Daily Archives: January 5, 2005

Update: 96 in 946

With what was left of 2004, I didn’t make terribly impressive inroads on my 101 in 1001 list.

Part of that is because of the problematic cost and scope of half the items on my list. Three years will fly without half the stuff being completed, I’m almost certain. Sigh.

Here’s what I did:

37. Call my sister by her “Dr.” title. I wrote her a Christmas card addressed to “Dr. Julie,” and I think that pretty much counts — it’s the first step in getting in the habit of using her new title on all correspondence.

55. Eat at A.O.C., a nice L.A. tapas-style restaurant with wine on tap from barrels. I mean… Wine! Barrels! Tap! Kevin and I ate here on our anniversary, Dec. 12. They had one appetizer of dates wrapped in parmesan cheese and bacon, and generally I don’t like dates, but in this case I never wanted the food to go away.

74. Win a Fantasy Football league. The proud Tentative Homeboys won the league in 2004 with a 12-4 record. Thank God. For some fortuitous reason, in my first season as a football columnist, I ended up backing it up with a league victory that I hadn’t thought likely in the early going. Phew.

91. Buy a crème brulee set — ramekins and mini-torch — so that I will be truly unstoppable. I put this on my Christmas list, and got it, so I think that counts. As soon as my parents ship them to me, I will commence the aforementioned unstoppability.

And that’s it, pretty much.

I thought that bowling two strikes in one game was on my list, and I did that; can I count it?


You guys are hardasses.

We Made The Trades!

A little while ago, before the holidays, Jess and I talked to a very nice Variety reporter about our Web site, Go Fug Yourself, for a larger piece she did about Hollywood-centric blogs; the article is now in print.

We got a mini-mention in the middle with a very flattering compliment about the thorny nature of our critiques. There’s also a screen grab of the site located at the bottom of the main Variety.com page, which is pretty exciting for us.

You have to register to read the piece, unfortunately, but a 14-day trial is free and you don’t have to put down a credit card number. However, I don’t expect anyone will really want to go to that trouble, so I will sum it up for you: I said something about mirrors, and the author thinks our humor is nicely wicked.

We’re very tickled.

What’s Wrong With Pittsburgh, Anyway?

When I mentioned earlier that Julie ribbed me about getting married in Sarasota, I didn’t finish the story; that entry somehow morphed into something else. And so here I will finish what I started.

Apparently, my parents are constantly curious about where I will get married. When I dated Doug, my father balked at the idea of having to travel to Princeton for the ceremony — Doug grew up there, and his parents are still there, so I suppose my parents assumed Doug would insist upon a ceremony there. For whatever reason, this didn’t sit well with my parents — despite the fact that Princeton’s locale would’ve meant getting hitched in a city that actually meant something to one of us — and so Mom and Dad were all poised to put down their feet and ask for a Sarasota ceremony.

We all know how that one ended.

This time, apparently, my father isn’t keen on the idea of Pittsburgh or Rochester, the cities that individually house Kevin’s parents, and so they’re wondering where Kevin and I will tie the knot. From this, you might infer that Kevin and I are talking marriage; we are not, at this point, and have not. We have been dating for a whopping year and two weeks or so, which seems like a fine amount of time to be together and be very happy, yet not feel under the gun to tie the knot. We’re in the phase where we get to enjoy the fruits of a year of shared history without needing to stop and think, “Okay, now what?” And yet apparently my parents are already having talks about the geography of our marriage ceremony.

People, people, people! Why are you having these discussions when I am not even having these discussions? Save yourself the vexation!

It was funny, though, when Julie turned to me and said, “No, seriously, I’m apparently supposed to be finding out from you whether that’s going to happen.”

I wasn’t sure how to react to that. But, I want to make it clear that my parents are not sitting around wishing that I would settle down with a nice boy and make babies. Indeed, they breathe not a word of this marriage speculation to me, which does indicate how little they want to pressure me into one thing or another. But it’s clear that my innate suspiciousness is genetic; evidently my parents are simply always wondering if there is something brewing about which they know nothing — they assume they’re in the dark about things — and lately, it’s been whether Kevin would pop the question during our Park City vacation.

I guess my other sister, Alison, got engaged after eight months or less — and bravo to them for taking the leap and being sure, and by all appearances, also being completely correct. But it means that my Mom and Alison use that as the measuring stick for other relationships, and Al is apparently figuring that as I get older, I must really be wanting A Ring. Which is accurate, if you mean “ring” as “phone call,” or “silver piece of jewelry I buy at a low cost and wear forever, or until it turns my finger a strange color.” But The Ring is not something toward which I’m hurtling; it’ll happen when it’s meant to happen.

And, I’m relatively certain it will happen after some kind of conversation about future wants and needs with Kevin — the kind that avoids any unpleasant surprises: “So, polygamy is your game?” “Oh, you actually want two and a half kids?” “You want your children to winter in Alaska?” “Wait, you want your kids to be USC fans?”

So as we have cruised along, happy as can be, my oldest sister has worried that I’d be crushed if I left snowy Utah without ice on my finger (or as Julie hilariously phrased it, without “blinging in the new year”), and my parents have been afraid I’d call them and start waxing poetic about how magical the city of Pittsburgh can be. Julie’s caught in the middle, as a messenger to both sides who understands the speculation but completely sympathizes and agrees with my surprise that people already have expectations. And all Kevin and I are doing is cuddling and saying, “You rule! I love you! Whee! We’re dorks!”

All this over something that isn’t even on the horizon right now. Imagine how my mother will flip when it is on the horizon and I have to tell her that I don’t want a full-on wedding Mass.