Best of 2007: Listmania!

Ah, 2007.

As the year draws to a close, I, a mere 10 minute drive from all the action in Times Square, sit here in my pajamas. I am fine with this. Partially because I have no desire to see Ryan Seacrest or Hannah Montana up close, but it also goes deeper than that.

You see, I have spent years making the trek uptown/downtown (depending upon where I was living at the time) to see the ball drop, and alternating between freezing my ass off and having it fondled by drunken tourists. (In their defense, Times Square tends to be pretty crowded on New Year’s Eve, so they might only have been trying to pickpocket me, not grab my bum outright.) Years spent flitting from party to party, and drunkenly searching in vain for a cab that will let you squeeze in 7 people, only to give up and take the subway on THE WORST POSSIBLE NIGHT OF THE YEAR TO TAKE A SUBWAY. (Two words: Public vomiting.) Years of pressure to go out and have a goodtimebecauseit’sNewYear’s! YOU’REINNEWYORKCITYANDYOUMUSTHAVEFUNATALLCOSTSOHMAHGAHHHH! Yes, even if it’s sleeting! And a man who is either an actual pimp or is just dressed like one keeps grinning at you and your friends and calling you his “Cherry Babies!” (I still don’t even know what that means, six years later. I mean, I have my theories, of course, but I don’t want to think about them.)

All of this to say that, honestly? New Year’s Eve isn’t my favorite night of the year. Which is why, when our plans fell through, we found ourselves perfectly content to stay home tonight. I still felt like I should make some concession to the day (er, night), and so, I present to you my very own “Big in ’07: Top Fives” list; some things I absolutely loved during the past year. (Note: They didn’t necessarily all come out within the past year; I just heard/read/saw them for the first time then.)

The Five Songs That Made My Year

I’d started to write individual assessments of each, but they were all pretty much the same: “Gorgeous music, clever lyrics, download it now…” you get the idea.

“The Funeral” – Band of Horses

“Intervention” – The Arcade Fire

“Fake Palindromes” – Andrew Bird

“Anyone Else But You – Michael Cera & Ellen Page (Juno soundtrack)

“Keepsake” – State Radio

(On a wholly different note, the award for “Song that made me want to kill myself, and then my husband, once I found out he liked it” goes to “Hey There Delilah.” GAH.)

Five Books I Read and Loved

Plenty: One Man, One Woman, and a Raucous Year of Eating Locally by Alisa Smith & J.B. Mackinnon -- The title is pretty self-explanatory, but all the same: I found it to be educational without being preachy, enlightening, honest and improbably entertaining.

A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini -- Do I even need to say anything? Beautiful book; I may be in the minority here, but I think it was even better than The Kite Runner.

Silver by Norma Fox Mazer -- Okay, so this was one of my favorites when I was in elementary school. I found it again in a box of old books of mine at my parents’ house, so I “rediscovered” it in 2007…hence its inclusion on this here list.

The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls -- I was on a bit of a memoir kick this year. I occasionally found myself getting truly annoyed with the behavior of some of the people in this riveting story. I was, however, impressed by just that: The author/protagonist’s ability to paint such real characters that they evoked a real reaction (Albeit a negative one) from me.

Extraordinary Origins of Everyday Things by Charles Panati -- I can’t believe I’ve never mentioned this before, but I’m a huge, huge trivia lover, and consequently, I’m a wealth of useless information. This book further fueled my bank of arcane data. Next stop: Jeopardy!

Five Movies I Adored

The critics do a far better job than me of explaining why these movies were great; I’ll just give it to you straight:

Juno

Across the Universe

Knocked Up

Superbad

The Departed (Or as we call it in the Metalia household, “The DePAHted.” Oh, Matt Damon. You can’t bust out with your “hahdcawr” Boston accent and expect me not to play along, now can you?)

My (Own) Favorite Pictures

Now, I fancy myself a photographer BY NO MEANS. These were just my five (okay, six) favorite moments I was lucky enough to have captured on film within the past year.

Thus concludes my “Big in ‘07” List. And with that…happy 2008! Hope the coming year is filled with great things for you all.

I'm Not Dead.

...I just have no concept of blogtime. (Has it really been 10 days? Oops.) I wanted to clear that up.

Moving on!

First of all, Merry Christmas, people! Though we don’t celebrate the holiday (being Jewish and all), I absolutely adore this time of year. I love the parties, the music, the seasonal ice cream flavors (Peppermint Stick! *drool*), and how the sparkling lights have a way of distracting you from the feculent* hobo scratching his junk just inches from your person.

Truly, there is nothing like Christmastime in the city.

Another solid benefit of the holiday is the vacation time. J and I had the opportunity to spend time with our families…and subsequently take full advantage of the free babysitting to see two movies I have been DYING to see: Walk Hard and Juno. Walk Hard was definitely entertaining, but...did you ever build up a movie so much in your mind that ultimately, it can never meet your expectations? That was sort of the situation here. It was funny, mind you, especially given my white-hot hatred of musician biopics (which? Hi, I wrote this a year ago. Where’s my money, Walk Hard screenwriters?); it just wasn’t gut-bustingly hilarious.

I had read/heard a lot less about Juno, on the other hand, which I feel was absolutely the best film of the year. It was perfect, and while I definitely laughed, I also may have cried, just a teeny bit. I don’t want to build up anyone ELSE’s expectations, so I’ll just say that you should go see it. Now.

Upon returning to my parents’ house after Juno to find our son fast asleep, we decided to follow suit. Only I couldn’t sleep. You see, J and I were sharing our room with an unwanted guest; I had gone to put some things away in the closet, and came face-to-face with this: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Ahem.

I have a sort-of phobia of creepy dolls coming to life, which can be directly attributed to seeing the movie Child’s Play at a young age, and subsequently being SCARRED FOR LIFE. I may or may not have spent my formative years habitually placing my American Girls Samantha doll on the top shelf of my closet every night and closing the door just in case she came to life and wanted to kill me in my sleep. You know, because potentially bloodthirsty possessed Victorian dolls can’t figure out how to open closet doors. (I don't know, it all made sense when I was 8.)

I thought I'd since gotten over this admittedly irrational fear, but COME ON. I had no idea that my parents’ guest room was harboring what is unquestionably the world’s creepiest doll. Look into its eyes! LOOK INTO ITS EYES! It wants your very SOUUULLLLLL!!! Aside from the fact that this thing is terror-inducing, it’s also confusing. I mean, what IS it?A girl? A mouse? Dennis Kucinich? I MUST KNOW. Additionally, I cannot for the life of me wrap my head around its outfit. Go on, scroll back up.

I'll wait. I'll sing to myself in the meantime.

"Life is a highwayyyyyy! I wanna ride it all night lonnnnnng..."

You're back? Good.

Finally, and perhaps scariest of all, I believe that at some point, the doll talked. I know this because it has one of those little battery boxes. Frightening to be sure, but will you please take a look at the back of the doll? I know it’s only the battery box and I’m still tempted to call a bomb squad. Now, I ask you: Is it my old fear talking, or is this in fact the creepiest doll ever?

_____________________________

* One of my all-time favorite SAT words.

TV Show Review I: Crowned (No, Really)

When I was watching the season finale of America’s Next Top Model last week (shut UP), I caught an extended commercial for a show called Crowned: The Mother of All Beauty Pageants. It appeared to be a show about a…mother/daughter beauty pageant in a standard reality contest format. I’m sure that ordinarily I would laugh, roll my eyes, and move on. My judgment, however, was already impaired by the unfailingly craptastic ANTM, and I apparently set up my DVR to record the show. I say “apparently” because I have NO RECOLLECTION OF DOING SO. Scary.

Searching for something to watch last night, I shuffled through our DVRed programs and happened upon the recorded episode of Crowned (which, again, I had completely forgotten even existed). “Oh, what the hell?” I said to myself. “Let’s give it a shot.”

Oh. Mah. Gahhhhh. You must watch this train wreck of a show.

Oh, what’s that you say? You’re too good for Crowned? You don't want to waste your time with what is possibly the crappiest reality show ever? I was once like you, you know. And I suppose I can’t force you to watch it. So in the event that you don’t heed my advice, I’ve taken the liberty of recapping it here.

So where to begin?

The show opens with the contestants arriving at their fabulous mansion, and doing the obligatory “oohing” and “ahhing” at the classiness of it all. (In point of fact, the overabundance of gold and marble looked cheesy and Trump-esque, but whatever.) Then it was time to mingle with fellow contestants. I’m sure many priceless conversations took place at this time, but personally, I couldn’t get past the unironic Princess Leia bun-wearing lady. You can’t really see it so well here, but this was the best shot I found after many hours minutes spent scouring the internet:

Seriously, this was all I could focus on. I’d be trying to listen to the women chatting, and then she’d pop into the frame, and I’d enter this trancelike state until she left. Believe me when I tell you that her hair wasn’t much better when she took it down. I believe the exact words of the judges were “Mom, think about your hair.” More on them later.

After meeting, greeting, and passive aggressively bitching each other out, the ladies all retired to their bedrooms.

Which contained bunk beds.

For girls and their MIDDLE-AGED MOTHERS.

The challenge for each mother/daughter team was to come up with a team name that represented who they were, as well as a “routine” to introduce themselves to the judges.

After hours of practice, dress selection, and environmental annihilation via the ninety bajillion cans of hairspray that the teams used to get ready, it was time to meet the judges. Let me just say, it’s a sad, sad day when Carson Kressley is the most insightful and entertaining person on the panel. To wit: he (very rightly) pointed out that one team looked like Amish hookers. Ha! He was joined by Shanna Moakler and “television personality” Cynthia Garrett. (Side note: Isn’t “television personality” basically a show’s not-so-subtle way of saying “no one knows who you are or what the hell you’re from?” Also, isn’t “television personality” the phrase that’s always used to describe Charles Nelson Reilly?)

The teams all introduced themselves to the judges. I’d be remiss if I failed to point out that the judges didn’t address the mothers and daughters by name when speaking to them, but rather as “mom” and “daughter”. Almost as if to say, “Despite stressing to you the imperative of conveying your individuality and personailty to us, we really couldn’t possibly care less, and to prove it, we won’t even bother to use your names. Suck it.”

The teams, by the way, were (for the most part) precisely as disastrous as you’d imagine, but two were particularly godawful: One mother/daughter team, named the “Redhead Bombshells,” opted to do an original poem for the judges to describe themselves…wherein the mother pointed to her skeletal daughter and said, “She loves to eat!” and the skeletal daughter pointed to her overly-face lifted mom and said, “Momma loves her hamburger meat!”

Um, oh my God?

Before I could recover, Team “Silent but Deadly” (yes, really) introduced themselves. As Shanna Moakler visibly bit her lip to keep from laughing, they explained that when they were selecting a name, they chose this one because they’re quiet, but powerful, or something to that effect. All I know is that they came up with a name, which (in the immortal words of an openly giggling Mr. Kressley), reminds everyone of “stinky, silent farts.” I am not making any of this up.

The denouement of any good mother/daughter reality show pageant competition is, of course, the desashing. I need to say it again, because, well…it’s awesome. THE DESASHING! Say it with me now! It’s fun!

A desashing (again! Wheee!) consists of the losing team getting their sashes cut off with an alarmingly large pair of bedazzled scissors. It’s all very dramatic. Especially when there were two teams left standing and the team that was described by Carson as Amish hookers was told to pick up the desashing (I can’t stop. Help.) scissors….AND CUT OFF THE SASHES OF THE OTHER REMAINING TEAM! I know. I know. Can you handle the excitement of it all?

Things took a turn for the hilarious when Team Amish Hos gasped, shook their heads in disbelief, and sobbed “We just can’t do it!”

Did I mention that all of this was unfolding to what I SWEAR was the music from Schindler’s List? Because it was.

(Encore presentation is Tuesday at 8 on the CW. Come on, people. If for no other reason, than so that I have someone with whom to discuss it.)

Hospitality

After spending a night in the hospital last week (more on that in a minute), I decided I needed to take a little blog break. I’d been enjoying it…or so I thought. This morning, however, I woke up and reflected upon my dream. In it, Emily and I were on a quest to find a face cream that Holly had told us to buy at some party we were all attending. It was in Canada for some reason, and so we naturally ran into Amanda at the face cream store. We knew she was there before we even saw her because we recognized her van out front.

Now, I’ve never before had a “blogger” dream. Clearly, I was in some sort of withdrawal, and this was my sign that it was time to get back in the game. Thank you, weird dream.

Anyway, I’m back. I spent last Monday night in the hospital due to an irregular heartbeat. I’m fine now, but you know what’s not at all fun? Waking up out of a peaceful sleep to find that your heart is alternating between normal beats, and what you suspect the heartbeat of [insert famed movie cokehead of your choice here. I’m going with Scarface.] might sound like. Needless to say, it freaked me out.

It was nearing midnight, but I called my doctor anyway, who informed me that I should get to the ER immediately. We called my mom to come over and keep an eye on Toopweets while we were gone. I must say, I’d never been more thankful that my parents live 20 minutes away than I was that night. I mean, it was nearly midnight. Who would we have left him with? And before you say our neighbors, you must remember that we live in an apartment building, and one inhabited by some deeply crazy people at that. Why, on our floor alone, we have:

-- Cranky Old Biddy Who Never Holds The Elevator Door Open For Anyone;

-- Potential Lady Of The Night (I’m still trying to figure her out.)

-- Chain Smoking Old Guy And His partner, Equally Heavily Smoking Closeted Gay Construction Worker Who Keeps Trying To Convince Us That He’s Just Visiting Chain Smoking Old Guy, Even Though They CLEARLY LIVE TOGETHER. (Hey, EHSCGCWWKTTCUTHJVCSOG! We don’t care! Not even a little bit! Stop over-enthusiastically telling us you’re “just stopping by” Chain Smoking Old Guy’s place for a visit every time we ride the elevator together! You have your own key, for crissakes; accept who you are!);

-- The Worst Neighbors Ever (They fight loudly, have raucous sex equally loudly, hammer random things on our shared wall at all hours of the night, and PLAY ELECTRIC GUITAR AT MIDNIGHT.);

Oh, and lest we forget…

-- Teenage Girl Hooligans. I think I've mentioned it before, but I am so scared of teenagers.

(Hmmm. Rereading this, I feel the need to point out that there are a few nice couples on the floor, and we do not actually live in a crackhouse, despite all appearances from the above paragraph.)

In any event, while we waited for my mom to come over, and I came up with a brilliant plan: Despite being clearly told by a qualified physician to, you know, go to the hospital, I decided to Google search my symptoms while we waited.

I can’t adequately express the stupidity of my actions.

I mean, there was something wonky going on with MY HEART. What did I think I was going to find? Websites saying “Freaky, sudden irregular heartbeats are just nature’s way of telling you that you’re going to win the lottery; go back to bed and dream of castles and private islands?” What I found was more along of the lines of “Your symptoms could be nothing, but you might also be dying. Like, right now. We’re not saying you will for sure, but…draw up a will, if you haven't already. And fast.”

Clearly, this did nothing to allay my heart palpitations. Dear Everyone in the World: Never look up any medical conditions via Google, ever. NEW RULE.

My mom arrived, and J and I made it to the hospital. Miracles of miracles, there was only one other person in the ER, so I was taken in pretty quickly.

Whereupon the fun began.

I was seen by a triage nurse who introduced herself as “Diva.” Before I could process the total awesomeness of her name, the smarmiest doctor in the universe walked in to check me out. His hair…oh my God, HIS HAIR. It was like Crispin Glover’s hair, if that makes any sense at all to anyone but me. Crispin Doctor started talking to me in this weird, intimate voice, asking me if I knew my normal heart rate. WTF? WHY WOULD ANYONE KNOW THAT? WHY??

Crispin Doctor ordered an EKG. Then more tests were run. It was determined that I was severely dehydrated, which was causing my heart to act crazy. Obviously, it was a huge relief, and they decided to rehydrate me there with an IV. I was placed on a saline drip, which, due to its drippy nature….can take a while. J and I had nothing but time, and we sat there in my little room, waiting for the IV bag to empty. As I had needles in my arms, I couldn't really do anything but lie there. After learning the signs of a chemical attack from a helpful but horrifying poster on the wall, boredom soon set in. SERIOUS boredom, by which I mean, I attempted to find songs to sing along to the rhythm of my loudly beeping heart monitor. It took a while, but “Shout” was a huge success:

You know you make me wanna BEEEEP!!!!
Kick my heels up and BEEEEP!!!!
Throw my hands up and BEEEEP!!!!
Throw my hands back and BEEEEP!!!

…and so forth. Just when (I imagine) J was contemplating hurling himself out the window to escape my musical stylings, we heard IT: The world’s best doctor/patient conversation ever, taking place directly outside my room:

Patient: [muffled]…so I still don’t feel good. My feet are still itching.
Doctor: You have to finish the cycle of medication. Then see how you feel.
P: I know. Really though...I think I might die.
D: So? I will die. You will die. Everyone will die one day.
P: But...
D: You need to find someone to listen to you so you’re not so tense. You need to get out. Go to parties. Fix your hair!
P: My hair?
D: YES. Also, dress better.

I know I should find this sad, and be offended by the breach of ethics that I even HEARD this conversation, but really. It was like America’s Next Top ER: “You have to work that tube of antifungal cream for the full seven day-cycle, but without losing your neck in the PHOto. Because I don’t see a MODel standing before me. You’re dressing like you don’t even WANT TO BE HERE. Don’t make me yell at you like I yelled at Tiffany that time.” The humor inherent in a medical professional telling a patient to dress better and fix his hair is too much for me. In any event, I was released shortly thereafter, and have been doing my best to remember to drink enough water. I'd like to avoid a repeat stint in what is apparently Tyra’s ER.