What Really Happened to Oceanic 815

Oh Lost... you couldn't have just answered the questions, could you?

After years of analyzing, theorizing and debating, your last moments were an incredible let-down. Sure, the show is touted as being "character driven" but then why create such an intricate plot? Why weave Egyptian wall etchings and well-placed novel titles and characters named after philosophers into the plot if they didn't mean anything? Why force Hurley into a mental institution, separate Sun and Jin for two seasons or pay Ed Hardy to add to Jack's tattoo sleeve if NONE OF IT MATTERED? For six years you promised us lobster and we ended up with red herring.

I'm still processing how we left things, but know that I am disappointed in you. I expected more. How could you use purgatory as the catch-all to our questions? It doesn't even add up! You claim that everyone died as a result of the plane crash and have spent the years learning enough about themselves to move on as a collective whole. Okaaaay-but you are missing two major characters in this reuinion, not to mention the scores of extras who died on the beach that first day. And how can Penny and Desmond join the group in the afterlife when they weren't even on the plane?

Lost, you're making me look like a huge angry nerd on my own blog. It's okay because I did love you once, and despite how we ended, I will remember the good parts. I'll remember the time Hurley got the VW bus to start and Sawyer got to have some beer. I'll remember when I figured out you flashed forward and was left astonished, and later when you flashed sideways and wondered when I got on Willy Wonka's elevator. I'll remember Kate's freckles, Locke's bassinet and Charlie's love for Claire. I'll remember the feeling of wanting all the answers but knowing they came with the price of losing you forever.

So goodbye, Lost. I hope you're happy with Syndication.

Things I Love Today

Nike's "Best Ad Ever"

Nike is touting this as their best ad ever (and it's pretty damn good). I assume since it is three minutes long it won't be on television, but my understanding is that this is Nike's response to not being the official World Cup sponsor -Adidas has that cash cow on lock down.

Like most of America, I don't follow soccer but I do get into the World Cup. (This has nothing to do with it reminding me of the Quidditch World Cup...). Four years ago I watched the finals while eating a lobster po' boy in Rhode Island, and this year I have every intention on recreating that scenario, though I'm more than willing to substitute po' boy for crab cake and RI for Baltimore.

Now I'm hungry.

LinkedInLog

I joined LinkedIn this morning, and it's already not going well.


9:12am: Joined LinkedIn. Feel good about it. Saw there were 100 people in my network. Feel okay about that too.
9:13am:No longer feel okay about the 100 people who were just emailed that I would like to link in with them. Am already getting amusing emails from friends refusing to link in with me. Not sure how my old professors, boyfriends, high school acquaintances and HR people at companies where I've sent my resume will react. ohmygod.
9:15am: Scouring facebook for a decent picture of me in hopes that a bright, welcoming smile will lessen the awkwardness of accidentally contacting the professor about whom I wrote(and hand delivered to the dean) a scathing letter.
9:19am: Turns out that of the 677 tagged photos, not one features me smiling, alone, and without a drink or random prop.
9:20am: Might be time to re-evaluate my life choices.
9:21am: No. I won't let social networking change me. I'll just hire a professional photog.
9:27am: Just google-image searched "Cat on computer" to find a picture to accompany this post. May need to revisit thoughts from 9:20.
9:48: Am wary of the "Past" field. What do they mean, exactly? I managed to upload my resume and now have SIX connections. I feel like I just figured out how to feed my Tamagochi.
1:26pm: Just polished off an entire chicken and pesto flat bread pizza. Am now up to ten contacts...meaning 1/10 of the people I accidentally emailed remember who I am. I've seen worse odds.

A is for Awesome

According to one of my directors at work, I need to marry rich so I'll have someone to take care of me. The initial sting of the words (I'll make my own money, thank you) was soon abated as she explained further. "...you know, someone with the kind of money to pay for a person to follow you around and make sure you don't get hurt. And then help you when you do."

Such is the sorry state of my life. I resisted posting about my endless string of mishaps because it seemed uninteresting, but mostly it's just sad. And then today, while stifling a scream in the cafeteria after getting my middle finger jammed in the swinging door of the garbage bin, I decided that maybe the time has come to openly discuss my foibles.

I should warn you: I am down to seven good typing fingers. Obviously, the middle finger is out of rotation (the only obscenities it can currently express are strictly digital in nature). My right ring finger tried to catch a basketball over the weekend, jammed up, and now looks like zombie skin. Luckily, I was at my brother's lacrosse game, surrounded by my many athletically-gifted siblings, so there was plenty of opportunity for ridicule as I squirmed and tried to swallow the stream of curses not fit for my six-year-old brothers' ears. And finally, I slammed my thumb in the door during a routine middle-of-the-night bathroom break. This particular injury caused me to feel sick, walk to the kitchen, and later wake up on the floor surrounded by three smashed glasses and water. My first faint. I should scrapbook it.

Pathetic, I know. And all of these happened within the past three weeks. If I had the time or dexterity I could create a working excel spreadsheet- organized into levels of severity, sobriety and cost of repair... (although a simple graph would show that the level of sobriety often informed the results.)

I have sprained an elbow trying to get rid of hiccups. I have discovered and removed a two-inch thorn from my leg. I have had someones leg karate chop my arm while flying off of a tube going 30 mph. I have broken my foot by slipping on a softball the day before a trip to Europe. I have broken that same foot again, this time trying to slam dunk a pizza into a garbage can. I have cut through the top quarter of my finger while slicing lemons- a pain I assure you I will never forget. I have bumped into more doors, tripped down (and up) more stairs, and fallen more times than a blind, drunk socialite.

And yet I always secretly thought this made me a tiny bit lucky.

You see, when you live in a body that is not fully aware of itself, your options and abilities become more clear. While my high school peers were considering careers as doctors, lawyers and professional athletes, I was able to weed those popular occupations out based on the inevitable results: scalpel cuts; paper cuts; yeahfuckingright. Instead, I was forced to look elsewhere for vocational inspiration, which is how I pinpointed Literacy as my lifetime ally.

Books can't hurt you (although last week one did fall from a high shelf and sliced my leg), and writing is just plain fun. You can sit in your own safe, padded little area and write about the scary, sharp-edged world. You can be funny, hysterical, whimsical and risky. You can imagine yourself as someone who can race down the street without twisting an ankle or as an astronaut whose tether wouldn't accidentally snap during a space walk. You can find a sense of humor in the fact that you have spent 25 years as an unwilling, unknowing (and certainly unpaid) participant in a Murphy's law case study. You can write absolutely anything about absolutely anything you want.

And best of all, you can do it with only seven good fingers.

Puppets in Disguise

SNL ended it's season this week (sads) but the final episode -hosted by Alec Baldwin- was fa-bo-lo-us and Weekend Update killed. I have a very serious thing for Seth Myers. He's a great writer and always looks like he's about to laugh. It's recently come to my attention that the famous people I pine for are not actually conventionally good looking. While the majority of my friends maintain one-sided relationships with Jake Gyllenhaal and Chris Pine or have to-scale cut outs of Robert Pattinson, I quiver at the sound of John Krasinski's voice on Carnival ads and thrice-daily Hulu Andy Samberg's Digital Shorts and (most embarrassingly) harbor an inappropriate avuncular crush on Jeremey Clarkson.

But this post wasn't meant to be about my odd tastes or ability to use "Hulu" as a verb... it's meant to celebrate the genius of recently added character "Stefon" and his human bathmats. Enjoy, and please keep all tall, goofy looking men away from me.

Irony Is Not Dead...It Just Haunts the Past Decade

Despite Maxine's dogged commitment to hard work and repugnant aversion to web-surfing, she was able to (idly) search, locate and send this gem. Not unlike the evolution of our own species (and yes, Kaitlin, humans did evolve) the modern day Williamsburgus-Hipsterus can also trace its genesis back to a crouching, hairy creature. O! What simpler times they were when humans were monkeys and hipsters were Emo's.

This picture graph is super funny, but it would probably take less time to just make a quick flip book of choice ensembles from the last few Urban catalogs. Also, why are they all smiling? Hipsters don't fucking smile! They casually grimace and shrug their tiny be-plaid-ed shoulders...but like, at everything. Behold:

"Hey man, want to grab a vegan burger and totally distress these expensive cruelty-free jeans I just bought with my dad's emergency credit card?"

-shrug-

"OMG! The Ikea bed you lofted is ablaze and the fire fighters wont enter the premises because they said if they hear Paper Planes one more time they'll be moved to violence!"

-shrug-

Like Most Mornings,

this morning is brought to me by:

Byeeeee Beiber.

An amazing rendition of Paparzzi.

Musings would like to issue a disclaimer should you choose to watch this video: We are not responsible if you turn into a stone-washed Hot Topic jort from the evil bitch glares coming from the gaggle of heinous girls in the audience. Regina George herself would cower at both their indifference and their horrible witchy eyes.You have been warned.

(Sad, Creepy Update...)

me: "I am very inspired by Lady Gaga and Augustana. Lady Gaga is a freak but she has so much talent and her style of music is what I would like mine to be when im older. Augustana is one of the most underated bands I think ever to step the planet. They have so much talent it is not funny. They have such a good concept with folk and rock. It is very sad that they are so unknown."- greyson
lauren: where are you finding this information?
me: his youtube page
paging chris hansen
Lauren: if he says hes going to throw some clothes in the dryer and offers you iced tea, run

-fin-

My New Obsession.

The Novogratz's are fabulous. Watching their new show on Bravo is the closest I ever have or ever will come to wanting seven kids despite- or because of-being the eldest of seven myself. Their story is fascinating, their lifestyle seems wonderfully hectic and (can i JUST say) Robert Novogratz looks fly zipping around Manhattan in his hobo-meets-hipster outfits. Their style is amazing and every single room they finish looks polished and fun and inspired.

Nine... is on every Tuesday which means if it's a Tuesday and you're trying to find me, I'll be at home staring longingly at the television, using commercial breaks to stare guiltily at my dusty sewing machine and pile of curtain-bound fabric.

...It's Saturday Night!

Obama nailed his White House Correspondence dinner speech this past weekend. The Correspondence dinner has turned into a sort of bullshit excuse for Hollywood's 'cause du jour' group to get together and smile into lenses that will show them as compassionate and politically-aware buuuuut I just beamed for ten minutes straight watching the leader of the free world crack jokes about the cast of Jersey Shore, so I should probably watch where I throw my annoyed insults.

This video ends with Jay Leno regurgitating out-dated Sarah Palin jokes, so really, don't bother. Just stop about halfway in, after you've breathed in the breath of fresh air blowing off our articulate president. Health care, shmealth care... America's finally got a guy in office with a solid command of the English language!

The Movie That Informed My Youth

Because you asked, Belle is by far my favorite Disney princess. As a kid, I had "Belle's Book of Books," a purple journal in which I chronicled my thoughts on every book I read. I have no idea where this compilation of my earliest literary musings might be, but I would really love to read what I had to say about Francine Pascal's Sweet Valley Twin masterpieces. (I loathed that rich-bitch Lila.)

Anyway, I am hooked on Disney songs this morning, and after re-watching Belle I dig her even more. Belle is super smart, speaks French, hates that douchebag Gaston (any bets in the remake he'll don Christian Audigier's finest graphic tees?), is clearly into beards and hairy chests AND she loves the gays (I'll eat my hat if Lumiere isn't a card carrying man-lover).

To recap: Belle & Books > Gaston and Lila

An Inaugural Musing.

Bob: i have a theory

i just developed it but i think it could be the premise of a ny times best seller self help book

me: yeah?

Bob: oh yeah

it's simple

if you want to get ahead in life

all you have to do are two simple things:

which are

1. work your fucking balls off

2. be really fucking smart