Act Two of Our Program, Act Two

So everyone knows the best radio show to listen to while running is the Wayne Resnick show. That’s obvious.

But I was thinking about other perfect radio show-activity pairings. This is what I came up with. Feel free to add yours.

Perfect radio show to listen to while…

Gardening – Leo Laporte

Working – Tim Conway, Jr.

Battling insomnia – Pretty Good Podcast (Sorry guys, Gina’s mom nailed it.)

Lying flat on your back trying to make your stomach as concave as possible – 5:00 hour of the Bill Handel show

Taking a bath – News Bender

P.S. The whole bathtub/radio pairing is probably the most controversial of them all. Most people will go for This American Life. And I can see that. It’s soothing, intriguing, comforting. But it’s too long for a bath. You’ll end up having to be like – Oh! The Starlee Kine story is starting. I’ll get out now and listen to the rest in bed. Crap! The Sarah Vowell feature started. OK, fine. I’ll just stay here until it’s over. Wait, what did David Rakoff just say? Ugh! Now I have to get up, dry off enough so that I don’t destroy my iPhone, tap Pause, rewind. It’s a lot of work.

P.P.S. I know it’s mostly dudes who read this, so you might not know about that concave stomach thing. It’s just what girls do in the morning to see how skinny they are that day. Which, in turn, determines whether or not they’ll have a good day.

P.P.P.S. Girls are a mess. You guys should just all be gay. I think it’s easier.

Deespression, maaaaan

So I have a lot of rules self-imposed on myself. And one of them is to not use the phrase, “self-imposed on myself.”

Starting over…

So I have a lot of rules I’ve imposed on myself, mainly to do with avoiding slipping into a radical depression.

For example, I can’t go to a restaurant on Mother’s Day. Inevitably, you’ll see an elderly mother with freshly set curls, wearing her church clothes, sitting in that booth across from her deadbeat, dirty-jeans-wearing, greasy-hair-having middle-aged son. They’re just sitting there. Staring at each other. Like strangers.

Well, not exactly like strangers.

The mom is more like – I did not raise my boy to be a marginally employed, thrice-divorced, kinda gross and creepy man with a history of drug abuse.

And the dude is like – My mom has never understood me. I can’t work. I’m disabled. I slipped and fell at an amusement park 10 years ago. How am I supposed to work? Plus I’m busy every day. I have to walk around the city collecting aluminum cans and scrap metal from dumpsters. That ess pays good money. And another thing, my buddy Nugget is about to get me a job via his boss Snake.

And then, of course, the mom ends up paying for her own Mother’s Day lunch because the son swears he’s gonna pay her back on payday. Which, of course, never comes.

Umm…sorry about that.

What I really meant to tell you was that I made an important decision on Saturday night. I decided I can no longer allow KFI to cause or affect my level of depression.

I can’t really think of anything worse on a Saturday night than sitting around listening to Bryan Suits talk about war for three hours. But that’s what KFI insists on throwing at us.

I’m out. I can’t do it. So from now until KFI gets it together and moves Wayne Resnick back to his home time slot, KFI does not exist to me on Saturdays 7-10pm.

I’ll be out dancing at the Red Onion. Woooooooooooooooo!!!!!

(What? People don’t still go out dancing at the Red Onion? Hmpf.)

Telegrams! Pussy Willows!

Like most normal people, I’m on vacation this week. And I’m doing some fun stuff. Mostly eating. For example, this was the setting of my breakfast this morning.But while you and I are dining on beignets and lobster bisque and souffle and drinking wine in a restaurant designed by Pirates of the Caribbean ride people, there’s a lot of great stuff going on radio-wise.

So if you’re still in the midst of your holiday depression, please know that radio is pulling for you.

xoxo
JMS

Candy Doesn’t Have to Have a Point. That’s Why It’s Candy.

Fair Warning: This post may be a tiny bit mommy-bloggish. Sorry.

Eight years ago I was poor. Not food stamp poor, just not-enough-money-to-go-on-a-real-vacation poor.

But I also had a four-year old and about eleventy billion hours of saved vacation time. So I did what any resourceful hot single mom with not enough money would do.

I started stripping.

Just kidding, I invented the staycation. Only I didn’t call it that. I called it Fun Camp. And it meant we would go to a different fun place every day for a week.

You know – places that kids enjoy. Like Legoland and science centers and outdoor Shakespeare plays and lectures about ancient Chinese astronomy. (What? Your four-year old doesn’t like ancient Chinese astronomy? Hm. Strange.)

Fun Camp 2011 was this week. And though it’s not actually over, I’ve already seen some super cool stuff.

Like this.

P.S. I also went here.

But you know…I feel kinda ripped off. Because I walked all around that pavilion and I didn’t see Wayne anywhere. Hmpf. Lame.

One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight

So…last week President Obama waited until around 8:00 PDT to make the Osama is dead announcement. Please note that 8:00 PDT is decidedly AFTER the Frosty Stilwell program is over and definitely DURING the Wayne Resnick program.

And this week, Frosty is absent from his show, with his time being split between Bryan Suits and Wayne Resnick.

Coincidence? I think not.

Conclusion? President Obama is not a Frosty fan.

I am SO buying the president a Heidi and Frank gift membership.

P.S. Could the Heidi and Frank Website be any harder to navigate? It’s so cluttered and it makes no sense. I can never find what I’m looking for.

Seriously?

Are you guys just effing with me with these continual “wayne resnick leaving kfi” Internet searches?

It’s giving me major anxiety and, believe me, I am already anxious enough. Why? Because. First, because my eyeshadow primer is trying to kill me. And also because the Marc Germain Show is taking two days off, I have to pay for fancy expensive summer camp next week, a sparkly gem fell off my cute bedazzled shoes, and I really, really need to go on vacation.

Anyway, I totally understand your Wayne Resnick googling jones. But instead of adding to my anxiety with your gloom and doom searches, can you pretty pretty please use these search terms instead?

wayne resnick kfi
wayne resnick is a huge stud
wayne resnick is very nice to cats and penguins
wayne resnick interesting clavicles
wayne resnick is the smartest man on earth and also venus and mercury but we’re still waiting for test results from a ‘rayne wesnick’ who lives on mars*

Thank you. You guys are the best!! Oh, and you also look super cute today.

*This is a stunningly specific search, but a good one nonetheless. Also, I heard this Rayne Wesnick once yelled at a puppy for eating all the pancakes. He sounds like a big jerk. So try not to fall for him. I think you’ll regret it.

Why Wayne Resnick Matters

by Jennifer Saunders

Before I tell you why Wayne Resnick matters, allow me to please apologize to Mr. Resnick, as I’m sure he’s grown weary of my ebullient and effusive outpouring of compliments. He really should tell me to shut up please. (But now I have to beg him to not actually do that because it will hurt my feelings. Please.) Just know that I know that you know that I know that you know. We know. We’re smart.

Phew. Now that that’s out of the way…

Wayne Resnick matters because he discusses Libyan rebels just as easily as he discusses Rebecca Black.

Wayne Resnick matters because he works in Søren Kierkegaard references during said Rebecca Black discussions.

Wayne Resnick matters because he forces you to, not only use Scandinavian letters in your blog post, but to spell Scandinavian correctly. Also, he forces you to Google the phrase, ‘o with a slash in it’ to 1) find out what that’s called 2) find out the keyboard shortcut for typing ø on a Mac.

FYI…it’s called an ø (who woulda figured?). Also, FYI…it’s option+o. Again, FYI…I’m really enjoying myself typing øøøøøøø over and over. Try it. See…isn’t it fun? I’m gønna start typing English øs like this just tø be alternative.

Peace øut.

Hi. I’m working.

It’s Sunday night. And, yes, I’m working. OK, fine. Technically I’m taking a break. You can time me. Ready? Go.

8:25pm

So yeah…I’m working and listening to Wayne Resnick. Just like the old days. I tweeted this earlier, but it bears repeating.

Damn…Wayne Resnick is the smartest and most insightful person I know.

And I think that’s all that needs to be said. Goodnight, studs.

8:29pm

#tigerblood

Yo. The following people have #tigerblood.

John Hodgman – Seriously. Have you been listening to his podcast? It’s so #winning that I have to save it up and only let myself listen to it on special occasions. Like when I’m radically depressed from watching this movie, even though I should have known better because when I read the book I was in such a depression coma that I had to…listen to John Hodgman? I’m pretty sure THIS* is the brand new circle of life.

Wayne Resnick – Is there something better than #tigerblood? Because if there is, Wayne has that instead. If you don’t believe me, look at this picture of him and try not to have tears fill your eyes. I’m pretty sure that’s the body’s autonomic response to viewing faces of perfection. And he likes cappuccinos. Which #animalswithbloodbetterthantigers looooooove.

Todd Wilson – Also known as Mr. Magnificent. I think he has #tigerblood? I mean, he makes me laugh. Does that count? Are #tigers funny? I’m also not totally sure what’s going on with his eyebrows. Do #tigers have eyebrows? Let’s agree to table this one for now. #tigerbloodstatusuncertain

*See what I did there? I was writing about John Hodgman, a man who LOVES all-caps words and I ALL-CAPPED the word ‘this.’ Get it? Hey! I think maybe I have #tigerblood! Huh? OK, fine. #dorkblood.

Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t

So…last week I told you I was in love. And, if there’s one thing I learned from Rick Dees, it’s to always pay off your teases. Please read the following excerpt from my diary.

Dear diary, et al.,

Then, dear diary, I knew I had no choice but to give in. And he kissed me as he’s never kissed me before, and I…sank into nothingness.

Of course, by ‘kiss’ I mean that I listened to his podcast. And by ‘sank into nothingness’ I mean I feel like his hand has gone down my throat and grabbed my heart and squoze it.

By ‘his’ I mean John Hodgman.

We’re totally in love.

Though it should be noted that by ‘we’ I mean I’m in love with him and he doesn’t know I exist. And by ‘love’ I mean love.

OK fine, I mean love in the hyperbolic way people refer to a feeling of intense attraction to the essence of another’s being combined with a profound lust for that person’s soul. (Obviously negated by the fact that we’ve never met.) Can we just agree to call that love? It’s way easier to type.

Because I place a high value on sharing that which is wonderful in this world with you, I am willing to share my new lover with you. (No, not like that. Also, please get your mind out of the gutter.)

In his podcast, Judge John Hodgman settles such paramount disputes as ‘Are machine guns robots?’ and ‘Do parentheses have a place in fiction?’ The episodes are short, yet fraught with such wit and intelligence that you come away a better person for listening.

Judge Hodgman, or ‘John’ as I affectionately call him (he likes it when I call him that), is completely charming and seductive in his dispensing of justice. His delivery is brilliant, engaging, and playful. Very Wayne Resnicky. (In the best way.)

Please listen. You’re welcome.