Observations from the Basement #3

Nothing a Good Sharpie Couldn't Solve:

The first debate was a bit dull. Is that a good thing? I don't know. At least it happened. I do wish they would stop calling them debates though. They're not. A debate is supposed to be an organized argument between different opinions on various issues. Not two people talking about how much the other person sucks. I don't want to know how one candidate supposedly voted on this issue five years ago. I don't want to be told that the other person will totally ruin the universe. I don't want to hear personal anecdotes or attempts at humor. I want them to actually answer the damn question and not in slogans or catch phrases that only serve to get people all riled up. Save it for the ads and campaign speeches.

So I vote that flip charts be used at all debates. As you talk, you must write your ideas in a list of bullet points so that we can see when you're done if what you've said actually has any merit or is just a circuitous, nonsensical pile of crap. Just think about it - when the debate is over, we'd have this big visual representation of what each candidate wants to do. Then Jim Lehrer could go up on stage with a big red marker - or Tom Brokaw could do it onscreen with a telestrator like they do for football games - and cross through anything that was mudslinging or conjecture or didn't directly answer the question. We would also get an idea about each candidate's penmanship and list-making skills. I for one would enjoy that.


A Long Strange Trip:

New season of "Amazing Race." Yay! I looove this show. It's exciting and educational. There is the obligatory melodrama and silliness that can grate on my nerves, but in the world of reality programming, I think this kicks ass. Plus, it gives people like me hope. With all of the physical challenges that I would totally suck at, what trips teams up the most seems to be the real challenges of international travel: not screaming in English at people who don't speak it, reading a map, using public transportation, and driving a stick-shift. I happen to rock at all of those things. Oh, and rowing a boat. I guess it's kind of a physical challenge but I am capable of rowing a boat. I mean, really, is it that hard? Yet every year there's a major meltdown with at least one team - who was somehow able to climb up the side of a castle on a ladder constructed of seaweed like champs earlier in the day - who can't row a frickin' boat. It's unbelievable. If I ever see challenges added that also involve using a label-maker, parallel parking, pop culture trivia, or a scavenger hunt at Target - that million dollars will be mine.


In Memoriam:

Don't know about you, but my salads have been tasting very sad.

Adorableness to Beat the Band

Last night I fell asleep around 9:30. I have a feeling one or both of these things may be the cause:

• Impending-Armageddon-Induced Insomnia (I mean really, did you think yesterday's crazy rant was done at a normal hour??)
  
  
• The peace that came with finally seeing Jim and Pam get engaged on "The Office." (Adorable, yes, but the Pennsylvania Turnpike? Seriously? I think we all deserved a little better than that.)

I woke up a little before midnight and couldn't go back to sleep so I checked in on the man who has lately been giving my affection for Jon Stewart a little competition. Craig Ferguson. If you've never watched his show, I recommend watching, taping, DVRing, Tivoing, or YouTubing - whichever your pleasure. He's just great. Nothing is scripted - the monologues or the interviews. Sometimes that means there's a lot of mediocre rambling, but even at those times he's better than a lot of rehearsed talk show hosts. Plus, he says what he thinks, doesn't mince words and yet he's still really nice about it. Oh. And. There's the Scottish accent. Definitely adorable.

Last night I hit the mother load. Tim Gunn from "Project Runway" was his first guest. "Project Runway" is definitely in the Top Five of what I miss not having cable and Mr. Gunn is one of the biggest reasons. He's a lot like Craig Ferguson - he's hilarious, he's brilliant, he's direct and says what he thinks and yet he's so nice about it. Turns out the two men are each a big fan of the other's show and their conversation together was so damn adorable I could barely stand it.

In case you haven't picked up on it - I have two main weaknesses when it comes to the opposite sex: an accent from the British Isles and a smart, dry-witted, gay man.

A little insight as to why I'm still single? Perhaps.

Here's the clip, thanks to YouTube. It's a bit long, but worth it to get to the end when they talk about Diane von Furstenburg. So great.

And really. Even if you don't care anything about either of them or their shows, it's refreshing watch two intelligent people carry on an articulate conversation without the use of teleprompters or sound bites.

So I'm now off to a bar to watch the debates and guessing that my warm and fuzzy Gunn/Ferguson feeling won't last much longer.

Happy Friday!

Observations from the Basement #2

Mr. President:

My last political science class may have been taken before cell phones existed. I may not know a whole lot more about the Bush Doctrine than Caribou Barbie claims to know. And I can't manage my own household and its finances particularly well so I certainly don't have any business managing say a company or a country. BUT. In the spirit of my baseball observation...

This I know:

Going on television every couple of years for the sole purpose of scaring the shit out of people so they will hop on your bandwagon is NOT THE WAY TO LEAD A COUNTRY!

I won't dwell in your past attempts at doing this. I have my Sesame Street Terror Alert on my iPage as a daily reminder.

But for this more recent incident, let's review:

• In January you said our economy was "sound."
• In July you said our economy was "basically sound."
• You spent the rest of the summer toddling around Camp David and the Olympics.
• Then last night you come on prime time television to tell people "OUR ENTIRE ECONOMY IS IN DANGER."

Stellar. And so much more thrilling than that guy originally scheduled to be on TV who'd been hanging upside down for three days.

But you know... this current pattern of yours sounds pretty familiar... let's see... oh yeah, that's where I've heard it before...

IT WAS ME. MY SENIOR YEAR OF COLLEGE.

How did Gert handle her impending adulthood? Let's review:

• In January of that year, I believe I was quoted as saying, "No worries. Where's the keg?"
• By June I was all "Dude, look at my pretty diploma!"
• That summer? Spent it happily living in a tent and skipping around in the woods.
• September arrived. I suddenly realized the sky was falling.

It wasn't pretty. But you know what? I WAS TWENTY-FRICKIN'-TWO-YEARS OLD. The only things I was responsible for were my student loan, a Volkswagen named Jose Jetta, and a ficus. NOT THE HEALTH AND SAFETY OF 300 MILLION PEOPLE.

But again, what do I know? I am so far from being an economics expert it's not even funny. I'm more likely to be named Miss Alaska than Fed Chair. Well, actually, the opposite is probably closer to being true. BUT YOU GET MY POINT.

So... since we seem to have similar ways of obliviously keeping our heads up our asses and then running around like morons handling big problems, I would like to offer up my own life experience as a cautionary tale:

Of the three things I was responsible for during September Nervous Breakdown '93, the only one that was still alive by September '94 was my student loan.

Still in the basement,
Gert

Observations from the Basement #1

I have great honor and respect for the game of baseball, but I shamefully admit to only half-assedly pay attention to it until it gets much closer to the World Series. Of the teams I do like (Braves. Reds. Cubs.), I'm certainly not a rabid fan and don't have any stakes in or ties to any rivalries or curses. To sum up, I am no expert on baseball.

But this I know:

You don't tear down Babe Ruth's and Lou Gehrig's stadium.

And I'm not exactly sure why this bothers me so much. Maybe it's because in this time where our country's greed and laziness and shortsightedness has gotten us into yet another big pile o' trouble, this just seems like a giant, ugly metaphor for it all.

I am glad I had the chance to go to a game in Yankee Stadium though. Don't have a clue who they played. We were so far up in the stands that I couldn't really even tell who was who. But it was fun. I enjoy seeing the enthusiasm and dedication of fans regardless (in most cases) of what team it is, and the Yankees are no exception.

It was a warm, early summer's night, a total blow-out, and to keep us entertained I think every Yankee broke some sort of random record - like Most Number of Base Hits in a Home Game in a Month not Ending in the Letter R - and that sort of thing.

There were also a great number of hot dogs and beers enjoyed in our section and my friend's boyfriend, being drunk, from New Jersey, and a bit of a tool, started loudly joking with me about being from Tennessee / the South. Others around us, being bored with the game, and what with not being able to actually see the game and all, started to good-naturedly chime in. They all took a liking to me and we spent most of the rest of the game with them telling me stories about coming to games and living in New York and we each practiced saying different words and phrases with each other's accents. I loved every minute of it.

Eventually they decided that with all of the random records being broken that night we each deserved a record of our very own. And they started with me. So you will be proud to know that I am The Tennessean to Consume the Most Number of Beers in Section 31 / Row ZZ / Seat 9 of Yankee Stadium. Ever. Take that Derek Jeter. I may be a bit fuzzy on the actual location of my seat and would need to dig out my ticket stub from a box in a closet somewhere if someone needs official verification. But that's pretty close and it's still a title I wear proudly.

So I am sad for those guys today. I know that if Neyland Stadium were ever torn down I would be devastated. And even though I would never consider myself a Yankees fan - and, truth be told, if I lived in New York City I would probably be a Mets fan - I will always have a tiny spot in my heart for the Yankees.

A tiny spot in my heart for Yankees???

That's quite something coming from this Southern girl.

Time to Rejoin the Real World?

Let's take a peek outside and see...

Well, apparently everyone in my town is insane.

This wasn't a huge surprise, but it still really, really sucked.

And this - just keeps getting better, no?

Aaaaaand we're going back downstairs...

Kinda Counterproductive if You Ask Me

I'm still down in the basement, but couldn't help but comment on the Martha Stewart Tip of the day that appeared on my Google iPage:

"If you have a headache,
cut a lime in half and rub it
on your forehead and
the pain will go away."

Really? All it does is make me want a gin and tonic.

Which could very well be how I got the headache in the first place.

Dear Universe: If You'd Like to Reach Me...

I'll be in my basement.

I told a friend yesterday, that with all of the things going on with you right now, maybe it was time for me to take my Trusy Tornado Preparedness Backpack and head to the cellar to live with the crickets for a bit.

It's a very cute (LL Bean. Duh.) and chocked full of goodies like bottled water, a hand-crank flashlight, tiny battery-operated radio, granola bars, canned dog food (not for me) and a small first-aid kit. If I throw in a crossword puzzle book, my back issues of Real Simple, and a notebook on which to write my manifesto, I think I could get by for a few days while you work out some of your issues.

And by then maybe

this...

and this...

and this...

and this...

and this ridiculous nonsense ...

and hell, of course how could I forget this...

have time to get better, go away, or for this freaky-assed thing to get all revved up again and swallow us in one giant gulp.

So please let me know when it's all better. Just drop by and stomp on the kitchen floor. I'll know its you.

Ta-ta for now,

Gert