DEJENNERATE.COM BLOG

Weird Thing My Body is Doing #876
So I’ve been getting involuntarily twitches in my left middle finger (and stop thinking that. I’m used to Boston traffic by now.). As I can be a pretty proficient hypochondriac when the situation calls for it, over the span of the few days I have diagnosed mySelf with Parkinsons disease, epilepsy, Lou Gehrig disease, muscular dystrophy, food poisoning, and demonic possession. Then it occurred to me that on this hand I also have a large amount of rings that I never remove (five…two on the middle finger, two on the ring finger, and one on the pinky). So I took the two off the middle finger. Within minutes, the twitching stopped. A shame, really. I was looking forward to speaking in Latin.

posted by Jenn @ 12:56 PM  

Hey look, Mom, I can read!
OK, so “Jenn’s Book Recommendation” was just too boring.

We have some RENT fans in our midst here at dejennerate, going by the copious responses to my suggestion of a RENT pop-up book complete with pop-up dildo for La Vie Bohem. That said, I’m currently reading Anthony Rapp’s (played Mark in the stageplay and the movie) memoir entitled Without You. Typically, I loathe memoirs/autobiographies from people less than 60 years old because they are almost always masturbatory. His is not. It’s a really nice balance of heartfelt prose and the matter-of-fact omniscient observer so reminiscent of his portrayal of Mark. RENT fans should enjoy.

DaVinci Code tops 1 million sales in paperback
Which floors me only because I didn’t realize there were people who have not read The DaVinci Code yet. Clearly this is breaking some sort of law of society, isn't it? For those select few who are just reading it now (namely, the formerly illiterate, fans of Dora the Explorer, and those recently awoken from the dead), I do understand the desire to read the book before seeing the film, if only to understand Dan Brown’s true vision of the piece. And by this, I mean, of course, the main character’s hair.

posted by Jenn @ 12:45 PM  

Movies That Cause Your Cranium to Bleed Bile

Which doesn’t even make sense, I know. But that’s how bad these movies are. This weekend’s addition started several months ago in Best Buy. I have a bit of a thing for 80s toys, including movies made about 80s toys as they add a dash of retro to my life. So this was my excuse for picking up The Garbage Pail Kids Movie. Now, I’ve always been a fan of The Garbage Pail Kids (I’ll give you a minute to get over the sheer shock of that)...I still have all of mine…but I was already onto the next fad when the movie came out. So I never got around to seeing it, until they decided to release it on DVD a couple months ago. So I bought it and just got to watch it yesterday.

Now I know all of you are much more discerning in your cinematic choices than me (have you seen The Cave willingly? No, I didn’t think so.), and can surely foresee the potential trainwreck a live action Garbage Pail Kids Movie would be. At very least, I thought it would be funny, in the same way that something like Rock N' Roll High School was funny. Instead I was treated to a chorus of The Garbage Pail Kids singing. You may ask why the world needs a chorus of Cabbage Patch Kid ripoffs that vomit, fart, and spray boogers to break into song for any reason. I asked the same thing, but I still haven’t figured out Pokemon yet.

There were definitely some funny parts including an institution for the terminally ugly and a Non-Union Sweat Shop (which begs the question….were the audiences of this movie even aware what a sweat shop was? Especially in 1989?). But other than that? No reason to see it at all. Even for the sake of good ol’ nostalgia.

posted by Jenn @ 1:16 PM  

I have no idea what happened to the post from yesterday
One minute it was there. The next minute….gone. Why am I so calm about this? Because it was two lines at best.

Poorly thought-out sequel titles…
Final Destination 3. Were the first two layovers?

That’s what you missed. Don’t you feel better now?

Dispatches from the Netflix Queue
Rounders – OK, I get cult movies, and usually agree with the reasons they are cult movies. I don’t get why this one is. It was a good movie, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not sure why it developed a cult following. Maybe it’s because I don’t play cards. But it has a great cast list. Worthy of a rental at least. And one of the DVD features is that you can play card games, apparently for people too lame to be invited to their friends’ poker nights.

I gotta walk 20 miles? Seriously?
I do the Walk for Hunger every year, which is a 20 mile walk around Boston. You may be wondering why anyone in the modern age of planes, trains, automobiles, buses, taxicabs, and monorails (to say nothing of inline skates, skateboards, scooters, Power Wheels and pogosticks) would choose to walk anywhere for 20 miles. Maybe if I was planning to spend 40 days and 40 nights in a desert somewhere, but even I can’t take Vegas for that long. There are only so many mornings in a row you can wake up wearing an Elvis jumpsuit, a feather boa, and orange pasties before the hotel maid stops bringing fresh linens.

I’ve been training for this race by walking extraordinarily long distances on the weekends, so I don’t finish the walk and automatically take a cab to the nearest hospital and request my legs be amputated. This weekend? 15 miles. It should take me about 4 hours. And I don’t own an iPod or any kind of portable entertainment system. So it’s basically me vs. the inner-workings of my brain alone together for this period of time. Personally, I don’t think my medulla oblongata is going to come out of this alive.

Raise your hand
If you just had to look up medulla oblongata.

posted by Jenn @ 12:45 AM  

My arrival into the mother land of Buffalo is often marked by various, and often sacramental, rituals not unlike First Communion, or perhaps more appropriately, The Last Rites. One such ritual is entitled The Pilgrimage to the Promised Land of Barnes and Nobles. This ritual is usually performed by the female members of our clan. Dad has joined us for the ceremonies in the past, if only to fulfill the obligation of navigating the family chariot and haul around our purchases. But after one particular afternoon of purchasing exclusively hardcovers totaling the weight of your average crucifix, this quickly became an estrogen-only affair.

Typically Mom and I have an unwritten covenant between us for this ritual; she pays for my books and I buy her a coffee at the café. In our cult, we place the monetary value of the young significantly over that of the elders (at least we haven’t started eating the elders yet. Unfortunately, they all exercise so they’d probably be a bit gamey anyway). So I picked up the latest Evanovich book (she is my favorite guilty pleasure), Without You (the story of the Broadway hit RENT), and a pop-up book about sharks, because I stopped mentally developing at age 8. Plus modern pop-up books are amazingly detailed, to the point that I fully endorse using them in adult storytelling. Like they should have made the story of RENT a pop-up book. Everyone could use a pop-up drag queen on their coffee table, after all. And what better mood-enhancer is there than a giant cardboard dildo protruding from the pages of La Vie Boheme? I’ve had worse Monday mornings, personally.

Anyway (can we say “Holy tangent, Batman”?), while I was in line at the café doing my daughterly obligation of buying the Queen Mother her requisite cup o’ caffeine (because certainly I was not going to shell out the money for a pop-up shark book. Especially one without dildos), I noticed that they are now selling green tea frappicinos. Now, presumably, if you are drinking green tea in the first place, you are drinking it because you are aware of its health benefits. So putting ice cream and chocolate sauce in green tea? Seems a lot like ordering a burger, fries, and a Diet Coke to me.

posted by Jenn @ 1:25 PM  

Horrifying my family, the Easter edition
So, I performed at The Comix Cafe in Buffalo this weekend, and my family came to the show. Normally when my family is in the audience, I clean it up a tad to avoid the "So when did you learn about fisting?" discussion on the ride home. This time I decided not to because a) it was a Saturday night, packed show b) my best closer is a dirty joke. So I went with it. And apparently they didn't have a problem with it at all. It wasn't mentioned (or even eluded to), and the Easter Bunny came on Sunday without shitting in my basket.

New word for your lexicon
Teledildonics

posted by Jenn @ 1:02 PM  

I just got a big white chocolate bunny for Easter. When looking at the nutrition info (because I am a nutritionist and I will be publicly flogged if I don’t do this), I realized that one serving of the bunny (of which there are 4 servings total) has 56% of my saturated fat. So whole bunny = 224% saturated fat intake or the day. Now as it is well-documented that I can’t resist the lure of a giant candy bunny, I can only conclude that a hit has been made on my life by the person who gave this to me, my own personal Judas, if you will. Fortunately I am a firm believer in keeping with the spirit of the season, so I will ensure to rise from my tomb in no later than three days, and push the boulder from the tomb in front of his driveway prior to the Monday morning commute. Some people have butter lambs; I have my own Easter traditions.

And you may not hear from me until Tuesday
Revelries of Easter, you know.

posted by Jenn @ 12:40 PM  

Today in "Very Poorly Thought-out Ideas"
Couple Writes Fake Obituary to Get out of Work
These dingleberrys said their 17 year old son died to get out of work (he's better now, thanks for asking), and then someone who knew them saw them all out at a restaurant. Generally speaking, you should not take any member of the deceased out to a public place in your own town. That just violates all laws of decency. But if this was you, wouldn't you fictitiously kill off someone else? Like Great Aunt Bertha who lives so far up in the Northwest Territories that the only way you can get to her funeral is on an ill-tempered mule? That's worth two weeks vacation at least.

posted by Jenn @ 1:01 PM  

Dispatches from the Netflix Queue
Good Night and Good Luck: I already saw this in the theater, and I have no new revelations. Basically picture everything in my old review, but smaller.

Curse of the WereRabbit: This was one that just got away from me in the theater, but I wanted to see it because I am a W+G fan. It didn’t disappoint, either. Actually, it was so entertaining I think we should overthrow the Easter Bunny and have the Were Rabbit bring the Easter chocolate on Sunday instead. OK, so that may be a symptom of my severed head fetish.

posted by Jenn @ 1:38 PM  

Fat Tuesday with Art Buchwald
My friend Suzette, who never fails to amaze me, spent the early Lent festivities with the great columnist and humorist Art Buchwald, who is currently dying of kidney failure. This is her tales of her very uplifting visit.

Meeting an American legend
I forgot to mention that as a bonus of attending the Erma Bombeck Writers' Convention, I got to meet the Gold Standard by which all humor writers are inevitably measured: Dave Barry. Say what you want about "how he isn't as funny as he was back then" (which he mocked in his speech), but you can't help but to be in awe at what he has accomplished and how universal his humor is. Aside from Erma, has any humorist accomplished this to this level? Probably not.

Anyway, he was a keynote speaker (which he did hilariously), and then everyone at the convention was allowed to have one "moment" with him. So, clearly, my major concern was making a complete and total ass of myself. After all, every fledgling writer there wanted Dave Barry to remember him or her, I just didn't want my remembrance to be due to an unfastened zipper revealing that I wear red/black tiger print panties on Thursdays.

So I meandered through the line, Dave Barry book in hand (which I had to buy there because I had no foresight to actually bring one of my bazillion Dave Barry books from home). While I was waiting, formulating some kind of script in my head, I realized something. This moment was actual, legitimate foreshadowing for the day I meet God (but more important. After all, this is THE Dave Barry). You’re standing in line, your brain rattling with something moderately intelligent to say without coming off like an unsedated baboon, your life (or at least the status of your jeans’ zipper) is flashing at high voltage before you, and even though you fear what’s coming when you get to the front, you realize when all is said and done, you’ll definitely be cast in a much more favorable light than the guy a couple people ahead of you who’s wearing the Meatloaf tee shirt.

Of course, as you would assume Dave Barry would be, he is a very approachable guy. I babbled something about being his Number 1 fan (because that worked so well for Kathy Bates in Misery), and how much I enjoyed his latest book. And of course it all paid off, because he signed my book, “To Jenn…my idol! Dave Barry.” If that doesn’t get me a free pass through the Pearly Gates, I don’t know what will.

posted by Jenn @ 12:17 PM  

Need I remind you, Mother Nature, it’s April
Therefore, I should not be seeing freaking SNOW. Because, see….and I apologize in advance if you did not receive my change of address card….I no longer live in Buffalo. If I was, then we would not be having this conversation. Because Buffalonians are never surprised to see snow. Ever. After all, when one lives in a geographical schadenfreude, one should not bat an eye at 24 inches of snow in, say, June. I speak for the entire city of Buffalo when I say that Fourth of July barbeques are not complete without a few grazing yetis on the lawn, and everyone walking in the Memorial Day parade is well-aware that at all points on the parade route, migratory glaciers always have the right-a-way.

The problem is I no longer live in Buffalo. I moved to Massachusetts, mostly for better weather. Yes, I agree that I could have made a much better choice if I moved South, or even West, or…ok, fine, I could have thrown a suction cup dart at a globe and hit a location that would be balmier than New England (actually, I tried that, but I would have had to end up moving to the Bay of Fundy, and I have enough problems without being harassed by Mounties for double-parking my houseboat.) Despite all this, I heard (from “born and bred” locals, mind you) Massachusetts gets nicer weather than Buffalo because it’s “protected by the ocean.” You know, like Siberia. And because it’s “protected by the ocean” (which I’m not even sure what that means, as last time I checked the ocean was responsible for hurricanes, typhoons, and the Bermuda Triangle. Protective maternal instincts are not the ocean’s strong point. That’s why you never hear about baby oceans…they’ve all been eaten by sharks.), I should not be seeing snow in April, especially since it was 70 degrees several days ago. Jesus tapdancing Christ, Mother Nature….if you can’t straighten your sons Heat Miser and Snow Miser out, how am I supposed to take you seriously about global warming?

posted by Jenn @ 1:55 PM  

Shows I Shouldn’t Watch
Most of us would agree that the telephone is a method primarily used to transfer important information. Somewhere in the evolutionary process, my family failed to grasp the definition of “important information.” For example, informing their Boston-resident daughter that her grandfather’s eye surgery went just peachy and he is home and doing well? Not important information. However, an announcement at 9:00 a.m. on a Saturday morning that The Grinch Stole Christmas marathon is premiering that night? Evidently, this meets the “important information” criteria.

Needless to say, I was not surprised at all when I received a frantic mid-workday phone call from Mother.

“Make sure you watch SVU tonight….Olivia gets shot!”

Now you probably are surprised I still watch Law and Order: SVU (or not, as I couldn’t seem to resist the lures of The Cave). Unfortunately it seems to be the only show on TV that I don’t have to watch every single episode to get the gist of what is going on. And, hey, I like the characters. Of all the Law and Order spinoffs, SVU is by far the best, but that may only be because Law and Order: Meter Maid Unit wasn’t given a fair shot.

So, I tuned in to watch Olivia (played by the always engaging Mariska Hargitay) get shot. But…she didn’t get shot. She got stabbed. Briefly. But this gave the writers opportunity to do the worst possibly thing they could do: introduce true sexual tension between Olivia and her partner Eliot. Yes, in a melodramatic moment, not all that unlike “I wish I knew how to quit you!” from Brokeback (WHY, WHY, WHY must TV writers write such overly dramatic dialogue? The SVU cast is made up with some pretty damn competent actors....really, they can pull off subtlety), Olivia and Eliot decide to break apart and get new partners, because “we are putting each other before the job.” Ugh. So I’m sure this will change the show FOREVER, and by “forever” I mean “until Mariska comes back from pregnancy leave.”

If there is any breaking news on this matter, I’ll be sure to update right after my Mom calls.

posted by Jenn @ 1:46 PM  

New Dejennerate Web Design – And the Reviews are In!

“I miss the fluorescent yellow and green booger font.”
-- Comic friend, John

“You deleted all the good stuff.”
-- Friend, Jill

“Some people in your links section are pretty funny”
-- Reader, Jessica

“You have a website?”
-- My Mom

Now all the crazies in Harvard Square predicting the end of the world actually have a date and time to go by.
Tomorrow, shortly after one o’clock, the time will be 01:02:03 04/05/06. So buy duct tape on your way home. And while you're at it, some toilet paper. And hookers. Lots of hookers. After all, when frogs are falling from the sky, no one is going to care about your genital warts.

posted by Jenn @ 12:28 PM  

Household Rooms One Rarely Considers Sleeping In
Today’s edition: your hallway

I fell asleep in my hallway last night. As if this isn’t odd enough, I also have little recollection as to how it happened. All I know is that I was there for roughly six hours, I managed to dislodge the hallway nightlight in the process, and I’m pretty sure I did not get there from a mistimed spell of narcolepsy during a naked congo line around my flat. After all, I was still wearing pants. And if I ever had the proclivity to engage in a naked congo line around my apartment in the wee hours of the night, you can damn well be sure I will be sleeping commando that evening.

As far as I can tell, this sleeping arrangement began when I decided to go online before I went to bed. I usually use my desktop for online activities, but my desktop was currently in the middle of a scan disk, and the desktop can not handle more than one window open at once or it will turn into a pumpkin. Therefore, I had to use my laptop. Unfortunately, to use my laptop I have to plug the dial-up modem into the kitchen phone line. The kitchen phone line is very short, so I have to put my laptop on the floor of the hallway and lie down on the floor to use it. And I did. I’m sure you can see where this is going.

Up until this point, I have been under the faulty notion that my body knows the difference between a bed and a hallway. It really isn’t a difficult distinction: my bed is a furniture fixture that I slumber in and my hallway is living space I run frantically through in the middle of the night when my bladder realizes it hasn’t peed for 10 hours or so. I personally would be very hard-pressed to confuse these two. Yet, when I sprawled out on the floor to send a couple emails last night, my body seemed to make the executive decision of: “Shag carpeting and Ghostbusters night light? Close enough to a memory foam mattress, methinks.” And there I remained for the duration of the evening. My body didn’t even think to grab me a pillow from the nearby La-Z-Boy, as it also decided that a laptop keyboard had more than enough padding for my slumber needs.

Speaking of
Any time you wake up at 6:00 a.m., on your hallway floor, and reading a news story about a nudist spider hunter who burned his ass off? Yeah, it's probably a Monday.

posted by Jenn @ 12:38 PM