I just walked past a guy who was saying “no worries” so many times in the course of his conversation I wanted to stop him and ask if there were any worries.
Hot Seat with David Schwimmer
Click on the image to read it. Or click here.
But wait, after you read that you’re probably going to want to look at those photos of me interviewing him at the Apple Store. Do I know you, or do I know you? Look at me, deep-linking!
Adorable Tobey, less adorable green cabinets
Saget bio
The Bob Saget Biography Channel Bio that I was interviewed for aired. I know this because I received a nice note about it from someone who saw it and then found me on MySpace, which is how I find out that most of the Biography Channel Bios that I was interviewed for are airing. I added a couple air times to the upcoming TV appearance sidebar on the side of this page. I haven’t seen it yet, so I don’t remember what I said, nor what I wore. Something brilliant, surely. (Something brilliant being what I said. I imagine what I wore was a sweater. I would never use “brilliant” to describe clothes, anyway, unless I was in Britain taking the piss and chatting up mates on my mobile.)
Need more Bob? Or more me? Or more me on Bob? Here’s my Hot Seat interview with Bob Saget.
The interview that won't die
Wendy sent me this. Looks like I’m falling down on my own self-googling or else I surely would have found it myself!
I feel sad for the bats
In New York, white nose syndrome means something else.
baby asses, the Hills, miso soup mix
I just want to clarify something in the below post. When I say my fingertips are like baby asses, I mean the unchafed butts of babies, not young donkeys, although if they were like baby donkeys, that would be so cute!
Also, is The Hills Lauren Conrad on drugs? This is the second season where, when she makes flirty eyes at some guy, I want to throw a shoe at the television and then take a shower. If I were the guy on the receiving end of that uncomfortable unblinking stare plus shoulder shrug plus strange palsy/shimmy, I would make my way to the exit, and yet they don’t. Maybe the camera adds ten… times the embarrassment by proxy?
And finally, I figured out the way to enjoy the low-sodium miso soup mix from a few blog posts ago: Eat it plain, resulting in a very salty, powdery 25 calorie snack. Like a soy sauce flavored pixie stick with crunchy crap in it.
calluses
I played guitar three weeks ago, which was surprisingly painful, though fun, since the calluses that I once had were long gone and instead my fingers were like ten little baby asses, and my wrist like some kind of weak little unborn bird—like the consistency of the beak of an unhatched chicken—anyway, have I made you barf yet? I can keep going.
So what’s weird is that my fingertips are just now—three weeks later–starting to peel, which is phase one of the calluses. Well actually, it’s phase two. Phase one is pain. It’s like I applied Rogaine to my fingertips, which I didn’t, and the tissue is sloughing slowly.
If anyone would like a piece of fingertip skin, please write an essay detailing why and put it in a bottle and throw it in the ocean. I’m curious to see whether that form of communication works.
Vote for my friend Leah's dog
His name is Charles Chips. http://www.biss
Gather round, readers
Blogfans, because I got called out for it today, I just wanted to take this special moment to tell you, my special and extremely attractive readers, that when I post stories I wrote a long time ago it isn’t because I’m lazy and sitting there thinking “I don’t have anything to post, I know! I’ll post something old!”
It’s that I’ve been going back and reading stuff I wrote from the OC Weekly because, if you must know, I’m trying to see if there’s a book in that old stuff, and anyway, unless you happened to be reading the OC Weekly 8 or 9 years ago, I assume this is new to you, and if you are a fan of mine which you so certainly should be if you’re still reading this piffle, then I assume you would want to read the stuff that I personally think is probably better than a lot of what followed, or if not better than at least on par with. I mean, when you love someone, as you do me (right? RIGHT?!?!?!?!?!) then you love everything about them unconditionally. The way I burp in my sleep, the way I’m covered with pustules, the way I use my uterus as a weapon (I throw it at people) and my penchant for posting old stories. These things make me human. Hence, when I serve up a story from 9 years ago you should just be happy that I have a tenuous grasp on math because it’s occurring to me that I really mean 8 years ago. What? I don’t know. I don’t really sleep-burp. I do like Facts of Life though.