"It's a Jump to Conclusions Mat!"*

About a year ago, I got a message on Facebook from someone named Saul.

Subject: say did you ever live in alexandria va?

this might be a bit weird but i think i use to write back N forth with ya. i was diggin through some old ass papers i had and found some old ass letters which were from a emmie [my last name]. i dont remember who that is. anyhow thought it might be you. [my address growing up]?

His profile was private, so I could only see his name, his photo, and that he lived in LA. He looked to be about 40. With this limited information, I determined immediately that this must be the young soldier that I wrote letters to during the first Gulf War, for a fifth grade project. I sent him a care package filled with Girl Scout Cookies, and then never heard from him again. Naturally I assumed he had been killed in combat -- why else would he not write me a thank you note for the Thin Mints? But all was forgiven. After twenty years, Saul had finally gotten back in touch with me!

Excitedly, I responded:

Yeah, that was definitely me. Crazy! Were you in Kuwait or Saudi Arabia maybe? If I'm remembering correctly, my fifth grade class wrote letters to service members during the first gulf war, and I think you were my pen pal. You sent me some foreign money (really can't remember where you were stationed right now) and drew me a picture of the desert. That's so weird, I think I might still have that letter. How are you?

A week went by and I didn't hear back from him. It was just like fifth grade all over again. I poured my heart and soul into a Facebook message and received nothing in return. The only difference is that there were no cookies involved this time. I was devastated, of course, but I decided that maybe Saul and I just weren't meant to be friends. Asshole.

Then about a month later, out of the blue, it hit me: my soldier friend's name was not Saul -- it was Ken. Shit. Not only had I sent a completely ridiculous message to a total stranger (and possible stalker, I might add), but my true soldier friend was still MIA, so to speak.

I racked my brain thinking of who this Saul character could possibly be. The only other pen pal I remembered having was a guy named Sergei from Russia, and this was clearly not Sergei. I vaguely remembered a short correspondence with a guy from a record label, so I wrote Saul again (it had been over a month since his initial contact, btw):

OK, I'm an idiot. I had a flash this morning - my pen pal's name was Ken, not Saul. So, my bad. I can't remember who you are though. When were the letters from? Did you ever maybe work for a record label?  

Needless to say, Saul never wrote back. And I still have no idea who he is. But the good news is that I found Ken's original letter -- why I still have a letter from 1991 is another story. What a sweetheart he was to write back to a ten-year-old girl. I can only hope that the reason he never thanked me for the Girl Scout Cookies is that he was busy doing other things, such as writing letters to his real friends and family, or you know, defending Kuwait from invading Iraqi forces, etc.

Below is his letter, along with the Saudi currency he sent me. (Click to enlarge.) I hope Ken is out there somewhere, living the good life with his wife, two kids, and a golden retriever. And if you're reading this Ken, you should probably thank me for the damn cookies.
xoxo, Emmie.  

  
*If you didn't catch the title reference, it's from one of my favorite scenes in Office Space: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wT9PQGygZwA

Lessons I Learned in High School, Part I

My parents sent me to a Catholic high school in the hopes that I would receive a solid, college-preparatory education, as well as the moral and religious tools to help shape me into a good Catholic adult. I think it's no secret that the second part of that plan was almost a complete failure, but that's OK, I'm still a really nice person, I swear.

My sophomore year religion teacher was a nun in her early forties who wore lay clothing and motorcycle boots, I guess as some misguided attempt to appear cool to her students. But for all her fashion-forward ways, she was insanely conservative, and maybe just a little bit crazy. Case in point: it was in Sister A's class that I learned that thinking about sex leads to -- wait for it! -- serial murder.

Sister A explained that Ted Bundy once admitted that it was his sexual fantasies that led him down the path to brutally raping and murdering dozens of women. And we all know that Ted Bundy is not only perfectly sane and trustworthy, but he is actually THE go-to source for religion class curriculum. According to Sister A, sexual thoughts lead to masturbation, which then leads to porn, which leads to rape (oh, was that a bit of a leap? not according to Ted!), and then rape leads to murder. Makes perfect sense, no?

As you can imagine, telling 15-year-olds to not think about sex is like telling a baby polar bear not to be cute. It's simply impossible. So yeah. As far as I know, no one in my high school class has become a serial killer... YET. Evidently, it is thought that Ted Bundy's murder spree started in 1973 when he was 27 years old, and he wasn't caught until 5 years later. By that timeline, we still have two years before any of my classmates are collared for murder. I'll keep you updated.

The Cryin' Video, Deconstructed

I got a very important text message last night courtesy of my friend A, who informed me that the purse-snatcher in the video for Aerosmith's Cryin' is none other than Josh Holloway, aka James "Sawyer" Ford -- only my favorite LOST character ever. This is exciting news because it combines two of my favorite things: Sawyer (albeit in a shirt), and early 90's Aerosmith. I get a lot of shit for openly liking Aerosmith, but dammit, Get a Grip was a fantastic album (not as good as Pump, though). And I am only slightly ashamed to admit that the Get a Grip tour was my very first concert. Thanks, Dad.

Now, after rewatching the video for Cryin' to confirm that it is, indeed, Sawyer...

Shazam!

... I have determined that the video makes absolutely zero sense. In fact, it makes less sense now than it did when I was 13, which says a lot -- after all, I am the girl who onced asked her parents at the dinner table what a one-eyed trouser snake was, seriously. And for the record, I learned that phrase from an Aerosmith song. Full circle, nice.

So, I've decided to do a close reading of the masterpiece that is the Cryin' video, and I invite you all to watch along with me.



So. We start the video off with Alicia standing on a highway overpass wearing a totally awesome flannel plaid shirt. Then we cut to an utterly terrifying shot of Steven Tyler wearing the creepiest mask on earth. It is for this reason that I will now skip over every other scene in the video of Aerosmith playing. Inexcusable.

Next, a quick shot of 90s sorta heartthrob Stephen Dorff in bed with Aerosmith video goddess Alicia Silverstone. Stephen has a completely terrible half-heart tattoo on his hand that matches up with a corresponding half-heart on Alicia's boobie. These tattoos are just like those really cool "best friends" necklaces, only much more permanent and trashy.

Then we have a scene inside a movie theater where Stephen Dorff is making out with some floozie, and Alicia Silverstone is spying on them from a few rows back, and eating popcorn angrily. You didn't know you could eat popcorn angrily? Well you can. My question is, what are the odds that they would both buy tickets to the same movie, at the same theater, at the same time? It must have been a popular movie. Get a Grip was released in 1993, and of the top movies of 1993, only a few are suitable for make out sessions. Would you want to make out at Schindler's List? No. That would be disrespectful. So I've determined that they are either watching Sleepless in Seattle or Indecent Proposal. Of those two, it's much more likely that a man with a hand tattoo would choose Indecent Proposal. By the same token, a woman with a boob tatto would ALSO have chosen Indecent Proposal. Stephen should have known this and taken his skanky date to Mrs. Doubtfire instead.

Next we cut to a scene where Alicia is driving a badass vintage black Mustang convertible with Stephen in the passenger seat. They pull into what appears to be an abandoned train station. She straddles him, which he seems fine with, but when she goes in for a kiss, he pushes her away. Her reaction is to punch him, kick him out of the car, and speed off, leaving him in the dust. It's a really good dust cloud too. She's lucky it turned out that way, otherwise her dramatic exit would have sucked. However, she'd already determined that he was cheating on her. Why did we need to go through that whole song and dance?

Next she heads to the tattoo shop to covdr her lame heart tattoo into an equally lame mermaid.

We never get to see the finished piece, but I'm pretty sure it will end up looking a little something like this:

Ok, I lied. That's not lame, that's awesome.

Next we have a lovely flashback of Stephen and Alicia making out. This memory apparently causes Alicia's car to overheat, so she does the only logical thing: pull on a pair of jeans under her dress, and abandon the car. I think this represents her leaving Stephen Dorff, or some such nonsense.

Then she goes and gets her belly button pierced by the guy from Right Said Fred.

You know, when I wrote that, I thought I was being funny, but in fact, I am pretty sure that actually is the guy from Right Said Fred.

The excitement of getting her bellybutton pierced by a famous English popstar makes Alicia hungry so she goes to a diner to get pancakes. While at the diner, she spots Sawyer *ding!* and makes goo-goo eyes at him. When she turns away, he pulls a typical Sawyer move and grabs her ugly patchwork mini backpack. Cue lame chase scene through downtown; Sawyer trips on a lady, then Alicia karate kicks him in the chest and gets her bag back. Let me be clear when I say that this would NEVER happen in real life. Sawyer is a beast and there is no way Alicia Silverstone could ever take him down. If anything, he only let her karate kick him because he realized that she was having a bad day and he figured this would help boost her self-esteem a little. (If this were an episode of Lost, when she kicked him he would say, "Sonofabitch!" then he would look at her with a sly smile and say, "Hey, calm down, Shortstack.")

Next Alicia is using a payphone, presumably calling Stephen Dorff to tell him that his career isn't going to go anywhere after '94. Then, she stands on the edge of a highway overpass, waiting for Stephen and the cops to show up. When he gets there, Stephen tries to talk her down from the overpass, which leads me to think that maybe the local police force was really short-staffed that day. Shouldn't they have some kind of professional for the job of talking down a potential jumper? Apparently not. Stephen reaches for her hands, and Alicia takes that golden opportunity to jump backwards off the bridge, but -- surprise! -- she is attached to a bungee cord, which I always thought was connected to her belly button ring. I mean, why else would you get your navel pierced, if not to connect it to a bungee cord and carry out a fake suicide attempt? She flips Stephen the bird and laughs, and that is the end of the video. What they don't show is how stupid she feels when she needs the cops' help to get back to the top of the overpass instead of hanging on that damn bungee all day.

The moral of the story is, where the hell are this girl's parents?!? She's running around with older men, getting tattoos and piercings, abandoning cars on the side of the road, and faking suicides. Someone needs to go on Maury, and fast!

Bacon, your goose is cooked

According to my calculations (see chart below), America is long overdue for a bacon backlash. The trend of putting bacon in and on everything has reached critical mass, and we are about to enter a period of strong anti-bacon sentiment.

Like the rapid rise and inevitable fall of other American favorites such as Uggs, ironic mustaches, and zombies, all fads must eventually come to an end. Bacon's time is up, and the only question now is: what's next?

Here are some possible future food trends:
-Buttermilk. Just as fattening as bacon. Why not? Try our new buttermilk martini.
-Gorgonzola cheese. It's delicious AND fun to say. How about a freshly scooped Gorgonzola cone?
-Caramel-coated vegetables. If you thought caramel apples were good, wait until you try caramel broccoli.

The only flaw I see in my theory is that bacon is, in fact, delicious. But I'm going to be the first to pretend that bacon sucks for the sake of looking cool. Is it working?

Doctor Friend: UPDATE

After our brilliant idea to post an ad on craigslist searching for a doctor to be our friend, W and I have received only one pathetic response.

Subject: You gotta be specific...

Surgeons don't know shit about medicine, but we sure do know how to cut.

It was not signed, and the name on the e-mail account was only a first initial and a last name. I guess we'll never know the truth, but I'm 99% certain that this was an e-mail from a serial killer. He (or she) is a well-respected surgeon by day, and a crazed, scalpel-wielding murderer by night. He finds his victims on craigslist. It all adds up.

Historical Hotties - Part I

This will be the first in a series of posts recognizing sexy pieces from days of old. I must give credit to my sister, who discovered our very first Hottie: Mr. Alexander Hamilton.

Vital statistics:
- 1755 or 1757 – 1804
- Founding father
- First secretary of the treasury under George Washington
- Total babe

The man who graces our ten dollar bill was, without question, a serious fox. Just look at that bone structure. And although color photos didn’t exist in his time, you can just tell he had piercing blue eyes. He was killed in a duel by Aaron Burr. A DUEL. What a bad ass.

Alex, (is it cool if I call you Alex?) today we salute YOU as an official Historical Hottie.

These Charming Men

In my spare time, I have been conducting some scientific research on British heartthrobs and/or rock stars. It's tedious work, but I find it very rewarding.

This is not me. I look much better in a white lab coat than she does, 

but I didn't have any photos handy, so use your imagination.

Allow me to present you with my first groundbreaking discovery.

Hypothesis: Robert Pattinson reminds me of a young Morrissey.

Evidence:

1. Both attractive, yet slightly ambiguous-looking.

2. Brooding; penchant for black jeans.

3. Sensitive, soulful eyes.

4. Artfully tousled pompadours.

5. Rebellious, devil-may-care attitudes.

6. Strong, caterpillar-like brows.

Conclusion: My hypothesis was correct and I am a genius.

"Oh Moz, our eyebrows are out of control!"

"By jove, you're right, Rob!"