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Author Archive | Alison Rosen

A photo I stole from The Activity Pit


Did I say stole? I meant borrowed. Anyway, I’d like to point out that this is not an accurate representation of my teeth which, in real life, are more white and straight looking than this. Also, off camera I am a petite blond woman who answers to the name “Madge” and is allergic to dairy.

In other news, I love Jeopardy and really can’t stand Wheel of Fortune. When I hear the WoF music come on I can’t change the channel fast enough. If I let it run for a little while because I’m busy doing something else I feel like I’ve somehow let myself down. It’s reminiscent of how I felt when the Arli$$ music came on after Sex and the City. This is related to nothing above, by the way. And I’ve decided to forgo italics. Fuck you, italics. No time.

(Was it convincing? Because I totally DO have time for them, but I don’t want them to know.)

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Nostalgia is a bruise I occasionally push on

Sometimes I’m so goth and emo I astound myself!

Here’s one side of an IM conversation I had with an old friend last night, shortly before I went into the bathroom and started cutting. (note: I didn’t start cutting.)

ME: hello!
ME: so I clicked on Satisfaction’s page on myspace
and then I saw a Smile profile and clicked on that
and listened to a song
ME: and it reminded me so much of the old days and playing in a band and even before that, just being at shows where you guys were playing and hanging out with you and rob over ten years ago
ME: that it was like this poignancy balloon burst in my heart
I think I had a nostalgia aneurysm
it was fairly unpleasant
ME: sometimes I get hit so hard by old memories I feel like my heart is getting squeezed

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I cried tonight

While watching Next Food Network Star! I don’t know what’s wrong with me. That piece of crap Sex and the City movie didn’t pull any tears from me like it did everyone else with ovaries but this emotional roller coaster which, I might add, featured Martha Stewart tonight, did. “I don’t want to be annoying,” said Kelsey, through tears. And the thing is that she is annoying, but in that moment I felt for her. I, too, don’t want to be annoying. Is it her fault she’s really really really perky? I haven’t been this caught up in a show since… I don’t even know!

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I believe in a separation of church and band-aids

“Thanks for shopping at Duane Reade. You have a blessed day.” That’s what the check out person at Duane Reade said to me today after ringing up my purchase of band-aids and Aveeno Creamy Baby Wash. (I like to wash myself with creamy babies.) It was kind of jarring, for want of a better word. Then again, today is Sunday. Is this a special Sunday thing? Does she suit her salutation to the day of the week? Actually, I move that from now on clerks work the day of the week into their greeting because it can be hard to remember what day of the week it is. Also, they should say the time. They should basically just time-stamp their chatter. Like “Thanks for shopping at Duane Reade on Monday at 4:34.”

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It's storming in NYC right now

I just literally jumped from the thunder. Then I did a double axel, since I was already in the air, and I landed in the splits. I held it for a few extra seconds, breathing hard but making sure to smile at the judges, particularly that hard-hearted Olga who, well, let’s just put it this way, she’s… no, I’m just going to say it: She’s a bitch. I met her once at a cocktail party for the Seoul Olympics and she just gave off bad vibes. Like, get over yourself, Olga. You think you’re so fancy because you invented the figure skate? You think you’re all that because you survived a horrible cartwheel accident that left your partner in a coma? You think you’re so high and mighty because Oprah featured your book “Skating with God; My Life on the Rocks” on her show? Well I don’t think so, Olga. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have freezer burn on my legs.

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Some shots from last night's Red Eye

So as you know, I’ve been going through a public identity crisis. (I do all my living exclusively in public now. When the cameras are off I just sleep in a closet, Small Wonder-style). When I’m on TV I’m something in between funny and informative—I’m fun-formative—and I talk about all kinds of stuff on various shows, so I don’t really know how to “brand” myself. I mean, I get the iron really hot but then I let out this blood-curdling death moo and kick up my hooves and it just doesn’t happen. As I’ve said before, obviously I am a journalist, but don’t put me in your little box! (Unless your box is a roomy studio or one bedroom come August/September in a safe neighborhood in Manhattan or Brooklyn.) So I settled on pop culture expert—I’m taking it for a spin, I have seen every episode of Facts of Life after all—and the guys at Red Eye have been kind enough to refer to me as a “self-proclaimed pop culture expert.” So that’s what was going on in this first photo.


And also in this second.


But then I recovered because I am a pro.

And then here I’m talking about the Dems video ad where a woman almost sleeps with a nerd but then stops when she realizes he supports McCain. And speaking of apartments, I was kind of distracted by the fact that I think I used to live in the apartment this was filmed in. I mean, not really, but my old apartment had that exact layout. It’s a little something I call “The Murray Hill,” because almost all apartments in that neighborhood have the same layout. And, points for verisimilitude: McCain supporters would totally live there!

As for the viral video itself, I admit I think it’s pretty clever.

Now see, I was thinking that I might get asked if I’ve ever had this experience, seeing as my dating life or lack thereof is a fun topic. I’ve never run screaming from some guy’s apartment because I discovered that his politics are different than mine. I’m more the kind who would overlook that kind of stuff and then feel tortured about it later because I like him but How Can I Like Someone Who [odious belief/action/hobby/ political affiliation/insignia here]. And I’m not speaking theoretically, but that’s a story for another day.

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That's between me and my underwear

Someone reached this blog by searching “how old is your underwear.” I don’t normally post about the search terms people are clicking on to get here since they’re all some combination of “alison rosen” and “hot,” however… okay fine, that’s a slight exaggeration. Sometimes they are “alison rosen” and “nude.” Once they were “alison rosen” and “rutabaga.” Also, once they were “alison rosen” and “pregnant” which gave me quite a scare, but then I remembered that there’s a famous fertility doctor who shares my name. Maybe people are wanting to see her hot and nude? And then sometimes people want to read about puppies or getting their wisdom teeth out without general anasthesia, which I do and don’t recommend.

But back to the underwear. Mine are a few hours old, thank you very much. I mean, probably they were born in a sweatshop in Vietnam ages ago, but to me they are a few hours old.

Also, tonight I am on Red Eye with Greg Proops, whom I interviewed about nine years ago when he was hosting this shortlived game show called VS. I interviewed him for the “Random Notes” section of Rolling Stone because Jani Lane of Warrant was on the show as was Terri Nunn of Berlin. The show used to pit something against something and I think it was hair bands vs… I forget. But sort of like Lewis Black’s Root of All Evil. But a game show. Anyway, I thought he was funny then and I think he’s funny now. I want to tell him about how I actually met him years ago however he’ll be on remote and I’ll be in the studio and I bet I won’t have time. Sort of like how if he and I were in a production of H.M.S. Pinafore and we were in a bunch of scenes together it might appear that we interacted but really we might not get a chance to catch up because we’d be too busy, um, battening hatches and singing. Granted there would be rehearsals, but this isn’t like that. It’s more like a spontaneous Gilbert & Sullivan musical without the singing. So I guess what I’m trying to say is Greg Proops, if you happen to read this, perhaps by searching your name or “Alison Rosen” and “H.M.S. Pinafore,” I totally met you once a billion years ago.

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