So, I read the text of this article before watching the YouTube clip. It made me laugh in a snark-tastic kind of way, but then I actually WATCHED the clip and realized this:

I don't care how cheesy THE HILLS is.

I want to watch.

I will watch.

And I'm not ashamed to admit it.

"It's a terrific book by Lola Douglas ..." - Valerie Bertinelli.

A trio of video clip goodies from myLifetime.com!

(BTW: the "Stinky Sandwich Man and Sweaty Fat Guy" line - in the "Director's Favorite Scene" clip - was one of the voice-over lines I got to contribute during the writer's strike last winter!)

Here's the IMDB page.

MORE PRESS:

Valerie Bertinelli dishes about TRUE CONFESSIONS OF A HOLLYWOOD STARLET on ACCESS HOLLYWOOD.

JoJo talks about the movie with the Boston Herald.

That article plus screenshots of the movie made it into "Oh No They Didn't" - and judging from the comments LJ'ers do NOT seem fond of either JoJo OR the upcoming movie ... but a couple gave big kudos to the book, so I guess that's something.

[P.S. - to the LJ'er who says my Lola site is badly in need of updating: girlfriend, I hear you. It's a priority for the next couple of weeks ...]

More JoJo, this time at the NATIONAL LEDGER.

Me, oddly misquoted (but not in a bad way), in the August issue of DELAWARE TODAY.

I gave in and joined: http://twitter.com/zeisgeist.

carriejones tagged me, and since I love me some Carrie, I figured I would oblige.

1. I hate the color....
2. I hate the TV show...
3. I hate the taste of....
4. I hate the smell of....
5. I hate the word....
6. I hate the sound of...
7. I hate the song...

MY ANSWERS

1. I'm actually a big fan of color, and I can't think of many that I actively dislike. Maybe neon yellow?



2. TV shows I hate? Okay, prepare to flame me, but I have to go with DOCTOR WHO. It's those damned Daleks. "Exterminate! Exterminate!" Ew.



3. Here's an easy one: I hate the taste of raw tomatoes - the texture alone kills it for me. Squish!



4. Also easy; I hate the smell of ammonia, especially when it's in cleaning products and people are using them in a restaurant WHILE YOU ARE EATING. To me, it smells like vomit, and then it makes me want to vomit, and oh, it's just bad. Real bad.



5. I hate the word no. Especially when I have trouble saying it.



6. The answer to this question varies, but as of right this second, I officially hate the sound of my phone ringing. Especially today, since it hasn't stopped.



7. Currently, I am hating on the song "Handlebars" by the Flowbots, but only because I can't get the lyrics out of my head.

So last Wednesday, I was having what you might call a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. The kind of Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day where you don't bother to get out of your pajamas and vascillate between feeling sad and weepy and whining like a petulant child. There are a lot of reasons for my Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, but I won't bore you with the details. Let's just say I was a nightmare to be around.

On a normal week, this wouldn't be a problem. I'd ride out the day in the comfort and protection of my own home, avoiding human contact and trying very hard not to spread my poison. But on this particular Wednesday, Joe and I were scheduled to go to The Dinner A'Fare (formerly known as My Girlfriend's Kitchen) with my friend Candace. Originally, we were supposed to go there the night before - Candace and her husband Derrick, me and Joe - but I had a scheduling conflict and our "date" got pushed back a night. But then, when I was so miserable, Joe was like, "Do you want to cancel?" And I said no, because Candace is a really great friend who is always there for me, and I knew how much she was looking forward to our night out.

But then it was five o'clock - time for me to get in the shower - and I didn't want to move. So then I actually DID try to wiggle out of our plans, but Candy wasn't having any of it. She said, "Lara, as miserable as you feel, that's how much I've been looking forward to tonight." So I said okay, but inside I was like, "Gee, emotional blackmail much?"

I got in the shower and when I got out I couldn't find my deodorant and for some reason this made me start crying. Like, sobbing. Crazy person crying. And poor Joe is all, "Honey, please don't cry. Honey, I'll find it for you. Please, honey, stop crying," and through my tears I'm yelling, "When I feel miserable I should just go be by myself so I don't make other people miserable and you guys won't let me and I HATE YOU FOR IT." And now I can't stop crying, so Joe calls Candy and she makes him give the phone to me and I'm crying in her ear and apologizing for being crazy, and she very soothingly says, "Take a deep breath, slow down, and then put your clothes on. Come out with me tonight. Let me give you a big hug and love on you, okay? Give me the privilege of doing that." So I say okay and I wipe my eyes and put some makeup on and get dressed. As we're heading out the door I think that this is the kind of activity that makes for fun scrapbooking, so I grab my camera. Joe goes, "Why are you bringing that?" and I tell him about the scrapbooking and he's like, "Oh."

We're running about 30 minutes late when we go pick Candy up (Derrick was working a double shift at the hospital and couldn't join us) and head to The Dinner A'Fare. If you haven't heard of it before, let me explain: it's one of those new chains where you go and put together meals that you freeze and eat later at home. They do all of the hard prep work and provide all of the ingredients and instructions. When we get there, there's a young couple already putting their meals together. The place is very colorful and set up with stainless steel prep stations. Candy's pre-ordered out dishes and we have a checklist. Dave, the co-owner, tells us where to start (blackened chicken tacos) and said that we'll have to save the fajitas for last, as they had some more prep to do for that dish. After the tacos we make some finger lickin' chicken and crispy chicken rolls. While Joe's rolling the chicken into egg roll wrappers, Candy's pacing the front of the store and calling her mother in law to check on her daughter, Catherine, for like the dozenth time. It's not like Candy to be so obsessed with her daughter, but she's made this big show of telling me how distraught Catherine was when she left for the evening.

Tabitha, Dave's wife and the main owner, seems really irritated by our presence and Candy wonders if it's because we were late. She yells at me for drinking my water near a prep station and I'm like, "Okay, I didn't know, sorry." The young couple has moved to the turkey burger station, which we also need, and now there's nothing else for us to do but wait. Finally, Dave gives me the okay to start the fajitas. So I go to the station and open the cabinet underneath and pull out my steak and my tortillas. Then I look at the ingredient list. Dave says, "Did you get everything out from under?" and I say, "Yeah, I think so," but then he reopens the cabinet and pulls out this large rectangular box wrapped in silvery paper. I'd seen the box but thought the paper looked like catering paper - it didn't register that it was for me until Dave says, "I think this has your name on it."

At first I don't realize what it is. Candy's been telling me she was making me a little present, and so I'm thinking that she somehow snuck it in there to cheer me up. But then I open the first corner and see two Swedish Fish kissing and I just knew. I start crying as I peel back the rest of the paper to reveal a shadowbox with a Scrabble board that spells out Marry Me Lara. In the corner is a little laptop made of Sculpy with the two fish kissing (Joe and I actually met at the online dating site plentyoffish.com), and under it is a cut out from a Red Robin menu (where we had our first date). There are crayons affixed to the board (we later ended up at Denny's on our first date, and colored in the placemats while waiting for cocoa), and in the opposite corner there's a picture of us that we took when we first started dating.

I turn around and at first I can't find Joe. Then I realize he's down on one knee, holding out the ring box, SHAKING. All I can think is how horrid I'd been all day. I start sobbing and hugging him and I tell him I love him and that I'm sorry, and then I'm ripping off my plastic food prep gloves so he can put the ring on me. It's more beautiful than I could've hoped for - a marquis cut heirloom (not conflict!) diamond flanked by two soft trillion cut garnets (my birthstone) in a 14k white gold setting. Then I go, "Did I say yes?" and everyone starts laughing, and that's when I look up and OH MY GOD, there's my mother and stepfather, and my friend Wendy, and I'm like, "Oh! Oh! Oh!" Mom's crying and Mark's popping champagne, and Joe's still shaking (he actually fell over when trying to stand up), and the owners and the other couple are clapping and saying congratulations. Tabitha, who'd been pretending to be mean all night, says, "Gotcha!" and tells me how from the second I walked in she was teary-eyed and wanted to hug me.

It was the most romantic thing in the world, and I was genuinely surprised. If you know me, then you know that surprising me is a feat unto itself. But also, being a writer, I kind of had high expectations for this moment. I wanted a good story. If Joe had just handed me the ring and said, "Hey, wanna get married?" I would've said yes, because I love him dearly and I know he is the man I want to spend the rest of my life with. But I wouldn't have had my great story. So it meant even more to me that he spent weeks planning this proposal with Candace and my mom (especially Candace, who's known me since I was 15 and is even more of a romantic than I am), and oh, I couldn't have asked for anything better.

And that's the story of how I almost ruined my own proposal!

P.S. So of course the other thing that makes this such a great story is all of the backstage drama that I wasn't privvy to. Like, how Joe, Candace, and my mother were on the phone all day trying to decide if Joe should actually propose on a day when I was being such a miserable snot. And like how Joe thought I knew he was going to propose when I grabbed my camera. And how all of Candy's calls checking on her daughter were really to Wendy, who was wandering around the shopping center trying to figure out when the proposal was taking place. Etc.

P.P.S. The other thing I have to mention is that, throughout all of my miserable behavior, Joe never said a single unkind word to me. At the risk of sounding seriously mush-tastic, I have to say, I've never known anyone who loved and accepted me so completely and unconditionally. I'm not an easy person to get along with 50% of the time (some would say 85% of the time, but they tend to be prickly people themselves), but this man - this saintly good man - well, let me just say that I am incredibly lucky to be the one who stole his heart. Okay, I'll shut up now.

I missed Day #2 of Cynthia Lord's challenge, because I am often lame, but here is a picture of my high school alma mater, William Penn H.S., in New Castle, DE. It's the high school used in all of my Lara books (as opposed to the Lola books, which are thus far set in Fort Wayne, Indiana), only for fictional purposes I renamed it Haley High, home of the Comets and not the Colonials.



And since this is technically Day #3 of the challenge, I offer you this shot of the iconic Charcoal Pit sign.



I have to admit that I'm cheating a little here. See, the Charcoal Pit is actually in Wilmington, not New Castle. But it's a very Delaware kind of place, and it does appear in a couple of my books, so I don't feel like I'm straying too far from the rules.

Now.

There's this show on A&E called INTERVENTION, which I used to be totally addicted to (no pun intended - okay, well, maybe slightly intended). Anyway, I stopped watching it for a while because each episode was such a harrowing experience. Will the 19-year-old meth head get clean, or will he end up dead in a ditch? Oh, look, the middle aged alcoholic decided to get help - wait, why isn't she boarding the plane? Oh no! But for some reason I DVR'd last night's episode, which was about Sandra, a thirtysomething mother of who who'd spent the last 10 years addicted to prescription drugs. Watching her addiction wasn't so hard. It mostly consisted of her begging for pills, falling asleep mid-conversation, or talking in the kind of random sentence fragments that you expect from someone who probably hasn't had natural sleep in a decade. No, the really hard part was watching her 11-year-old son Dakota sob himself sick over his junkie mom. He was the one who found her during one of her overdoses. He was in the car with her during one of her many under-the-influence crashes. He was the one who'd come home from school to find his mother passed out in bed, and not know whether she was dead or alive.

Then, during the actual intervention, Dakota was the first to read his letter. He started talking about how he had no positive memories of his mother, and how he remembers this one time when he had an asthma attack and she was passed out and he would've died if his older brother KC hadn't saved him. It was absolutely heartbreaking. I started crying so hard my stomach clenched up and I thought I might be sick. This poor kid! And I won't even get into the aforementioned older brother, who held his emotions in so tightly that whenever he got pissed off, he'd make holes in walls and stuff.

Thankfully, Sandra went into treatment. She's still there, apparently, and sober since February. So at least it ended on a positive note.

Up next: more hometown pics, a GCC tour, and my (belated) take on the Massachusetts teen "pregnancy pact" scandal.

Long time, no blog! Was inspired to write after reading Cynthia Lord's request that people post pictures of their hometown. I couldn't help but dig up this image of Battery Park - not the one in New York, but the one in Old New Castle. It's a place featured in several of my novels, and it's also been the backdrop for several seminal moments in my young adult (and maybe even adult adult) life.




Lots of posty goodness coming in the next few days!

Recently, my friend Laura Novak launched a redesign of her website and photoblog. Laura's the genius behind my two headshots, but around here she's known as the premiere wedding and family portrait photographer. Need proof? Just check out some of her latest posts, which showcase her awesome talent.

Currently Laura's booking her Beach Days - portrait sessions that will take place on Delaware's coast between August 7th and the 14th. Interested? Here are the details:

With every personal Laura Novak Photography beach portrait session you'll receive:

• Laura Novak consultation review to create your personal family portrait session


• A casual, fun and engaging photo session that reflects the personality of your family


• Our exquisite signature 11 x 14 framed canvas. This beautiful photographic display in a white frame highlights four of your favorite images in a unique piece of artwork.

Call today to arrange a convenient time for your planning and portrait session by calling 302.656.5274.

1. I am very, very, very, very, very happy with this year's winner of TOP CHEF.

2. Which reminds me, the other night for dinner I attempted to recreate Lisa's infamous peanut butter mashed potatoes (and no, that's not a spoiler, just go watch). What I did: peeled and boiled maybe six or seven regular baking potatoes (medium sized). Drained and put them back in the pan. Added 2 T butter and about a quarter cup of regular Skippy (I did not do precise measurements, as you can see). Added coconut milk and mashed them with a hand masher. I think we added more peanut butter and more coconut milk - it ended up being half a can and I froze the rest for later. I had boiled the potatoes in salted water but added a bit more salt to the final product. OH MY GOD. So good. Went perfectly with a top round London Broil and petite green beans. [Note: obviously this is not a low-fat side dish, and not something I would make weekly, but it was a fun, yummy experiment and I highly recommend trying it out at least once.]

3. Yesterday, my new pedal extenders came in the mail. Huh? you say. See, here's the deal - I'm short. REALLY short. Like barely 5'2". What's worse is that I have supershort legs. (FACT: in middle school, Cindy Joseph and I were the same height, and her legs were three inches longer. I'm not even exaggerating.) So, even in my cute little Saturn, I always am sitting right on top of the steering wheel - just so my feet can reach the pedals. And I tend to wear out the rubber on my brake pedal, so it gets slippery, and then I have to sit even closer. Well, obviously this is not good, and Joe and I started doing research and found out that they make pedal extenders that bolt onto your pedals (approved by traffic officials and everything) and it lengthens your pedal by 2 to 4 inches, which means you can sit the regulated 18" away from the steering wheel. Squee! Apparently there are a lot of cars made in this decade that have automatically extending power pedals, but the Saturn is from 1998 and I don't see me getting a fancy pants new car any time soon. So, extenders it is. I haven't tried them out yet but definitely will this weekend.

4. We no longer have an AQUA TEEN lawn. In the front, anyway. The back yard ... well, let's just say I'm glad it's in the back.

5. Today I made a mental list of all of my good friends that I haven't talked to in a while and I needed two hands. I have no idea WHY I've been out of touch, or why they've been out of touch, but as soon as I finish going over the copyedits on STELLA I plan to rectify the situation.

Day four of this disgusting heat wave presses on, and I'm not ashamed to admit that I've been a virtual hermit this entire time. I cannot stand excessive heat and humidity. And despite blasting the AC 24/7, during the height of the heat I can't get my little ranch house cooler than 74 degrees. There are likely three reasons for this: A) poor insulation in the laundry room; B) no attic fan; and C) the big front window was the only one not upgraded by the previous owner - in fact, the living room feels 10 degrees hotter than anywhere else in the house!

Meanwhile, our front lawn looks disturbingly like the one from AQUA TEEN HUNGER FORCE. Even if it wasn't an oven outside, I'm seriously allergic to grass and am not supposed to mow it (seriously, the mere smell of fresh-cut grass turns my face puffy and red!). Because of Joe's odd work schedule, he can only cut the grass on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays. Last week it poured rain like a monsoon, and then by Saturday the heat wave had rolled in. Only now we're so ashamed of the lawn he's going to brave the 100+ degree heat index and take one for the team. Such the mensch, he is.

There's so much going on in my life right now that I can't/don't feel comfortable with writing about yet, but one major thing that's been on my mind is the end of Hillary Clinton's presidential bid. I have this friend, Emmett, with whom I routinely argue about the election. He's an Obama man, largely because he doesn't believe in dynasty politics. Emmett, like most Obama supporters, has been calling for Clinton to officially drop out for months now. Of course, I'm guessing Emmett's way is probably more abrasive, as he likes to throw around words like "stupid" - usually in connection with some statistic I've cited - and has made the claim that Obama could choose an inanimate object as his running mate and still clean the floor with McCain. In fact, sometimes he's so abrasive that I end our "friendly" debates with expletives and then ask Joe, "Why do I even bother?" (Apparenly I am a sadist, but that's another post entirely.)

Anyway, I bring up Emmett because I now owe him a homemade baked good, as I was convinced that Obama wouldn't end up the democratic nominee. I really thought that Clinton would pull it out in the end.

Then again, I hadn't counted on the misogynistic news coverage, or the blatant favoratism of Howard Dean, or - most troubling - this pervasive feeling that if you're not for Obama, you must be a racist. There was even this story on one of the news channels - a reporter had gone into a predominantly black high school to see the teens' reaction to the possibility that there could be a black president, and one of the kids said, "You're not allowed to be for Hillary here. If you're for Hillary, they call you a racist." That's so insulting on so many different levels. For one thing, it reduces Obama's entire candidacy to the color of his skin. For another, it underscores this other erroneous belief that Clinton's supporters are only voting for her because she's a woman.

I know this has been hashed and rehashed a thousand times, and I doubt I'm adding anything new to the conversation, so I'll leave it at that.

The thing that got me was Hillary's "exit" speech on Saturday and the media's reaction to it. (If you haven't taken the time to watch it, at least read a transcript, which can be found here.) So I'm watching the speech with Joe, and I'm getting very emotional and teary eyed, and I'm shocked when a vocal throng of her supporters boos at her request to help elect Obama, and it's all very overwhelming and surreal and then she says these words:

Now, on a personal note, when I was asked what it means to be a woman running for president, I always gave the same answer, that I was proud to be running as a woman, but I was running because I thought I'd be the best president. But...

But I am a woman and, like millions of women, I know there are still barriers and biases out there, often unconscious, and I want to build an America that respects and embraces the potential of every last one of us.

I ran as a daughter who benefited from opportunities my mother never dreamed of. I ran as a mother who worries about my daughter's future and a mother who wants to leave all children brighter tomorrows.

To build that future I see, we must make sure that women and men alike understand the struggles of their grandmothers and their mothers, and that women enjoy equal opportunities, equal pay, and equal respect.

Let us ... Let us resolve and work toward achieving very simple propositions: There are no acceptable limits, and there are no acceptable prejudices in the 21st century in our country.

You can be so proud that, from now on, it will be unremarkable for a woman to win primary state victories ... unremarkable to have a woman in a close race to be our nominee, unremarkable to think that a woman can be the president of the United States. And that is truly remarkable, my friends.

To those who are disappointed that we couldn't go all of the way, especially the young people who put so much into this campaign, it would break my heart if, in falling short of my goal, I in any way discouraged any of you from pursuing yours.

Always aim high, work hard and care deeply about what you believe in. And, when you stumble, keep faith. And, when you're knocked down, get right back up and never listen to anyone who says you can't or shouldn't go on.

As we gather here today in this historic, magnificent building, the 50th woman to leave this Earth is orbiting overhead. If we can blast 50 women into space, we will someday launch a woman into the White House.

Although we weren't able to shatter that highest, hardest glass ceiling this time, thanks to you, it's got about 18 million cracks in it ... and the light is shining through like never before, filling us all with the hope and the sure knowledge that the path will be a little easier next time.

And by this time, I'm pretty much sobbing, and Joe's looking at me like I've lost my mind. Did I support Hillary Clinton because she is a woman? No, I supported her because I believed she was the best person for the job. But does it break my heart to see the first viable woman presidential candidate step down? God, does it ever. And if the situation was reversed - if on Saturday we'd watched the first viable African American presidential candidate step down - I believe there would be a lot more public mourning, and a lot more time and press coverage memorializing the loss.

Instead, most of the newspaper reports about Clinton's speech and the suspension of her campaign began with phrases like "finally ended her desperate bid." Even this piece by the New York Times seemed biased and unnecessarily harsh. What's worse is the lack of respect that some hardcore Obama supporters are displaying in the wake of her concession. Where's the graciousness in that? I haven't even bothered to check in with Emmett, bracing myself for the kind of gloating that makes me wonder why we're friends to begin with.

I'm a Democrat, and come November, it is likely that I will be casting my vote for Barack Obama. But I'll do so with a heavy heart, because I do not believe the best candidate got the nomination. I believe that the most charming, most inspiring, most likeable candidate got the nomination, and for the sake of our country I hope he can parlay that into a win.

But if he can't - if John McCain takes the White House - I know who's got my vote in 2012.

I used to pride myself on the fact that I only watched high-quality reality TV. This was maybe five, six years ago - before I'd succumbed to LAGUNA BEACH and then THE HILLS; before SHEAR GENIUS damaged the good brand set out by shows like PROJECT RUNWAY; before CROWNED: THE MOTHER OF ALL PAGEANTS was a glimmer in anyone's eye.

So, yeah. I DVR'd the first two episodes of DENISE RICHARDS: IT'S COMPLICATED and LIVING LOHAN. I ... I am practically speechless. This is trainwreck television at its absolute worst.

First up, let's talk Denise, whose potty mouth is so horrible she makes me feel positively G-rated. Okay, fine, she curses. Whatever. Denise is all about presenting herself as a Good, Single Mother and Devoted Daughter and Victim of Tabloid Journalism. She complains about past boyfriends, yet refuses to break out of her pattern of picking well-endowned dark-haired bad boys (hey - I'm only quoting Denise here). She breeds her pet pigs, gets an at-home airbrush tan, references WILD THINGS a dozen or so times. The entire series so far is about us watching Denise as she wanders through her life, wide-eyed and looking somewhat psychologically imbalanced.

Trainwreck TV.

Although I do have to say, there was a moment in last night's episode, when Denise goes to confront a tabloid journalist, and the journalist talks to Denise like Denise is a moronic piece of trash not worthy of the hack's time. In that instance, when Denise storms out, calling the hack the c-word, I almost - almost - cheered.

Next up is LIVING LOHAN, which is so much, much worse. Witness Ali Lohan, kid sister to Mistress of the Trainwrecks Lindsay. You can't blame these girls - watching Mama Lohan do her thing, you can totally see how they were victims of DNA. Dina swears that she's doing this show purely to set the record straight about her family - which is what Denise claims is her MO, too. I'm sure neither of them really care about the money or publicity or anything. No, it's all about truth in journalism. Dina Lohan is VERY concerned about this, and begins each day reading Page 6 and the tabloids for news about her daugther and herself. She even adds "Google us" to her assistant's list of duties. Self-absorbed much?

But last night's episode - in which the Lohans confront their twentysomething music producer friend about an article in which he's quoted as saying he's Lindsay's new boyfriend (when in reality he's never even talked to the girl on the phone) - oh, that took the cake. First, Ali gets all hyperdramaqueen on his ass, calling him a liar and slamming out of her bedroom vowing never to talk to him again. Then Mama Lohan sits her down and explains how Jeremy is the Bambi here, and how he doesn't understand the way the evil tabloids will twist his words. So, they sit down with Jeremy together, and Dina gives him the what-what, and then dismisses Ali from the conversation. In her one-on-one, it becomes pretty clear that Jeremy DID plant the fake story, but does Dina flinch? No, she merely informs Jeremy that she's using him as much as he's using them.

Flash forward to a party scene in NYC, where Dina is being honored for being on the cover of a magazine. Jeremy is there at this party, and I swear to god, Dina is eyeing him up like he's a Whopper with cheese and she hasn't had a meal in the last month. Cougar alert! No wonder she doesn't want to dismiss the cutie, even if he is an opportunistic liar. I would bet money that Mama Lohan tries to bed this boy at some point, whether we see the footage or not.

I do not think I will be watching LIVING LOHAN going forward, as doing so makes me feel like I need a shower. As for Denise - the jury's out on her. For now.

Dear iTunes,

I really, really hate it when you get all buggy and start deleting libraries and crashing and gah, now I can't even get you to boot properly. WTF? What did I ever do to you, iTunes? Really, I'm asking. WHAT DID I EVER DO TO YOU?

Sincerely,
Cranky Pants

###

Dear Alex from THE PAPER,

I cannot believe what a petty, shallow, childish ass you are. Do you have any idea how foolish you come across on this show? Why? Why are you like this? You give high school boys a bad name.

Signed,
Not a Fan

###

Dear Enbrel,

You are so not the miracle drug I was promised. I see no improvement in my psoriasis and to boot, you've weakened my immune system so much that I've spent the past month exhausted and sickly and so not fun to be around. You and me, Enbrel - we're done. And I might just have to break up with the doctor who prescribed you as well, since not a single prescription she's giving me for anything - even adult acne - has done a lick of good.

So long,
LZ

###

Dear Mom,

Why would you bother telling Joe you made the good chicken salad with the lavender if you weren't going to save any for us? That's just mean, Momma. Really, really mean.

- Your grumpus daughter

###

Dear Joe, Candace, Carolee, Patty at Dr. Imber's office, and the nice lady at the trash company,

Thank you all for helping make today bearable. I love you, each and every one of you.

xoxo
Lara

Several months ago, I applied to get tickets to THE VIEW. My mom's a big fan, and with this season's addition of Whoopi and Sherri Sheperd to the all-female gab-fest, I've become something of a convert myself (okay, I DVR the show every day). Anyway, a few weeks ago Joe and I were in the living room and I queued up that day's episode. Then I thumbed through the mail and to my surprise, saw I had an envelope from THE VIEW. Turns out I'd gotten four tickets to the May 20th show - and they'd arrived just in time to be (part of) my mom's Mother's Day present.

So on Monday, the four of us - my parents, Joe, and me - loaded up our stuff and drove to New York. The plan was to go up a day early, have dinner that night with my godmother and her husband, and then be ready to arrive at THE VIEW super-early - thereby insuring good seats. Mark, my stepfather, had booked us two hotel rooms - only, it turns out our rooms were less hotel than they were hostel:



That was the entire length of our room, by the way. Behind me there was a small TV and a mini-fridge. Notice that there's no bathroom. That's because the place where we stayed had communal bathrooms where - and no, I'm not making this up - you were expected to bring your own private roll of toilet paper and mini-soap and hand towel each and every time you needed to use the can. (The hotel was gracious enough to supply each person with said TP, mini-soap, and assortment of towels.)

It didn't help that the boy and I had forgotten to pack Travel Scrabble, either. We spent the time before dinner watching DR. PHIL and JUDGE JUDY while lying on beds so thin they felt like plywood. Talk about roughing it!

Dinner was at Carmine's, a family-style Italian restaurant. We had awesome calamari, yummy lasagna and penne in vodka sauce, and the most excellent tiramisu (or as my mom tends to call it, "terra-mitzu," thereby making it a Japanese delicacy) EVER. My godmother, Jan, and my mom have been friends since they went to summer camp together at age nine, and Tony, Jan's husband, is hysterically funny. Tragic that the night ended with Joe and me trying to sleep on our matching prison-issue twin beds with scratchy plaid comforters.

The next morning, we were up and out by 7:30. Mark miraculously found a free parking space directly across the street from the studio, and we stood there in blustery cold until 9, when we were ushered into a lobby and stood until we were checked in, then stood in line for a security check, then were herded into another standing-room-only holding pen until 10:30. Finally, we took an elevator up to the stage. When we got off, we were handed juice and cookies, and this is the first thing we saw:



ZOMG!

As fate would have it, we got seats in the third row, right in the center. We had to do a lot of clapping for a warm-up comedian, and there was some bad singing and even worse dancing (don't ask), but eventually it was time for the show (which is filmed live, by the way). Some dorky part of me got a little teary-eyed the minute the ladies walked out onto the set, though I'm not exactly sure why.

The first "hot topic" of the day was a question Whoopi posed about what women should say to their daughters about Hillary, especially if she doesn't secure the nomination. And Joy, who often grates on my nerves, says, "You tell her a man took it away from a woman, and then they yelled at her for complaining about it. In other words, you tell the truth."



(In searching for an accurate wording of that quote, I found this recap of yesterday's show, which is way more complete than anything I could write.)

We were allowed to take pictures during most of the commercial breaks. Here's my favorite of the foursome:



Guests included Anderson Cooper, who's a lot shorter than he looks, and Dr. Nancy Snyderman, who talked about medical myths. Everyone in the audience was given a gift certificate to get a scooter and a copy of Dr. Nancy's book.

It was, in short, pretty fabulous.

The one sour note in the whole thing was that Whoopi was putting on a bit of diva behavior. The girls had to shoot this introduction for a charity event Joy was working, and they messed it up and Whoopi tried to make it funny. The producer didn't like her take on it, and asked them to shoot a more "straight" version. Whoopi was irritated and, on the reshoot, delivered her lines totally deadpan, then looked at the producer pointedly. Yowzers! Get that woman some coffee, STAT.



Turns out they were taping a second show that day, so maybe that's why the Whoopster was cranky.

We drove home in driving rain, with aching backs and tired eyes, but it was so totally worth it - every minute.

THE BOOK: The Second Virginity of Suzy Green

THE PITCH:

Suzy Green used to be one of the coolest nonconformist “almost-Goth” party girls in Australia. That was before her older sister Rosie died and her family moved to a new town. Not even her best friend would recognize her now. Gone are the Doc Martens and the attitude. All she wants is to be like Rosie—perfect. The new Suzy Green makes straight As, hangs with the in-crowd at her new school, and dates the hottest guy around. And since all her new friends belong to a virginity club, she joins, too. So what if she’s not technically qualified? Nobody in town knows . . . until Ryan, Suzy’s ex, turns up.

As the past and present collide, Suzy struggles to find her own place in a world without her sister.

THE BLOG: www.sarahantz.com/blog

THE EXCERPT: http://sarahantz.com/books/ (scroll down a bit - it's past the reviews)

WHAT PEOPLE ARE SAYING:

"he topics addressed here - sexuality, friendship, family relationsships - all add depth to the plot and should provide much fodder for discussion." -KLIATT

"Reading this book is like hearing your best friend tell you the story of her life. It is fun, sweet, and hilarious. Sara Hantz really knows how to get into the teenage mind and tells us that we are okay just the way we are. Another great addition in teen chick lit." -Young Adult Books Central

THE INTERVIEW:

What is your favorite word?
Fabulous.

What is your least favorite word?
No.

What turns you on, creatively, spiritually, or emotionally?
Music.

What turns you off?
Blood.

What's your favorite curse word?
Crap.

What sound or noise do you love?
Waves on a beach.

What sound or noise do you hate?
Dentist's drill.

What profession other than yours would you like to attempt?
Movie star.

What profession would you not like to do?
Surgeon.

If heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the pearly gates?
"Hurray…you’ve arrived… now we can have some fun."

BONUS QUESTION: If someone were to make a movie of this book, who would you want to bring your characters to life?
Rachel Bilson and Zac Ephron.


Sara Hantz started writing when she ran out of degrees to study and decided it was much more fun to make things up than to comment on dry academics. Born in England, she moved to New Zealand a few years ago. The Second Virginity of Suzy Green is Sara's first novel. You can visit her super-cute web site at http://sarahantz.com/.

THE BOOK: Names My Sisters Call Me

THE PITCH:

Courtney, Norah, and Raine Cassel are about as different as three sisters can get. Norah, the oldest, is a typical Type A obsessive who believes there is a right way and a wrong way to do everything. Six years later she has not forgiven Raine, the middle sister, for ruining her wedding day. Raine is Norah's opposite - a wild, follow-your-bliss hippie chick who flees to California after the wedding fiasco. The only thing the two sisters have in common is their ability to drive Courtney, their youngest sister, crazy.

When Courtney's longtime boyfriend proposes, she decides it's finally time to call a family truce and bring the three sisters together. After all, they're all grown-ups now, right? But it turns out that family ghosts aren't easily vanquished, and neither are first loves. Reconnecting the sisters also means reexamining every choice Courtney has made in the past six years, right down to the man she's about to marry.

Whether you have suffered the angst of sibling rivalry or been one of the lucky (or unlucky, depending on how you look at it) few who just watched from afar, NAMES MY SISTERS CALL ME is a book that anyone with a sister, a sibling, or even a friend can appreciate.

THE BLOG: http://megancrane.livejournal.com/

THE EXCERPT: http://www.megancrane.com/names.html

THE EXTRAS:

"What Kind of Sister Are You?" Quiz on Facebook: http://apps.facebook.com/what-kind-of-s-diceg/

MySpace profiles for each sister:
Courtney Cassel: http://www.myspace.com/courtneycassel
Raine Cassel: http://www.myspace.com/rainecassel
Nrah Cassel: http://www.myspace.com/norahcassel

WHAT PEOPLE ARE SAYING:

"Crane's brisk voice and knack for finding the humor in Courtney's angst keep the mood upbeat all the way to the rosy resolution.." -Publishers Weekly

THE INTERVIEW:

What is your favorite word?
Actually. I say it and write it all the time.

What is your least favorite word?
Moist.

What turns you on, creatively, spiritually, or emotionally?
Music. Sunshine. Long drives on clear nights. Redwood trees. The ocean.

What turns you off?
Emotional vampires. Dreary, brown winters. Feeling trapped.

What's your favorite curse word?
I like the f-word. I employ it often, particularly in the British manner: "for fuck's sake." Always a favorite.

What sound or noise do you love?
The sound Jake, our dog, makes when he rolls on his back, kicks his feet in the air, and talks about it.

What sound or noise do you hate?
The sound the bedside table makes when one of our three fat cats leaps on and then off of it, repeatedly, usually at three in the morning, usually because they are bored.

What profession other than yours would you like to attempt?
I think I'd like to be a private eye. Or Sydney Bristow.

What profession would you not like to do?
Anything involving numbers. Well, I'm not sure that counts, as no one else would want me to do it either.

If heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the pearly gates?
"Well done! Everyone you love is right through here..."

BONUS QUESTION: If someone were to make a movie of this book, who would you want to bring your characters to life?
I would make a terrible casting director, as I am always stumped by this question. I never want to assign real people to characters, because I want them to come alive however the reader wants... Is that a cop-out?

Not all! Thanks for stopping by, Megan - and congrats on your latest success!


Megan Crane is a New Jersey native who graduated from Vassar and got her MA and PhD in literature from the University of York in England. She is the author of Everyone Else’s Girl, English as a Second Language and Frenemies. She lives in Los Angeles. Visit her website at www.megancrane.com.

THE BOOK: The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks

THE PITCH:

Frankie Landau-Banks at age 14:
Debate Club.
Her father's "bunny rabbit."
A mildly geeky girl attending a highly competitive boarding school.

Frankie Landau-Banks at age 15:
A knockout figure.
A sharp tongue.
A chip on her shoulder.
And a gorgeous new senior boyfriend: the supremely goofy, word-obsessed Matthew Livingston.

Frankie Laundau-Banks.
No longer the kind of girl to take "no" for an answer.
Especially when "no" means she's excluded from her boyfriend's all-male secret society.
Not when her ex boyfriend shows up in the strangest of places.
Not when she knows she's smarter than any of them.
When she knows Matthew's lying to her.
And when there are so many, many pranks to be done.

Frankie Landau-Banks, at age 16:
Possibly a criminal mastermind.

This is the story of how she got that way.

THE BLOG: http://www.theboyfriendlist.com/e_lockhart_blog/

WHAT PEOPLE ARE SAYING:

"Big ideas are an essential part of the fun in this sparkling tour de force.... Lockhart dexterously juggles a number of smart and tantalizing themes—class and privilege, feminism and romance, wordplay and thought, friendship and loyalty—and combines the pacing of a mystery with writing that realizes settings and characters, large and small, with an artist’s sure hand....An exuberant, mischievous story, it scores its points memorably and lastingly." -Publishers Weekly (starred review)

Also received starred reviews from Booklist, Kirkus, School Library Journal!

Dearest E, I owe you one ginormous apology, as this interview was originally supposed to run at the end of March. But even though I'm horribly late, I'm still super-psyched to blog about this book, which is the newest of my all-time favorites. I can't stop talking about how smart and hilarious it is - as I think I may have mentioned, this is exactly the kind of book that makes me wish I were a better writer. Anyway, enough with the gushing - on with the tour!

What is your favorite word?

I do not think I can choose. But I am in the middle of writing the new Ruby Oliver book (heroine of The Boyfriend List and The Boy Book) and I can tell you Roo's new favorite word: spankin'. As in, "That's a spankin' pair of lederhosen you're wearing, where did you get those?" -- not as in, "Stop your whinin' or you'll get a spankin', you little brat." [NOTE: Those of you who read E's blog know she's since finished the first draft of this novel - which only serves to illustrate how late I am. Oi!]

What is your least favorite word?

Can't.

In a way, The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks is all about how much I don't like that word -- at least, when applied to me.

What turns you on, creatively, spiritually, or emotionally?

Men in the kitchen. I think that covers all three areas, actually.

What turns you off?

Cruelty to animals.

What's your favorite curse word?

I love them all! Right now, I am saying Poo a lot. As in, "Oh, Poo! I forgot to buy lettuce!"

What sound or noise do you love?

I like silence best of all. But cats purring. Judy Garland singing. Laughter.

What sound or noise do you hate?

I live on a street near a bar. A couple times a month I awake because a drunk guy is screaming, very often at a woman, in a scary way. The other night it was so bad I called the police.

I hate this little sound clip of human ugliness with all my heart.

What profession other than yours would you like to attempt?

For a while I attempted to write musical comedies. That's where my book Dramarama came from. If I couldn't write, I think I might like to be a baker. I get up early anyway.

What profession would you not like to do?

I don't play well with others. It is true. I am not a team player, I'm not adaptable, and I don't like taking orders.

So really, I am ill-suited to most jobs.

If heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the pearly gates?

This way to the library. That way to the steam room. Oh, and here, you can take books in the steam room without damaging them.

BONUS ROUND:

Love E. Lockhart as much as I do? Then check out her latest venture, HOW TO BE BAD, which hit stores yesterday! Born through a MySpace discussion board and co-written with Lauren Myracle and Sarah Mlynowski, HOW TO BE BAD - equal parts charming, hilarious, and emotional - is the story of a road trip that proves that sometimes it doesn’t matter where you’re going, since getting there is half the fun.

Three girls who couldn’t be more different have one goal in mind: to get the heck out of Dodge. Well, Niceville, Florida, actually. But it might as well be called Nowheresville. Vicks is the wild-child fry cook whose boyfriend left for college and isn’t returning any of her calls; Mel, the good girl in expensive jeans who just wants everyone to like her; and Jesse, the trailer-dwelling human morality meter who’s discovered a life-altering secret -

Each has her own reason for climbing into Jesse’s mom’s beat-up station wagon and hitting the highway for a weekend trip, whether she knows it or not. Armed only with Vicks’s ancient, battered copy of a guidebook called Fantastical Florida, a map Jesse picked up with her dwindling funds, and Mel’s mom’s credit card, they’re Miami bound. Hearts will be broken, friendships will be tested, and a ridiculously hot stranger could change the course of everything. And if they don’t kill each other first, Vicks, Mel and Jesse will not only have a road trip to remember, they’ll have friends for life.

If you're looking for the perfect summer beach read, this book is it. So. FUN.

THE TOUR: E, Lauren, and Sarah are currently on tour to support HOW TO BE BAD. So if you live in or near New York, Georgia, Florida, Illinois, California, or Connecticut, check out the calendar to see if this talented trio is coming to a bookstore near you.

Thanks, E, for stopping by - and for waiting patiently for your tour!


E. Lockhart is the author of The Boyfriend List and its sequel, The Boy Book; Fly on the Wall; Dramarama; and How to Be Bad, co-written with Lauren Myracle and Sarah Mlynowski. Her latest solo project is The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks. Visit her on the web at www.e-lockhart.com.

Those JoJo bloggers were right again - looks like the Lifetime adaptation of TRUE CONFESSIONS OF A HOLLYWOOD STARLET will debut in August.

That's, like, right around the corner!

I am so behind in posting right now: my wrap-up of TBF Live! 2008; two GCC tours; censorship right here in my home state of Delaware; and now, last night's debate (one highlight for me: George Stephanopoulos taking Obama to task about the barrage of negative e-mails his campaign sends out daily).

Life has been sort of insane in Casa de Lara, and today the boy and I were both struck with some mysterious illness that has left us largely unconscious (I think I've been awake maybe four daylight hours so far). I feel so gross that I'm about to cancel a coffee date with Wendy that I've been looking forward to all week.

More tomorrow, hopefully.

Regular posting resumes tomorrow.

So, last Thursday I headed to Wallkill, NY, to take part in Wallkill Central School District's 21st Annual Authors Day. I took the boy with me because it was a Weekend of Much Driving, and I tend to crash after a day or two of non-stop go-go-go. Anyway, I prepped for this trip like I do for all of my trips, making checklists for packing and putting together a dossier of directions and important information. We didn't need to be at the author dinner until 5 p.m., so I figured if we left by 11:30 a.m., we should still get to the hotel by 3 and have time to gussy up before heading out for said dinner. And this would've worked out fine, except that MapQuest - god love you, MapQuest - sent us to Lakeside DRIVE instead of Lakeside ROAD. Which meant that instead of finding the Comfort Inn, we drove around this very rural looking part of central NY and ended up at a residence. By the time we realized that we needed Lakeside ROAD instead of DRIVE, we were already in danger of being late for this important author dinner thing. So, I ended up pulling into a 7-11 parking lot and applying makeup while Joe tried to get directions back to the highway. Then, realizing Joe had absolutely no clue where we were or how we needed to get back, I got on the horn, got the right directions, and managed to get us to the lodge at 6:15 - the tail end of cocktail hour.

Since we didn't have time to check into the hotel and/or change, we showed up dressed in jeans while everyone else was in ... well, suits and skirts and ties and heels and pearls and yeah. Oops! Fortunately, the good folks of Wallkill were very much forgiving and made us feel right at home. Everyone was warm and friendly, and after a delicious dinner that included some chicken thing wrapped in corn stuff (yum-o!), all of the guest speakers took the mic for a few minutes to talk about themselves and their work. First up was Robert Lipsyte, who talked about getting his start in sports writing, and then Matt Novak, an author/illustrator I'd actually met several years prior at an SCBWI event, who gave a sweet speech about how his teachers had influenced him throughout his life. I went third, and riffed about being both Lara and Lola (more on that later), and then Jan Spivey Gilchrist monologued about growing up as one of 14 children (or was it 18? It was some enormous number) and let me tell you: when this woman mentioned having a 36-year-old child herself, my first thought was, "What, did she get pregnant when she was four?" SHE LOOKS SO FREAKING YOUNG, I THOUGHT SHE WAS MY AGE). Finally, illustrator Wendell Minor wrapped things up by giving an overview of his long and varied career.

Highlight of the evening (besides Bob Lipsyte explaining to me how "cool kid authors" is an oxymoron - gotta love that guy!): meeting Debra Golden, the school media specialist for John G. Borden Middle School, where I spoke the following day. Debra kept telling me I was her long-lost twin (something I'd hear from three or four other people before returning home Sunday night) and oh, she was a hoot! We bonded over our love of cheesy reality TV, Drew Barrymore, bad 1980s fashion (leggings! Leggings! Leggings!), and more. We also ended up in a very long conversation about sex in YA novels, and when talked turned to females and masturbation, I was afraid some of the other women at the table might melt into the floor. But, no - they held their own, and all in all it was a delightful evening.

The next day I was up bright and early to head to John G. Borden, where I got to speak to the 7th and 8th graders in assembly, eat lunch with some specially selected students, and hold a writing workshop for some mor specially selected students. These guys rolled out the red carpet for me - literally! You can see a cute photo journey of my day here.

By the end of the afternoon, I was already starting to lose my voice - no good, considering I had three more presentations to give on Saturday. I said my goodbyes and loaded into the car. We had to go to Platekill to pick up Jan, who needed a lift to the airport. Thank god Joe was driving; within 15 minutes of the drive both Jan and I were out cold!

Many thanks must go to Ellen Rubin, the woman responsible for putting Author's Day together. It's such a lovely event, and I am honored to be part of a long and lasting tradition.

Next up: TBF Live (or what it feels like to be a rock star for the day); E. Lockhart's GCC tour (yes, I know, late, I'm late, I suck, I've been sick!); and more!

Getting ready to head to New York for the weekend - on Friday, I'm speaking at the John G. Borden Middle School in Walkill as part of a district-wide Author's Day. Then on Saturday, my ever-present alter-ego Lola Douglas and I are appearing at the Third Annual Greater Rochester Teen Book Festival. The slate of authors is absolutley incredible - Libba Bray! Ellen Hopkins! Sara Ryan! Todd Strasser! Terry Trueman! My good friend David Lubar! just to name a few - but oh, man. This preview by the Rochester Democrat and Chronicle is just so ... odd. Like, they say David "writes with humor about imaginary creatures and maladjusted students." And according to the reporter, ANYONE BUT YOU "is about a brother and sister's emotionally charged summer and includes slang, swearing and sexual content." Which I guess is technically true, but why is it that mine is the only one of the 14 featured authors' blurbs that throws around words like "swearing" and "sexual content"? The only other one that comes remotely close is Alex Sanchez's blurb, which meantions that a school district took RAINBOW BOYS off a summer reading list after some parents objected to the subject matter.

Regardless, I'm totally psyched for both of these events!

In other news: I will be touring Emily (E.) Lockhart through the GCC later tonight or tomorrow. Her official tour was last week, but you know me - I'm always ten steps behind myself. But I'm actually kind of glad I was late this time, because today the boy and I had back-to-back dental appointments and while I was waiting for his to be done I read all but the last 20 pages of HOW TO BE BAD, which the lovely Ms. Lockhart co-wrote with Lauren Myracle and Sarah Mlynowski. Such a fun read - perfect for summer - and even more proof as to how versatile Emily's writing is. Her latest solo release, THE DISREPUTABLE HISTORY OF FRANKIE LAUNDAU-BANKS, recently made my personal list of "21 Books Everyone Should Read Before the Age of 21," because MY GAWD, it's completely brilliant and the kind of book that inspires me to want to be a better writer. (And no, I'm not kissing Emily's butt just because she sends me the good ARCs.)

ANYHOO ... lots of trip-prep left, so I best skedaddle. (That's right, I said "skedaddle." What of it?)

Happy Wednesday!

Got an e-mail yesterday from Lauren MacLeod of the Strothman Agency in Boston, MA. A fellow Emerson alum, Lauren's recently established a YA division at Strothman and is actively seeking new authors/manuscripts. She writes:

I am currently looking for all types of young adult literature, both fiction and nonfiction. Our agency has a particular interest in nonfiction and history, so we would especially love to see books that serve the dual purpose of education and entertainment (like agency authors Julian Houston’s New Boy and Moying Li’s Snow Falling in Spring). Writers should submit a query letter, a short writing sample (one or two chapters) and a SASE to Lauren MacLeod at The Strothman Agency, LLC, One Faneuil Hall Marketplace, Third Floor, Boston MA 02109.

For more information about the Strothman Agency, please visit www.strothmanagency.com.*



*And no, this isn't an April Fool's joke. Lauren really is actively seeking new clients.

Rob Thomas, just how busy has thy self been? And why didn't I know a thing about any of it? I am a loyal Entertainment Weekly subscriber. I read every issue cover to cover, even the boring stories. So how come I'm only just finding out that:

1) You were the showrunner on MISS GUIDED for, like, fifteen seconds;

2) You're the dude that the CW hired to do that new 90210 spin-off; and

3) ABC has greenlighted an updated version of what VARIETY calls your "brilliant-but-cancelled dramedy" CUPID?

In other news, FOX has already canceled THE RETURN OF JEZEBEL JAMES, that grating sitcom starring Parker Posey and Lauren Ambrose. I'm saddened because A) it was Amy Sherman-Palladino's first post-GILMORE GIRLS venture and B) Sarah, the lead protagonist, was an editor of teen fiction at Harper Collins and a lot of the show revolved around her work.

Here is yesterday's Fun Blog Find: "Fresh Hell." Now, years ago I used to read another blog titled "Fresh Hell," but I can't tell if this is the same one. I'm thinking no, because the author of the other "Fresh Hell" was a pop culture junkie and wrote recaps for Television Without Pity, but didn't actually write her own shows. Then again, how long has it been since I read the other "Fresh Hell"? I do not remember.

I've been spending a lot of time lately fantasizing about what kind of day jobs I'd love to have. Because even though I have sold eight books and paid out a few advances, the cold hard truth is that I still need outside employment to pay the mortgage and keep healthy kibble in Scout's bowl. I took this semester off from teaching because I wanted to find some steady full-time work that wouldn't crush my soul but would pad my bank account. Of course, I only seem to look for full time work when our economy is firmly in the toilet (like when I first moved back to DE in Dec. 2001). It doesn't help that I'm overqualified for entry level and underqualified for most the stuff I'd like to do, which would be move into training and development. In a different economy, when people with dual master's degrees aren't forced to take customer service jobs at Bank of America, this wouldn't be an issue: I'm bright, I'm talented, I have a solid work history, and a savvy employer would take a chance on me even if I didn't have the requisite three years experience. But that's just not the case in this job market.

So in honor of my current search, I'd like to present a list of five jobs I'd kill to have:

1. Author of "Pop Candy." I'm two degrees from Whitney Matheson (my co-features editor junior year at THE REVIEW was Leanne, who's friends with Whitney), and I remember when this was a start-up venture that USA TODAY was hoping would work out. Now it's a freaking phenomenon, and whenever I read it I think, "I could do this. I could do this well." Alas, the world only needs one Whitney Matheson, and it doesn't look like she and her Chuck Taylors are retiring any time soon.

2. Food writer. Over the past several years I've turned into a bona fide foodie, but even though I love to play Rachael Ray in my own kitchen I know I lack the patience and fortitude to be a professional chef. (And yes, I know Rachael isn't a professional chef, but you know what I mean so don't get all food snobbery on me.) Recently I started reading some awesome foodie blogs that made me think, "Huh. Food writing." In all honesty, this is probably something I could eventually do, and unlike writing for television (which you all know is a dream of mine), I wouldn't have to move to LA or NY or Toronto to do it. Food for thought (pun intended).

3. Prop Master for GOOD EATS. Every time I watch the show, I think how fun it would be to construct larger-than-life-size models of molecules, animal anatomy, and knife blades. I'm not kidding. Back in college, I took a course on prop design and set construction my senior year. If only I'd discovered how much I loved those things sooner. Alas, much like graphic design, I was thisclose to diploma in hand when I realized I'd probably majored in the wrong things. (P.S. I think it would be fun to do just about anything on GOOD EATS, including researching the science/history and writing scripts. Hey, Alton - need someone new on crew?)

4. Casting Director. Unfortunately, this is another profession that requires one to reside in a big metropolitan city. But hey, how fun would it be to read scripts and then audition actors to fill the various roles? I think it would be especially fun to do this for a TV series like LAW & ORDER.

5. Being Jennifer Laughran. As in, book buyer. As in, mastermind behind Not Your Mother's Book Club. As in, associate agent for the Andrew Brown Literary Agency. I know this woman works her buttocks off, but still - it sounds like Fun with a capital F.

And oh! I just looked at the clock and realized I'm running late for an interview. Happy Thursday!

It's called FORGETTING SARAH MARSHALL, and through the magic of Facebook, I won tickets to an advanced screening tomorrow night!

The boy and I haven't been to the movie theater since DAN IN REAL LIFE, mostly because even if we pack our own drinks and snacks, it's still going to run us $18-$20. And I can't think of many movies worth that much these days.

Another cool thing that happened yesterday: I went to Happy Harry's to get toenail clippers and ran into the 50% off Easter stash. So, Joe got a one-day-late easter basket full of good quality chocolate (Lindor truffle eggs!) and topped by a stuffed chick wearing bunny ears.

RE: Yesterday's post. I've been thinking a lot about privilege lately, and the smoldering resentment I often harbor for individuals who haven't had to work a fraction as hard as I have to get what they've got. I want to write about this, but need a little time to flesh out my thoughts.

Lastly: JERICHO's series finale airs tonight. Hope it's a satisfying one, because that show - despite its low ratings - has some seriously rabid fans.



* And by Veronica, Marshall, and Jackie I of course mean Kristen Bell, Jason Segel, and Mila Kunis.

For a while there, after the new year, I was going strong - writing substantive entries four to five times a week. But lately, every time I go to update my blog, I go blank. What should I write about? Obviously, there's the TV stuff. But hello! The more shows I admit to watching, the more self-conscious I am about how many shows I am watching. I could write about how adorable my dog Scout is, but that's not interesting to anyone except me and maybe Joe. I could write about Joe, but again: probably not very interesting to anyone except me and Scout.

The worst is when I want to write about something sort of juicy, but then realize that there are a lot of people who still read this blog, and that writing said juiciness might end up getting me or someone I love in trouble.

This might be considered one of those topics, though I'm not sure how terribly "juicy" it is.

Anyway.

Saturday, the boy and I drove up to Bethlehem with Scout for an early Easter dinner with his family. Then, afterward, we went to his best friend's house, who confusingly enough is also named Joe, and hung out with him, Joe's sister, and my Joe's brother. (Don't worry about all of the Joes - they don't really factor into this story.)

Other Joe's sister, Melissa, is an adorable girl in her early twenties who, recently, has increased her awareness about organic foods, beauty products, etc. She drinks hemp milk (chocolate flavored), tries to eat only the healthiest of produce, and is making sure her cosmetics are cruelty-free and not chock full of toxins and crazy unpronounceable ingredients.

I admire this. I do. And I told Melissa this, and that I wished I could go more green, but that heck, it was just so darned expensive to do so.

And young, sweet, idealistic Melissa says, "Well, you could pay now, or you could pay later."

Here's the thing: young, sweet, idealistic Melissa can afford to be young, sweet, and idealistic. She lives at home with her parents. (So does her older brother, for that matter, though he has a college degree and a salary bordering on six figures.) Melissa, with her infinite disposable income, can afford $2.50 for a bottle of chocolate-flavored hemp milk. She can afford to not shop at Walmart, and in her dewey-eyed idealism, even find the stones to scoff at the people who DO shop there.

What I wanted to say was, "Go spend six months living in the real world and then we'll talk."

But I didn't. One, because this was the first time I was meeting Melissa, and despite my cynicism ov