You are a manila envelope glued to a beige wall.

This line popped into my head when I was thinking about Boston Legal. Just kidding, there's nothing beige about James Spader. I could watch him in (almost?) anything.



Just started a new show last night at Alex's recommendation, Burn Notice. I was shocked to see it, too, was a product of the USA Network. I hope it doesn't go the route of The Starter Wife, which is to say, cancellation. To be fair, Burn Notice is much stronger.



It amused me that even though the show could hardly be more different from Miami Vice, it's nearly impossible to set the show in Miami without worrying about comparisons. Hopefully Alex doesn't mind me repeating her writing, because it's perfect: Miami Vice is a gritty downer in a pretty pastel dress; Burn Notice is optimism in a tailored suit with a g-string underneath.

So I eagerly await disc 2. It can be a little pat and you usually know how it's going to end, but that doesn't mean the ride isn't enjoyable.

I also started Australia. It really takes a moment to adjust to the world of Baz Lurhmann. I love Baz, but the drama is so MELODRAMATIC and the comedy almost slapstick, it can take a moment to submerge into the mood and not start to hate it.



But the drama and pace have been really on-target, and it's been an easy watch for its 2 hr 45 minute runtime. I was sort of questioning Nicole for a while, but I think she's mostly got it together. It's a hard role to get just right, in fairness.

Also, HOORAY FOR VERMONT!! And D.C. isn't doing too badly, either! Yeah!

Freddie’s dead

Type “twazmuppet” into Google.

Go about half way down the first page.

Say thank you, LC.

After the square dance, maybe we can all take a hay ride.

I'm still pretty giddy from Friday's news...I vacillate between "OMG!!!111!" and "Holy SHIT am I doing everything I need to with financial aid?"

My potential educators sent me a letter about needing more info, which I had to call and correct them on--you wouldn't believe the hoops one has to go through to prove that their parents are not paying for their education (how old am I, again??). They're rushing my award through the process so I know what to ask for in private loans (groan), which I am not supposed to seek yet. Whew. Just have that nervous feeling like I should be doing something, you know?

Also, I'm so glad I checked the mail on Friday before my email, as they had mistakenly sent me an email reminding me to make my deposit by a certain date. They caught the error, and sent me another email saying, "Whoops, just kidding, congrats on getting in and your deposit date is actually later, so no worries." Would have been a really anticlimatic way to find out, though! There's something nice about getting the Big Envelope in the mail rather than the skinny rejection letter.

And it looks like classes (well, orientation) starts August 12th! August is very far away, but you know what? It's SO TOTALLY NOT. Time to get BOXES! And I need to call the magnificent Sam, my realtor, to see about selling/renting my house. I know most people in this market opt for renting...and I have to admit I love the idea, since I love my house so much. All the work I've put into that yard!! You can't really tell, but you shoulda seen it in the beginning...that poor yard!

It's such a family neighborhood, especially with schools, I don't know if people would rather buy, to be honest...hey, I'll take it where I can get it!

Also, please do not watch Boston Legal. It's really bad. I'm 4 discs into a 6-disc season 1, and well, it blows. I love James Spader, truly, and any laughs are strictly due to his delivery, but it's just not worth it. At this point, it's very much like watching a train wreck and I feel compelled to see the season out.

Hey, hey LBW

Just finished Joseph O’Neill’s Netherland, which is about many things – marriage, masculinity, mid-life crises, migration – but above all about the barely visible subculture of cricket in New York. O’Neill describes it as a post-American novel: as the dust of 9/11 refuses to settle, a hodgepodge of immigrants indulge in a pastime that’s almost as alien to the American psyche as Marxism or not liking apple pie. (Although, as one character points out, cricket was played in New York in the 1770s, and the first international sporting events were cricket matches between the USA and Canada, in the 1840s.)

I think I’m reading it at exactly the right time. America may not yet have ceded the 21st century to China and India at the G20 summit, but Obama’s presence at the G20 summit struck a new tone of humility. Meanwhile, Afghanistan responds to its prolonged occupation not by opening McDonalds and Starbucks in Kabul, but by moving inexorably towards a place in the next Cricket World Cup.

Cricket becomes the signifier of not-Americanness; the next step will be America meekly submitting to its charms. And the conclusive sign that the American hegemony is over will be President Paris Hilton bowling the first googly of the 20/20 World Series.

Did you drink and dial?

This week I ate at two Italian restaurants in Fort Worth, Aventino's and The Italian Inn. In retrospect, I have a feeling this'll be some of the last eating out I do, since a desperate squirreling away of pennies seems to be in order. It's going to be hard not to eat out, not to mention that a scaling down of my Netfux subscription is undoubtedly in order, but I'll worry about that later. In the meantime, the restaurants...

The first one, Aventino's, was more fine dining. I had the pumpkin gnocchi, which was really tasty. Before ordering, the waitress actually asked if I wanted to relax with my wine and book. While I was reading, she brought out some English peas--compliments of the chef--with this powdered olive oil side I still can't explain despite asking about it a second time--damn was it good. It was Monday, so it was pretty quiet all around and I finished off two books I'd been reading.

And I loved Aventino's but I admit it, The Italian Inn was way more my place. It's a Fort Worth favorite I've been meaning to try for a while. The doors boast, "Home of the Singing Waiters!" and I always just sorta took that to mean birthday stuff. No. First of all, the minute you enter you have to go downstairs into a basement, and you're surrounded by graffiti from the get-go. Years of it. It's the new Flying Tomato! (For me, anyway.)

The booths have doors on them that even close (rowr!), and there is a raised piano on the main floor, where the waitstaff periodically get up and sing Beatles, Broadway, classics, whatever. I got off the phone when I heard my waitress singing All My Lovin, since that is the best Beatles song, full stop.

And hey, the food rocked, too! Always a plus. I was reading a book, but was easily distracted by the graffiti. There are notes under the booth tabletops, which are all glasstops. 98% are anniversary "I totally love you baby" type stuff, but there was a clear winner:

Dear Larry,

Did you ever think you'd see the day when I'd be here with your ex-wife and you'd be living under a fucking rock--where you belong, scumbag. Maybe next time you'll value what you have and life will hand you what you deserve--warts and herpes. In the meantime, we'll be in Europe drinking champagne, asshole.

Love,
Greg & V.

Easily my favorite.

And honestly, it's reasonably priced enough that perhaps I can go back a couple more times before August. The girls at work want to treat me to dinner next Friday, so I think I'm opting for this place!

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm starting to watch The Boy In the Striped Pajamas. Bet it's a laugh riot.

One big world full of no.

Just when you think it is, anyway, someone actually wants you.



I got accepted to law school!!! Omg, someone actually wants me!!

What's creepy is that I had a feeling today was the day. Also, I stopped off to rent Boston Legal on the way home to entertain myself while I finish painting the kitchen. Shoulda rented it a long time ago! Wow, and now I'll know what to expect from Boston law! ;)

Today I cannot wipe the giddy smile off my face. Tomorrow, I will begin shitting nervous poo for six months thinking about moving, money and house selling. And getting Bourdain up there.

La Chanson de Roland III (instrumental)

Sorry, all been a bit frantic this week, so I haven’t really had time to come up with a proper blog post. And you know what that means: