Oh poo

I guess I need to find a way to watch last night's Supernatural before tomorrow because people seem positively abuzz about it and I don't wish to be spoiled. Stupid TV pre-empt for a football game!!! Oh well, I was out having delicious Cambodian food with my Hermit Crab friend, who I've not seen since she left for Cambodia which is five months gone now. Good times, and a late shout-out "Happy Birthday!" to her.

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Shorter David Brooks: I'm going to ruin the sensible stuff at the beginning by freaking the fuck out at the end. So if you wanted to try and start liking me, I'd stop reading somewhere in the middle of this column.

Sound the trumpets, folks, I sort of agree with David Brooks. The auto industry bailout: not such a fan, actually. It may be necessary and I'm prepared to concede it, but I am not happy about it and I definitely think it should be micromanaged with the threat of "Use it wisely or go bankrupt." Once he gets into the "HOLY SHIT I JUST SAID 'CZAR' FOR THE FOURTH TIME!!!! COMMIES EVERYWHERE!" part, I stopped paying attention.

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I've noticed this, too. I used to have no will power when I went into Best Buy. Last night, I was in the area of one before dinner and dropped by. Zero interest. In anything. I didn't feel like browsing, I just wandered and left. I can't think of the last DVD I bought for myself--must have been back in the summer some time. (That may not sound like much, but trust me, for me? That's amazing.) Maybe there's just not anything there I want.

But this isn't a new development, and of course the economy is to blame. Whether it's broken your bank or not, you feel poor. And I'm already paying for Netflix, so buying seems hardly an option worth pursuing. Hell, feiran and I managed to break our four-year-long tradition of going to see the latest Saw movies in theaters. Still want to see Quantum of Solace though, so maybe these things aren't entirely dead to me.

This is why I was rushing out the door this morning

I dreamt that my babiest of sisters was on America's Next Top Model. She was in the top four, about to take her picture for some other or another challenge. Her hair was straightened and dyed black with thick streaks of yellow, pulled up in a pony tail in the back with strands framing her face. (Semi-conscious me couldn't believe that my sister would look good like that; dream-me was amazed at how beautiful--and different--she looked.)

I don't know why I was allowed there, but I was visiting the set and hitting up the craft services table when I ran into one of the other girls who, despite the fact that these shows film way ahead of broadcast, I'd been following and who I thought was a right cunt. I made the mistake of telling her this to her face. Which kinda made emotional trouble for my sister. I spent the rest of the photo shoot worrying that I'd killed her chances of being the winner--what if she was too bothered to do well?--because I'd shot off my mouth. She'd never get her chance to be the next CoverGirl model! (OMG I have watched too much of this show. Dream-me was dying to see baby sis get to say "I'm America's next top model!"

I woke up to strange, repetitious blaring noises, probably from my dream, and I had to just make it stop so I punched some button on the alarm. It never came back on again. I luckily woke in time to get up and run to work.

Do you believe me now?

I don't know how I even came across this, but holy shit, you have to believe me when I say that Tyra Banks IS A BATSHIT CRAZY PSYCHO BITCH.

Oh yeah, way to motivate that girl, Tyra. Screaming at her and demeaning her for her good-natured, good-sportswoman-like resignation to losing your stupid fucking contest is totally the way to reform her "defeatist" attitude.

I've said it before, at great length, to captive audiences who squirmed mightily as I ranted and raved: Tyra Banks is a cocksucker. Her brand is supposedly about empowerment; what she's actually selling is "Listen to Tyra or Tyra will not listen to you. Support what Tyra says, or get the fuck out." She's a fucking diva who thinks that her ability to exploit our interest in women's bodies means she is some goddamned marketing genius. And I'm not at all exaggerating when I say she's DANGEROUSLY UNSTABLE. Holy fuck, welcome to Crazyville, population Tyra Banks.