Just like the popular glossy magazines, I've compiled a "What's Hot and What's Not" list, based on recent trends in my life.
DeAnne Smith's December: Totally Hip & Totally Skip!
Totally Hip! A sleeping-bag-like winter coat
Totally Skip! The appearance of a normal, human-shaped body
Totally Hip! Long underwear
Totally Skip! Remaining sweat-free in the metro
Totally Hip! Mittens
Totally Skip! Use of hands
Totally Hip! Hooded sweatshirt
Totally Skip! That other hooded sweatshirt
Totally Hip! Eating anchovies on toast
Totally Skip! Getting within 3 feet of humans with a sense
of smell
Totally Hip! Playing the ukulele
Totally Skip! Feeling in the tips of my fingers
Totally Hip! Spending money on ukulele-related paraphernalia
Totally Skip! Paying rent on time
Totally Hip! Watching season 5 of The Sopranos on DVD
Totally Skip! Meeting writing deadlines
Totally Hip! Questioning own sense of humor
Totally Skip! Carefree and innocent love of laughter
Totally Hip! Late nights
Totally Skip! More than 1 1/2 hours of sunlight a day
Totally Hip! Making Christmas presents
Totally Skip! Like, money and its capitalist trappings, man!
Totally Hip! Constant unnecessary worry about if my hair looks weird or not
Totally Skip! Whatever the opposite of that would be (Because I have no idea!)
Totally Hip! Learning about the Christian Quiverfull movement
Totally Skip! Sleeping peacefully at night
And that's how December's breaking down in DeAnne land! Stay hip, kids!
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Monday, November 30, 2009
An Interview with DeAnne Smith
Talented Montreal-based stand up DeAnne Smith has many faces: comedian, comic, joke-teller. We caught up with the charming and quick-witted DeAnne Smith on this snowy Monday afternoon to find out just what makes this award-winning international comedian tick.
Q: Hey, so what's going on in the wacky world of DeAnne Smith?
A: I'm kind of busy right now.
Q: So, eating breakfast and wasting time on the internet is what DeAnne Smith calls busy!
A: I just wasn't ready for an--
Q: Sounds fantastic! What projects has DeAnne Smith got coming up?
A: Um...today? I don't know. I'm going to buy a tomato later this afternoon. I might get some laundry done.
Q: Wow! It's non-stop over there at the DeAnne Smith factory! Tell us, where do you find the DeAnnenergy?
A: The DeAnnenergy?
Q: Yes, DeAnnenergy! The energy that powers the awesomeness that is DeAnne Smith!
A: ...
Q: Where, DeAnne Smith, do you find it?!
A: I'm not sure I understand the question.
Q: Ha ha! Hilarious! Always a joker, DeAnne Smith!
A: ...
Q: Describe DeAnne Smith in 5 words or less.
A: Um, I...
Q: Quit it! You're killing me! But seriously, why do you think you're so amazing at comedy?
A: Um, that's very nice of you to say. I mean, amazing is a strong--
Q: Ha ha, I get it! DeAnne Smith won't give up the trade secrets that easily!
A: ...
Q: Do you think the fact that you're-- how can I say this?-- a "lady-loving-lady" has anything to do with how awesome you are at all things comedic?
A: I don't really think sexuality--
Q: So, DeAnne Smith is asexual! Breaking news here on the blog! Is it hard being asexual, DeAnne Smith? Are you afraid people will classify you as just another one of those amoebas or snails?
A: Are snails asexual?
Q: DeAnne Smith is an asexual snail! Sensational!
A: I really think snails--
Q: Some snails are self-fertile hermaphrodites! So, when can your fans expect your new DVD, "DeAnne Smith: Self-Fertile Hermaphroditic Snail," to hit stores?
A: I don't have--
Q: I see! Always keep them guessing! Hey, let's do one of the quick word associations you're so famous for!
A: I'm not--
Q: DeAnne!
A: Yes?
Q: That's the word to associate! Go! DeAnne!
A: Smith?
Q: Great! Stand!
A: Up?
Q: Correct! Self!
A: Serving?
Q: No! Wrong! Fertile! Self-fertile!
A: ...
Q: Many marine snails are free-spawners! Male and female snails shed their gametes into the seawater, and fertilization occurs in the water column!
A: ...
Q: Freshwater or terrestrial snails are almost always hermaphrodites! Individuals can mate with any other member of its species! Some hermaphrodites can even use their own sperm to fertilize their own eggs! That's what we in the business call a self-fertile hermaphroditic snail!
A: ...
Q: ...
A: Is hermaphroditic a word?
Q: Spell check seems to think so! Why doesn't DeAnne Smith trust spell check?
A: It just doesn't seem like a word.
Q: Does your innate distrust makes you a better comedian?
A: I don't have innate--
Q: So, you're saying that nothing about DeAnne Smith is innate! What's it like then, DeAnne Smith, being a construct, a fabrication? How do you live with yourself lying to your fans?
A: I don't lie to--
Q: Spectacular! DeAnne Smith is a faithless, deceitful, asexual mollusk! Why don't you believe in God, DeAnne Smith?
A: God?
Q: The supernatural creator and overseer of the universe! Also known as Yah-weh, Allah, and He-Man! The impossibly large, invisibly bearded man responsible for tuberculosis and your comedy career and Jesus!
A: He-Man?
Q: The one-liners just keep on a'comin' here with DeAnne Smith! Unfortunately, we're going to have to wrap this up, but before we go, let me ask you something. Does my hair look weird? Does it look weird right now?
A: ...
Q: DeAnne Smith, everybody! Outstanding!
Thursday, September 17, 2009
America's Next Top Model: Only Slightly Better Than Chewing Glass
On a rare night in, I decided to watch America's Next Top Model. This is exactly what happened.
7:57 p.m.
My girlfriend, HoneyButterMelt*, wrist-deep in salmon patty preparations, asks me to turn on the TV. A woman wearing very heavy eye shadow and a shirt that looks more like the idea of a tank top than an actual tank top cries and says she "loves people."
I am grateful that I have never seen an episode of So You Think You Can Dance Canada.
8:00 p.m.
America's Next Top Model begins. My excitement swiftly turns to mild disgust as a brief recap of last week's episode shows the models' childhood photos used as inspiration for creepy sexual pictures of them as adults. One of the models is in a clown costume, trying to look sexy. In an instant, everything I have ever thought about clowns, or sex, is not only challenged but metaphorically trampled upon. I fear my future enjoyment of both is severely compromised.
8:01 p.m.
Tyra struts and air-kisses her way through the intro music as we are introduced to the girls. Although I am immediately drawn to the bald Bianca, I keep this to myself, for fear that it makes me not only predictable but super gay.
still 8:01 p.m.
Commercials. Apparently, Aaron Eckhart and Jennifer Aniston are starring in an upcoming movie, along with that horribly grating "You Found Me" song. I try to imagine a pairing even more bland (Kevin Costner and Jennifer Love Hewitt? White rice and Pete Wentz? Saltines and Ben Affleck?) and find that I can not.
8:04 p.m.
A commercial announcer asks, "Do you think you have what it takes to get into the Coors Light Mystery Mansion?" I have to admit that if what it takes involves a desire to unravel the "mystery," the ability to stomach Coors Light, or an interest in actually getting into the Coors Light Mystery Mansion, I do not.
8:05 p.m.
ANTM is back.
I am introduced to Rachel, former Walmart cashier. It takes me a few seconds to decide, of all the bright-eyed woodland creatures she reminds me of, that she looks most like a fawn. The criteria are 1.), They have similar spacing of the eyes and 2.) They both look similarly incapable of succeeding at Boggle.
Forget bald Bianca. The Fawn is my favorite and the one I am rooting for.
The girls screech and run toward some kind of vault. The name "Tyra" is intoned. I have no idea what just happened.
8:06 p.m.
The girls meet with modeling agency bigwigs.
A girl with a severe limp attempts to catwalk.
One of the men inquires, "How much pain are you in doing that?" Limpy responds, "A lot."
8:08 p.m.
A girl who has a lazy eye walks into the room and is berated for having a lazy eye. She leaves.
The Fawn appears. She is asked to sing. Her mind goes blank, although this is difficult to tell, as her eyes remain precisely as big and shiny and vacant as they were before. "In this industry, you've got to be able to perform on the spot!" one man chirps, before sending her away.
The next girl walks in. "Five three?!" one of the men exclaims. "You are really pushing the boundaries." He says this spitefully, as if her height is a personal insult to him, as if the numbers 5 and 3 have recently tried to sell him a sub-par Caramel Macchiato and he holds her responsible.
8:10 p.m.
Bianca is on screen, briefly. The edits are made so quickly that I am starting to feel at risk of an epileptic seizure. I almost have a chance to form a thought about the fact that TV is not made for anyone with a reasonably healthy attention span, when it is announced that they are going to kick someone off the show. Right now.
The girls' hands fly up to cover their gaping mouths almost in unison. "This is real," one of the men says. He says this with rehearsed conviction.
8:11 p.m.
Commercials. I am called to the kitchen to help HoneyButterMelt.
I express my concern that I haven't yet seen the crazy Jesus-loving girl I heard so much about from last week's episode. HoneyButterMelt tells me that the crazy Jesus-loving girl is gone. Although I try not to be, I am visibly disappointed.
"There's another one that's kinda bonkers," HoneyButterMelt says, by way of consolation.
I decide the only way to get through the show is to wholeheartedly and 100% support The Fawn.
8:15 p.m.
One of the girls (it may have been The Fawn) explains how shocking this experience is. "I think I just like...everything just kinda like...what."
The Fawn is told to go home.
"I was expecting someone to pop out and go, 'Just kidding!'" She says, tearily adding, "Opportunities like this don't really come for girls like me." I picture her returning to Walmart, slipping on a blue vest, and resigning herself to a life of minimum wage and Big Grab bags of Lay's BBQ chips.
One of the men says, "The fact of the matter is this is a very harsh industry and we want to represent someone who has some kind of personality there."
I hate the men, and this show.
8:16 p.m.
The girls begin trash-talking The Fawn. The girl with the lazy eye is relieved The Fawn is gone. "Yeah I have this issue with my eye but I feel really, really good."
I decide that Lazy Eye is my least favorite. I hope she loses.
There is more screeching and running toward the vault.
A photographer named Jean-Michel appears, and screams at the girls. He claims he would rather "chew glass" than photograph them.
I wonder if Jean-Michel can imagine what chewing glass would actually be like.
Tyra bounds in dressed as a classic "nerd" and begins modeling while Jean-Michel yells at her. She takes her glasses off, flips her trench coat inside out and transforms into some kind of modeling super hero. She and Jean-Michel have a back and forth in what has got to be the most awkward role play I have ever seen.
I decide I would rather chew glass than watch Tyra Banks "act." I imagine what chewing glass would actually be like, and stick by my decision.
Super Tyra poses, while referencing the "smize." It becomes clear that "to smize" is to smile with one's eyes.
Tyra addresses the girls as the superhero Super Smize, and gets them to work on their posture. She asks them to think of something nice. "It could be a hot fudge sundae," she says. "It could be your boyfriend" (pause) "kissing your" (pause) "...neck."
I scan the room for glass.
8:19 p.m.
Tyra instructs one of the girls to "Give me the sound that the cat makes but continue smiling with your eyes. Now do it inside of your head." I consider the possibility that Tyra may be a Dadaist genius.
I look at HoneyButterMelt, who is now seated next to me on the couch. She is attempting to smize.
8:20 p.m.
One of the girls reveals that her secret to smizing is thinking about pizza. "Turkey pepperoni or real pork swine?" Tyra asks.
While I am struggling to understand the string of disconnected nouns that stream from Tyra Banks's mouth, HoneyButterMelt asks, "Can I smize?" She squints and purses her lips. She looks as if she has just eaten a lemon. I don't say this. Instead, I say, "Yes." HoneyButterMelt smiles.
8:21 p.m.
The girls are in weird, fencing-like body suits that leave only their eyes visible. They are going to have a smize off.
"You know who would have been excellent at smizing? The Fawn!" As I'm saying this, I realize I don't actually believe it.
I consider chewing glass as self-inflicted punishment for actually using the word "smize" aloud, in a sentence.
8:22 p.m.
Tyra reminds the girls that "Smiling with your eyes is not just squinting." I feel superior, having already figured this out.
Bianca beats Lazy Eye in the smize off. Big surprise.
8:23 p.m.
I remember that salmon patties are on their way. I am getting hungry.
8:25 p.m.
Bianca is in a black bikini standing over a dishwasher arguing with the girls about whether the dishes are clean or not. Her bald head looks less sexy than menacing. I don't like her.
8:26 p.m.
Commercials. I steal a small potato from the pot of potatoes HoneyButterMelt is mashing on the stove. I eat it over the sink, pretending I'm a poor Irishman from the late 1800s and this is all I have for dinner. In keeping with the fantasy, I think, "That was a right gud wee puh-tay-toe." Even in my head, I can't do a proper Irish accent. I head back to the couch feeling slightly defeated, but less hungry.
8:29 p.m.
The girls go to Santa Anita park, where they meet a man who looks like a photo negative of a regular human. He tries, unsuccessfully, to inject enthusiasm into his voice as he explains that for the next task, "You'll be up on the horse...nude."
The girls cheer and jump.
"You're going to take everything you learned from Supersmize and show us that you truly know how to smile with your eyes," he says.
A topless girl in a long, blond wig gets on top of a horse, elbows a jockey in the back, and smizes.
8:32 p.m.
Lazy Eye approaches.
"You look drunk," the photographer tells her.
"I have a condition of the eye," she replies.
Her horse freaks out.
8:33 p.m.
Photo Negative says of a model, "She gave me Italian Vogue...literally." I am certain he doesn't know what literally means.
8:34 p.m.
The word "smize" is spoken upwards of fifteen times.
Laura comes out and says in a southern accent, "I just like nudity."
She is my new favorite.
8:36 p.m.
Limpy is forced to wear a soft cast boot during the photo shoot. She is angry. It shows.
Photo Negative yells, "Smize! Don't forget!"
8:37 p.m.
Back in the house, there is a confrontation between Limpy and one of the girls. Someone in the room sings out "Awk-ward!"
8:38 p.m.
Commercials. HoneyButterMelt calls from the kitchen. "Sorry dinner is so late. I wish I was there eating and bitching with you!" I am happy to be in a solid relationship, one built on food and mutual judgment.
I stare at the commercials which, honestly, I barely understand. Someone asks me to, "Imagine the strength and flexibility of bamboo in a hairspray." I can not. I wonder if I really am out of touch with the rest of humanity, or if everyone feels this way while watching TV.
As if in answer to my question, a commercial for Dane Cook's upcoming concert at the Bell Center comes on. I decide I am out of touch with humanity.
8:41 p.m.
It is announced that the girl who wins this challenge will get a modeling contract with the bitchy men we saw earlier. I think how handy it is for them that this whole episode has been a commercial for their agency.
8:43 p.m.
The girls' horse pictures are judged by the panel, which includes Lauren Conrad (of whom I am only vaguely aware) and a black man with womanly lips, and sleeves that look as if they are eating his shoulders.
He critiques one of the photos by neighing like a horse, and then saying that the photo is lacking the particular horse noise that he just made.
8:44 p.m.
Lauren Conrad says of Lazy Eye's photo, "Your eyes almost look uneven."
"No, I have uneven eyes," she answers.
I wonder why she is even in the competition, but I start to admire her perseverance.
I ask HoneyButterMelt how to spell "perseverance." We sound it out.
"Oh! Not per-ser-ver-ance," I say, "but per-se-ver-ance."
"Gets you every time," HoneyButterMelt says.
"Actually, that's the first time it ever got me," I reply defensively.
I wonder if this onset of spelling difficulty is karmic payback for me making a wordnerd crack about Boggle earlier.
8:45 p.m.
Tyra tells Bianca that there is too much tension in her mouth. "Your mouth looks like 'Who farted?'"
Everyone agrees that Laura's photo is great. I am happy my new favorite is doing well.
8:46 p.m.
"Because it's so strange, it's not hooch," Puffy Sleeves says. I have no idea what he's referring to or what this means.
8:47 p.m.
The concept of "a melancholy smize" is introduced.
8:48 p.m.
Commercials. I wonder if we find out right away who will be eliminated, or if we get to see the worst three girls humiliated first.
I hear HoneyButterMelt banging spoons in the kitchen. I'm starving.
I search Craigslist Montreal's furniture section for a floor lamp.
8:52 p.m.
The judges deliberate. "She's not smizing." "She is giving us an angry smize." "She can smize."
Tyra literally (literally, Photo Negative) smizes a guy right out of his chair.
8:54 p.m.
A steaming plate of salmon patties, mashed potatoes with mushroom gravy, and arugula salad is placed before me. I have the best girlfriend in the universe. I am smug.
Tyra hands photos to the girls. I am pretty sure this means they continue to the next round.
8:56 p.m.
Bianca and Limpy clasp hands and step forward to dramatic music.
The problem is, as Tyra sees it, that Bianca complains and Limpy gave up on her shoot. Desperate for meaning, I decide to make this the show's moral. Be cheerful. Don't give up. Smize though your heart is aching.
Suddenly, Bianca wins.
"But Bianca looked like a man!" I protest. I am surprised, in the wake of The Fawn's demise, that I have any feelings at all about the outcome of the show.
"Who's going home?" HoneyButterMelt asks. "The limpy or the bald one?"
"Limpy," I answer. The girls cry.
A picture of all the girls dressed in rope flashes on the screen.
The preview reel for next week's episode shows a child strutting like a diva, and an altercation over Bianca's eyebrows.
Commercials. The show is over. I would feel empty inside, but for my salmon patties.
*not her real name
7:57 p.m.
My girlfriend, HoneyButterMelt*, wrist-deep in salmon patty preparations, asks me to turn on the TV. A woman wearing very heavy eye shadow and a shirt that looks more like the idea of a tank top than an actual tank top cries and says she "loves people."
I am grateful that I have never seen an episode of So You Think You Can Dance Canada.
8:00 p.m.
America's Next Top Model begins. My excitement swiftly turns to mild disgust as a brief recap of last week's episode shows the models' childhood photos used as inspiration for creepy sexual pictures of them as adults. One of the models is in a clown costume, trying to look sexy. In an instant, everything I have ever thought about clowns, or sex, is not only challenged but metaphorically trampled upon. I fear my future enjoyment of both is severely compromised.
8:01 p.m.
Tyra struts and air-kisses her way through the intro music as we are introduced to the girls. Although I am immediately drawn to the bald Bianca, I keep this to myself, for fear that it makes me not only predictable but super gay.
still 8:01 p.m.
Commercials. Apparently, Aaron Eckhart and Jennifer Aniston are starring in an upcoming movie, along with that horribly grating "You Found Me" song. I try to imagine a pairing even more bland (Kevin Costner and Jennifer Love Hewitt? White rice and Pete Wentz? Saltines and Ben Affleck?) and find that I can not.
8:04 p.m.
A commercial announcer asks, "Do you think you have what it takes to get into the Coors Light Mystery Mansion?" I have to admit that if what it takes involves a desire to unravel the "mystery," the ability to stomach Coors Light, or an interest in actually getting into the Coors Light Mystery Mansion, I do not.
8:05 p.m.
ANTM is back.
I am introduced to Rachel, former Walmart cashier. It takes me a few seconds to decide, of all the bright-eyed woodland creatures she reminds me of, that she looks most like a fawn. The criteria are 1.), They have similar spacing of the eyes and 2.) They both look similarly incapable of succeeding at Boggle.
Forget bald Bianca. The Fawn is my favorite and the one I am rooting for.
The girls screech and run toward some kind of vault. The name "Tyra" is intoned. I have no idea what just happened.
8:06 p.m.
The girls meet with modeling agency bigwigs.
A girl with a severe limp attempts to catwalk.
One of the men inquires, "How much pain are you in doing that?" Limpy responds, "A lot."
8:08 p.m.
A girl who has a lazy eye walks into the room and is berated for having a lazy eye. She leaves.
The Fawn appears. She is asked to sing. Her mind goes blank, although this is difficult to tell, as her eyes remain precisely as big and shiny and vacant as they were before. "In this industry, you've got to be able to perform on the spot!" one man chirps, before sending her away.
The next girl walks in. "Five three?!" one of the men exclaims. "You are really pushing the boundaries." He says this spitefully, as if her height is a personal insult to him, as if the numbers 5 and 3 have recently tried to sell him a sub-par Caramel Macchiato and he holds her responsible.
8:10 p.m.
Bianca is on screen, briefly. The edits are made so quickly that I am starting to feel at risk of an epileptic seizure. I almost have a chance to form a thought about the fact that TV is not made for anyone with a reasonably healthy attention span, when it is announced that they are going to kick someone off the show. Right now.
The girls' hands fly up to cover their gaping mouths almost in unison. "This is real," one of the men says. He says this with rehearsed conviction.
8:11 p.m.
Commercials. I am called to the kitchen to help HoneyButterMelt.
I express my concern that I haven't yet seen the crazy Jesus-loving girl I heard so much about from last week's episode. HoneyButterMelt tells me that the crazy Jesus-loving girl is gone. Although I try not to be, I am visibly disappointed.
"There's another one that's kinda bonkers," HoneyButterMelt says, by way of consolation.
I decide the only way to get through the show is to wholeheartedly and 100% support The Fawn.
8:15 p.m.
One of the girls (it may have been The Fawn) explains how shocking this experience is. "I think I just like...everything just kinda like...what."
The Fawn is told to go home.
"I was expecting someone to pop out and go, 'Just kidding!'" She says, tearily adding, "Opportunities like this don't really come for girls like me." I picture her returning to Walmart, slipping on a blue vest, and resigning herself to a life of minimum wage and Big Grab bags of Lay's BBQ chips.
One of the men says, "The fact of the matter is this is a very harsh industry and we want to represent someone who has some kind of personality there."
I hate the men, and this show.
8:16 p.m.
The girls begin trash-talking The Fawn. The girl with the lazy eye is relieved The Fawn is gone. "Yeah I have this issue with my eye but I feel really, really good."
I decide that Lazy Eye is my least favorite. I hope she loses.
There is more screeching and running toward the vault.
A photographer named Jean-Michel appears, and screams at the girls. He claims he would rather "chew glass" than photograph them.
I wonder if Jean-Michel can imagine what chewing glass would actually be like.
Tyra bounds in dressed as a classic "nerd" and begins modeling while Jean-Michel yells at her. She takes her glasses off, flips her trench coat inside out and transforms into some kind of modeling super hero. She and Jean-Michel have a back and forth in what has got to be the most awkward role play I have ever seen.
I decide I would rather chew glass than watch Tyra Banks "act." I imagine what chewing glass would actually be like, and stick by my decision.
Super Tyra poses, while referencing the "smize." It becomes clear that "to smize" is to smile with one's eyes.
Tyra addresses the girls as the superhero Super Smize, and gets them to work on their posture. She asks them to think of something nice. "It could be a hot fudge sundae," she says. "It could be your boyfriend" (pause) "kissing your" (pause) "...neck."
I scan the room for glass.
8:19 p.m.
Tyra instructs one of the girls to "Give me the sound that the cat makes but continue smiling with your eyes. Now do it inside of your head." I consider the possibility that Tyra may be a Dadaist genius.
I look at HoneyButterMelt, who is now seated next to me on the couch. She is attempting to smize.
8:20 p.m.
One of the girls reveals that her secret to smizing is thinking about pizza. "Turkey pepperoni or real pork swine?" Tyra asks.
While I am struggling to understand the string of disconnected nouns that stream from Tyra Banks's mouth, HoneyButterMelt asks, "Can I smize?" She squints and purses her lips. She looks as if she has just eaten a lemon. I don't say this. Instead, I say, "Yes." HoneyButterMelt smiles.
8:21 p.m.
The girls are in weird, fencing-like body suits that leave only their eyes visible. They are going to have a smize off.
"You know who would have been excellent at smizing? The Fawn!" As I'm saying this, I realize I don't actually believe it.
I consider chewing glass as self-inflicted punishment for actually using the word "smize" aloud, in a sentence.
8:22 p.m.
Tyra reminds the girls that "Smiling with your eyes is not just squinting." I feel superior, having already figured this out.
Bianca beats Lazy Eye in the smize off. Big surprise.
8:23 p.m.
I remember that salmon patties are on their way. I am getting hungry.
8:25 p.m.
Bianca is in a black bikini standing over a dishwasher arguing with the girls about whether the dishes are clean or not. Her bald head looks less sexy than menacing. I don't like her.
8:26 p.m.
Commercials. I steal a small potato from the pot of potatoes HoneyButterMelt is mashing on the stove. I eat it over the sink, pretending I'm a poor Irishman from the late 1800s and this is all I have for dinner. In keeping with the fantasy, I think, "That was a right gud wee puh-tay-toe." Even in my head, I can't do a proper Irish accent. I head back to the couch feeling slightly defeated, but less hungry.
8:29 p.m.
The girls go to Santa Anita park, where they meet a man who looks like a photo negative of a regular human. He tries, unsuccessfully, to inject enthusiasm into his voice as he explains that for the next task, "You'll be up on the horse...nude."
The girls cheer and jump.
"You're going to take everything you learned from Supersmize and show us that you truly know how to smile with your eyes," he says.
A topless girl in a long, blond wig gets on top of a horse, elbows a jockey in the back, and smizes.
8:32 p.m.
Lazy Eye approaches.
"You look drunk," the photographer tells her.
"I have a condition of the eye," she replies.
Her horse freaks out.
8:33 p.m.
Photo Negative says of a model, "She gave me Italian Vogue...literally." I am certain he doesn't know what literally means.
8:34 p.m.
The word "smize" is spoken upwards of fifteen times.
Laura comes out and says in a southern accent, "I just like nudity."
She is my new favorite.
8:36 p.m.
Limpy is forced to wear a soft cast boot during the photo shoot. She is angry. It shows.
Photo Negative yells, "Smize! Don't forget!"
8:37 p.m.
Back in the house, there is a confrontation between Limpy and one of the girls. Someone in the room sings out "Awk-ward!"
8:38 p.m.
Commercials. HoneyButterMelt calls from the kitchen. "Sorry dinner is so late. I wish I was there eating and bitching with you!" I am happy to be in a solid relationship, one built on food and mutual judgment.
I stare at the commercials which, honestly, I barely understand. Someone asks me to, "Imagine the strength and flexibility of bamboo in a hairspray." I can not. I wonder if I really am out of touch with the rest of humanity, or if everyone feels this way while watching TV.
As if in answer to my question, a commercial for Dane Cook's upcoming concert at the Bell Center comes on. I decide I am out of touch with humanity.
8:41 p.m.
It is announced that the girl who wins this challenge will get a modeling contract with the bitchy men we saw earlier. I think how handy it is for them that this whole episode has been a commercial for their agency.
8:43 p.m.
The girls' horse pictures are judged by the panel, which includes Lauren Conrad (of whom I am only vaguely aware) and a black man with womanly lips, and sleeves that look as if they are eating his shoulders.
He critiques one of the photos by neighing like a horse, and then saying that the photo is lacking the particular horse noise that he just made.
8:44 p.m.
Lauren Conrad says of Lazy Eye's photo, "Your eyes almost look uneven."
"No, I have uneven eyes," she answers.
I wonder why she is even in the competition, but I start to admire her perseverance.
I ask HoneyButterMelt how to spell "perseverance." We sound it out.
"Oh! Not per-ser-ver-ance," I say, "but per-se-ver-ance."
"Gets you every time," HoneyButterMelt says.
"Actually, that's the first time it ever got me," I reply defensively.
I wonder if this onset of spelling difficulty is karmic payback for me making a wordnerd crack about Boggle earlier.
8:45 p.m.
Tyra tells Bianca that there is too much tension in her mouth. "Your mouth looks like 'Who farted?'"
Everyone agrees that Laura's photo is great. I am happy my new favorite is doing well.
8:46 p.m.
"Because it's so strange, it's not hooch," Puffy Sleeves says. I have no idea what he's referring to or what this means.
8:47 p.m.
The concept of "a melancholy smize" is introduced.
8:48 p.m.
Commercials. I wonder if we find out right away who will be eliminated, or if we get to see the worst three girls humiliated first.
I hear HoneyButterMelt banging spoons in the kitchen. I'm starving.
I search Craigslist Montreal's furniture section for a floor lamp.
8:52 p.m.
The judges deliberate. "She's not smizing." "She is giving us an angry smize." "She can smize."
Tyra literally (literally, Photo Negative) smizes a guy right out of his chair.
8:54 p.m.
A steaming plate of salmon patties, mashed potatoes with mushroom gravy, and arugula salad is placed before me. I have the best girlfriend in the universe. I am smug.
Tyra hands photos to the girls. I am pretty sure this means they continue to the next round.
8:56 p.m.
Bianca and Limpy clasp hands and step forward to dramatic music.
The problem is, as Tyra sees it, that Bianca complains and Limpy gave up on her shoot. Desperate for meaning, I decide to make this the show's moral. Be cheerful. Don't give up. Smize though your heart is aching.
Suddenly, Bianca wins.
"But Bianca looked like a man!" I protest. I am surprised, in the wake of The Fawn's demise, that I have any feelings at all about the outcome of the show.
"Who's going home?" HoneyButterMelt asks. "The limpy or the bald one?"
"Limpy," I answer. The girls cry.
A picture of all the girls dressed in rope flashes on the screen.
The preview reel for next week's episode shows a child strutting like a diva, and an altercation over Bianca's eyebrows.
Commercials. The show is over. I would feel empty inside, but for my salmon patties.
*not her real name
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
Punky Brewster or, Refrigerators Can Kill You!
DISCLAIMER: I will, in this blog about Soleil Moon Frye, known best for her portrayal of TV's young and plucky Punky Brewster, refrain from mentioning gigantomastia (extreme growth of the breasts). If, my friends, you're looking for cheap jokes about gigantomastia (bilateral benign progressive breast enlargement), look elsewhere. If you'd like to see images of gigantomastia (I recommend it), you have come to the wrong blog. Even if you'd simply like a medical definition of gigantomastia (seriously, it's like EXTREME growth), this blog will be naught but a disappointment to you. While easily exploited for both humor and shock value, gigantomastia (the largest recorded weight per breast was 67 lbs!) will not be mentioned even once in this blog. If gigantomastia (Google it) is what you're after, I suggest you move along. Thank you.
Here we go.
Soleil Moon Frye ranks up there with Nancy Reagan and Garbage Pail Kids as oddities from the '80s I have not thought of in a very, very long time. She came back into my life and consciousness much the same way the depressing theatrical works of Sarah Kane or the benefits of omega-rich flax seed oil or use of the word "perv" as a verb ("I was totally perving on that girl") came into my life: thanks to my girlfriend.
My girlfriend, who hereafter will be referred to as HoneyButterMelt,* has recently developed a weakness for celebrity Twittering. (Is that even the correct way to say that? Celebrity tweeting? Celebritweet? Mind-numbingly boring psuedo-newsfeeds?) In any case, it was a short-lived hobby of HoneyButterMelt's, but a relatively intense one. In the time she was into it, HoneyButterMelt learned everything there is to know about Lindsay Lohan and Samantha Ronson (either a lot more or a lot less than you would imagine, depending on whether you have your own life), which led to her Nicole Richie's page, which led her to Sara Gilbert's page, which led her to Soleil Moon Frye. (Really, I'm not going to mention gigantomastia, so quit waiting for it.)
Soleil Moon Frye, it turns out, has gone from this:
To this:
Back to this:
Horrifying, isn't it? But not nearly as horrifying as the video I will link you to at the end of this blog (and no, it's not a video about gigantomastia).
Apparently, the only thing of consequence Soleil Moon Frye has really done in her life is portray TV's young and plucky Punky Brewster. Punky Brewster was great, but unless I'm drunk on tequila in a seedy strip club in Chicago, I really do not want to see a 33-year-old woman dressed up as her, flashing me a thumbs up. Excuse me while I shudder.
I got to thinking about the show, and I'm disturbed by how many details I remember. The main set up, as I recall, was that Punky Brewster (having been left in a shopping center by her mom) was a resourceful and courageous orphan who, along with her faithful dog Brandon, befriended Henry and taught the old codger to love again. I credit the show Punky Brewster with teaching me three important lessons I've carried in my heart throughout my life. 1. Quick wit and determination can get a girl out of a jam. 2. Friendship is the most valuable thing in life. and 3. MY MOM COULD ABANDON ME IN A SHOPPING CENTER.
Way to shatter my innocence, Punky Brewster. That little backstory detail, mentioned perhaps once in the first episode, stuck with me like the bittersweet memory of Samantha Ronson's loving touch sticks with Lindsay Lohan (which is to say, deeply). If Punky Brewster's mom could leave her in a store, my mom could leave me in a store. Why the heck wouldn't she? I was cute, sure, but not nearly as freckled or adorable or full of pep as Punky Brewster. Compared to the awesome Punky Brewster, I was totally expendable. Thanks to that show, my mom never had to tell me twice that we were leaving a store. I would be up and away from the Cabbage Patch doll display faster than Samantha Ronson can delete Lindsay Lohan's increasingly desperate tweet-attempts to win back her heart (which is to say, as hastily as possible).
A friend, who hereafter will be referred to as Diane Smithers**, suggested that as far as backstories go, the whole mom-leaving-you-in-a-shopping-center thing wasn't a horrible one. Diane Smithers said that the show's writers probably thought it was better than other possible explanations for why a kid would be orphaned. Imagine the brainstorming session: "How about Punky's mom is a crystal meth addict? Maybe her parents died in a fire? Her dad killed her mom and is now in jail? What if Punky's Chinese and her country has a one-child policy and seeing that her culture traditionally values sons over daughters, her parents felt the social pressure to produce a boy and abandoned her on a rocky hillside?" "...Or, maybe, her mom just left her in a shopping center?" "Yeah, that's good."
The other notable thing about Punky Brewster was that all the episodes had a message. Does anyone remember when the kids were playing hide-and-seek outside and one of them decided to hop into an abandoned refrigerator? Holy Macanole, that kid almost died! Inside a refrigerator! Unlike Lindsay Lohan getting the message when Samantha Ronson does not reply to her exclamation-point-heavy tweets (which is to say, not at all), I got the refrigerators-are-death-traps message loud and clear. Thereafter I eyed our refrigerator at home knowingly, with suspicion and contempt. You won't kill me, chilled place where we keep our produce!
Remember the episode where the illiterate girl who lied about being able to read had to face her ignorance when her little brother drank some cleaning solution and she couldn't read the poison control instructions on the back of the bottle? Or when all the picked-on kids ganged up against the school bully, Moose? I'm telling you, Punky always had a message. "Refrigerators will kill you. Punky Power!" "Don't lie about if you can read. Punky Power!" "Try not to drink stuff under the sink. Punky Power!" "Don't be a jerk to other kids. Punky Power!"
I'm tempted to go on, both about Punky Brewster (really, the amount of trivia I've retained about that show is troubling; I could write a thesis on the bleak theme song alone***) and the sad and shattered lovelorn LiLo, but I'll get to Soleil Moon Frye's video (which is definitely not about gigantomastia). Be warned, it is extremely disturbing. But be heartened, it is also extremely affirming. It will probably make you feel really, really good about the choices you've made in your life, seeing as those choices-- whatever they were-- did not lead you to make the following video. Enjoy. HoneyButterMelt, this video is for you.
*Not her real name, but a psuedonym designed to protect Sarah's anonymity.
**Not her real name, but a psuedonym designed to protect my ego and reputation from the fact that the "friend" I was talking to was me.
***"Maybe the world is blind (do do do do do do), or just a little unkind, Don't know...Seems you can't be sure (do do do do do do), of anything anymore...Oh no..." Those are the opening lines to a kids' show!
Well, they can't say they didn't prep us for a world in which moms shuck off their kids in shopping centers and refrigerators stalk and murder 8-year-olds.
Here we go.
Soleil Moon Frye ranks up there with Nancy Reagan and Garbage Pail Kids as oddities from the '80s I have not thought of in a very, very long time. She came back into my life and consciousness much the same way the depressing theatrical works of Sarah Kane or the benefits of omega-rich flax seed oil or use of the word "perv" as a verb ("I was totally perving on that girl") came into my life: thanks to my girlfriend.
My girlfriend, who hereafter will be referred to as HoneyButterMelt,* has recently developed a weakness for celebrity Twittering. (Is that even the correct way to say that? Celebrity tweeting? Celebritweet? Mind-numbingly boring psuedo-newsfeeds?) In any case, it was a short-lived hobby of HoneyButterMelt's, but a relatively intense one. In the time she was into it, HoneyButterMelt learned everything there is to know about Lindsay Lohan and Samantha Ronson (either a lot more or a lot less than you would imagine, depending on whether you have your own life), which led to her Nicole Richie's page, which led her to Sara Gilbert's page, which led her to Soleil Moon Frye. (Really, I'm not going to mention gigantomastia, so quit waiting for it.)
Soleil Moon Frye, it turns out, has gone from this:
To this:
Back to this:
Horrifying, isn't it? But not nearly as horrifying as the video I will link you to at the end of this blog (and no, it's not a video about gigantomastia).
Apparently, the only thing of consequence Soleil Moon Frye has really done in her life is portray TV's young and plucky Punky Brewster. Punky Brewster was great, but unless I'm drunk on tequila in a seedy strip club in Chicago, I really do not want to see a 33-year-old woman dressed up as her, flashing me a thumbs up. Excuse me while I shudder.
I got to thinking about the show, and I'm disturbed by how many details I remember. The main set up, as I recall, was that Punky Brewster (having been left in a shopping center by her mom) was a resourceful and courageous orphan who, along with her faithful dog Brandon, befriended Henry and taught the old codger to love again. I credit the show Punky Brewster with teaching me three important lessons I've carried in my heart throughout my life. 1. Quick wit and determination can get a girl out of a jam. 2. Friendship is the most valuable thing in life. and 3. MY MOM COULD ABANDON ME IN A SHOPPING CENTER.
Way to shatter my innocence, Punky Brewster. That little backstory detail, mentioned perhaps once in the first episode, stuck with me like the bittersweet memory of Samantha Ronson's loving touch sticks with Lindsay Lohan (which is to say, deeply). If Punky Brewster's mom could leave her in a store, my mom could leave me in a store. Why the heck wouldn't she? I was cute, sure, but not nearly as freckled or adorable or full of pep as Punky Brewster. Compared to the awesome Punky Brewster, I was totally expendable. Thanks to that show, my mom never had to tell me twice that we were leaving a store. I would be up and away from the Cabbage Patch doll display faster than Samantha Ronson can delete Lindsay Lohan's increasingly desperate tweet-attempts to win back her heart (which is to say, as hastily as possible).
A friend, who hereafter will be referred to as Diane Smithers**, suggested that as far as backstories go, the whole mom-leaving-you-in-a-shopping-center thing wasn't a horrible one. Diane Smithers said that the show's writers probably thought it was better than other possible explanations for why a kid would be orphaned. Imagine the brainstorming session: "How about Punky's mom is a crystal meth addict? Maybe her parents died in a fire? Her dad killed her mom and is now in jail? What if Punky's Chinese and her country has a one-child policy and seeing that her culture traditionally values sons over daughters, her parents felt the social pressure to produce a boy and abandoned her on a rocky hillside?" "...Or, maybe, her mom just left her in a shopping center?" "Yeah, that's good."
The other notable thing about Punky Brewster was that all the episodes had a message. Does anyone remember when the kids were playing hide-and-seek outside and one of them decided to hop into an abandoned refrigerator? Holy Macanole, that kid almost died! Inside a refrigerator! Unlike Lindsay Lohan getting the message when Samantha Ronson does not reply to her exclamation-point-heavy tweets (which is to say, not at all), I got the refrigerators-are-death-traps message loud and clear. Thereafter I eyed our refrigerator at home knowingly, with suspicion and contempt. You won't kill me, chilled place where we keep our produce!
Remember the episode where the illiterate girl who lied about being able to read had to face her ignorance when her little brother drank some cleaning solution and she couldn't read the poison control instructions on the back of the bottle? Or when all the picked-on kids ganged up against the school bully, Moose? I'm telling you, Punky always had a message. "Refrigerators will kill you. Punky Power!" "Don't lie about if you can read. Punky Power!" "Try not to drink stuff under the sink. Punky Power!" "Don't be a jerk to other kids. Punky Power!"
I'm tempted to go on, both about Punky Brewster (really, the amount of trivia I've retained about that show is troubling; I could write a thesis on the bleak theme song alone***) and the sad and shattered lovelorn LiLo, but I'll get to Soleil Moon Frye's video (which is definitely not about gigantomastia). Be warned, it is extremely disturbing. But be heartened, it is also extremely affirming. It will probably make you feel really, really good about the choices you've made in your life, seeing as those choices-- whatever they were-- did not lead you to make the following video. Enjoy. HoneyButterMelt, this video is for you.
*Not her real name, but a psuedonym designed to protect Sarah's anonymity.
**Not her real name, but a psuedonym designed to protect my ego and reputation from the fact that the "friend" I was talking to was me.
***"Maybe the world is blind (do do do do do do), or just a little unkind, Don't know...Seems you can't be sure (do do do do do do), of anything anymore...Oh no..." Those are the opening lines to a kids' show!
Well, they can't say they didn't prep us for a world in which moms shuck off their kids in shopping centers and refrigerators stalk and murder 8-year-olds.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Melbourne Int'l Comedy Festival Road Show: Western Australia
Friends, readers, strangers, and stalker (you know who you are, Rachel Templeton):
Hello! It's been quite a while since I've updated the blog. About, oh, ten months. A lot has happened in that time. A human fetus could have gestated, been born, and learned to blink in response to bright lights in that amount of time (you know who you are, newborn babies). A negligent container ship pilot could have completed a prison sentence for his role in a spill of more than 53,000 gallons of oil into the San Francisco Bay in that amount of time (you know who you are, Captain John Cota). A person could have gone through a mild seasonal depression, written a new one hour show, traveled to Australia for four months, eaten obscene amounts of Barramundi, and returned to Montreal in that amount of time (you know who you are, DeAnne Smith). It's a fair amount of time, is my point.
Thank you for your patience, friends, readers, strangers, and stalker. In exchange, I present you with a detailed account of my tour of Western Australia.
Well, mostly detailed. The thing is, I'm writing this from Montreal, sipping a limonade avec gingembre, where I sit in a cafe surrounded by sexy geeks staring at laptop screens, while accordian-heavy and increasingly disturbed French music plays in the background. The tour is a blur to me now. The ho- and motels I stayed in blend, in my memory, into one giant, beige carpeted room with grossly overpriced Toblerones on display, passive aggressive "We Care About the Earth! Do You?" signs in the bathroom, and a television continually playing the preview for "He's Just Not That Into You." I've decided to ascribe my hazy memory to the number of time zones I've crossed in the past few weeks and not, say, to potential lead poisoning I picked up in Port Pirie.
Here we go.
Margaret River (pop. 4,415) was the first stop on the tour, and where this:
and this:
greeted us backstage.
That's right, a half-eaten package of hand-labeled "GINGER" cookies, and a box of tap shoes. Oh, Margaret River, you have a way with performers! How did you know that my ideal way to "get in the zone" before a show is to chow down on stale, suspiciously-packaged sweets and strap on my dancin'shoes? Tippity-tap, tippity-tap, mmm mmm mmm!
The coolest part about the show in Margaret River was that we performed to a sold-out house of just over 400 people. It's not often that I get to be seen by 10% of the town I'm in. Or that .25% of that 10% would serve me breakfast the next day, simultaneously boosting and deflating my ego with the sentence, "I loved your stuff last night, but I'm not sure the crowd really got it." Uh, thanks?
Next, we drove to Bunbury, a town charming in its directness. The Bunbury library is unmistakably that:
And the fact that the town has just one Thai restaurant is not only acknowledged, but celebrated:
It's the "Choose Respect" signs that, while straightforward at first, become perplexing:
Sure, it's fine message for a town to promote. What unsettles me, though, is that the town feels it needs to tell its inhabitants to respect each other, and then reminds them what respect means. "Respect is to treat with care and consideration." I saw this sign on a doctor's office, a place I'd assume where people were always treated with care and consideration. What was happening in Bunbury's doctors' offices to prompt this campaign?
"Listen, tubso, you got a blood-pump so choked with grease you're gonna be dead by September if you don't lay off the sausage rolls. Now, scram!"
"Yeah, yeah, babies cry, it's what they do. Come back when that shit-machine's blue or old enough to tell me what the god damn problem is. Now, scram!"
"Mysterious lump? I got two of 'em, lady, and I call 'em my ballsack. I got bigger fish to fry. Now, scram!"
Maybe that's why the town's most prominent sculpture is a giant, disapproving head:
I'm not sure if Choosing Respect was what the woman who came up to me after the show and said, "You were great! I love your lesbian vagina...(insert uncomfortable, five second pause)...names" was doing or not. I will believe she was.
Only the second stop on the tour, Bunbury taught me a life lesson. Eating corn flakes out of a teacup with a tiny spoon in a '70s-style motel room off the main highway while watching a movie starring that girl from "My Girl," I realized that the touring life may not be all glitz and glamour. Thank you, Bunbury.
On to Geraldton! But first, this sign on the side of the road:
Did I say the touring life wasn't all glitz and glamour? I take it back. I can't imagine anything more glamorous than indulging in a cappuccino and/or exotic tea, as advertised on a light-up sign on the side of the road. Simple, elegant, understated, it is probably my favorite photo of the tour.
I have to admit, I loved Geraldton. While I was there, I breakfasted at Go Health Lunch Bar (named as if poorly translated from a non-Romance language, but nonetheless full of delicious treats), strolled art galleries, learned about the Batavia shipwreck at the museum, ate homemade ice cream, and didn't get carried away by a rip tide at the beach (our stage manager was not so lucky). So enamored was I with the town and its unexplained ship-ka-bob
that the ominous Christian propaganda on the front of the Salvation Army store didn't even phase me.
Where will I spend Eternity? I may just stay in Geraldton. Thanks for asking!
My love of Geraldton could have clouded my perception of Port Hedland. Or maybe it was the fact that I had to get up at 4:30 a.m. to board a flight to Port Hedland that clouded my perception of Port Hedland. Or maybe it was the omnipresent layer of red dirt on everything in Port Hedland that clouded my perception of Port Hedland. Or maybe it was the fact that Port Hedland has two taverns, one named "Last Chance Tavern" and one that holds the world's record for the most stabbings in one night, that clouded my perception of Port Hedland. Or maybe it was the fact that, despite the blistering heat, one could not go swimming in the beautiful, blue ocean surrounding Port Hedland for fear of being stung, bitten, or otherwise killed that clouded my perception of Port Hedland. Or maybe it was the hazy cloud of industrial-strength Raid that I slept under after being terrorized by Port Hedland's massive cockroaches in my hotel room that quite literally clouded my perception of Port Hedland.
I might have been inclined to call Port Hedland a hot, salt-minin' pit of despair if it weren't for this:
What you may not be able to see is the "No couples, grubs, or drunks" statement at the bottom of the room for rent ad in the left hand corner. Port Hedland, you've won me back! A town where you can get your freak on at a doctors and nurses party, get your recreational skippers ticket whenever you feel like it ("Give us a call and tell us when you want to do it") and get a room for a mere $275 a week (provided you're not in a relationship, on the sauce, or a beetle larva), is a town that's all right by me!
On the drive to Karratha, we stopped at Whim Creek. We weren't planning on it, but we were suddenly struck by a capricious and eccentric idea to do so. (See what I did there, vocab lovers?) Whim Creek, according to Whim Creek, is a must:
Remember that red dirt I was telling you about in Port Hedland? Well, it's everywhere in Western Australia. So overtaken by the crimson dust, people can't even be bothered to write "Wash me" in it.
Because that wouldn't be funny enough. What's a hoot, though, is labeling handicap bathrooms like this:
Wheelies! Leave it to blunt, fun-lovin' Aussies to give their differently-abled brethren a nickname and some speed lines! This sign makes being in a wheelchair look so awesome, I almost wish I didn't have full physical control of my lower limbs.
Despite full physical control of my lower limbs, I didn't get out much in Karratha. As far as I could tell, the main highlights of the town were its shopping center and its ability to attract cyclones. When we asked the hotel receptionist what there was to do in town, she shrugged her shoulders and stared. I'll remember Karratha for two things: the moist burp by which I was heckled, and the amount of dust in the theater's green room.
Next stop: Perth! We were in Perth for a week, which I mostly spent window shopping and taunting people with real jobs. My favorite past time in Perth became eating fancy lunches at places frequented by business people, and then staring at them with open mockery when they had to leave to return to work. "Nice life, suckers! I'll be here eating salmon tartar and thumbing through the entertainment section of the paper while you sit in front of a computer screen in a fluorescently lit office cubicle, weakening your vision, but still clearly able to see your dreams wither and die."
Most of Perth was hiding behind plastic construction fences, on its way to being built up or knocked down. In the midst of all the construction, I never one saw one person working.
The best store in Perth has got to be this one:
I know they have Aboriginal artefacts, but d'ya reckon they sell didgeridoos?
Esperance was our second-to-last stop on the Western Australia leg of the tour. It's also the place where things tend to fall out of the sky, like wild birds poisoned by lead, and pieces of the Skylab space station. ("It's a bird! It's a plane! It's...well, kind of both of those things. But much more foreboding.")
We were there briefly, so my main memory is of the motel room. And what a motel room it was! It had three beds, and a bathroom bigger than my Montreal apartment. The bathroom actually had two chairs in it, should one get winded walking from one end to the other and need to rest. I hadn't felt lonely on the entire tour until, in this Esperance motel room, I realized I could have had four other people and a rugby team in need of a shower traveling with me. And there I was, small, alone, cold, sleeping in a scarf and beanie.
In an effort to warm up and alleviate my loneliness, I thought about maybe guttin' and cleanin' some fish. Luckily, I saw this sign posted near the door:
Ah well. No fish foolery for me.
On the drive to Kalgoorlie, we passed Norseman
and its cave of activity. Activities include erecting ladders, smoking, and scaring children.
Then, there was what looked like the worst-ever place to picnic, in Widgiemooltha:
First of all, yes, Widgiemooltha is the real name of a real place. It's no Salmon Gums or Mount Remarkable, but I like it.
Secondly, I may not be great with spatial relativity (any of the bruises I've incurred by simply trying to move from one room to another in my apartment could serve as proof), but it looks to me as though the festive yellow concrete stumps surrounding the table would not allow one seated on them to actually reach the table. "I'll just scootch this forwa...oh, nevermind. Pass the cole slaw?"
Kalgoorlie is amazing. It's a historic mining town, and home of the Super Pit, an open-cut gold mine about four kilometers long, one and a half kilometers wide and 500 metres deep. Standing at the edge of the pit, listening to the faraway rumble of gigantic trucks below, I was so mesmerized, it was easy to forget I was witnessing complete environmental degradation. But hey, if it's gonna look so cool! I would pay almost any price for gold now, after seeing the sheer amount of drudgery and toil it takes to get that stuff out of the earth.
I could post a picture of the Super Pit. Or I could tell you how the mine will be used up by 2017. (Sidenote: if you're ever performing in Kalgoorlie, don't mention it to the people in the crowd, all of whom are somehow financially dependent on the mine, 'cause they're a bit touchy about it.) Or I could describe the mechanized toilet stall in the middle of town that played an instrumental version of "What the World Needs Now is Love" but I won't do any of those things. I will leave you with this:
There you have it, friends, readers, strangers, and stalker! That's my experience of Western Australia. I know it may have been a lot to get through, so here's handy reference, likening each city the tour played in to the Australian celebrity it most resembles.
Margaret River = Olivia Newton-John.
Cute, and full of wine.
Bunbury = 1930s race horse Phar Lap.
Straightforwardly doing its thing. Then allegedly killed by gangsters.
Geraldton = Crowded House.
Awesome.
Port Hedland = AC/DC.
Way too heavy and one-note at first, but won me over with its unrelenting commitment to being itself.
Karratha = Natalie Bassingthwaighte
Not bad, but essentially, there's nothing there.
Perth = Nicole Kidman.
Nice to look at, but under constant construction.
Esperance = Air Supply.
Made me feel cold, lonely, and as though I should skin fish.
Kalgoorlie = Heath Ledger.
Beautiful, awsome, and ultimately doomed.
Stay tuned for the South Australia leg, coming soon!
Hello! It's been quite a while since I've updated the blog. About, oh, ten months. A lot has happened in that time. A human fetus could have gestated, been born, and learned to blink in response to bright lights in that amount of time (you know who you are, newborn babies). A negligent container ship pilot could have completed a prison sentence for his role in a spill of more than 53,000 gallons of oil into the San Francisco Bay in that amount of time (you know who you are, Captain John Cota). A person could have gone through a mild seasonal depression, written a new one hour show, traveled to Australia for four months, eaten obscene amounts of Barramundi, and returned to Montreal in that amount of time (you know who you are, DeAnne Smith). It's a fair amount of time, is my point.
Thank you for your patience, friends, readers, strangers, and stalker. In exchange, I present you with a detailed account of my tour of Western Australia.
Well, mostly detailed. The thing is, I'm writing this from Montreal, sipping a limonade avec gingembre, where I sit in a cafe surrounded by sexy geeks staring at laptop screens, while accordian-heavy and increasingly disturbed French music plays in the background. The tour is a blur to me now. The ho- and motels I stayed in blend, in my memory, into one giant, beige carpeted room with grossly overpriced Toblerones on display, passive aggressive "We Care About the Earth! Do You?" signs in the bathroom, and a television continually playing the preview for "He's Just Not That Into You." I've decided to ascribe my hazy memory to the number of time zones I've crossed in the past few weeks and not, say, to potential lead poisoning I picked up in Port Pirie.
Here we go.
Margaret River (pop. 4,415) was the first stop on the tour, and where this:
and this:
greeted us backstage.
That's right, a half-eaten package of hand-labeled "GINGER" cookies, and a box of tap shoes. Oh, Margaret River, you have a way with performers! How did you know that my ideal way to "get in the zone" before a show is to chow down on stale, suspiciously-packaged sweets and strap on my dancin'shoes? Tippity-tap, tippity-tap, mmm mmm mmm!
The coolest part about the show in Margaret River was that we performed to a sold-out house of just over 400 people. It's not often that I get to be seen by 10% of the town I'm in. Or that .25% of that 10% would serve me breakfast the next day, simultaneously boosting and deflating my ego with the sentence, "I loved your stuff last night, but I'm not sure the crowd really got it." Uh, thanks?
Next, we drove to Bunbury, a town charming in its directness. The Bunbury library is unmistakably that:
And the fact that the town has just one Thai restaurant is not only acknowledged, but celebrated:
It's the "Choose Respect" signs that, while straightforward at first, become perplexing:
Sure, it's fine message for a town to promote. What unsettles me, though, is that the town feels it needs to tell its inhabitants to respect each other, and then reminds them what respect means. "Respect is to treat with care and consideration." I saw this sign on a doctor's office, a place I'd assume where people were always treated with care and consideration. What was happening in Bunbury's doctors' offices to prompt this campaign?
"Listen, tubso, you got a blood-pump so choked with grease you're gonna be dead by September if you don't lay off the sausage rolls. Now, scram!"
"Yeah, yeah, babies cry, it's what they do. Come back when that shit-machine's blue or old enough to tell me what the god damn problem is. Now, scram!"
"Mysterious lump? I got two of 'em, lady, and I call 'em my ballsack. I got bigger fish to fry. Now, scram!"
Maybe that's why the town's most prominent sculpture is a giant, disapproving head:
I'm not sure if Choosing Respect was what the woman who came up to me after the show and said, "You were great! I love your lesbian vagina...(insert uncomfortable, five second pause)...names" was doing or not. I will believe she was.
Only the second stop on the tour, Bunbury taught me a life lesson. Eating corn flakes out of a teacup with a tiny spoon in a '70s-style motel room off the main highway while watching a movie starring that girl from "My Girl," I realized that the touring life may not be all glitz and glamour. Thank you, Bunbury.
On to Geraldton! But first, this sign on the side of the road:
Did I say the touring life wasn't all glitz and glamour? I take it back. I can't imagine anything more glamorous than indulging in a cappuccino and/or exotic tea, as advertised on a light-up sign on the side of the road. Simple, elegant, understated, it is probably my favorite photo of the tour.
I have to admit, I loved Geraldton. While I was there, I breakfasted at Go Health Lunch Bar (named as if poorly translated from a non-Romance language, but nonetheless full of delicious treats), strolled art galleries, learned about the Batavia shipwreck at the museum, ate homemade ice cream, and didn't get carried away by a rip tide at the beach (our stage manager was not so lucky). So enamored was I with the town and its unexplained ship-ka-bob
that the ominous Christian propaganda on the front of the Salvation Army store didn't even phase me.
Where will I spend Eternity? I may just stay in Geraldton. Thanks for asking!
My love of Geraldton could have clouded my perception of Port Hedland. Or maybe it was the fact that I had to get up at 4:30 a.m. to board a flight to Port Hedland that clouded my perception of Port Hedland. Or maybe it was the omnipresent layer of red dirt on everything in Port Hedland that clouded my perception of Port Hedland. Or maybe it was the fact that Port Hedland has two taverns, one named "Last Chance Tavern" and one that holds the world's record for the most stabbings in one night, that clouded my perception of Port Hedland. Or maybe it was the fact that, despite the blistering heat, one could not go swimming in the beautiful, blue ocean surrounding Port Hedland for fear of being stung, bitten, or otherwise killed that clouded my perception of Port Hedland. Or maybe it was the hazy cloud of industrial-strength Raid that I slept under after being terrorized by Port Hedland's massive cockroaches in my hotel room that quite literally clouded my perception of Port Hedland.
I might have been inclined to call Port Hedland a hot, salt-minin' pit of despair if it weren't for this:
What you may not be able to see is the "No couples, grubs, or drunks" statement at the bottom of the room for rent ad in the left hand corner. Port Hedland, you've won me back! A town where you can get your freak on at a doctors and nurses party, get your recreational skippers ticket whenever you feel like it ("Give us a call and tell us when you want to do it") and get a room for a mere $275 a week (provided you're not in a relationship, on the sauce, or a beetle larva), is a town that's all right by me!
On the drive to Karratha, we stopped at Whim Creek. We weren't planning on it, but we were suddenly struck by a capricious and eccentric idea to do so. (See what I did there, vocab lovers?) Whim Creek, according to Whim Creek, is a must:
Remember that red dirt I was telling you about in Port Hedland? Well, it's everywhere in Western Australia. So overtaken by the crimson dust, people can't even be bothered to write "Wash me" in it.
Because that wouldn't be funny enough. What's a hoot, though, is labeling handicap bathrooms like this:
Wheelies! Leave it to blunt, fun-lovin' Aussies to give their differently-abled brethren a nickname and some speed lines! This sign makes being in a wheelchair look so awesome, I almost wish I didn't have full physical control of my lower limbs.
Despite full physical control of my lower limbs, I didn't get out much in Karratha. As far as I could tell, the main highlights of the town were its shopping center and its ability to attract cyclones. When we asked the hotel receptionist what there was to do in town, she shrugged her shoulders and stared. I'll remember Karratha for two things: the moist burp by which I was heckled, and the amount of dust in the theater's green room.
Next stop: Perth! We were in Perth for a week, which I mostly spent window shopping and taunting people with real jobs. My favorite past time in Perth became eating fancy lunches at places frequented by business people, and then staring at them with open mockery when they had to leave to return to work. "Nice life, suckers! I'll be here eating salmon tartar and thumbing through the entertainment section of the paper while you sit in front of a computer screen in a fluorescently lit office cubicle, weakening your vision, but still clearly able to see your dreams wither and die."
Most of Perth was hiding behind plastic construction fences, on its way to being built up or knocked down. In the midst of all the construction, I never one saw one person working.
The best store in Perth has got to be this one:
I know they have Aboriginal artefacts, but d'ya reckon they sell didgeridoos?
Esperance was our second-to-last stop on the Western Australia leg of the tour. It's also the place where things tend to fall out of the sky, like wild birds poisoned by lead, and pieces of the Skylab space station. ("It's a bird! It's a plane! It's...well, kind of both of those things. But much more foreboding.")
We were there briefly, so my main memory is of the motel room. And what a motel room it was! It had three beds, and a bathroom bigger than my Montreal apartment. The bathroom actually had two chairs in it, should one get winded walking from one end to the other and need to rest. I hadn't felt lonely on the entire tour until, in this Esperance motel room, I realized I could have had four other people and a rugby team in need of a shower traveling with me. And there I was, small, alone, cold, sleeping in a scarf and beanie.
In an effort to warm up and alleviate my loneliness, I thought about maybe guttin' and cleanin' some fish. Luckily, I saw this sign posted near the door:
Ah well. No fish foolery for me.
On the drive to Kalgoorlie, we passed Norseman
and its cave of activity. Activities include erecting ladders, smoking, and scaring children.
Then, there was what looked like the worst-ever place to picnic, in Widgiemooltha:
First of all, yes, Widgiemooltha is the real name of a real place. It's no Salmon Gums or Mount Remarkable, but I like it.
Secondly, I may not be great with spatial relativity (any of the bruises I've incurred by simply trying to move from one room to another in my apartment could serve as proof), but it looks to me as though the festive yellow concrete stumps surrounding the table would not allow one seated on them to actually reach the table. "I'll just scootch this forwa...oh, nevermind. Pass the cole slaw?"
Kalgoorlie is amazing. It's a historic mining town, and home of the Super Pit, an open-cut gold mine about four kilometers long, one and a half kilometers wide and 500 metres deep. Standing at the edge of the pit, listening to the faraway rumble of gigantic trucks below, I was so mesmerized, it was easy to forget I was witnessing complete environmental degradation. But hey, if it's gonna look so cool! I would pay almost any price for gold now, after seeing the sheer amount of drudgery and toil it takes to get that stuff out of the earth.
I could post a picture of the Super Pit. Or I could tell you how the mine will be used up by 2017. (Sidenote: if you're ever performing in Kalgoorlie, don't mention it to the people in the crowd, all of whom are somehow financially dependent on the mine, 'cause they're a bit touchy about it.) Or I could describe the mechanized toilet stall in the middle of town that played an instrumental version of "What the World Needs Now is Love" but I won't do any of those things. I will leave you with this:
There you have it, friends, readers, strangers, and stalker! That's my experience of Western Australia. I know it may have been a lot to get through, so here's handy reference, likening each city the tour played in to the Australian celebrity it most resembles.
Margaret River = Olivia Newton-John.
Cute, and full of wine.
Bunbury = 1930s race horse Phar Lap.
Straightforwardly doing its thing. Then allegedly killed by gangsters.
Geraldton = Crowded House.
Awesome.
Port Hedland = AC/DC.
Way too heavy and one-note at first, but won me over with its unrelenting commitment to being itself.
Karratha = Natalie Bassingthwaighte
Not bad, but essentially, there's nothing there.
Perth = Nicole Kidman.
Nice to look at, but under constant construction.
Esperance = Air Supply.
Made me feel cold, lonely, and as though I should skin fish.
Kalgoorlie = Heath Ledger.
Beautiful, awsome, and ultimately doomed.
Stay tuned for the South Australia leg, coming soon!
Friday, September 12, 2008
Wow, That's Heelarious!
Okay, full disclosure: I ran across the Heelarious website a few months ago. I was too busy (full disclosure: eating waffles and being lazy) to sink my bloggin' claws into it. But now, thanks to some time off (full disclosure: 3/4 of a "special" cookie at a friend's lake house), I believe I've stopped seething long enough to form some coherent sentences (full disclosure: I'm still seething, and I may or may not be entirely coherent). I'm ready to take Heelarious on. Oh, I'm ready.Heelarious, for those of you who haven't heard, makes high heels for babies. No, you haven't just ingested 3/4 of a "special" cookie1. You've actually read that correctly: high heels for babies. Or, as the website says, "her first high heels." At least three of those words are so wrong they're worthy of their own post-doctoral dissertation on sexism, gender inequality, and the misogynist fashion industry, but this is just a humble little blog. Plus, I can't seem to settle on a title for such a dissertation. "'Her First High Heels': Why Passively Allowing Sarah Jessica Parker to Rise to Power Will be Modern Western Society's Ultimate Downfall?" or "'Her First High Heels': Wow, How Dumb?"
Obviously, I'm biased. Let's get another opinion. This is what Diane Sawyer, 62nd on Forbes' "The World's 100 Most Powerful Women" list, has to say about the high heels: “They’re squishy! They’re to dress your baby up when they’re going to fancy events, so they can have their own high heels.”
Ignoring, for a moment, the tragic fact that waking up in the wee hours to host "Good Morning America" has apparently left Diane Sawyer one sleep-deprived neuron away from communicating exclusively through exclamations and a simple series of handclaps ("Squishy! Baby dress up fancy! Clap, clap, clap!"), let's take a closer look at her statement. Lest baby's first high heels seem, at best, ridiculously frivolous, and at worst, dangerously objectifying, Diane Sawyer thinks they're totally legit. You know, for when babies go to fancy events.
Okay, Diane Sawyer, I'll bite. Let's say, for some reason, a new mom has to go to a fancy event (and we'll define "fancy event," as something slightly more elaborate and dignified than discount day at the local grocery store). Let's say, for some reason, this new mom has to bring her baby to said fancy event. Who knows, maybe the nanny got deported or the new mom couldn't find a proper date and has a really poor sense of appropriate boundaries. Maybe, at this said fancy event, the new mom wants to parade around the bouncing, joyous reason why her nipples are leaking and she hasn't slept more than four hours at a stretch in months. Okay, Diane Sawyer, I'll play. The baby is attending her first fancy event.
It makes perfect sense then, Diane Sawyer, that the baby would need her own high heels. We all know how important it is for babies to feel like they have their own debilitating footwear, just like Mommy. It's especially important when babies are at that tender age from 0 to 6 months, when they're viciously eyeing everyone else's belongings (provided the belonging is within 18 inches of their face, where they can actually focus on it), wondering why they don't have their own, tinier, cuter versions of things. "Hey, wait a minute," a 1-month-old baby may miraculously have the cognitive development to think. "How come that big lady over there, the one they keep calling 'Mom,' has those things on her feet and I don't? Aren't I a person, too? Don't I have feelings? Wow, it's like I'm not even at this fancy event! It's like no one even respects me! In about two seconds, I'm going to start wailing and see how long it takes for them to figure out that I'm upset not because I'm tired or hungry or have a wet diaper but because I don't have my own high heels. I want my own high heels! WAAAAAAAAH!"
Correct me if I'm wrong (and I'm not, so don't), but aren't the only real reasons for wearing high heels aesthetic? There's nothing about high heels that doesn't say "sexualized object." (Not that there's anything wrong with that.) It's just a fact; I'm not even particularly anti-high heel. (Full disclosure: I feel about high heels the same way I feel about straight marriage and eating soft cheeses. I'm not against them in general, but I am against them for me. I mean, if someone out there wants to be in a straight marriage, wear high heels, and dig into Camembert, I respect their decisions. I don't understand those decisions and I probably secretly judge those decisions, but I respect them.) Call me uptight (but I'm not, so don't), but I don't think there's anything all that hilarious about dressing babies up in high heels. I guess some people-- I'm looking at you, Diane Sawyer-- would find a baby in high heels funny, so I'll step outside myself for a moment and try to imagine what that would be like.
Ha, that baby's in little high heels! That's so funny! Ha! She's wearing shoes specifically designed to make her legs look longer and slimmer! How comical! How zany! How incredibly wacky! That baby is wearing shoes that, if they were on an adult woman, would decrease her range of leg motion! Hysterical! Not since I saw the "I'm too sexy for my diaper" onesie have I been this amused! High heels on a baby! Ha ha! Oh my god, I'm laughing so hard my ribs hurt! My face aches! A baby in high heels! I can't breathe! I just peed my pants! I'm about to pass out! Ha ha ha ha! Hee hee hee! Ha hee hoodly hoodle! Heh! Hah! Heah! Tee hee hee! A baby in high heels! Guffaw!
You might think I'm being too harsh on Heelarious (but I'm not, so don't). What takes the concept completely over the top for me is that the shoes come in leopard print. What's next? Baby's first thong? Baby's first frosted lipstick? Baby's first chlamydia screening? Nothing good or pure or innocent comes in leopard print. Nothing. Try to think of even one thing (but don't, because you can't). Trust me, there's not a more inherently slutty print in the whole of the animal kingdom. You see someone in zebra print? They're saying, "Hey, I've spent some time in Africa and I've read Hemingway." You see someone in tiger print? That says, "Watch out! I like to fancy myself a bit wild!" You see someone in leopard print? All that's saying is, "Jello shots? Bring 'em the hell on! Don't mind my cold sore!"
The website says that the product is "not intended to harm children in any way." Well, thank goodness. It's official: being used as mommy's little sexualized accessory doesn't harm kids at all. At least, it doesn't harm children in the way that high heels do. I mean, it's not a hammertoe kind of harm. It's not a degenerative-changes-in-the-knee-joint kind of harm. It's not a bunion-and-blister kind of harm. It's just a bunion-and-blister-on-the-soul kind of harm.
The website assures us that the products were designed with "safety and comfort as their main concern." Hmm. I'd counter that "safety and comfort" couldn't have been the "main concern." I mean, I'm sure making money in a consumer-driven society was the main concern. High up on the list of concerns was probably marketing to egocentric, middle-to-upper class parents. Somewhere on the list of the concerns was making sure the product release coincided with the Sex and The City premiere. If "safety and comfort" (full disclosure: I love using people's exact words against them) were the "main concern" (full disclosure: I am also a huge fan of quotation marks), the Heelarious website would feature babies in bare feet.
Wouldn't that be "heelarious," if someone recognized the ridiculous range of pointless baby accessories and told new parents it was okay to chill the heck out? If someone said, "Sure, yeah, now you're parents. And guess what? You will be a little less cool and hip and trendy than you used to be, but that's okay. After you're done with the sleep deprivation, you can keep working on your personality. The (hilarious!) way you dress your baby won't have to be your only form of self-expression." That's the website I would like to see. (Full disclosure: I suspect it's out there, but I'm too lazy to search for it now. I have some waffles to eat.) Oh, and the other website I'd like to see is the one where Diane Sawyer sticks her bare feet into a tank of flesh-eating fish. ("Oooo! Tiny fish kisses! Clap, clap, clap!") Luckily for me, that website is right here: http://jezebel.com/5027735/diane-sawyer-fearlessly-faces-flesh+eating-fish
1Actually, I don't know, maybe you have just ingested 3/4 of a "special" cookie. In which case, I apologize for making assumptions about you and your ability to alter your mind while reading about the increasingly disturbing trend of baby clothes marketed to appeal to adults' sense of humor or irony or ironic humor. (Oh, yeah, I'm sure your baby listens to the Ramones. You are both so hip. I'm very impressed.) Sorry, did that sarcastic parenthetical aside to hypothetical parents throw you off? Are you even following this anymore? Maybe you should go eat some waffles and be lazy; you can read this another time.
Monday, July 07, 2008
It is my Gladness: DeAnne Victory Winner
I won! Joy not write me back for I am victory winner of scam apartment game! Easy to see for all I am too trust wordly and honest and good person Christian to mess with DeAnne Andrea Dean Anderson!
Joy was getting a little tedious, and I'm glad our correspondence is over. What surprised me, though, was how many of you guys have had run-ins with the Bradley-Derrick crew in various cities. Do they really end up scamming people into giving them money? This is what I say we do. Email joy.derrick1@gmail.com or johnnyderrick@ymail.com with the subject line "interested in your apartment" and then put this smiling kitten in the body of the email:
Please play! And if you do, leave a comment so we know how many folks did it.
And now I send you thank you best regards. It is my sadness to say goodbye to last one chapter. Best luck for apartment search to everyone sincere and kindness!
Joy was getting a little tedious, and I'm glad our correspondence is over. What surprised me, though, was how many of you guys have had run-ins with the Bradley-Derrick crew in various cities. Do they really end up scamming people into giving them money? This is what I say we do. Email joy.derrick1@gmail.com or johnnyderrick@ymail.com with the subject line "interested in your apartment" and then put this smiling kitten in the body of the email:
Please play! And if you do, leave a comment so we know how many folks did it.
And now I send you thank you best regards. It is my sadness to say goodbye to last one chapter. Best luck for apartment search to everyone sincere and kindness!
Monday, June 30, 2008
It is my Gladness: PROFILE ACCEPTED
My profile was accpeted! This time I decided to up the ante a little. Here's my response to Joy's message:
Regards Joy,
Oh thanks you for writing back to me. Yes, my very willingness in the flat! I turst in you also I would not want to experience what I experience last year with finding flat and then flat haunted with ghost of sea creatures, i.e. very noisy octopus ghost always making earl grey tea when I am trying sleep! Also starfish look cute and starry and chewable and innocint but guess what Joy Derrick? Are total asshole ghosts! Are very inconsiderite always thinking are BETTER THAN YOU because living in spirit realm and have pyloric stomach BUT guess what JoyDerrick they ARE NOT better. Good Lord Almighty Everlasting God made everyone special so that's what I tell asshole starfish ghosts (telepathicly because they do not have ears) anyway well would not want to experience that again. Also the plankton.
I would like to move into flat July 11.
Also what is your address please for sending payment?
Lord bless you and your family and flat, all incl, and Juice Machine. Pls send me address ASAP for fast payment am very eager to move into new place!!!
Best welcome regards, DeAnne
And then I attached this photo:
Here's Joy's original message. It's a bit lengthy, but I know you're interested in following this saga, so it's here for your perusal. Highlights include the fact that the daughter was involved in approving my application and that the house was "destroyed" last year. Um, so, where will I be moving into exactly?
Regards Joy,
Oh thanks you for writing back to me. Yes, my very willingness in the flat! I turst in you also I would not want to experience what I experience last year with finding flat and then flat haunted with ghost of sea creatures, i.e. very noisy octopus ghost always making earl grey tea when I am trying sleep! Also starfish look cute and starry and chewable and innocint but guess what Joy Derrick? Are total asshole ghosts! Are very inconsiderite always thinking are BETTER THAN YOU because living in spirit realm and have pyloric stomach BUT guess what JoyDerrick they ARE NOT better. Good Lord Almighty Everlasting God made everyone special so that's what I tell asshole starfish ghosts (telepathicly because they do not have ears) anyway well would not want to experience that again. Also the plankton.
I would like to move into flat July 11.
Also what is your address please for sending payment?
Lord bless you and your family and flat, all incl, and Juice Machine. Pls send me address ASAP for fast payment am very eager to move into new place!!!
Best welcome regards, DeAnne
And then I attached this photo:
Here's Joy's original message. It's a bit lengthy, but I know you're interested in following this saga, so it's here for your perusal. Highlights include the fact that the daughter was involved in approving my application and that the house was "destroyed" last year. Um, so, where will I be moving into exactly?
Hi DeAnne ,
Thanks you very much for your reply, I can see your willingness in this flat. I want you to know that i'm satisfied with your profile and also believe l can trust in you because l will not like to experience what l experieced from my last tenant again.I will like to know the exact date you will like to move into the flat,l showed your profile to my husband and daughter, They said they are ok with it.l want you to know that we can let you stay in my flat till the period of time you wish to.
I want you to know that the rent fee is among the flat utilities all included, so you can use them anytime but make you take proper care of my properties.We will come and pay you a visit after you have moved into my home to see how you are maintaining it,I will be receiving the first months deposit payment from you via Western Union because l think it reliable,secured and fast,l wish you best of luck in your work, from your profile l can see that you are responsible and a hard working person may the almighty Lord lead you in what ever you wish to do.l see no reason why l should collect damages deposit since you have promise that you will take proper care of my home l think we're ok.
Amenities
..............................
# Bedroom : 1
# Bathroom : 1
# Extra Toilet : 1
# Extra Guest Room: 1
# Sofa Bed : 1
# Bed Linen
Accommodation Features
..............................
Wood Floor :
Heater :
Central Heating :
Equiped Kitchen :
Tv: Cable/Satellite TV:
Video/Stereo:
Internet :
Air Conditioning:
¡E Full Kitchen
¡E Refrigerator:
¡E Garage/Car park
¡E pets allowed.
Kitchen Features
...................... ...........
Washing machine:
Juice Machine :
Iron :
Toaster:
Oven :
Dishwasher :
Coffee Maker :
Microwave :
Refrigerator:
Stove:
As soon as the first 2 month has been confirmed by me via western union,l will go ahead and commence on how the flat keys/documents will be delivered to you via DHL courier service on next day delivery and it will be delivered to the address you provided in your application form.Let me hear back from you as soon as possible so that l can go arrange for the delivery of the keys/documents.
Once again l'm giving you this flat on trust and do not dissapoint me because l dont want our house to be destroyed again, if you wish to move in with your own properties,we still have one extra room that is empty so you can easily put our own things that you think you dont need in there.
Here are the contents that will be delivered to you via DHL courier service.
1) Entrance and the rooms Keys
2)Paper/Permanent Flat form(Containing your reference details)
3)The Flat documented file.
4)Payment Receipts.
5)Full address and description of the flat.
My husband will like to talk to you,you can call him as soon as you get this mail his number is 0112348083710680 or +2348083710680
Get back to me via email if you will need me to send you the information which you will use to make the deposit payment via western union to my husband secretary in new jersey.
Thanks and God bless you...
Best Regards
Joy.
So, what's the next move? Will Joy send me their address? What, exactly, happened between DeAnne Andrea Dean Anderson and the ghost-plankton? Check back in for updates!
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
It is my Gladness: God bless you more as you do this
Oh, Joy! She wrote back! I won't paste the whole message here, but you can be assured that she "appreciates [my] expression." And there was this:
Please we are giving you all this transaction is based on Trust & Honesty and again I want you to stick to your words,We are putting everything into Gods hand,so please do not let us down in this property of ours and God bless you more as you do this.
Luckily, I know for a fact that God finds this hilarious. Here's my response:
Regards to Joy (and daghter!)
Thank you much for immeidate response I am very much Eager To move into beautiful apartment! I have good feeling with you and Rev Johnny. you are right, all is based with Trust & Honesty and standing on words.
I am kind harded and very honest person. You can have faith on me. Pls tell me when we can meet, when I can move into flat!!
Thank you welcome regards,
DeAnne
ps. application form keep private and confidential very important to me! Thank u
*********RENT APPLICATION FORM*******
(Private & Confidential)
1)Your Full Name
DeAnne Andrea Dean Anderson
2)Present Full Address(where you reside now) & Phone Number to Reach You
No present address, God does not help me find place, need to move in immediate!
514-676-3452
3)Age
43 and 3 months.
4)Are you married?
No. Great sadness.
5)Sex
Sometimes, but not too loud for neighbors don't worry.
6)How many people will be living in the house?
1 Just me. (Sometimes I hear voices, but they are not occupying physical space!)
7)Do you have a pet?
No. Not a pet because not trained and not nice like pet but there is a dog that sometimes lives with me. He is name Richard.
8)Do you have a car?
NO!!
9)What is your religion?
I am Christian, much daily prayer time, favorite Matthew 7:12!!!
10)Occupation?
I am periodicals librarian, love very much to acquire, develop collection, organize, preserve, and catalogue periodicals. $54,700/yr income.
I also am spices librarian (unpaid, at home work) and things-found-in-other-people-recycling-bins librarian (unpaid, at home work). Again i love with all things to A.D.O.P.C: acquire, develop, organize, preserve, catalogue.
11) How Many Month Deposit ??? 1 or 2
2. Is 3 Okay?
12) When are you ready to Move In ?
Soon Immediate for no house now.
13) When are u planning to leave the flat ?
1 year at least. Or when the voices tell me. whoever comes first.
Then, with no explanation, I included this picture:
Oh, and for those of you not up on your scripture, Matthew 7:12 reads, "So whatever you wish that others would do to you, do also to them, for this is the Law and the Prophets."
When will Joy ask me for a deposit? How did Richard the dog come to occasionally co-habitate with what we can assume is an order-obsessed DeAnne Andrea Dean Anderson? Why does God only have one hand? Check back in for answers!
Please we are giving you all this transaction is based on Trust & Honesty and again I want you to stick to your words,We are putting everything into Gods hand,so please do not let us down in this property of ours and God bless you more as you do this.
Luckily, I know for a fact that God finds this hilarious. Here's my response:
Regards to Joy (and daghter!)
Thank you much for immeidate response I am very much Eager To move into beautiful apartment! I have good feeling with you and Rev Johnny. you are right, all is based with Trust & Honesty and standing on words.
I am kind harded and very honest person. You can have faith on me. Pls tell me when we can meet, when I can move into flat!!
Thank you welcome regards,
DeAnne
ps. application form keep private and confidential very important to me! Thank u
*********RENT APPLICATION FORM*******
(Private & Confidential)
1)Your Full Name
DeAnne Andrea Dean Anderson
2)Present Full Address(where you reside now) & Phone Number to Reach You
No present address, God does not help me find place, need to move in immediate!
514-676-3452
3)Age
43 and 3 months.
4)Are you married?
No. Great sadness.
5)Sex
Sometimes, but not too loud for neighbors don't worry.
6)How many people will be living in the house?
1 Just me. (Sometimes I hear voices, but they are not occupying physical space!)
7)Do you have a pet?
No. Not a pet because not trained and not nice like pet but there is a dog that sometimes lives with me. He is name Richard.
8)Do you have a car?
NO!!
9)What is your religion?
I am Christian, much daily prayer time, favorite Matthew 7:12!!!
10)Occupation?
I am periodicals librarian, love very much to acquire, develop collection, organize, preserve, and catalogue periodicals. $54,700/yr income.
I also am spices librarian (unpaid, at home work) and things-found-in-other-people-recycling-bins librarian (unpaid, at home work). Again i love with all things to A.D.O.P.C: acquire, develop, organize, preserve, catalogue.
11) How Many Month Deposit ??? 1 or 2
2. Is 3 Okay?
12) When are you ready to Move In ?
Soon Immediate for no house now.
13) When are u planning to leave the flat ?
1 year at least. Or when the voices tell me. whoever comes first.
Then, with no explanation, I included this picture:
Oh, and for those of you not up on your scripture, Matthew 7:12 reads, "So whatever you wish that others would do to you, do also to them, for this is the Law and the Prophets."
When will Joy ask me for a deposit? How did Richard the dog come to occasionally co-habitate with what we can assume is an order-obsessed DeAnne Andrea Dean Anderson? Why does God only have one hand? Check back in for answers!
It is my Gladness, part 2
It's on!
I wrote to "Joy" (for that message, which is brief, see the comments on the original "It is my gladness..." post) and received this very blue message back:
Thanks for the email and also yes,My husband in respect of Rev Johnny Bradley who owned the place and also it is situated In 3450 Drummond ,Montréal,QC H3G 1Y1 Canada and also want you to know that it was due to my husband transfer that makes us to leave the place and also want to give it out for rent and looking for a responsible person that can take very good care of it as we are not after the money for the rent but want it to be clean at the time and the person which is reliable and responsible that will rent it to take it as if it were its own.So for now,Am here in United States right now in our new flat and also with the keys/document of the flat we are willing to rent to you.
We try to look for an agent that we can give this document before we left but could not see and we are as well as don't want our flat to be used any how in our present that is why we took it along to us here and as you know that,my husband over in the West Africa for a Mission of God,so I hope you will promise us to take very good care of the home.So get back to me on how you could take care of our home or perhaps experience you have in renting home.
Hope you are okay with the price of $622 Per Month for the place with hydro,heat laundry facilities,air condition, internet connection and so on 750 Square Feet, I look forward to hearing from you as soon as possible so that i can forward you an application to fill out and discuss on how to get the flat for rent,also are you ready to rent it now or when?you can view our flat picture at the attach file as you can see the pictures of the place are beautiful that is why we need a maintenance and up keep of our flat.
Attached were pictures of a huge and gorgeous flat from various angles, and this picture of Joy and her daughter:
What I love most is the joyless expression on their faces. I can only imagine the inner dialogue goes something like this:
Joy Jr.: "Mommy! Look! I am sniffing this flower to mask the reek of unhappiness and disappointment that emanates from your body!"
Joy: "I hate you."
This was my response:
Regards Joy Bradley-Derrick,
3450 Drummond in Montreal H3G 1Y1 is lovely neighborhood so happy to live there! I am responsible and trustworldy to treat flat as my own mantenence.
I understand you take document and keys to u.s. and your husband honorable kind Rev Johnny Bradley Derrick loves the lord and wants to make West Africa a nation of lord lovers also.
I have a lot of experience in renting home. I take care of home with washing, brooming, etc. and stay vigilant to not let home flood or catch fire or have many mice or cover in mud slide, etc.
The price of $622 sounds good to me for place. Please forward me application. I am ready to rent immediate.
I attach picture of me so you know me a little.
Thank you regards,
DeAnne
And then--is this unethical?--I searched for a photo on the internet and attached this:
Who wouldn't want to rent to that smiling face? Why does Rev Johnny Bradley Derrick have three first names? Will Joy write back? For answers to these questions and many more, stay tuned!
I wrote to "Joy" (for that message, which is brief, see the comments on the original "It is my gladness..." post) and received this very blue message back:
Hi DeAnne ,
Thanks for the email and also yes,My husband in respect of Rev Johnny Bradley who owned the place and also it is situated In 3450 Drummond ,Montréal,QC H3G 1Y1 Canada and also want you to know that it was due to my husband transfer that makes us to leave the place and also want to give it out for rent and looking for a responsible person that can take very good care of it as we are not after the money for the rent but want it to be clean at the time and the person which is reliable and responsible that will rent it to take it as if it were its own.So for now,Am here in United States right now in our new flat and also with the keys/document of the flat we are willing to rent to you.
We try to look for an agent that we can give this document before we left but could not see and we are as well as don't want our flat to be used any how in our present that is why we took it along to us here and as you know that,my husband over in the West Africa for a Mission of God,so I hope you will promise us to take very good care of the home.So get back to me on how you could take care of our home or perhaps experience you have in renting home.
Hope you are okay with the price of $622 Per Month for the place with hydro,heat laundry facilities,air condition, internet connection and so on 750 Square Feet, I look forward to hearing from you as soon as possible so that i can forward you an application to fill out and discuss on how to get the flat for rent,also are you ready to rent it now or when?you can view our flat picture at the attach file as you can see the pictures of the place are beautiful that is why we need a maintenance and up keep of our flat.
Thanks so much
Joy Bradley.
Joy Bradley.
Attached were pictures of a huge and gorgeous flat from various angles, and this picture of Joy and her daughter:
What I love most is the joyless expression on their faces. I can only imagine the inner dialogue goes something like this:
Joy Jr.: "Mommy! Look! I am sniffing this flower to mask the reek of unhappiness and disappointment that emanates from your body!"
Joy: "I hate you."
This was my response:
Regards Joy Bradley-Derrick,
3450 Drummond in Montreal H3G 1Y1 is lovely neighborhood so happy to live there! I am responsible and trustworldy to treat flat as my own mantenence.
I understand you take document and keys to u.s. and your husband honorable kind Rev Johnny Bradley Derrick loves the lord and wants to make West Africa a nation of lord lovers also.
I have a lot of experience in renting home. I take care of home with washing, brooming, etc. and stay vigilant to not let home flood or catch fire or have many mice or cover in mud slide, etc.
The price of $622 sounds good to me for place. Please forward me application. I am ready to rent immediate.
I attach picture of me so you know me a little.
Thank you regards,
DeAnne
And then--is this unethical?--I searched for a photo on the internet and attached this:
Who wouldn't want to rent to that smiling face? Why does Rev Johnny Bradley Derrick have three first names? Will Joy write back? For answers to these questions and many more, stay tuned!
Monday, June 23, 2008
It is my gladness to moreso Now introduce the kind and honest Rev Johnny Bradley!
Total score.
That's how I feel upon finding pieces of bubble wrap to gleefully pop (seriously, how good is that?), upon finding gluten-free sweet treats to gleefully shove down my gullet (shout out to my Crohn's-inflicted brethren), and, of course, upon finding scam emails in my inbox to which I can gleefully respond (see the Nanny Square entries).
So, I've been looking for apartments on Craigslist. That's pretty much all you need to know to enjoy this most recent exchange. You probably don't need to know that I've also been trolling the personals section, shocked, amazed and I must admit intrigued by people who describe the woman they're looking for as "having little to no gag reflex" and then go on to say, " I am fireman, and you could do much worse ladies, I can promise you that!" Well, hello, dreamboat.
But back on track. I responded to an apartment listing that sounded a little too good to be true. Sadly, when things sound too good to be true, they usually are. (What? Someone who's looking for a person with little to no gag reflex? That's totally me! I'm totally gonna respon....oh, wait. He's a fireman. Sigh. I can't stand the thought of such a wonderful, special, and eloquent someone who I would no doubt totally fall for endangering his life like that! I just can't risk getting hurt. Not again. Not this time. I knew it was too good to be true! No, no, don't mind me. My absent gag reflex and I will just be crouching in this darkened corner for a while, weeping.)
Here's what I sent the guy:
Hi,
I'm really interested in your apartment for rent and I'd like to see it as soon as possible. Are you available to show it on Sunday, June 22?
Thanks,
DeAnne
[And then my phone number. Which I flatter myself to think would be unwise to reproduce here, with so many readers gazing at this space expectantly, waiting for any opportunity to gain access into my thrilling private life. Have I mentioned that I troll personal ads for kicks? Well, hello, dreamboat.]
Here's what I received, about 24 hours later:
Thanks for your email and it is my gladness to hearing from you.My name is Rev Johnny Bradley the owner of the house you are making enquiry of...Actually I resided in the house with my family,such as my wife and my only daugther before and presently we had packed due to my transfer from my working place and now situated in united states and presently my house is still available for rent including the utilities like hydro/heat drywasher and security and bills,Everything in the flat is well fully furnised.
Moreso Now,I went for a crusade in West Africa and i will like you to get in touch with my wife in united states for more discussion as She is with the keys and the document to the flat.Pls i want you to note that,I am a kind and honest man and also i spent alot on my property that i want to give you for rent,so i will solicit for your absolute mentenance of this house and want you to treat it as your own,is that taken,it is not the money the main problem but want you to keep it tidy all the time so that i will be glad to see it neat when i came for a check up.i do that once in a while.I also want you to let me have trust in you as I always stand on my word.
Send my wife Joy an Immediate message, on ( joy.derrick1@gmail.com )and she will attends to you better on how to proceed
Thanks and you are welcome
Regards
Johnny Bradley
Total score! I love it all, from the alliteration of "Johnny and Joy" to the way he seems to be having a level one, English-as-a-second-language conversation with himself in "Thanks and you are welcome" to the fact that he so casually sneaks in: "...when i came for a check up.i do that once in a while.I also..." Pardon me? You do that once in a while? Oh, okay. I guess it's no big deal, since you didn't include any spaces around that sentence. I look forward to your visits, then. In fact, when you came for a check up, I'll probably greet you with a, "Well, hello, dreamboat."
I'm hoping to keep this correspondence going for a while. Note my expert ability to overlook his instructions to write to Joy Derrick, in the hopes that he'll feel compelled to write back:
Thanks you Rev Johnny for your quick and thoughtful responds to my inquiry. I am pleased gladly to know the drywasher is included in the flat fully furnised and that bills are included.
Will Rev Johnny respond? How's progress on the West African crusade? What the heck is a drywasher? Answers in the next installment of "It is my gladness!" (*fingers crossed*)
That's how I feel upon finding pieces of bubble wrap to gleefully pop (seriously, how good is that?), upon finding gluten-free sweet treats to gleefully shove down my gullet (shout out to my Crohn's-inflicted brethren), and, of course, upon finding scam emails in my inbox to which I can gleefully respond (see the Nanny Square entries).
So, I've been looking for apartments on Craigslist. That's pretty much all you need to know to enjoy this most recent exchange. You probably don't need to know that I've also been trolling the personals section, shocked, amazed and I must admit intrigued by people who describe the woman they're looking for as "having little to no gag reflex" and then go on to say, " I am fireman, and you could do much worse ladies, I can promise you that!" Well, hello, dreamboat.
But back on track. I responded to an apartment listing that sounded a little too good to be true. Sadly, when things sound too good to be true, they usually are. (What? Someone who's looking for a person with little to no gag reflex? That's totally me! I'm totally gonna respon....oh, wait. He's a fireman. Sigh. I can't stand the thought of such a wonderful, special, and eloquent someone who I would no doubt totally fall for endangering his life like that! I just can't risk getting hurt. Not again. Not this time. I knew it was too good to be true! No, no, don't mind me. My absent gag reflex and I will just be crouching in this darkened corner for a while, weeping.)
Here's what I sent the guy:
Hi,
I'm really interested in your apartment for rent and I'd like to see it as soon as possible. Are you available to show it on Sunday, June 22?
Thanks,
DeAnne
[And then my phone number. Which I flatter myself to think would be unwise to reproduce here, with so many readers gazing at this space expectantly, waiting for any opportunity to gain access into my thrilling private life. Have I mentioned that I troll personal ads for kicks? Well, hello, dreamboat.]
Here's what I received, about 24 hours later:
Thanks for your email and it is my gladness to hearing from you.My name is Rev Johnny Bradley the owner of the house you are making enquiry of...Actually I resided in the house with my family,such as my wife and my only daugther before and presently we had packed due to my transfer from my working place and now situated in united states and presently my house is still available for rent including the utilities like hydro/heat drywasher and security and bills,Everything in the flat is well fully furnised.
Moreso Now,I went for a crusade in West Africa and i will like you to get in touch with my wife in united states for more discussion as She is with the keys and the document to the flat.Pls i want you to note that,I am a kind and honest man and also i spent alot on my property that i want to give you for rent,so i will solicit for your absolute mentenance of this house and want you to treat it as your own,is that taken,it is not the money the main problem but want you to keep it tidy all the time so that i will be glad to see it neat when i came for a check up.i do that once in a while.I also want you to let me have trust in you as I always stand on my word.
Send my wife Joy an Immediate message, on ( joy.derrick1@gmail.com )and she will attends to you better on how to proceed
Thanks and you are welcome
Regards
Johnny Bradley
Total score! I love it all, from the alliteration of "Johnny and Joy" to the way he seems to be having a level one, English-as-a-second-language conversation with himself in "Thanks and you are welcome" to the fact that he so casually sneaks in: "...when i came for a check up.i do that once in a while.I also..." Pardon me? You do that once in a while? Oh, okay. I guess it's no big deal, since you didn't include any spaces around that sentence. I look forward to your visits, then. In fact, when you came for a check up, I'll probably greet you with a, "Well, hello, dreamboat."
I'm hoping to keep this correspondence going for a while. Note my expert ability to overlook his instructions to write to Joy Derrick, in the hopes that he'll feel compelled to write back:
Thanks you Rev Johnny for your quick and thoughtful responds to my inquiry. I am pleased gladly to know the drywasher is included in the flat fully furnised and that bills are included.
I curiously inquire your crusade at West Africa. Do you carry a swords? What is the name of your horse? Pls more details to me from Africa crusade, my interest is great. Anywayso good luck to you. Victory to conquest pagans!
I see trust fully you are a kind and honest man. I also want you to kind note that, i, take property for rent to treat as my own for my absolute mentenance. i am a very tidy and neat person.i always stand on my word, too. have trust in me Rev. Johnny.
how can we proceed for keys and property agreement? pls let me know I am very eager to move into flat take care properly.
You are welcome,
DeAnne
Will Rev Johnny respond? How's progress on the West African crusade? What the heck is a drywasher? Answers in the next installment of "It is my gladness!" (*fingers crossed*)
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