Don't pull the pin(terest)

I've now joined Pinterest. And I haven't a clue how it works.

For those of you who are more social-media-savvy than yours truly, here's my Pinterest link: http://pinterest.com/jacquiesueb/

Check it before you wreck it. Tutorials and friend requests are appreciated muchly.

You kids get off my lawn

I've always had had my suspicions that my fellow twenty-somethings would be well on their way to being the most cynically nostalgic bunch in the history of ever.

I mean, have you seen the Internet lately? 

There are blogs, articles, and blogticles galore bemoaning the "lost" technologies kids today won't know about that were so prominent circa 1998. YouTube is chock full of '90s cartooons (where I most recently lost an hour or so watching Animaniacs compilations of the Randy Beaman kid and "Good Idea, Bad Idea"). 

This is all well and good until you get to the comments section of these videos/blogticles, where my fellow babies-of-the-eighties wax poetic about their childhood, and how kids today don't get it, what with their Hannah Montana and their Fanboy and Chum-Chum. They just don't get what good movies and TV shows are all about. They won't ever know the joys of rewinding a video tape or talking to their friends on land-line telephones.

No, really. Since when did we become a bunch of nursing home residents that wave their canes angrily at all the young whippersnappers? We're twenty-something, for cripes' sake. What are we going to do when there's more than one generation behind us?

Maybe it's just because we're the first generation with the universe at our fingertips. It's a heck of a sounding board for nostalgia, really. Our parents didn't have that.

I think the moral of this story is, I coined the word "blogticle," and it tickles me. You heard it here first, folks.

There goes Mister Humbug

Maybe I'm just an '80s baby and a child of the '90s (and therefore my opinion's skewed in a certain direction), but... Michael Caine was the best Scrooge ever.


Though, I guess that was kind of due in part to all the Christopher Nolan films he ended up appearing in, and also Cars 2.

That and the Muppets. Doi.

God bless us. Everyone.

Post Thanksgiving Plan:

Work out. Eat vegetables. Repeat until Christmas.

...Effective tomorrow.

The Golden Rules of Being a Fansie

First off: You can't tell me nothing if you ain't seen Newsies.

Hey, put the Batman costume on that guy in the front, and he might be able to pull that off...

You're either going to fall into one of two schools of thought here:

1. "Eh, I heard of it, or maybe I haven't. Sounds kind of lame."
2. "HOLY COW IT'S MY FAVORITE."

Those of you who align yourselves moreso with Option 1 can leave the room now. The rest of this blog entry won't appeal to your hoity-toity sensibilities. That, and I simply won't tolerate your heckling.

As for the rest of you... I know your type. You saw the movie once in middle school (probably between choir concerts) and it was the catalyst you needed to memorize the movie, the choreography, the soundtrack. You not only know what Newsies is, but you know what newsies are. You know that headlines don't sell papes; newsies sell papes. You know that a teenaged Christian Bale awkwardly un-lisped his way through a tenuous grasp of a New Yawk accent and led a gang of fellas that sang and danced their ways into the hearts of many children of the 1980s.

You're a Newsies fan. A "fansie," some would say. Maybe even an "ambastard." And hey, guess what? I'm in the same club.

It's a great club to be a part of, because you can be any sort of fan you want to be. You want to write Newsies-inspired fanfiction? Go for it. You're more of a song-and-dance fan? That's cool too. Or maybe you just like to watch the movie until you break your DVD player. Hey man, whatever floats your boat.

There's even been a recent influx of vocalized Newsies fans in light of the new Broadway musical that's going to rock everyone's face off next summer. In light of the recent hype, I feel it's time to lay down the law and present you with:


The Golden Rules of Being a Fansie

1. The film is not, will not be, nor has ever been called The Newsies. 
2. It's always fair to object in court on the grounds of Brooklyn.
3. Yes, you can pick a favorite, but a true Fansie appreciates them all.
4. It's Spot Conlon. Not "Spot Collins," "Spot Connelly," or any variation of it.
5. We can't beat up kids in the street. It'll give us a bad name.
6. It's an added bonus if you can easily record your own commentary to play over the DVD.
7. Fanfic is optional. Creative expression of your Fansieness is not.
8. It's considered socially appropriate to detest Sarah Jacobs, but be sure to come up with some solid reasons why you do.
9. Sealing a deal with a spit-handshake is legally binding.
10. Headlines don't sell papes. Newsies sell papes.

Fansies/Ambastards - comment with your own additions.

So much fun I forgot to blog

Black Friday included no shopping, but plenty of fun, including seeing The Muppets, watching History Channel, and going to trivia with the guys.

I also write posts of literary value. Promise.

QUICK. A THANKSGIVING BLOG POST.

I ate too much. What else is new?

Sickypoo, Part Two

Didn't get a tremendously good sleep last night, but as I was the only one in my department that wasn't scheduled for vacation, I showed up to work. Within the first hour, I disabled a yellow jacket that had somehow landed in my office window, had a panic attack, and went through a pack of tissues. 

I got through about half a workday, then was graciously given a half day's worth of sick pay, and I hightailed it to Kroger for some store-brand NyQuil. Whilst checking out, the lady at the self check-out wished me a "feel better." (In related news: living in the South is great because people are genuinely sweet.)

1.5 NyQuil comas later, I'm feeling moderately okay and ready to eat some turkey tomorrow.

So it wasn't exactly like Kathleen Kelly in You've Got Mail, but David did bring me soup and hot tea, and also PUDDING.

I'm about one NyQuil coma away from a fantastic Thanksgiving, you guys.

(And I'd also write a lot better if I wasn't so cold-and-flu-headed.)

Sickypoo

Funny how a few hours can take an "Oh, I have a sneeze, how cute" to "SINUS PRESSURE OMG I'M DYING." It's like it comes out of nowhere. It also comes at inopportune times, like when Thanksgiving is the day after tomorrow and food will be delicious, and if it either (a) hurts to swallow or (b) impairs my ability to taste delicious things, I will therefore (c) be the most unhappy camper since ever.

One thing never fails, though: whenever I'm sick (specifically, cold-and-flu type sick), I always think of this scene from this, one of my favorite movies. Makes me smile.

And it also makes me want daisies. They're so friendly. Don't you think that daisies are the friendliest flower?

It's the most wonderful time of the year

After a pretty successful trip to Lowe's and Target tonight to get some seasonal trimmings, David and I have put up our very first Christmas tree. Ain't it a beaut?

And, yes, we've already taken advantage of mistletoe.

The holiday season is going to rock so hard.

Some scribes have all the luck

JK Rowling got her idea for the Harry Potter extravaganza whilst on a train to Scotland. Margaret Mitchell penned the vibrant characters and beautiful world of Gone With The Wind when she broke her ankle and was holed up in her apartment all day.

Maybe that means that I'll be inspired to write The Next Great American Story while walking through the produce aisle. Or maybe not.

I won't lie. I'd love to be an author of children's books. Those people can write a one-page story, spread it out over 20 pages of illustrations, and make bucks aplenty.

How do these gorgeous masterpieces of literature just seem to appear out of thin air?

Just another Saturday night at the ranch.

Boys will be boys.

Today's Post Brought to You by Sisterly Brags

First of all, good news: I didn't fall off the wagon after Day One! So that's promising. Hold your applause until the end of the week.

Second of all, today's blog entry details a bit of sisterly pride. See, my baby sister Nicole (who has retained quite a pleasant and fitting nickname of "Coleybear," and also sometimes "Coley," but much of the time, just "Bear") has scored a sweet gig with Walt Disney World Resort, where she's a cast member at Kilimanjaro Safaris at Disney's Animal Kingdom.

A few months back, I had the pleasure of visiting her safari for the first time. What follows is the lovely three-part chronicle of her safari.

Watch and be amazed as my awesome sister drops some animal knowledge and socks it to the poachers. Bonus: Keep an eye out for a faux-mustachio'd baron-type gentleman. That'd be my husband.

And don't be alarmed by any childish squeaks. That was me.








You can catch my fantastic sister at Disney's Animal Kingdom now through the holiday season. After that, you're on your own.

Once upon a time

Okay, gang. Here's how this is going to work.

I commit to writing one blog entry per day, each day, for the next 365 days.

"Sounds like a new year's resolution," says the snarky old codger in the corner. "Bah, nonsense. Everyone knows that you can't start a new year's resolution when it isn't the new year."

"Sound reasoning, my good man," I reply. "But you see, unlike folks that start a resolution on January 1, I'm less likely to fail."

"...We'll see about that."

Indeed. We will see about that, won't we?

Here's the thing. It's no secret that I've been playing Musical Blogs for the past few years (for some head-scratching reason, I never could achieve the same sense of community as what I had with LiveJournal back in college). I'd either wax too poetic, or I wouldn't wax poetic enough. Wax on, wax off - it's all relative. Anyway, this whole "project" serves a few purposes:

Objective #1: To find my voice as a writer. I tried NaNoWriMo this month. I wrote zero words and consequently failed, and now I can't buy those awesome "World Class Novelist" merch items that look like they came from the PanAm set. The worst part of it is, guys, that I actually love to write. I'm just horrid at committing to a plot (and making said plot cohesive and not all over the flipping place). Maybe blogging every day will be a bit of a journey to self-discovery. Wouldn't that be nice?

Objective #2: To have a sense of public accountability. I tried this very task once, but with a written journal, not a blog. If I skipped a day or two, the only person that noticed or cared or guilt-tripped me was... me. A grand idea in theory, but if I've got friends, family, and perhaps Creepy Mister Curmudgeon From Next Door reading along, I might be more inclined to follow through. [BEGIN NOT-SUBLIMINAL MESSAGE: Read my blog. Comment sometimes. I need fans. END NOT-SUBLIMINAL MESSAGE.]

Objective #3: To really be a for-reals member of the blogosphere. So I listen to a lot of NPR these days (sorry; not sorry). They're all the freaking time bringing in these "experts" on social, political, and cultural news stories with the sole credentials that this Mr. Joe Blogtastic is a blogger. You can add it instead of a PhD, really, and you'd be all set. Maybe if I become a legit blogger, I, too, might be a panel member on All Things Considered. But that's a selfish ambition, and I'm almost wanting to scratch that one out, except I like having three objectives. It's better than two.

Whatever the objectives, I will make a blog entry every day. Some days, I might just post a picture or a link and add whatever valuable insight I can. Other days, you'll enjoy the pleasure of reading a War and Peace-length discourse on the importance of cleaning out the dryer vent properly.

But you'll like it. I guarantee. Now gimme some motivation, Gus. Let's kick this off right!