reporting what he sees and feels and thinks.
  

2. The way I am getting through the whole D situation is by sticking my toe in Zen, meditation, sitting--whatever you want to call it. That I don't know what to call it speaks to my pre-newby state. I'm thinking about starting a new feature/regular post here to chart my entry into the world of mindfulness.

3. BlogHer ought to put me on as a Contributing Editor to write about life at the far end of the baby boom. They have superb coverage of most other aspects of any woman's life, but there's no one talking about those of us who are war babies. We're not Elders and we're not, even if we are, Mommy's. Our issues are unique, and I don't see anyone covering them. So Jory, Elisa and Lisa--how about it?

So Where Have I Been...?

You know where I've been, nowhere, that's where. Or rather, right here--but more specifically, on Twitter. If you want to know where I've been and what I'm doing, follow me at Twitter.

Twitter is my new best friend, my sole companion, my TV-watching and newspaper-reading buddy. Last night I saw the Tonys, by myself of course. But my bon mots were not lost on the world because I was able to Twitter them. If I had had to keep my opinions to myself, I would have been so sad. But I didn't, and I didn't. I commented on Marsha Mason's girnormous weight gain and the puerility of the Mary Poppins revival, among other things. That this satisfied me is testimony to the fact that what we human beings (and maybe dogs as well) need the most is to feel that we're being heard. And Twitter allows, nay enables that.

Here's another thing that Twitter does: it connects me to specific people in the world. Some I know; some I've only met through Twitter. But I know what they're doing. And how they're feeling. It's a connection that is meaningless, but incredibly valuable to me. And if that's an oxymoron, so be it.

New Badge

Not sure exactly what this Twitter thingie does, except that Toady Joe invited me, and I never turn down an invitation from a friend. Then I invited 150 of my closest friends....no, not that many. But going through my address list on Yahoo was sort of like an architectural dig: oh, there's that person I was friendly with about five years ago...who the fuck is that...my accountant...my old boss...dooce...my niece....a person I was friendly with about three years ago...someone I went to grade school with...my office mate from Lehigh...who the fuck is that.........

To those of you who did make the cut, if you would prefer to be in the 'who the fuck' category, let me know.