Friday, July 28, 2006

Forget Team Aniston and Team Jolie. I'm Team Nehru!

I have become fairly obsessed with the My Heritage Celebrity Face Recognition program. Of course, the first thing it's good for is finding out who you look like, which, in my case, was a wake-up call. Then, if you don't feel like the first time was correct (COUGH *Eddie Murphy* COUGH), you run the program a few more thousand times until you get Grace Kelly or Rachel Weisz.

Today I had an amazing epiphany: Hollywood should totally use My Heritage for casting biopics!

Capote was a great movie, but after a quick upload, it became clear that Philip Seymour Hoffman was wrong for the role. My Heritage offers up a thrilling trifecta of top actors who resemble Truman Capote: Hugo Weaving (61% compatibility), Jeff Bridges (53%) and Antonio Banderas (52%). My personal favorite, Natalie Portman (50%), came in a close fourth, right before Jason Alexander (48%).

Stick Harper Lee's mug in there, and it gets even better. George Peppard wins this race (61%), followed by Adam Sandler (60%). The sole woman on the list (sorry, Harper) is neither Catherine Keener nor Sandra Bullock, but Holly Hunter. You know she would've nailed it, too.

More recently, there's been some hubub surrounding Brad Pitt's production of "A Mighty Heart", based on the book by Marianne Pearl. Jennifer Aniston was interested in the role, but, lo and behold, it's gone to Angelina Jolie. How about someone who hasn't slept with Mr. Pitt? My Heritage favors Robin Wright Penn, Shannon Elizabeth, and Ingrid Bergmann. Also in the running? Jawaharlal Nehru. Now that's some inspired casting.

I think this site is just the thing to get Hollywood back on top of its game. I mean, yeah, Capote was critically lauded, but can you imagine the crowds that would have shown up for Adam Sandler? Can't you just die thinking about Natalie Portman as an elfin, gamine Capote acting all bitchy towards George Peppard in a fright wig?

Oh, and I REALLY hope I get famous now, because the idea of a romantic comedy starring Eddie Murphy and Viggo Mortensen (my boyfriend, Jeff's, top match) is just too precious for words.

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

My True Heritage!

My Dad wrote a funny post on his blog about the site My Heritage,on which you can view the celebrities you most resemble, based on a photograph of your own choosing.

I am forced to conclude that expression and face position are favored over ... actual features, because I uploaded the photo below and was told that I most look like ... get ready for it ... Barack Obama and Eddie Murphy.

Mom? Anything you'd like to tell me?

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

NYSDOL Only Hates You If You Speak English

Having been on the dole a fair amount in my young life, I have developed a new philosophy of life: Show me a person who depends on the government for money and I will show you someone who has not gotten a check in three weeks and cannot FOR THE LOVE OF GOD AND ALL THAT IS HOLY get a living breathing operator on the telephone.

I am overdue on about five bills because I have $1300 being withheld for reasons unknown to me. I did what any person would do and I called the "Have you not gotten your check in 14 days? Call us!" number, only to be lead, time and time again, through a labyrinthian series of automated menus, only to be told that the operators were busy and that I should call back in twenty minute intervals. No hold please, no static-y Def Leppard to keep me company for hours spent holding the sweaty telephone to my impatient ear, just "Call back later!" - CLICK.

I am a person who gets homicidally angry when the R train keeps me waiting, so this inexplicable lapse in customer service, as you can imagine, caused me to twitch uncontrollably as I banged my phone against its cradle with considerable force. This has been repeated over the past week as I have called back every hour and been greeted with the same friendly hang-up.

Until today.

Today, after I was hung up on, I immediately hit redial, which meant that not only the main number, but all of the subsequent menu options got punched in -- looking something like 18882098124114523399874134331. Immediately the friendly voice chimed in:

"You are on hold for translation services," followed by some other languages I couldn't understand. I figured it was worth a shot, and stayed on the line, sure that I would once again be told to fuck off (perhaps in Portuguese?)with a crisp CLICK.

Imagine my surprise when Debbie - who immediately established her non-automaton status by yawning audibly - came on the line. I explained that I had accidentally been lead to the translation services menu, and -- "No problem," said Debbie. "What's your social security number?"

Within minutes, I had my account cleared up and, supposedly, my checks will be in the mail tomorrow.

It just goes to show ... well, nothing, except that the only way to get a customer service rep on the phone is to punch in a random series of numbers and channel your rage into a psychotic, Jedi-like focus. Then you, too, can receive the mediocre service from government agencies that you are entitled to by Constitution of the United States of America.

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Grown-ups (?)

Now that I am gainfully employed and living with the boyfriend, I think that I may be, offically, a grown-up. Of course, perhaps this is all just an extended game of pretend that I started when I was five years old. I still wear my "dress-up shoes", only now they actually fit, and sometimes when I go to the bank, no real money comes out, just like with my old Playskool cash register. Now, of course, the reason is that I'm overdrawn and not that the coins are made of red plastic. I don't generally get naked and cover myself in Crayola marker anymore, but, really, it's only a matter of time.


Moving in with Jeff has been amazingly un-traumatic so far, at least for me. For him, I fear, it's been less smooth, since he is the calmer, more practical, less dramatic half of our new domestic partnership, and I am the hysterical, unreasonable, prone-to-histrionics half. I have been known to break down in tears when a shower curtain rod falls, or to become so angry at a pan stuck in the dishwasher that, upon wrestling it free, I hurl it at the floor. I think I've been well-behaved so far, and Jeff has admirably tolerated the sea of cosmetics and shoes that has invaded his small bedroom.

Jeff is an up-and-coming photographer, and has quite a collection of cameras, which means that most every moment of our newly domesticated life is documented in some way. At weddings and parties we tend to behave, but get us alone, after a few too many beers (or girlie Smirnoff Ices for me), on a hot summer night, and suddenly we are deep into a photo essay that can best be described as "Move your head really fast and take a picture before you throw up". This, my friends, is true domestic bliss.


Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Re-employed and It Feels So Good ... Except That Now I Have to Actually Work

I got a job!

I KNEW all of those cups of ambition would pay off eventually.

Thursday, July 6, 2006

Post for Adri on the Horrors of Naked Britney

I recently got the following email from my dear friend Adri who lives in Davis, CA:

una, you MUST write a blog about that nasty ass britney spears and the
naked photo of her on that magazine cover. can you believe that shit?

It hasn't come out yet, but those of you who read the gossip blogs (or In Touch Weekly) know that, in a forthcoming issue of Harper's Bazaar, Britney Spears poses naked and pregnant on the cover (and inside as well, I presume, but I'm fine with the one horrific mental image for now).

Don't get me wrong -- I like Britney, in spite of myself. I want her to pick herself up and turn her life around, but I'm not optimistic; she's kind of like the mangy, retarded pigeon that one hopes will not waddle in front of a taxi on 5th Avenue. There's nothing you can really do but pray that God really loves His wretches. Then again, presumably He made Kevin Federline.

The pregnant Britney cover wouldn't be so offensive if Demi Moore hadn't already done it and looked a whole lot classier. I mean, isn't it sad? Look at gorgeous, bronzed, voluptuous, mature Demi and then look at pudgy, pasty, washed-out, baby-faced Britney.

Has it really come to this? Why couldn't it have been Angelina Jolie? WHY??????

Revolutionary Petunia

This Alice walker poem has been speaking to me lately ...

The Nature of This Flower Is to Bloom.
Rebellious. Living.
Against the Elemental Crush.
A Song of Color
For Deserving Eyes.
Blooming Gloriously
For its Self.
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