The Revolution Will Not Be Televised

A few nights ago, I went to a dinner party where I knew only two of the nearly two dozen guests. Although normally those odds would leave me with a case of gripping party fear and cause me to call the host with a sudden and contagious case of the whooping cough, I felt like I couldn't back out of a dinner party -- and besides, it's a great way to force me to practice my ever languishing small talk skills.

It turns out a number of people were in the same boat, knowing only the hostess and maybe one other person. Thus, it was little surprise when my table -- yes, there were multiple tables -- had a hard time getting conversation going. It seemed like each attempt to make polite conversation was, quite incredibly, worse than the last. Talk of politics drifted into talk of the Octomom, which should have been lighthearted. But that ended abruptly with a comment about abortion. Someone tried to switch topics by talking about Rihanna and Chris Brown, which lead to a story about a domestic violence victim killed by her boyfriend. Which in turn led one guest to say that the only thing worse was to talk about human trafficking -- which she then used as a segue to talk about...human trafficking.

You could blame the fact that we don't know each other. Or you could blame it all on me -- truth be told, I was the one who brought the conversation to a grinding stop with comments about abortion and homicide. (Okay -- so the small talk skills are really languishing.) But frankly, I blame television -- or lack thereof.

None of this would have been a problem if the other people at the table actually watched television. When I tried to talk about Top Chef -- a perfect topic for a dinner party, and a chance to trot out phrases like "flavor profiles" and molecular gastronomy -- everyone stared at me blankly. Nor had anyone seen the Today Show's extensive coverage of the Octomom (featuring Ann Curry), including the pre-Angelina Jolie photos, where she looked like an average person.

When I tried to steer the conversation to the safe, popular topic of television, no one would bite. One person said -- as I so often hear these days -- oh, I never, ever watch television. And that was that. No one else would speak up and admit they even own a television, let alone occasionally watch the thing. Except for me. I responded -- Oh, I love television so much I want to marry it (or something like that).

Over the years, there's always been one person in a crowd who'll say they don't own a television, or don't own a dress, or whatever. I expect that. There's always an elbow-patch intellectual or tree-hugging hippie in every crowd. But when did the tide turn. What happened to all my tivo-loving friends, who see no problem with accidentally getting sucked into an America's Next Top Model marathon. When did it become so bourgeois for regular folk to admit to watching television? And if no one is watching television, who are all the people out there on the Internet writing passionately about Lost?

Whatever. There's no shame in watching The Mentalist. (Okay, maybe a little shame, but not enough to stop watching.) So, the next social function I attend where someone proudly says they don't watch television, I'm going to proudly respond that I watch television. That I'm addicted to television. And then, I'm going to admit that most days I drive the whopping 13 blocks to work instead of walking, that I watched The Real Housewives reunion instead of the presidential address, and that I have, on a few occasions, worn a pair of socks twice without washing.

At least that will get the conversation going.

Total Eclipse of the Heart

So very tired. Painting is exhausting, and I'm beginning to wonder why I didn't try to hire someone to do it. Oh yeah, that's right -- because I have no money after buying the house, and I'm plagued with a puritan work ethic that says why hire someone to do something you are perfectly capable of doing.

But the ceilings have been painted. One whole day to paint a white ceiling, well, white. Not at all satisfying like painting a bathroom red, or removing purple paint from the bedroom.

Meanwhile, I've had a change of heart about the sellers. I was frustrated before the closing, but I've decided they are okay. They covered up all their nail holes and painted them, which is big in my book. Plus, the fixtures they installed in the bathrooms and kitchen are very nice, as is the granite countertop they added. So I'm glad we have the same bourgeois taste and sensibilities. And I now like them, on account of the spackling and the fixtures.

This is not my beautiful house...

I'm officially a homeowner. Closing went well and was done in less than an hour. I tried not to think about all the responsibility as I signed all the papers. Just the fun decorating part.

I love it. I LOVE IT! It had me at hello. Well, actually it didn't. But like Tom Cruise as Jerry Maguire in, well, Jerry Maguire, after sixty days of doubt, questions, daydreams, etc., I'm all in. (I did not, however, shoplift any pooty, or any other thing for that matter.) I'm so excited.

And, I cleared major hurdles today when I had the whole family over. I thought they were going to be freaked out by any number of things. My house, being in the city and everything, does not look like it's worth anywhere near what I paid, particularly when you compare it to my parents' mcmansion in the maryland exurbs. So I thought that would freak them out. That, or the fact that the Checker's up the street has boarded up windows.

But, the weather was on my side, and it was bright and sunny as my family drove up. So, they saw the house like I did that first day, when it was sunny and warm, and you couldn't but help imagine having a cookout on the pretty patio. Everyone liked the house, and they helped me fix a few small things. PLUS -- my sister brought a bottle of ridiculously expensive champagne that she received for her wedding to toast the new house. Yay bubbly!

Up next: This week I'm hiring a contractor to fill-in a weird cut-out wallspace in my bedroom, and picking paint colors. I'm getting psyched about the move.

Would You Be Mine, Could You Be Mine, Won't You Be My Neighbor

Five days until I'm officially a homeowner. I got a jumpstart on things today by stopping by a house party on my new block. I met a bunch of my neighbors, a number of whom I thought were awesome. (Sidenote: My hostess ran the Marine Corps marathon, and then had 40 friends over for chili and fall treats. Talk about raising the bar.) I'm super psyched about the block. (Although slightly neverous that I may have run my mouth too much about the sellers -- am still angry about being called a PITA. Of course, I'm not sure that anyone really liked them, either. So it may be a wash.)

This is also the first time in my adult housing life where I'll know the neighbors, too. In NYC, I didn't know anyone, except for the slightly crazy woman living next to me in Brooklyn. So, it's fun to have neighbors on the street who maybe will invite you over to play Guitar Hero or something (as was discussed this afternoon). PLUS, one of my good friends lives on the block already, so I'll have a SuperNeighbor, as I like to think of her.

Meanwhile, back at the apartamento, I've been sorting through old paperwork trying to get rid of stuff for the move. I just went through a box of stuff from my office in NYC, that I hadn't looked at since I left some 18 months ago. It's kind of fun to pack your boxes and never look back. But now I'm looking back -- at least to organize the random stuffs in my apartment.

Blue Jean...I just met a girl named Blue Jean

I was watching What Not to Wear today, thinking about how I'd feel if Clinton and Stacey surprised me for a fashion makeover. On the one hand, you get $5000 worth of new clothing. And I definitely could use some more fashionable clothing. On the other hand, you have to suffer through the embarassment of having cameras follow you around in all your shlumpy outfits. Plus, I suspect you are limited to whatever store they want to send you to, as a result of their product placement. So instead of buying $5000 of awesome clothing, they would send me to somewhere random and I'd end up with all sorts of goofiness.

Meanwhile, I'm on the eternal quest for the perfect pair of jeans. In an attempt to find one good pair, I purchased 8 -- yes, that's eight -- pairs this fall. I had to try on probably 50 pairs to get to that number. I have no intention of keeping all 8, I just wanted to bring them home to compare. So seven pairs are going back, and it turns out I'm not that happy with the pair I decided to keep. The best of the bunch, for sure, but still not awesome.

How hard is it to find the perfect pair of jeans? It's the holy grail for the mid-30's woman -- how to find the pair that's not too dark, not too light. Neither too long, nor too short. Not too mom-like, or too emo. It might be worth it go on WNTW, just to get the ultimate pair of jeans.

This is not my Beautiful House...

Just over a week until I close on the new house. Part of me is super excited, and part of me is completely freaked out. I suppose it's good that as of this week, I'm more frequently excited than freaked out.

Also, I made the mistake of looking up the sellers on facebook to see if they had any comments about the house. The wife seems cool. But, the husband had a few bad comments about the neighborhood, selling the house, and whatnot. Sounds like he couldn't leave fast enough. It makes me anxious, thinking "What the hell have I gotten myself into?" On the other hand, the guy seems like he may not be cut out for city living at all. Plus, he loves the crap out of McCain. An unreliable narrator, as they would say. So, I'm trying to ignore the random stuff he said -- it's not like it's stuff I didn't know, anyway.

It does raise the question, though -- In the internet age, is there ever such a thing as too much information? I'd usually answer the question, "No." I think being well-informed leads to better decisions. On the other hand, maybe there comes a point when it's just too much information. For a deliberate person like myself, all that info can leave your brain running in circles.

In any case, it will be good to own a house, have cookouts, and get out of this apartment building.

Sit back and relax, enjoy the show

I went to a concert last night, for the first time in ions. It was good, but nothing exciting. I can't decide whether that's because of the artist -- Jason Mraz -- or that I'm just old. Probably both. His songs are mellow, which led to a downer kind of mood. And, I'm just too old to be at a concert unless I'm jamming out having the time of my life...like all the teenyboppers were last night. I realized that I'm closer in age to the parents outside waiting in cars to pick up the kids, or sitting in the lobby trying not to feel slighted when their kid pretends that he doesn't know his parental escort.

Also, I'm a little spoiled from the many Ben Folds concerts that I've been to. Now I know the world seems to be divided into two camps -- Pro=Ben and anti-Ben. I don't know too many people who are just blase about the man. You love him or hate him. Fortunately, a few of my friends happened to like him and forced me to a show at the 930 club, some 10 years ago. You may not like his music, but his shows are super energetic. Always had the best time dancing and singing. Immediately after the first concert I wanted to go out and buy all his old albums -- a sign of a good show.

If I weren't broke to the wind this week, trying to save for my new house, I might be persuaded to hit a second concert this week -- Ben Kweller at R&R Hotel. (I enjoy Bens.) Also, Ben Kweller is less a concert, and more of a show. I'm not sure what qualifies as a concert these days, and what's a show. But Kweller is a show, which offers much more indie yupster street cred.

Whatevs. Surely there must be some concerts that offer street cred. U2? Have been trying to go for years, but luck never seems to be on my side. Pixies reunion? The Stones? Guns & Roses? I just don't know any more. Maybe none of the above.