The Sassy Sundries: My Week in Review

Summer’s last hurrah continued to defy the crisp fall banshees, making it almost impossible to go into work this week. While the beach tempted me all week, I stayed away. This weather cannot last forever, and if I get back into summer mode, the cold weather will be that much more soul crushing.

So instead, I’m sitting inside (the sun has just begun to stream through my open window), tallying up the week’s events. Here are the week’s Sassy Sundries (Warning: Contains Grey's spoilers):

Tuesday had me boozing it up with Andraste and Fresh Hell (missing her favorite TV show’s premiere), and we had ourselves a time. Old Knudsen and Dive, we so talked about you. We also shared stories of drink, music, baseball, men folk (I know what SPOUSE’s name is!), gabbing and gabbing until we were drowned out by the karaoke performers—and then we laughed. The rest of you Boston blog friends missed a great time. You know who you are. Plus Ten

Protests led by Buddhist monks challenging the military junta in Myanmar turned deadly, and things look like they’re going to get worse. Minus Five

The Red Sox pull their heads out of their asses (until last night, that is), preserving their lead over Satan’s Minions. Can they do it? Even

Grey’s Anatomy returns. I’m with Terroni—what was up with Bambi? And, worse for me, what was up with that pun at the end (Alex hands Cristina some money from his patient’s innards just as Meredith starts the voiceover with “Change…”)? Still, it’s a soap opera, I know it’s a soap opera, and M and I had a grand time watching our interns learn how to be residents and debating George’s love triangle (I'm for Izzy, M's for Callie). Who knew that George would be the stud of the show? Plus Two

W has no problem throwing billions and billions of dollars down the drain in Iraq but can’t bring himself to sign off on an extension of the S-CHIP program to cover uninsured children. Compassionate conservatism much? Minus Three

Avalon and Axis, two music/dancing venues that attracted drunken throngs of Boston’s music fans and club kids for decades, will be closing down to make way for a bigger music hall. Having spent a great deal of my misspent youth at Axis and a fair amount of my misspent adulthood checking out shows at Avalon, I feel a twinge of sadness. Minus One

One of the Jena Six students has been released on bail prior to his trial as a juvenile. Plus One

Total Plus: 13
Total Minus: 9

TOTAL FOR THE WEEK: +4

Last Week’s Total: -29

A Note about My (Lack of) Commenting: I’ve said this a couple of times, but I wanted all of you to know that my silence does not reflect my feelings for you. My place of employment has gone all Big Brother over internet usage, and I could get fired for blogging. Since I’m not much of a morning person, it’s either post or comment. So, sometimes I’ll post, sometimes I’ll comment. I will check out your blogs when I can, and please know that I still love each and every one of you.

Grey’s Anatomy Is Back!

Warning to Irish fans: Contains “spoilers” from last season

Wow, it seems like only yesterday that my dearly departed (for the Promised Land of the West Coast) coworker Carissa, Friend M, and I gathered in M’s apartment for the season finale of Grey’s Anatomy.

What a blood bath! Burke leaves Christina, George’s love triangle came to a head and then the poor guy failed his board, Bailey fails to make chief resident, and McDreamy and Meredith appear to be “over, over, over.” Oh, and Alex realized too late that he loved Ava. And Meredith’s sister McSlutty turns out to be a new intern at Seattle Grace.

Now Burke’s gone, Addison’s gone, and Webber’s staying after McDreamy refused to take the chief job. Our favorite interns are now residents.

I’ve seen a couple of previews, but I have to admit that I’m at a loss for ideas as to what’s going to happen. Last season’s premiere required the plague and a dying baby to remind us that this is a “medical” drama. What will they need this time?

There’s really only one way to find out, and so tonight M and I will be sitting in my living room, possibly knitting (it is beastly hot out, so I don’t think I can bring myself to do it—maybe a condom cozy or something?) and heckling the TV. An evening of TV is just thing to help my convalescing liver after Tuesday night’s blog bonding.

Carissa, you will be missed.

The Sassy Sundries: My Week in Review

Ah… A Friday off. Of course, it’s for a family wedding, which means one thing for this single woman in her thirties.

With that in mind, here are the week’s Sassy Sundries (WARNING: Grey’s news ahead):

Today I will be Bridget Jones, my spinsterhood on display as a cautionary tale. Everyone will ask me (or worse, my mother) what happened. You are such a pretty girl, Sassy. Why has no one scooped you up? (Answer: Why, RandomBusybodyRelative, that would put a real dent in my orgy schedule, now wouldn’t it?) I’m sure I’ll hear Lesbian staged whispered more than once (Answer: Oh, Auntie Homophobe, we’re in Massachusetts. If I were a lesbian, my sweet, loving wife would be right here at my side in this Catholic church! ) Someone is almost certain to try to fix me up.Sassy, I have a young man I’d like you to meet. Well, he isn’t so young anymore, and he’s fat and doesn’t have all of his own teeth, but he isn’t afraid of a single, educated working girl like you. Why don’t I introduce you? (Answer: Well, there is no answer. I’ll probably wind up meeting the feller and smiling wanly at his jokes in the name of politeness.) While I wish that everyone would just leave me alone, I suppose all this concern is my family’s way of saying that they love me and want to see me happy. Sigh… Minus Three

Speaking of Auntie Homophobe, she’s pissed, and I’m pleased as punch. The Massachusetts legislature refused to put discrimination to a vote. Gay marriage will stand in Massachusetts for the foreseeable future. Deval Patrick actually did something right in getting behind this fight. Plus Five

James K. Seale, a former member of the KKK, was convicted in the 1964 murder of two black teenagers. He got to live almost his entire life as a free man, but justice has finally been served in this Civil Rights era case. Plus Four

Realized that I have better options now than I did when I was dating McArtsyPants. Plus Five

Republicans in the Senate rally to support an Attorney General who takes advantage of the sick and possibly dying to reauthorize an illegal wire-tapping program. Yeah, they are the party of morals. Disgusting. Minus Two

I had a fantastic weekend last weekend. Great date, great visit from a friend, creepy conversation with Lawnmoah Man, what more can anyone ask for? Plus Ten

It’s looking more and more like Scooter Libby will really go to the clink. Too bad he needs a pardon from W to avoid it. If it were up to the Republicans in Congress, he’d probably get it. Plus Two

Bye, bye, Dr. Burke. Isaiah Washington’s big mouth and volatile temper get him canned from Grey’s. It’s not exactly shocking news, but there it is. I can’t say as I’m sorry. He did cajole Christina into getting her eyebrows removed, only to jilt her at the altar. Even

The Red Sox are in a slump. Still, they are 7.5 games ahead of the evil Yankees. Minus Two

Total Plus: 25
Total Minus: 7

TOTAL FOR THE WEEK: +18

Last Week’s Total: -4

The Sassy Sundries: My Week in Review

It’s Friday again? This week flew by for me. Here’s my numerical tally of things political, personal, and nonsensical. I stole the idea from Boston’s Weekly Dig. Imitation is the best form of flattery.

Here are the week’s Sassy Sundries (WARNING: This post contains a Grey’s spoiler):

You know you’re in the midst of strange days when John Ashcroft comes off looking like a defender of liberty. Testimony from the former deputy attorney general reveals that Alberto Gonzales attempted to take advantage of the gravely ill Ashcroft back in 2004 to authorize the illegal domestic wire tapping program. Who know where this will end up, but these revelations have caused more Republican senators to call for Gonzales to resign. Plus Three

Holy McCrap! Grey’s season finale might not have had dead bodies, but it still unfolded in a most Shakespearian fashion. Poor Christina. Loses her eyebrows and her man. And George. Poor, poor George. WTF about Callie getting chief resident? Oh, and Meredith’s half-sister is the McSlut (thanks, Conortje) who hit on McDreamy (OK, I’ll back off a bit from McJackass—he’s still self-absorbed, but at least he still loves Mer)? I thought last season ended “dramatically.” Now we have to wait how long to find out what happens? Even

I’m not going to assign points for the death of the racist, homophobic, sexist, intolerant, and generally reprehensible Jerry Falwell, but I will assign points for some excellent coverage of his demise. This article from Salon.com nearly made me wee. For more serious coverage on Falwell’s racist past, see this article from the Nation. I’ve written a bit about the role of race in the rise of the religious right and the Republican party too. Plus Five

This week marked the one-month anniversary of my effing leg injury. My effing leg is much, much better, but I’m still among the walking wounded. Minus Two

Bye bye, Sugar Daddy. Wolfowitz resigned as president of the World Bank. He manages to get some concessions from the executive board (it’s such a wretched institution that I’m not surprised), but he’s outta there. Plus Three

So things with McI are going well, but I need to figure out how to talk to him about what we’re doing. I suck at this. I’m terrified. I was going to talk to him on Tuesday, but the poor guy is sick (for real—I’ve talked to him). The healthy part of me is fairly certain that this will go just fine, but the uncertainty has me in a bit of a tizzy. Minus Two

Total Plus: 13
Total Minus: 4
TOTAL FOR THE WEEK: Plus 9

Last Time’s Total: Plus 7

The McJackass of Grey’s Anatomy

Let’s talk about the McJackass that is Derek Shepherd. I mean, seriously. What is he thinking treating Meredith this way?

To wit: Meredith is the woman who forgave him for forgetting to mention that he had, a, I don’t know, um, WIFE, and then for choosing said wife over her. She said, “Pick me” for crapssake! Then, when Derek was free, Meredith walked away from a good thing with Finn, only to have McJackass waffle over being with her. It’s only when she was nearly in the arms of McSteamy that he came to his senses.

THEN… Meredith’s nightmare of a mother comes to her senses for a day and says horrible things to Meredith. This leads to Meredith nearly drowning, because who wants to live in a world where your own mother doesn’t love you?

THEN… “Miraculously” (OK, ridiculously—I’ve already talked about how that whole triad of episodes crossed the International Cheese Line) Meredith comes back from the great operating room in the sky, and her nightmare mother is dead. And Derek takes this and makes it all about him and his nastiness with McSteamy. When it looks like he won’t be made chief because of Meredith, McJackass starts to think that he shouldn’t be with her.

THEN… Meredith’s fake mother dies, and Meredith’s father, the guy she was just beginning to know, blames her. He not only slaps her in the face after she tearfully tells him the news, but he also comes back before the funeral to tell her off again. Who’s this about? McJackass of course. He’s all upset that Meredith won’t leap into his arms and tell him all her problems. He’s so ego driven that all it takes is one slutty girl to come onto him in a bar, and he’s all ready to jump McShip.

Seriously.

Meredith should get it on with McSteamy just to put McJackass in his place. He doesn’t deserve her.


If I had my way, that’s how the season would end.

The Sassy Sundries: My Week in Review

Happy Friday! It’s time once again for me to give my weekly tally of things political, personal, and nonsensical (idea stolen from the Bean Counter column in Boston’s Weekly Dig).

Here are this week’s Sassy Sundries:

My effing leg caused me to miss Grey’s Anatomy last night. One of these days, I should become a real American and get cable. Don’t tell me what happened. I’ll watch it online tonight, Friday night, while in bed with an ice pack on my appendage. Hrmph. Minus Ten

Congress hands Bush the Iraq War spending bill with a timetable for withdrawal on the fourth anniversary of the Mission Accomplished speech—a very nice bit of timing, allowing everyone the chance to snicker at the image of W in his flight suit. Plus Five

Bush vetoes the Iraq War spending bill, saying that he’s “the Commander Guy” (I thought he was “the Decider”) and that we can’t set a deadline for failure. Ummm… didn’t failure already happen about four years ago? Veto sustained in Congress, but message still sent that the American people are no longer behind this war. Minus Three

Before the return of the leg injury, got to do some dancing with McI. Plus Ten

Things just keep getting worse at the halls of justice. That Monica Goodling. No wonder she pled the fifth. It might work, too. In exchange for her testimony, she may avoid prosecution. Minus Two

Have discovered Casey’s, a most excellent local watering hole and contender for my favorite alternate parallel universe. Expect a post about Casey’s soon. Plus Three

Former CIA chief George Tenet tries to explain his actions in the days leading up to the Iraq War. While anyone paying attention knows that the White House was hell-bent on going to war with Iraq with or without the “slam dunk” quote, Tenet still comes off sounding self-serving and disingenuous (and not a little crazy). Even

Sometimes, wonderful things arrive through the mail. While I fear for the little old ladies of the world, I really needed the laugh. Plus Ten

Total Plus: 28
Total Minus: 15

TOTAL FOR THE WEEK: Plus 7

Last Week’s Total: Minus 25,000,000,005

Pity Party the Second and Grey’s Anatomy as a Shakespearian Tragedy

Pity Party the Second
Pity Party the Second is in full swing—c’mon over. My effing leg hates me and wants to see me dead. I went to the doctor, but there wasn’t much she could do for me, aside from telling me that I might need to get a cane. I have a surgery consultation scheduled for next week if it doesn’t clear up. If it doesn’t clear up BEFORE next week, I might have to die. Or at least cut off my leg with a hacksaw. It might make a nice cane.

Just to be safe, my doctor sent me to get tested for blood clots today—an unpleasant exam if there ever was one. It’s an ultrasound that starts at the crotch and consists of having a tech pressing down with this little reader all the way down the leg. It tickles, and it’s incredibly embarrassing (having a little towel tucked into one’s panties like a dinner napkin makes one feel foolish). Sure it was cool to see my blood vessels and to hear what my blood sounds like, but all in all, I don’t recommend the experience. The upshot is that I don’t have blood clots, but I do have a motherload of pain and aggravation.

This sucks. Pass the rum and Moxie and Kool-Aid pie. Pity me!



Grey’s Anatomy as a Shakespearian Tragedy
In anticipation of tomorrow night’s two-hour episode of Grey’s Anatomy, Carissa and I tried to come up with some over-the-top things that should happen during the show. I think this could make for an excellent drinking game (if someone’s over-the-top plot point actually transpires during the episode, the others have to drink). Mine reminded me a Shakespearian tragedy.

Burke and Christina's wedding is off.

Izzy eats all of the red velvet cake to try to get over George and requires emergency MacGyver surgery.

Meredith and Derek are quits, and Meredith does McSteamy in a fit of drunken self-loathing. She then jumps back in the Sound. She dies. Derek finds out about McSteamy. They kill each other.

Callie finds out about George and Izzy, and boots George out on his ear. George returns just in time to find Izzy on the operating table, her innards a mess of red velvet cake. Izzy dies. George commits suicide.

Burke gets shot again. He dies. Christina delivers a depressing speech and then goes on to perform some kickass surgeries in her wedding dress.

Your suggestions are welcome.

The Sassy Sundries: My Week in Review

Here I consider matters personal, political, and nonsensical from my week and assign a numerical value. I’ve stolen this idea from the Boston’s Weekly Dig’s Bean Counter column.

Spineless Republicans supposedly in favor of a non-binding resolution criticizing the president’s ill-conceived surge vote against debating the measure. Minus Five

I reconnected with a friend, and it was good. Plus Four

RIP, Anna Nicole Smith, victim of stereotype and the media. She had nary a brain cell in her head, but that makes it all the more reprehensible that people reveled in her exploitation. Minus Two

A most interesting e-mail exchange with McIntriguing has me smiling a lot. Plus Five

I had to resort to platitudes to calm myself down while I waited for the e-mail to ring. Minus One

Bush’s foreign “policy” of late has me even more worried than usual. This article lays out the sheer idiocy of the Administration’s posturing on Iran. And although this article James sent me doesn’t have a lot of new information, it lays out a very convincing case for the real motivations behind our Middle East policy. Minus Five

I got to knit with Grey’s when the show was actually on. Thanks, Carissa! (If you haven’t checked out her critique of the show’s location issues and other crimes against Seattle, you should. It’s a scream.) Plus Four

I’m going to New Hampshire tonight, and I’m going to see my favorite dog. Oh, and my parents. That will be nice too. Plus Three

Plus Total: 16
Minus Total: 16

Verdict: Even
Last Week’s Total: Minus 1

Today Is Friday…

Today is Friday, and I’m singing my little Friday Song. I don't have much by way of plans this weekend. PhilosopherPants and I exchange a couple of e-mails, but I think it’s safe to say that we’re not really an ideal dating pair. Anyway, I could use a little down time after the two-day New Year’s bash and a nearly full-length work week.

I had thought that Perfume: Story of a Murderer might have been worth going to see, but I’ve read terrible reviews. Pity, I thought the whole idea of seeing and hearing scent sounded so sensual, and you know, there was that whole creepy book thing. My two new episodes of Grey’s Anatomy, recorded for me by Super Carissa Marie, will provide some guilty pleasure instead. That and some wine.

What about you? Big weekend plans? Any suggestions?

Strange Day Indeed

Do you ever have one of those days when you really don’t know what’s going on? I’m having one of those days today. Often when I sit here in my rose-pink cube (I despise rose-pink), looking out the window on gray days, I lose track of time and space and feel as though I’ve lived my whole life in this rose-pink cube. It creeps me out. Today isn’t like that. Today feels even weirder, and it’s scaring me because it’s not chemically induced.

Dreams
It started with some really messed up dreams right before I woke up. Not those kind of dreams, my pervy friends, but the kind that leave you going, “Now where did THAT come from? And what was that person doing there? I haven’t thought about ___ in years!” I woke up not really knowing exactly what time of year it was or where I had to be that day. Thankfully, I figured it out. January. A Thursday. My presence was requested at work.

Disturbing News
Having sloughed off that disorientation, I learned that the banshees weren’t finished with me yet. On my way to work, I heard a story on the BBC that I swore had to be fake. It wasn’t. I listened, horrified, to a tale about parents in Seattle, Washington, who had surgery performed on their severely mentally and physically disabled daughter to have her remain a child, literally, forever, so that they could better care for her. OK, I understand that caring for such a child is very, very difficult, but was this the answer? Apparently this series of procedures was approved by the hospital ethics board, so I’d imagine that there are some other issues in play, but this seems like nothing short of mutilation to me. Regardless, it definitely wasn’t the usual news.

Classic Boy Freakout
Then I got to work and read an e-mail from a friend. Last night her boyfriend discovered that he was happy, so naturally it was time for him to break up with her. The timing could not have been worse for her life. A couple of you male readers have asked what women want. I don’t believe in blanket statements for “men” and “women,” but here’s a thing that many women, myself included, have experienced, and it confuses the h-e-double-hockey-sticks out of us. It goes a bit like this.

You start dating a guy. You hit it off. You think that you might like to go out with him again, and so you do. You aren’t thinking of this as a “relationship.” You are just enjoying his company. Things, however, are going well. The conversation’s great; other things are great as well. You spend more time together, and things continue to be great. Sometimes the guy even starts talking like he’d like things to get a bit more serious. You think that might be nice.

Then, WHAMO! The guy says, “Um, I really like you, but I don’t want to have a relationship right now, so I think it’s best that we stop seeing each other.”

WHAT THE HELL? THEN WHY DID YOU ACT LIKE YOU WANTED ONE?!

Nothing shy of breaking up with someone by e-mail (a-hem) pisses off women I know more. I’d say that it was something we were doing, but to tell you the truth, we are all very different people. We date different “types” of men. And we’ve all had this happen to us more than once, at different points in our lives. We call it the “Classic Boy Freakout.” We hate it. It confuses the hell out of us, which makes it somewhat appropriate for this day.

Seattle’s Geography and Grey’s Anatomy
So then Carissa Marie and I had this lengthy conversation about the location of Seattle Grace Hospital on Grey’s Anatomy. Being from the Promised Land of Seattle (as she calls it), Carissa is very offended that the show’s creators cannot seem to decide where, exactly, they’d like this hospital to be. I’ve assured her that since Grey’s is pretty much a soap opera, the hospital can teleport at will. She doesn’t seem to believe me. All the talk about Seattle’s geography, completely unfamiliar to me, is not helping my sense of dislocation.

Simply Wacky News
Then Carissa sent me a link to this story. A bank issued a credit card to a cat. The cat’s name is Messiah. Salvation through shopping. Interesting concept.

And then I read about THIS. An unidentified chunk of something astral landed in someone’s house in New Jersey. It’s shiny and metallic looking, and they have no idea what it is. Come to think of it, this might make the most sense of all.

More later when things return to normal.

Crafty Sundry

She's crafty - she's gets around
She's crafty - she's always down
She's crafty - she's got a gripe
She's crafty - and she's just my type
She's crafty
—Beastie Boys

Oh, I just love it when Ad-Rock whines “she’s crafty”! He’s just so cute. OK, so this isn’t about that kind of crafty, but I thought it fit. After all, I have gripes.

Blame Dive for this posting of my crafty wares. Well, come to think of it, you can also blame Creative Carissa, as she convinced me to join Punk Rock Knitters, a knitting blog. And you can also blame Robyn for posting such pretty watercolors and getting Dive going on his Photoshop wonders. I’d say blame Knudsen too, but he’d probably kill me.

In my very first bloggy post I wrote about a number of things that I had caved on in my life (I had vowed never to get involved in blogging, hence the theme). Crafts was a big one. I come from a crafty family. Mom’s a former artist and current craftswoman extraordinaire (you name it, she’s tried it, and she’s amazing). Dad’s an amateur woodworker, and my sister is an artist. For a long time I figured that I’d be the unique one in my family and make absolutely nothing with my hands (I also had some what I thought to be feminist principles about not pursuing any kind of domestic arts). Thing is, it’s in the blood. It was only a matter of time before I’d turn to crafts. I’m glad I did. I like them.

Pottery
I took up pottery when I was living in New Hampshire. I never got terribly good at it, but I loved it very much. My Monday night class was with a bunch of salty women of varying ages and was taught by this perfectly normal guy, the most straight-laced potter I’ve ever met. We probably traumatized him, but he loved us. He screened people for our classes because he didn't want to mess up the vibe. I miss the class (almost like therapy) and haven’t found anything around these here parts to replace it.

Knitting
Knitting was something I swore I’d never do. Ever. But then I wanted this funky scarf that I could see in my mind, and I decided that I had to learn. Here’s a photo of the McDreamy hat and scarf set that I’m giving my mother for Christmas. She loves bubblegum pink, and I was in the middle of my endless Grey’s marathon, so I decided to name it after McDreamy (the hat pattern is from the Stitch ‘N Bitch book, and the scarf is free style). Read my first blog post for a picture of the cell phone cozies I made (they are cute). If you are really interested in the details, click here for my Punk Rock Knitters post (I finally did it, Carissa).

Home Sweet Home

Ugh…

Home at last. From schmoozing to family Thanksgiving and back. I’m exhausted—even my soul is exhausted. It’s a beautiful day outside, and all I’m capable of doing is watching Grey’s Anatomy reruns on DVD and trolling blogs. I am so tired I can’t even knit while watching TV.

The schmoozing thing in DC was interesting (when I can stop drooling, I’ll post the Fluff pictures). Over the course of the weekend, I realized that I never, ever want to do that kind of thing again. Sure, I’m insanely good at it. People love Little Sassy Schmoozer—and they even told my boss so. But what’s the point of doing something I’m good at if it makes me hate myself? I’m also really good at getting drunk and picking up guys in bars, and that didn't exactly add much to my self-esteem, either. So I have some thinking to do about life and what I’m doing with it.

Thanksgiving at my parents’ was surprisingly normal and free of freaks. I was a misanthropic bitch after the weekend in DC, but I was a self-aware misanthropic bitch, and I kept apologizing and doing nice little things when my fangs retracted. I channeled all of my bitchiness into kicking everyone’s ass at cards Thanksgiving night. That helped.

I tried not to keep thinking about Ex-Boyfriend and how much I wished that things had turned out differently and that he wasn’t a spineless asshole, but last night that finally came out too. Mothers have an uncanny way of knowing when to ask certain questions. But it was good. My parents were supportive and didn’t patronize me. I woke up this morning feeling better.

Now I’m here, and I’m beyond tired, half-watching Grey’s Anatomy. At some point I need to start thinking about what to do with my life but not now. Now it’s McDreamy time.

All the King’s Jackasses: My Weekend at the Movies

Obviously some kind of bizarre vortex has sucked something out of the universe. Stephen Hawking must have an explanation, because I certainly cannot understand why a film based on one of the great novels of the twentieth century sucked pud, and a flick about a bunch of well, jackasses, worked. Wormholes. It’s the only answer.

In case you didn’t know, All the King’s Men is simply an amazing novel. Graduate school and I didn’t get along too terribly well, but I am so glad that I took a class in Southern history and literature, because I probably never would have read Robert Penn Warren’s story otherwise (I had already read Zora Neale Hurston, Flannery O'Connor, Richard Wright, and William Faulkner). History is not a field known for scintillating writing, and the novel was tonic to my story-starved soul. Curled up on my couch, the tale of southern politics, betrayal, and loss (aren’t they the same?), narrated by the world-weary Jack Burden, enthralled me. The story broke my heart, while giving me insight into the charisma of Huey Long. If you haven’t read All the King’s Men, you might want to consider putting it on your reading list. You won’t be sorry.

Do not, however, put the muddled Sean Penn snoozer on your must-see list. You will regret it. Ugh. The crap screenwriter-director who ruined Schindler’s List gutted All the King’s Men by reducing it to gauzy atmospherics and twitching. Honestly, I have nothing good to say about it. My poor boyfriend had no idea why on earth the Louisiana legislature wanted to impeach Penn’s herky jerky Willy Stark (a fictional Huey Long), or why Jude Law’s unconvincing Jack Burden needed to dig into the past of the man who raised him (Anthony Hopkins) in order to stop the impeachment from happening. In other words, he couldn’t see why the story mattered. If all I’d seen was that terrible movie, I wouldn’t know either. Talk about being conceived in sin and born in corruption, only to pass to the stench of the shroud. Sucked into a wormhole, All the King's Men was.

I was looking forward to All the King’s Men Friday night. I did not plan on seeing Jackass: Number Two ever. To my way of thinking, Jackass represented a wholly other kind of stench. Pranks involving dangerous levels of testosterone, shit, pubic hair, ass-branding (with a penis cookie cutter), and horse semen are frankly not my cup of tea. I like my IQ, thank you very much, or if I'm going to sacrifice it, I do it with shows like Grey's Anatomy (see below). I don’t know what to blame it on, the rainy day, disappointment in All the King’s Men, the desire to shock my boyfriend by agreeing to see it, or wormholes. It was either the vortex, or a combination of the other three that drove me to the multiplex. I've been bored and disappointed before, and I have other ways of shocking my boyfriend. So I'm praising the wormhole.

Jackass is hilarious. Side-splitting, gross-out, piss-yourself funny. I nearly threw up, not once, not twice, but three times, the third being a very close call (things that made me retch: eating horse shit, drinking horse semen, and a guy wearing a fart mask and throwing up in it). Hysterical, zany, and surprisingly joyous, the stunts and pranks performed by Johnny Knoxville's posse of grown men were like a giant middle finger (or a big, hairy moon) shoved into the face of maturity.

In the middle of the romp, John Waters performs a magical disappearing act. Perhaps it was his magic trick that caused the vortex? That could be, but I don't think so. We've had too much depressing reality of late. We know all about corrupt politicians. What the world needs now is Jackass, and that's why the vortex happened.

Or maybe I'm just full of horseshit. All I can say is that I didn’t stop laughing (except when I was retching) from the opening scene of Number Two to the closing credits (scored to “Treatment Bound” by the Replacements—my all-time favorite beautiful jackasses). My brain was sucked into a wormhole. It was great.

Tell Stephen Hawking I don’t care.

Anatomy of Me---A Sad Sack Grey's Addict

OK, confession time. I’m one of those sad sacks who is completely addicted to Grey’s Anatomy.

I love it. Since it’s about smart people, it’s not really a soap opera, right? Of course not. I’m learning about surgery. I know all about CTs and gigantor tumors. It's educational. Oh, who am I kidding? Do I care about all the Whipple procedure or stand-still operations? Hell no. I wanna know about Meredith and McDreamy and sneak in a good cry when no one’s looking.

I am pathetic.

I’m not like this. I don’t like TV. I don’t even have cable, but I want to hook it up so that I won’t miss a single moment of the high times at Seattle Grace.

It’s humiliating.

Just read this recap of last night’s season premiere:

Despite all that emotion, the show's writers seemed determined to keep last season's romantic plots from turning the episode into pure soap opera. They reminded us that this is, in fact, a medical drama by throwing both the plague and a dying baby into the mix.

They needed the plague AND a dying baby to make sure that it didn’t devolve into pure schmaltz.

No wonder I’ve never done anything with my life. I’m a secret sad sack soap addict.