Best burger ever!

While "working" on my novel, I have been thinking a lot about lists lately, grocery lists, to-do lists, things-to-do-before-I-die lists and so after last nights hilarious "How I Met Your Mother" episode about the best burger ever, besides being ridiculously hungry I thought it would be fun to make a list of my top 10 meaty favs:

1. Braum's

2. In-N-Out

3. The Counter

4. Apple Pan

5. Rick's On Main

6. Hamburger Habit

7. Father's Office (Montana location and yes, there is a difference)

8. Sonic

9. Fatburger

10. Wendy's

Udderly ridiculous

I am a huge supporter of animal rights, but this is just downright silly and quite frankly disgusting. What's next, Big Macs made from human meat?

How many Sarah Palins does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

Sarah Palin is really starting to make us look bad. And no I don't just mean women, but more specifically brunettes, who have long striven to uphold the "blonds may have more fun, but at least brunettes can tie their own shoes without directions" platform. Way to score one for the home team Couric.

Blonds: 1

Brunettes: 0

I call chicken.

I don't really like to get involved in the political fray because I am neither well-informed enough nor level-headed enough to debate the issues, but I couldn't help but comment over McCain declaring a suspension of his campaign in order to go back to Washington and "fix" the economic crisis. Does he really believe he is the key ingredient missing in setting the economy straight? Or is he just trying to avoid the inevitable smackdown in a face-off against Obama? 

"I left my wallet in my other diaper"

Checked out the new Brit import Worst Week last night and I can easily say I haven't laughed out loud that much in a while. The premise is basically Meet The Parents as a tv series, but the rapid pacing coupled with great dialogue and some physical comedy makes this show seem like a breath of fresh air compared to the half hour fare CBS usually spews out. If you like to laugh, it's definitely worth checking out.

Didn't they learn anything from nipple-gate?

Last night's Emmy show was in short: a debacle. My high school drama department put on better productions and while I'm not really surprised by the level of disorganization and down-right boring entertainment that was produced, I was slightly perturbed by the Heidi Klum/William Shatner striptease. And no, it's not because I am a woman and am offended that tearing a woman's clothes off on primetime television was considered by at least one moronic writer to be entertaining. It's because I am an avid television watcher and I am offended that tearing a woman's clothes off on primetime television was considered by at least one moronic writer to be entertaining. At least Janet had the sense to show a little nipple and make things interesting.

Feeling a little squirrelly

Typically I reserve my Charlie stories for my other all-about-dog blog, but this will inevitably be more of a rant than a story. Ever since we got the pup I have spent more time walking around my neighborhood then I ever have before, every morning we go for a 30 min trek around the neighborhood at about 7am when the only other people around are insane joggers and other apartment dwelling dog owners like ourselves. In the past week, however, I have observed one other group of early rising residents in our neighborhood: a gang of squirrels. And by gang, I don't mean a "grouping" of squirrels, I literally mean a territorial, finger-snapping, tight jeans-wearing, Sharks-hating, angry at the world kind of gang. 

These bushy-tailed rodents seem to be steadily growing in numbers, intent on taking over the entire south side of Santa Monica. They may seem like cute, harmless little creatures at first, but don't let their tiny twitching noses and big brown eyes fool you, they are anything but cute and harmless. Charlie of course being excited by anything that moves, spies them out climbing trees and zipping across streets and on the few occasions that he has gotten a closer view, not only have they not been afraid of him they have basically lunged at him, teeth-bared, fists at the ready. Not only are these furry fiends territorial scavengers, but like any organized crime ring worth its name in spit, they have apparently managed to strong arm some unsuspecting morons into leaving them breadcrumbs and peanuts on the corner of 6th and Ocean Park. My only advice if you happen to be unlucky enough to cross paths with the "squirrel squad": run. 

And for the love of Pete, don't frickin feed them.

The beat stops here

For those of you familiar with the Temple Bar in Santa Monica I've just learned they are shutting down later this month. If you have never been I highly recommend a visit before they close their doors for good. While the owners' other musical hotspots, Zanzibar and Little Temple shall remain open for business, Temple Bar was in my humble opinion their best location. Temple Bar was stage to many amazing, eclectic bands and was one of the first spots I hit upon reaching the ripe old age of 21.

"There was a time when a lady garden was as big as a slice of New York pizza"

There was also time when SNL was the funniest thing on TV, those days are clearly long gone, have been for some time, but there were always a few shinning beacons that kept me watching, one of them being the funny gal who's got a special place in my heart, Amy Poehler. I cannot say enough good things about Amy Poehler, everything she does cracks me up and I am the first to admit a funny woman is hard to find. She is also smart, sassy and the kind of feminist that makes me glad to be a woman instead of making me wanna hurl, all of which is why I was sad to read that she will be leaving SNL in the fall after giving birth to her baby. Nobody sticks around SNL forever, unless they have nowhere to go (i.e. Chris Parnell), so of course it was inevitable and I already plan to set my Tivo for her new NBC series whenever it debuts, but I can't help but feel teary-eyed at the thought of no more 9-year old-on-crack "Rick" sketches.

God bless Steve Jobs

After a year and a half of anxiously awaiting my Sprint "all-crap-network" contract to expire I have finally broken free of the oppressive bonds of dysfunctional cellular service and jumped head first into the warm loving arms of AT&T and iPhone. The husband and I went to Best Buy Saturday morning and were lucky enough to score the very last two 8G iPhone's. Contrary to everything I've read the process couldn't have been simpler, in fact the only snag we hit was having to call Sprint to get our account pin codes, which of course was a hair-tearing endeavor as always, proving once and for all what a useless, disorganized corporation they are indeed. 

Blessed devices in hand, we proceeded to spend the rest of the weekend glued to them, mesmerized by each enthralling function, blurting out the occasional, "That is so frickin awesome!" Just to give you an idea of how technologically, telephonically deprived I have been, I need only explain that beyond the various intricacies that make the iPhone so remarkable, I was equally giddy over being able to take pictures with my phone, (a function that the masses have had access to for years but I have sadly only just been made privy to now) as I was over the touch-technology. I still have yet to sift through the thousands of apps, but my favorite hands down, so far is: Shazam. With the aid of this nifty app, I will never have to rack my brain again wondering the name of a song title or artist, simply hold the iPhone to the music and within seconds it will tell you the artist and track name. Technology is truly remarkable.

Fringe disappointment

The most anticipated pilot of the season was good, not great. While I was intrigued by the concept and found the performances, especially that of John Noble as Dr. Walter Bishop surprisingly good, it was the overwrought dialogue and ridiculous amount of obvious set-up that held the pilot back from its potential. I expected better from the otherwise flawless (with the exception of Alias Season 4) Abrams, but quite frankly am not surprised given the track record of Orci and Kurtzman. It was certainly no X-Files as promised, nor was it even in the realm of the Lost or Alias pilots, but I am stilling holding out hope that it may build from here.

I am officially the psycho ranting tenant in the building

Amazing how we take for granted the little things in life until they are suddenly ripped away. Like hot running water for example. At 7am yesterday morning as I took Charlie out for a walk I was greeted by a hand scrawled letter posted on my douchebag building manager's door that read: "Hot water is off, will be fixed today when the plumber arrives." Fantastic. I quickly learned there is nothing like an ice cold shower to wake you up in the morning and so the tone was set for the rest of my day. 

At approximately 8pm last night as I was doing the dishes I discovered that the apparently repaired hot water was in fact running cold. My husband walked across the courtyard to inform the manager, who conveniently was at work, and instead had his girlfriend explain that the hot water was back out and wouldn't be repaired again until the next day. That was my breaking point. As I walked past them in the courtyard on my way to take Charlie out, weeks of no sleep and my morning's ice bath came to a head and I kicked into Sarah Palin mode, ranting across the courtyard to aforementioned douchebag's girlfriend and pretty much everyone else in the neighborhood who surely could hear my yelling. Meanwhile, my husband, being the levelheaded one, opted to help another tenant in repairing the hot water heater themselves, which as it turned out was simply a matter of getting the pilot lit and staying on.

Later that evening, delirious from exhaustion, minutes away from calling it a night, there was a knock at the door and who should it be? None other than douchebag himself, proclaiming in his obnoxious joking manner that my husband was now the official emergency plumbing repairman for the building. Had I been standing at the door and not in the living room making sure Charlie didn't make a beeline outside I most likely would have given a repeat performance of the courtyard spectacle followed by a swift doorslam to the face. Instead I was forced to shout irate tangents from the living room floor, much to the disdain of Charlie, until he left.

Did I feel better for having ranted my head off? Absolutely. Does my dog now think I am utterly insane? No doubt. Will I do it again? When faced with the prospect of another icy shower you can bet on it. 

The great virtual pigskin divide

It's that time of year again, where the best NFL players are pitted against one another to see who will come out on top by January. No I'm not talking about about the official start to the professional football season, but rather the kickoff of the fantasy football season, which is steadily becoming a national pastime in itself, causing a rift in many a fantasy football household as this amusing and slightly disturbing Sports Illustrated column explains. 

The first time my husband (then boyfriend) told me he needed to block off an entire day to stay glued to his computer, stepping away only briefly for bathroom breaks induced by the steady supply of beers I so lovingly served him, I thought he was out of his mind. When he offered an "I'm the league commissioner" to my questioning of this insane time commitment I only grew more leery of his sudden mental instability. Seven years, one league championship win and a football-for-dummies education later and fantasy football season and I have come to an understanding. While I can't say I don't still get a little annoyed when my husband suddenly disappears into the office to check his stats when we are in the middle of watching a movie, I can honestly say that fantasy football has significantly raised both my understanding and appreciation of professional football. As mentioned in Chris Ballard's SI piece, apparently there are significant others who feel otherwise, going so far as to organize a support group in the form of Women Against Fantasy Sports. While my husband's fantasy football hobby is just that, a hobby, some of these borderline OCD horror stories would understandably be enough to drive anyone into couples therapy.

As a native-born Los Angelino I was never privy to having a hometown team to root for and thus, among other reasons, never took interest in or understood the game of football. Even as a high school cheerleader I found it difficult to discern which cheers to do as I wasn't able to recognize at which points our team was on offense or defense. For me, learning the rules of the game was the first step towards enjoying it, the second step was about giving a damn, and thats where the sport of fantasy comes into play. While I don't play the game myself, the thrill off rooting on my husband's team in hopes of not only having a happy husband, but possibly a grab at the pot-at-the-end-of-that-fantasy-rainbow cash prize for league champion is enough to have me giving a damn whether the Jets win or lose and guiltily appreciating the fact that Tom Brady is out for the season. Fantasy football adds meaning to watching a bunch of grown men, dressed in spandex pants pile on top of each other and for that I am grateful.

Would Bin Laden support the McCain/Palin ticket?

As illustrated in this interesting Salon piece, Palin seems to have more in common with Muslim fundamentalists than moderate Christians and so I can't help but wonder just what those Muslim fundamentalists think of this self-proclaimed bulldog in heels. Palin may hold similar ideals, but would an islamic fundamentalist really want to put a woman-- basically a second-class citizen in their eyes--second in command of this powerful nation? 

Growing a tastier tomato

After reading this blog entry on kung fu grippe all I can think is Merlin Mann has finally put into words what I find so overwhelming about the blogging-social-networking-text-messaging-celebrity-obsessed-15-minute society we seem to be living in, but haven't been able to articulate quite clearly myself. I was weary of starting this very blog because of this empty nothingness that we seem to be filling our lives with, and while I certainly can't guarantee that every entry I type will have profound meaning (see not one but two postings on 90210) I do feel, as I do with all my writing, an overwhelming sense to make it better and to avoid commentary for the sake of commentary. This self-editing can sometimes come at the cost of a more off-the-cuff, free-flowing style of writing (and communicating on a whole) and while I don't believe every little word we write should be scrutinized and over-analyzed, I do believe we should put at least some amount of thought into what we are saying and why we are saying it.

Intriguing bloodsuckers and Mexican beach sex romps

As I had hoped Alan Ball did not disappoint with his new HBO series True Blood which premiered last night along with the new season of Entourage. While True Blood pulled me in and had me hooked right away, sadly I couldn't say the same about the life and times of Vinnie Chase and cohorts. 

I have to admit when I first read about the premise of True Blood I was unsure of the marriage of vampires and the creator of the best show on television: Six Feet Under. For those of you unfamiliar with the show, it takes place in a sleepy Louisiana town two years after it has been made public knowledge that vampires live among us and have been accepted into normal society. While a genre piece about vampires seemed an odd choice for Ball, he managed to stay true to his signature style creating a series about angsty relationships, quirky families and intolerance of minorities with a sprinkle of creepy vampire sex for good measure. Check it out, it won't be disappointing.

What was disappointing, however, was the new season of Entourage. With the exception of scene stealing Johnny Drama, the show has become a bland cookie cutter version of itself, with obvious storylines and rattled off rants from Ari that don't even try to make sense. The icing on the cake was the beach blanket bingo sex romp of a fantasy vacation Vinnie was on, which was exactly that: a fantasy. I'm all for the red-blooded straight man's wetdream that is Vincent Chase's life, but come-on, let's at least keep it in the realm of relative possibility otherwise it just becomes laughable.

My Tivo needs an Ex-lax

Is too much access to TV just too much? I believe that's the real question at the heart of Mark Harris' Entertainment Weekly column on DVRs constipated with unwatched programming, which I can very much relate to. As I gear up for the fall TV season, I am feeling the itch to simply wipe the DVR slate clean. The ax already fell earlier this summer on "John Adams" and "In Treatment" and at the moment "Generation Kill", "Last Comic Standing" and "Reaper" seem to be next up on the chopping block. 

Just a few years ago I never would have had the daily conundrum of having too much tv to watch, sure there were a lot of great shows I wanted to check out, but if I wasn't at home for the original airing I simply didn't watch it. Sure I had a VCR, but the rare occasions that I got the recording timer to actually work were few and far between and so it went that I missed an entire season of Friends and Felicity my junior year  in college when I had class every Tuesday and Thursday night. These days with the latest and greatest addition of DVR to TV technology, there is almost nothing I can't watch and with two household DVRs that can each record two shows simultaneously  at my disposal I mean literally, nothing. As a self-described TV addict this should equate to something equivalent to TV ecstasy and for the most part it is, but I have to wonder if the fix is worth it when I inevitably find myself scrolling through the recorded shows list feeling guilt over the shows that remain unwatched and that are slowly filling up free hard drive space.  

Recycled pop culture- The Sequel

Columbia getting serious about new "Ghostbusters" installment.

Okay. Seriously. Enough already.

Recycled pop culture

While I am big fan and advocate of the green movement, what I can't seem to wrap my head around is why the recycling effort has extended into the realm of pop culture. Earlier this week the new 90210 premiered and this morning I tuned into the Today show only to be treated to the musical stylings of NKOTB. This 80's flashback is giving me a headache, the next thing you know they'll be remaking The Breakfast Club starring Zac Efron and Hannah Montana... crap I hope no studio executives are reading this.

9021-Over it

Checked out 90210 version 2.0 last night, I liked it better the first time when it was called Degrassi: The Next Generation. As I expected it was nothing more than a Gossip Girl clone dressed up with a nostalgic theme song and cameo appearances. It seems the obviously out-of-touch writers thought they could throw in a heap-load of on-the-nose texting and blogging references and that would be all that was necessary to update this series for today's audience. Even the appearance of one Ms. Brenda Walsh herself was shockingly uninteresting.

God bless the U.S- frickin-A

Best pizza on the westside

As a self-proclaimed pizza aficionado I am always on the hunt for a good pie, but after last years Italy trip and more recently my tasting of an actual New York slice, my standards have gotten a bit harder to reach when it comes to great pizza. Over the weekend I finally got around to trying Joe's Pizza, a new NY style pizzeria in Santa Monica and I was blown away. It is by far the best pizza in all of LA, especially since, as rumor has it, Albano's closed early this year. At one size fits all pies and per topping fees it is a little pricey but definitely worth every penny.