Velcrometer
Throwing stuff at the internet to see what sticks
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M. Giant's Velcrometer Throwing stuff at the internet to see what sticks |
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Friday, February 18, 2011 Branson Misery I've been thinking about this Serene Branson thing even before I saw the clip. One thing that comes to mind is that we all know how to come up with our own porn name or soap opera name, but now we have a way to generate our own entertainment reporter name. Just think of the first place you remember your parents taking you on vacation, and that's the last name. Then your first name is your mood when you recall that trip. For example, my entertainment reporter name is Bucolic Galveston. Trash's is Cranky Des Moines. What's yours? But that isn't the main thing that interests me about the story. I didn't get a chance to watch it for a couple of days, because my work computer blocks video and my home computer has no sound, but when I did get around to playing it, I saw and heard pretty much what I expected and hoped to see and hear. Which was, more or less, what I sounded and looked like late on the of October 17, 2004. I've written about this before -- in this blog, in my book (now on Kindle!), in a Six Feet Under recap where I made fun of Peter Krause getting away with a simple "narm narm [thump]," and I've thought about it every time I hear Sarah Palin speak, but now I have an excuse to write about that night again. Hot damn. So here's what happened. I was tired, I was the father of a five-day-old preemie in the hospital, and the very next morning I was starting a new job I wasn't sure I'd be able to do. And I opened my mouth to tell Trash I had a headache, and what came out was pretty much this: I even remember that exact expression of fear and confusion that what I was trying to say was somehow, somewhere, becoming totally divorced from what was actually coming out of my mouth. But even after all these years, it's a little eerie to see that expression from the other side of someone's face. We've all seen the early speculation that she was drunk, or high, or catastrophically ditzy, followed by today's reports that it was actually an incredibly ill-timed complex migraine, like the one I had back in October 2004 (although the later reports don't mention me specifically). Maybe she felt something coming on too, even if she didn't know what it was, and thought she's be okay. But then those camera lights would have hit her migraine-sensitized eyes, creating a neurological power-surge that sent her speech centers into vaporlock, and from there it was Katie bar the drone fill arc nibble swish. Yes, I'm laughing about it now too, because I've been there. Of course, I wasn't there while also on a live camera feed to millions of people, but then I rarely am. The point is, don't feel too bad if you laughed. If she's anything like me (and I think we've established that she is), she's laughing about it herself by now. And she knows what she needs to do to avoid it: don't get too sleep-deprived, don't jolt an overtired system with too much caffeine, pop an Imitrex the minute that telltale blind spot appears in the center of your vision, and lie down. Relax. Think of Branson. posted by M. Giant 12:50 PM 5 comments 5 Comments:OK, my entertainment reporter name would seem to be Happy Cowes, which isn't exactly filling me with confidence regarding my career. Perhaps I'll tweak the timeline and opt for Freedom Mitta instead.
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I finally watched this, and hello, Paul Magers!
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@Anonymous1: shouldn't that be "Freedom Mitta Mitta"? Or is it "Freedom Mittagong"?
By My name would be Antsy Orlando.
By Sunny Myers (I've elided the "Ft.")
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