Fustian Fever

In the spirit of the venerable Film Fustians, I present to you the…

Top Six Reasons I Like Justin Levine

6. He’s always well-prepared with news stories on the Marc Germain Show.
True, he doesn’t have the folksy charm of a Barry from Omaha, but he is prepared.

5. He can EASILY lay down a 3+ hour show about movies.
Remember, there are no commercials. So that’s more than 180 minutes of show. He’s gotta win some kind of broadcasting award for that, right?

4. He plays by-invitation-only fairytale music DJ games on his computer.
So geeky, it’s sweet.

3. He doesn’t have a washer and dryer in his apartment.
I like to imagine he’s constantly asking people for quarters.

2. He knows that at 9:30 on a Wednesday I’m probably listening to Tim Conway, Jr.
OK…that’s a tiny bit stalker-y, but in a pretty cute way.

1. He has a sister.
What? I’m sorry! I ran out of stuff. Justin’s like…super super private for some reason.

Because I Flirted With a Bank Robber

This is what I looked like when I was 7 and my BFF Amy and I started the ONJ club.

And by ONJ club, I mean the Olivia Newton-John fan club. Obviously.

The requirements for joining the ONJ club were super intense. You had to memorize three Olivia Newton-John songs, you had to love the movie Grease (duh), and you had to make your own headband out of old sweatshirts. And when your mom yelled at you for using her good sewing scissors without permission (and for cutting up your best sweatshirt), you had to suck it up and tell her – ONJ FOREVER!!!

OK, there also may have been some sort of “kiss a picture of John Travolta every night before you go to bed and practice kissing on your arm in case you ever meet John Travolta and he wants to make out with you” requirement. But let’s not discuss that one now…

Instead, I’ll tell you this. Today is my birthday. This is what I look like now that I am…uh…twenty…nine. Right. 29.

And this is what I bought myself to celebrate.

Cuz you know…ONJ CLUB 4-EVA!!!

P.S. I just finished watching this movie and it TOTALLY holds up.

P.P.S. That was a lie. It doesn’t hold up at all.

P.P.P.S. Though to be fair, I’m not sure it held up when it came out in 1983 either.

#notthatiknow

Practically every day people write to me asking for advice. I don’t really know why they ask ME. I mean, sure, if you need advice like – Should I listen to Rush Limbaugh or Larry Elder on my vodka coffee break? or How can I incorporate about 14 more hours of talk radio into my day? – I’m totally your girl.

Wait…unless…hmm…do you think they ask me because I seem so smart and pretty and sophisticated and sexy and way less popular (and, therefore, more likely to respond, than Amy Dickinson)? Yeah, that’s probably it.

So anyway…here’s a sampling of this week’s letters.

Dear Jen,
Should I lay out by the pool for like two and half hours, wearing nothing but a bikini and a little SPF 4 dry tanning oil?
Pale&Loathing in Mar Vista
Dear Pale,
No. You should absolutely NOT do this. Unless you want to spend all day at work feeling like your bra is trying to kill you.

Dear Jen,
I want to get this guy at the butcher shop to notice me. Should I dye my hair blond? 
Non-Exotic-Looking Chick With Light Brown Hair from Studio City
Dear Non-Exotic,
Yes. 90% of men only date Asian women. The other 10% only date blondes. It’s really your only option. Also…butcher shop? Are you writing from 1967, baby? Well…say hi to Sam for me!

Dear Jen,
Should I start a blog about a really obscure topic that most people think is boring?
iheartbusinessbooksandbrusselsprouts.com from the Internet
Dear Brussel,
Well, you could do that. And it might work out for awhile. But there may come a day when  you find yourself posting fake advice letters your 95th brussel sprout recipe and you’ll say to yourself – You?! You think YOU are a writer?! Pfft.

Vertigo

If you have an extraordinarily stressful and sucky day, it’s probably a good idea to NOT drink a ton of caffeine- and ginseng-laden beverages. Because that will give you insomnia in addition to the stress and suckiness.

(Is suckiness spelled like business or busyness? Suckiness? Suckyness?)

If you were my real life friend and you were in bed with me right now… Well, if you were my real life friend, you probably wouldn’t be in my bed with me. I mean, you might. But I doubt it. Depends on how much I like you.

Also depends on how willing you are to watch 1950s and 60s Alfred Hitchcock movies with me. And how willing you are to lie there, wearing your glasses, and reading your 97th book about Colonel Percy Fawcett.

Seriously. You’re totally obsessed with this Col. Fawcett dude. But don’t worry – I think it’s adorable and mega enchanting.

And it a tiny bit depends on how willing you are to let me touch your cheek. A little bit. I promise not to maul your face or anything. I just want to feel your beard occasionally. Is that bad? (Don’t grow such a sexy beard if you don’t want me to want to touch it!)

OK, and also it depends on how willing you are to not mind that I’m totally naked simultaneously looking up the lyrics to the Perfect Strangers theme song on the Internet, checking my bank balance, reading an historical fiction book about the black plague, thinking about what I’m going to wear tomorrow, and wondering why there aren’t more museums in Orange County.

And, though I probably won’t listen to you, it definitely depends on how willing you are to tell me that ginseng is a stimulant and I shouldn’t drink so much. And that I should go to sleep.

And to please stop touching your beard.

After all this time? Always.

It used to be that people would gather together with their neighbors to watch stuff like hangings, witch burnings, and head severings. Which, I mean, I guess was good times? I don’t know. Sounds kinda gross to me.

There aren’t quite as many witch burnings today, so we have to settle for the modern-day equivalents. Things like car chases, high-profile jury verdicts, and $2 tank top day at Old Navy.

Also, Harry Potter. And freeway closures.

Today is one of those serendipitous days where two very important cultural events are happening at the same time.

Of course I’m talking about the day we get to see Alan Rickman cry (we better or I’m never going to another Harry Potter movie again!) and the day Tim Conway, Jr. comes back from vacation.

It’s gonna be such a great day!

P.S. Yes, I am wearing Harry Potter pendants made out of Shrinky Dinks. Because I’m super nerdy cool. And also because I’m a fun mom who did fun stuff with her kid in 2007 on his 8th birthday. Like make Harry Potter Shrinky Dink art and take him to midnight book release parties.

P.P.S. Yes, I did write about head severings and Shrinky Dinks in the same post.

P.P.P.S. Yes, I will see you at Harry Potter today. I’ll be the one crying. And so will you.

An Embracer of All Technology

An imaginary radio show is in charge of my life. Which worries me a little because does that mean my life is also imaginary? I’m scared. Hold me?

So anyway, TBTL recently decreed we all should save our relationships by wearing watches. Done and done. Thanks, Luke and Jen! My relationships feel better already.

P.S. The existence of an imaginary life is further confirmed by my empty Google+ stream. Although, to be fair, I only have like…two people in my drum circle.

Oh, it’s not called a drum circle? OK. Whatever.


If Not For the Courage

What? You don’t have a framed Brady Bunch photo, personally autographed by Sherwood Schwartz, hanging in your office? Hm. Odd.

Well he died today. So maybe now’s a good time to rethink that decision.

You know how Adam Carolla says the TV shows of his childhood are moronic and devoid of any intelligence or importance?

I don’t believe it.

Because I spent MY childhood watching shows from HIS childhood…The Brady Bunch, Happy Days, Laverne & Shirley, Bewitched, Laugh-In, The Bob Newhart Show. All the greats.

And I’m totally smart now.

Things I learned from Sherwood Schwartz:

1. Professors are cute.
2. Ducks and frogs and parrots can talk. And they sound remarkably like Mel Blanc.
3. You’re supposed to give your parents anniversary gifts. And have them engraved.
4. You can make geiger counters out of bamboo.
5. Boys don’t like girls who have swollen noses or braces or glasses. Except kinda nerdy boys whose parents are wallpaper salesmen. Those boys like you anyway.
6. Kissing may give you the mumps.
7. Movie stars have a neverending supply of black eyeliner and fake eyelashes.
8. Before you give your dog away, make sure it’s not just the new flea powder you’re allergic to.
9. Professors are cute. (Did I already mention that?)
10. Two words:  Caveat Emptor.

You don’t learn this stuff on Ni Hao Kai Lan or Wow! Wow! Wubbzy, people.

Friends, Romans, Countrymen

Or… “He’s already dead. Why do we have to come back after intermission? What else can happen?”

image

You should know that I am typing this post on my cellular phone. And I feel kinda Ernest Hemingway-ish for that. Cuz even though he was a super macho alcoholic, I feel like he would have listened to Leo Laporte and been a major Android enthusiast.

Also you should know that I am currently wearing a denim miniskirt and a black racerback tank top with a regular bra. Classy. But also note that I am at the laundromat. So I totally fit in.

Dressing for one’s environment is an important life lesson. As is behaving according to the customs of your environment.

Having recently been publicly humiliated via Twitter by the Pacific Symphony, I feel like I’m an expert is this now.

(Btw, I think we should call this type of occurrence ‘Twittilation.’)

Last summer the Pacific Symphony dubbed one of its concerts a ‘tweetcert.’ That meant you were encouraged to tweet during the concert and interact with other fans. Good times.

But not allowing myself to be constrained to only one concert…I started tweeting at EVERY concert. Including super fancy ones in the super fancy concert hall.

So yeah. It finally caught up with me at the Fourth of July Elvis concert, wherein the Pacific Symphony replied to my tweets thusly:

@ihearttalkradio We appreciate your tweets! But the real tweetcert is at the July 16 concert with The 5 browns.

Right. So they totally think I’m an uncouth hillbilly now. Awesome.

P.S. I promise I’m not changing the name of this blog to iheartthepacificsymphony.com. It’s still about talk radio.

P.P.S. It is – I mentioned Leo Laporte in this post! That counts.

P.P.P.S. Stay tuned for a delightful reimagining of Julius Caesar in which Bill Handel is Julius Caesar and Gary Hoffmann is Brutus. Only instead of being stabbed 23 times by a gang of conspirators, the morning crew pelts Handel with 23 bagels. WITH cream cheese.

Episode #54: The Movie

I have something to tell you.

Key Lime Pie flavored Yoplait Light yogurt is not pie. Nor is it really yogurt. It is kind of a gloppy, chemical-y, green…gloop of grossness. Basically it’s slime pretending to be yogurt. Blech.

Last night I celebrated America’s independence by seeing an Elvis impersonator. A high-end one. His black wig didn’t fall off or anything. And I checked him out through the binoculars. He looked pretty good.

He sang well, he performed well, people clapped. No complaints.

But it made me think… What is the difference between seeing an impersonator and seeing the real thing?

Answer: The real thing makes you feel something. Because they feel something.

For example, it’s the reason I you kinda fell in love with Carl St. Clair when he conducted the Pacific Symphony in Carmina Burana a few years ago. Because you could SEE and FEEL the music in his face, in his shoulders, in his hands.

Also, cuz that O Fortuna movement is super hot. Obviously.

An impersonator doesn’t give you that. It can be enjoyable, yes. But it’s never going to make you feel more alive or more in love or more…whatever.

And, really, this is why I don’t like talk radio shows like Rush Limbaugh or Mark Levin. I understand they’re hugely popular. That’s fine.

I don’t like them. They’re not real. They’re impersonating what a “passionate talk show host” should say and do. That’s totally lame. I mean, sure, good for them for being successful at it, I guess.

And yes, I am saying what you think I’m saying.

Rush Limbaugh is big pile of gloppy fake yogurt.

P.S. Please feast your eyes upon the picture of my program. It leads me to conclude one of two things. Aron Bender was named after Elvis Presley. Or, the girl who typed the program has a little thing for Aron Bender. Either way…