My bad, I thought it was still OCTOBER.

This is the sight that greeted me in aisle seven of the grocery store last night. Seriously, Stop and Shop? IT IS NOT EVEN COLUMBUS DAY YET. Do you have any idea how disrespectful that is to Halloween? (Frankly, I don't care about Columbus Day's feelings because we should not even be celebrating that holiday but that is a rant for another day.) Also? I do not need to be having agida about Christmas shopping when I should actually be having agida about my annual Halloween party.

Christmas, you are on notice. BACK OFF. Your time will come.

How do you feel about reboots?

It seems like everything is getting a reboot lately, especially in the comics-to-movies world: The Punisher in 2004, The Hulk in 2008 after having just been done in 2003, and Spiderman is now being rebooted after a successful franchise that ended in 2007.

It seems reboots are not just affecting the comics world, however. I recently learned that Lionsgate is going ahead with a reboot of Dirty Dancing.

People, you cannot possibly imagine my horror.

Dirty Dancing! Patrick Swayze *crai*! Jennifer Grey's old nose! "Nobody puts Baby in a corner!" "This is my dance space, this is your dance space"! I could quote from this movie all day. So many classic scenes! Such great music! This movie does not need to be redone!!!!!

LIONSGATE, THIS IS CRAZY TALK. JUST STOP THE MADNESS.

And you? Thoughts on reboots?

On Phones, Technological Advancement of

I might have made my daily word count goal by now, if the woman sitting behind me on the bus hadn't been SHOUTING! INTO! HER! PHONE! LIKE! IT! WAS! HALF! OF! A! PAIR! OF! TIN! CANS! CONNECTED! BY! STRING!

But, yanno, she was, so I didn't. Therefore, I can't be here. Buh-bye.

Exclusive Tracks (or How the Fans Get Screwed)

I'm a Sarah McLachlan fan. I've seen her in concert a zillion times, I own her records, I am a member of her fan club and was even when you had to pay for it--hell, I even have a piece of her art work tattooed on my thigh. But I honestly feel like boycotting her upcoming album, Laws of Illusion*.

When the album was first announced, I was told that I would get a pre-sale code for Lilith Fair tickets if I pre-ordered it from www.sarahmclachlan.com. So I did. The pre-sale code was essentially useless for a variety of reasons I won't get into. In the intervening time, advertisements indicated that Amazon and iTunes were going to offer exclusive tracks, so I contacted the sarahmclachlan.com people. I explained why I wanted to cancel my pre-order--that I wanted the extra tracks. They canceled it with no problem.

Today, I saw an ad claiming that you can get an extra track available nowhere else by pre-ordering the album on sarahmclachlan.com.

Really? I mean, come on. So, as a dedicated fan who wants all of Sarah's music--someone who doesn't pirate (a.k.a. steal), someone who supports the artist in a way that makes her and her label money and ensures the continuation of her career--I'm expected to buy the album three fucking times in order to get all the tracks? Because, as you probably know based on your own mp3-buying experience, the exclusive tracks are typically packaged as "album only" and can't be bought as individual tracks off of iTunes or Amazon.

I get the idea behind it. It's a selling tool, something created to claim market share. Buy your music from __insert store name here__! We have stuff the other guys don't!

But the only people who end up getting screwed are the fans.

And, really, what can I do about it? Send an email to Nettwerk (Sarah's label)? Like they're going to care.

Not cool, Sarah/Nettwerk/iTunes/Amazon/whoever else. Not cool at all.



*Isn't that such a great title? It's sparking story ideas in my mind.

Grrr.

Apparently today I am a bitter, hateful person. And, really, what better to do when one is a bitter, hateful person than dole out fashion advice? Let us begin.

1. Girls. For the love of Manolo Blahnik, don't buy the shoes if you can't walk in them. I understand that heels the height of skyscrapers are "fashionable" right now but for fuck's sake, listen to me: I don't care how curvaceously fantastic they make your calves look. I don't care how delightfully petite they make your ankles look. If you think everyone is looking at you because you're the sexiest thang in the hallway, you're sadly mistaken. Even children will stare at a fully grown, physically fit human who is shuffling for no other apparent reason than the ridiculous things she's strapped to her feet. You're just making a goddamn spectacle of yourself and knocking the rest of your gender down a few rungs on the ladder of equality. My advice? Save them for the bedroom, where you don't have to walk more than a few paces at a time.

2. Let's discuss pony tails, shall we? Boys, if you have a pony tail please ask yourselves the following questions: Is there more than a centimeter's worth of hair gathered in the tail? Are there more than "a few" fly away strands that routinely pull free of the tail? Does the hair that is gathered into the tail have to circumnavigate a medium- to large-sized bald spot prior to reaching its destination? Because if the answer to any of these questions is yes, you need to cut that shit off. It's time to face facts that the pony tail is a hair style that is in your past. The good news is, you don't have much to mourn because it doesn't look good on you anyway. Find a decent barber or hair dresser (Supercuts DOES. NOT. COUNT.) and allow them to help you find a haircut that will flatter you. Really. You'll be happier and so will we.

3. While we're on the subject of boys, let me say this: Do not fool yourselves into thinking you're getting away with anything when you try to adjust yourselves with the leg shake. Women are not idiots. We are intimately familiar with the male anatomy and it's basic needs. We can use the power of our minds to deduce what is happening when you suddenly shake your legs and hips like you're doing a tribal dance in the middle of a fucking mundane conversation. It is not subtle. It is not--in my opinion--more appropriate than just discreetly adjusting yourself with your hand (over the pants, just to be clear), which would surely get the job done quicker and more accurately, no? Thus preventing the rebound leg shakes that seem to happen so often, in quick succession to the first leg shake? Really, people. We've got to get over all this bodily embarrassment crap. Also, may I suggest boxer briefs? Still sexy and with added support.

4. Girls, I couldn't let the boys leave us outnumbered. Not when I'm All About the gender equality. A word to the wise: See this shirt?

See the horizontal seam in the upper portion of it? Yeah, that's intended to go under your boobs. Under, girls--not over, not on top of, not straight across. Fucking. Under. It is meant to accentuate your breasts, to make them look perky! and young! and desirable! Know what happens when you wear a shirt like that and the seam goes across your boobs? You look like you have The Sag. And The Sag, my friends, is neither perky, young, nor desirable. To anyone. So you, like the dudes of the shittyass pony tails, must accept that your breasts are either too saggy or too large for this style of shirt and LEAVE IT AT THE STORE. Just like the dudes, you're not mourning much because it doesn't look good on you anyway.

Incidentally, I have just witnessed someone vomiting on the side of the road. Surely this is a sign that I should stop spewing my venom upon the interwebs. I'm going to go find some alcohol and bathe in it. Have a pleasant evening.

Put on your flak jackets

This column at the NY Times (via Publishers Marketplace) got me in a bit of a mood today. In summary, a reader wrote in to a column called "The Ethicist" (which I find ironic, considering his response) and asked if it was okay that she'd illegally downloaded an e-book version of Stephen King's UNDER THE DOME since she'd bought the hardcover.

Here, for your reading pleasure, is The Ethicist's response:

"An illegal download is — to use an ugly word — illegal. But in this case, it is not unethical. Author and publisher are entitled to be paid for their work, and by purchasing the hardcover, you did so. Your subsequent downloading is akin to buying a CD, then copying it to your iPod."

The article goes on for several paragraphs justifying his answer based on the idea that "Buying a book or a piece of music should be regarded as a license to enjoy it on any platform."

Right. Fine. "Should be." I'm not here to discuss whether or not I agree with the idea that books, music, movies, etc. should be available for free or for a nominal cost on additional platforms.

The point is, they're not free on additional platforms today. Want the hardcover? You buy it. Decide you want the e-book? Then you buy that, too. Like the cover of the paperback when it comes out? Guess what? Gotta buy that one, also. That's how the world works right now, whether or not we agree with it.

Let me give you an analogy of my own: I love movies. I like to watch my favorites over and over. Back in the day, I had quite an extensive collection of VHS tapes*. Cue the choir of angels, along come DVDs! And later--HD DVDs! BluRay! Lo, what will I watch next? So, since I'd bought those VHS tapes way back when, should I have been able to go into Best Buy and just steal the DVDs of those movies? Just put that DVD right in my pocket and walk out? And then again with the HD DVD? And again with the BluRay?

Of course not. That's absurd. My God, that's...that's stealing.

How about if I buy a CD and then I don't feel like digitizing it. Can I just go onto the internet and download an illegal version for free? Because I think that's a more accurate analogy than what The Ethicist has offered up. The book equivalent of digitizing a CD so you can listen to it on your iPod is scanning every page of your hardcover yourself to create your own PDF or typing all the words in yourself. Not just grabbing a version where someone else has already done all the work for you.

At the end of the day, e-books are not the scraps from the print market's table. They are a product and a market unto themselves and should be treated as such.

ETA: Nathan Bransford posted very similar thoughts on his superfantastic blog here. I swear was not communicating psychically with him (nor had I read his post yet, as I get them late in the day via email).


*For those of you too young to know what I'm talking about, these were magical black plastic boxes that you put into another magical box called a VCR and then a movie appeared on your TV. At the end, you had to rewind them or you got in trouble with Blockbuster.

On Thanksgiving, Bitter Thoughts Of

I'm going to do something compleeeeeetely uncharacteristic and tell you what I think about something. (I know, I know. Prepare yourselves for the shock.)

Specifically, Thanksgiving. I think it's...false. Just like Christmas.

I mean, really.

Here's what we actually celebrate: A day with the family, whom we may or may not see very often, on which we allow ourselves to overindulge in a level of gluttony that takes days to prepare for. Occasionally, there's a bonus moment or two of actual thanksgiving (in the dictionary sense, not the branded word Thanksgiving (tm) that calls to mind google-eyed turkeys joyfully advertising their own flesh for consumption).

Here's what Thanksgiving really is: A day designated to celebrate/acknowledge a false friendship between white settlers and the Native Americans whose land we took over. I realize that's a terribly pessimistic view of things, but there you have it. That's how I feel.

Here's what it should be: What it was originally intended to be--a harvest festival meant to be a chance to offer (wait for it...) thanksgiving to the earth for a plentiful harvest that will get families through the winter. A time to reflect on the blessings each person, each family, has received throughout the year or their lives. A time to give thanks to each other for their support in the hard times and their shared rejoicing in the good times.

Much like with Christmas, we have strayed far from what this holiday was meant for. It's true that our lives aren't so desperately dependent on local harvests for survival anymore. But our lives are far more complicated than they used to be way back when this tradition first began. We have many other things that we depend on to keep us happy, healthy and safe--things that our minds skitter past in our hurried day to day lives.

I guess the point of this rather long and grumpy post is that I wish everyone would take this whole week and, in fact, every week of the year to think about the blessings in their lives. Actually, I'd really, really love for people to act upon the sense of gratefulness I'm certain will follow this type of reflection, but we'll start with baby steps. :)

/grumpiness

The misery of clothes shopping

I love clothes. I typically enjoy shopping. I even had a coupon!! Today should have been fun, damn it.

My attempts to freshen up my spring wardrobe yielded overpriced garments made out of cheap ass materials. Why, for the love of dog, would I pay $60 for a shirt made out of thin, jersey cotton? I wouldn't. Especially not when it's a shapeless, drapey mess. And don't even get me started on fashion "trends." There's a difference between a trend and discovering every store carries the exact same six styles.

Bottom line: I will not be raped by you, fashion industry. I will not pay too much for too little. I will not bow to your idiotic, clone-like retro styles*.
I can wait you out.

/rant

No. Just--freaking no.

I went to see 3 Doors Down, Staind and Hinder in concert last night. The show was great--you should jump at any opportunity to see either 3DD or Staind. Really. But, sadly, that's not what I'm here to discuss.

I'm here to discuss fashion, people.

Concerts are always great for people watching and last night was no exception. Despite my preconceived notions of the type of fans who would be attracted to the line up, the crowd was fairly varied:

You had your basic concert sluts -- no surprise there. You know the gals I'm talking about. Shorts cut halfway up the ass cheeks and skimpy tank tops revealing 93.7% of their breast surface. These are the girls who believe, deep in their heart of hearts, that a member of the band will be attracted to the glaring amounts of skin like a moth to a flame, and that they'll be subsequently invited backstage to party with the band. I'll admit, this theory probably has some merit if you're seated in one of the first three rows. Back in row X of the section that butts up against the lawn seats? Maybe not so much.

Then there were a smattering of ratty looking biker folks there. Dudes with long, scraggly pony tails that are elastic-banded in multiple places (is there a name for this, er, style?) and a bandana or two. Women with feathered hair and dark under-eye-liner and too-tight tapered leg jeans which may or may not end in high top sneakers. One guy at the show looked so much like Hulk Hogan, my brother almost stopped the car.

High schoolers in their Abercrombie and Aeropostale shirts. College kids in polos and cargo shorts, usually double fisting Bud long necks. People who chose one of their statement shirts: "UPS: Unlimited Pot Smoking", "In between BAD BOYFRIENDS", "If you can't hang with the dogs, stay on the porch", etc. People wearing the concert t-shirts they clearly just purchased over whatever they originally put on (a grave offense to my husband). And people like me and my brother, wearing jeans or shorts and a regular t-shirt (mine was from Irish Kevin's bar in Key West, Dennis had on a ski t-shirt).

The girl next to me was wearing an Ann Taylor top. I know it was Ann Taylor because I own the same one in black. I wear mine to work. Yanno, when I want to look professional. I don't wear it to a rock concert. I especially don't wear it to a rock concert when my boyfriend is planning on smoking pot through the show, suffocating the people seated next to me. Grrrrrrrrrrrr.

Last, but not least, is our fashion tragedy for the evening:


It's a little hard to tell from this cell-phone snapped picture, but this horribly mis-led young man is wearing a fanny pack. Did I mention we were at a ROCK CONCERT? I mean, there's nothing less rock 'n' roll than a fanny pack.

Unless you have the fanny pack belted over your t-shirt. No, there's definitely nothing less rock 'n' roll than a fanny pack belted over your t-shirt.

Unless said t-shirt is a Staind shirt.

I mean, come on. Fanny pack belted OVER a Staind t-shirt, so that the shirt blouses over the goddamn thing? No. Just--freaking no.

Here endeth my fashion commentary for the evening.

X-Files: The Love Story or The Idiots at TV Guide

At the grocery store today, this magazine cover caught my eye:



(In case you can't read the sub-heading, it says, "Do Mulder and Scully finally fall in love? Inside this summer's most mysterious-and romantic-blockbuster.")

To which I immediately responded, "You stupid dorks! They're already in love!" Out loud. In the check out aisle.

WTF????? Do Mulder and Scully "finally" fall in love? Who's the asshat who wrote this? Clearly someone who never freaking watched the show. Clearly someone who didn't drink up 7 seasons of insane romantic tension which culminated in the best, most anticipated on-screen TV kiss evah. Clearly someone who has no idea what they're talking about!!!!!!

TV Guide can kiss my seam-splitting ass.

Texas Road House, a.k.a. The Dinner I Wish I Could Un-Live

 First things first:  Richelle Mead has posted an excerpt here from the first book in her new series, Storm Born.  It's super great and you should go read it right now.  I'm serious.  Before you even read the rest of my ranting.  I'll wait.


Now, then.

 

There are a few things you need to know about me in order to fully appreciate my hellish dinner experience this evening:
~~ I'm a lacto-ovo vegetarian.  (Nothing with a face and no seafood but eggs and dairy are okay.)
~~ I **despise** country music.
~~ I **despise** the song 'Cotton Eye Joe'.  Even when it's played at a hockey game (which I love).
~~ I don't like line dancing.  Unless it's the Electric Slide and even then I only like it because it's the only stupid one I could ever do.  (Yeah, I'm not terribly coordinated.)

I'm on a business trip right now with a coworker in lovely Chantilly, VA.  He loooooves Texas Road House, a steak restaurant, so I agreed to eat there for dinner tonight.  I checked out their menu -- there were a bunch of side dishes I could slap together to make a meal out of and I wasn't all that hungry anyway.  No sweat.

We walk in and I'm greeted by a giant butcher case full of slabs of cow flesh.  Awesome.  Our server wants to know if I'd like to pick my own steak!  (She said it just like that, like it was the most exciting activity I would possibly accomplish during this trip.)  I politely tell her no thanks and my coworker, Dave, and I chuckle to each other.   Ha ha ha, she doesn't know I'm a vegetarian, ha ha ha.   Mmmyeah.

Next, we attempt to order beers.  I order a Guinness (can, because they don't have it on tap) and Dave orders a something-or-other on tap.  The overly-perky waittress comes back a few minutes later and explains that they'd run out of whatever he'd ordered on tap.  In fact, *all* their draft beers were out.

What?

Has anyone--ever, ever in your lifetimes--been to a restaurant where they'd "run out" of ALL SIX OF THEIR DRAFT BEERS?  *sigh*  Moving on.

We order an appetizer but explain that we'd like to wait a few minutes before we order our meals.  Our reasoning is that this way the meals won't come out right on top of the apps and we'll have a lovely, well-paced dining experience.  Mmmyeah.

Like, forty minutes later the freaking waittress still hasn't taken our meal orders.  Oh, she's popped by to "check" on us, which has involved lightining fast streaks by the table with completely one-sided conversations (hers) about how we're doing.  No chance whatsoever to communicate that we'd actually like to order dinner.

Finally I snag a nearby server and get her ass sent back to the table.  Dave orders steak.  I order the 'country veg plate', which is basically a side item sampler.  Here are my choices, exactly as they were listed in the menu:
~Baked potato
~Fresh vegetables
~Green beans
~Applesauce

Sounds healthy, right?  Sounds vegetarian, right?  Mmmmmyeah.

Here comes the food! 

Baked potato?  Check.
Fresh vegetables?  Er...not so fresh looking and drowned in a suspicious looking butter-like sauce but okay. Check.
Green beans?  Laden with crumbled bacon and onions.  Yep. Bacon.
Applesauce?  Check.

Now, the whole food debacle isn't enough to scar me.  Truly.  As a vegetarian who eats out frequently, I've come to expect such incidents from time to time.  And to be honest, I'm a vegetarian eating in a STEAK HOUSE.  I'm hardly in a position to bitch about it.   But it does add to the total horror of the evening.

During the entire experience,  country music is playing from the restaurants speakers.  Loudly.  Not country-crossover, which I occasionally find tolerable, but true country music.  Sweet.  Twice during our time there, the music got cranked up so loud that conversation was completely impossible and half the waitstaff got together in one of the main aisles and line danced.  Oh, yes!  Waitstaff line dancing at Texas Road House!  Come on down!  

Bet you can't guess what song they danced to the second time!  Ha! Cotton Eye Joe!

All in all, it was an anti-Renee experience.  To top the evening off, we got caught in a crazy downpour on the way out to the car and again from the car to the hotel.  

Dave swears they don't play country music or do line dancing at the TRHs in CT but I'm planning to exact my revenge in selecting our dinner location tomorrow evening nonetheless.

Good times, good times.

Thank you, dear peeps, for allowing me to purge the experience here on my blog.
Nighty-night.