Benji! BENJI!

Firstly, an apology for the less-than-stellar posting as of late. It hasn't been good and it's probably not going to get better, seeing as how I'm heading out tomorrow to Ft. Lauderdale, home of sun, sweat and... neon. (I couldn't think of anything that started with an S other than "Spring Break" which, while appropriate, didn't convey the over-the-top tackiness that I was gunning for. Unless you watch MTV and then it totally does.)

Second, I hit a new low last night, even for me. While I'm a true reality TV lover (some might say "addict". Some might be right) I've never understood the whole "AMERICA VOTES" aspect of it. I've never voted for our Idol. (Mostly because that's one of the few shows I can't sit through. The combo of Paula Abdul and Ryan Seacrest makes me throw up in my mouth a little.) While I may have gotten a little teary during when Danielle won America's Next Top Model (I'M NOT SAYING I DID... I'm just saying... I have never, ever dialed in to vote for someone on TV.

Except for last night.

So You Think You Can Dance! Man, that show is good. It's no Project Runway (nothing is) but come on, Travis and what's-her-name's hip-hop routine was slammin'! I love Musa and thought his quick step was boring but... I LOVE MUSA! (And Dimitri. Aside from his love of skirt/pants and unbuttoned shirts, the man is a god.)

Just give me a Sharpie and a piece of posterboard, friends. I'm turning into a Claymate.

I need some fantastic flats too.

First things first: How does Blogger pick their "Blogs Of Note"? And why the hell aren't I on it?

I had a lovely weekend, even though it poured like a big, pouring thing. Banana Republic was having their annual 50% off sale which is about the most exciting thing that can happen to a girl (at least this girl). No matter how adorable something is, if it's not on sale I won't buy it. I know full well it'll be on sale in a matter of weeks, seeing as how Banana is part of the Gap and they can't stand to leave anything sitting for more than two weeks. (I know this because I spent a miserable Christmas season stuck working their dressing rooms because I was deemed useless at the register and I could never master their fucking fold. Hell hath no fury like an Upper West Side mother without a size 2.) So a 50% off sale combined with my $20 rewards card (I love you, Banana Rewards Card) gave me a good little spree.

As I sat with my breathtaking friend Stefanie, I realized something: my wardrobe is significantly chicer than my life. I have several fantastic frocks just waiting for cocktails at the Waldorf with Woody. Do I often have cocktails at the Waldorf with Woody? Do I often have cocktails? Not so much, my friends. (And even when I do, I get tipsy after the first one. Who the hell wants to go out for "cocktail"?) I have more pairs of "dry clean only" trousers than I can shake a stick at which are perfect for little tiny hands to wipe their lunch on. And while I know I need a cute little hoodie and a rough 'n tumble skort, what I have are several adorable silk skirts and more than a few pairs of unwearable pumps.

I could go to Old Navy and buy "mom" clothes, but frankly I would prefer it if my life would just CATCH UP TO MY CLOSET. C'mon, life! Invite me to Artesinal for an evening with their famous fromage-elier! (You know, their cheese expert.) Wing me to Venice or Cannes or the Islands! (Any of 'em. I ain't picky.) Whisk me to the ballet with center orchestra seats, followed by cocktails with Conan O'Brien! (And while you're at it, find me some cute, comfortable shoes to go with.)

Get to it, Life. In the meantime, I need to go do some crunches.

* Until Life gets the memo, if anybody happens upon any cotton-poly blend hoodies - you know, the really thin, summery kind - can you let a girl know?

Are those frown lines?!

My ability to panic is unparalleled. While I wouldn’t classify myself as a hypochondriac, I am highly attuned to potential problems. Today, for example. Today I am fairly convinced that I just maybe might have skin cancer, probably. I have a freckle on my upper right shoulder that’s a little darker than the others. A little more menacing, as it were. Of course I immediately googled “skin cancer+freckle” and discovered pictures that look a bit like mine. Granted, they were grainy and small, but so’s my freckle. So I immediately got on the phone with my insurance to try and find a dermatologist. It’s always weird to pick a doctor randomly from a list. I generally go with the person that has either A: the nicest sounding name or B: the most professional answering machine message. After rejecting three doctors immediately because their messages featured gravelly-voiced women with strident “Nu Yawk” honks, I found a doctor with a nice name and an even nicer assistant. Unfortunately she didn’t have any openings until September.

September.

I MIGHT POSSIBLY HAVE SKIN CANCER, MAYBE! I can’t wait until SEPTEMBER! Which is exactly what I shouted at the nice assistant who immediately bumped me to July 7th. The way I figure it, my squirrelly freckle is a hell of a lot more important than some Park Avenue society maven’s umpteenth appointment for Botox. (By the way, does anybody watch TLC’s Ten Years Younger? Aside from having the most annoying host in all of television history – the uber-flaming dark haired guy, not the saucy and adorable Josh Greene - the dermatologist they use has clearly taken to self-medicating. Put the Botox down, lady! Damn!)

Anyway, I’ll let you know how it goes. In the meantime I’m preparing for four days in Ft. Lauderdale with the dad. I’ve never been to Ft. Lauderdale. I hear they have alligators there. Did you know that there’ve been three gator attacks in Florida over the last few weeks? Chewed to death by a prehistoric creature - that’s a grisly way to go. Remind me not to go near any marshland. Or rivers. Gators don’t live in the ocean, right? JELLYFISH! Aw, crap, I forgot about the jellyfish… (Not that I should be going to the beach at all, what with my freckle.)

What the fuck am I going to do in Ft. Lauderdale?

Oh yes! Oh YES!

According to Variety, the Corey's (that's Haim and Feldman for those who didn't grow up in the 80's) are reuniting for a comedy series. I have soooo much more to say about this but I've got to run. Suffice it to say, the awesomeness of such a coupling would undoubtedly be awesome.

Oy vey.

Just so you all know, I'm going to Hell.

Why, you may ask would a sweet little dumpling like myself be cast into the eternal fires of damnation? Why would someone so somewhat saintly be cast out and sent to live with the snakes and the demons and the... the, uh... fire...things? Why would someone with such fantastic red curls, not to mention a spectacular singing voice, be denied entrance to those pearly, pearly gates?

I might've flipped off an old lady.

(I'm not saying I did... but she was a really bitchy old lady.)

STILL! You don't flip off old ladies! At least not in front of their faces! My mama raised me better than that. I don't know what came over me... Scratch that, I know exactly what came over me. I was at the Lexington Avenue station waiting for the train which is always about sixteen different types of awful. (The place is known for its stench - there have been write ups about it in the Times, it's that fucking bad. Apparently sewer water is trapped behind the walls and has been left there to molder - is that a word? If not, it should be - for years. We've hit a spell of 90-ish degree heat and the combination of mold and poop water... well, suffice it to say, it's something else.) Anyway, there was a problem on the tracks so the place was packed. Then I noticed a parting in the crowd. Like an industrious mole burrowing its way through fields, something short was moving through. Then I saw her; a tiny old babushka grandma with a wrinkly face and a fierce expression. Now I love myself a babushka grandma. Almost are on the adorable side - but not this one; she was sporting a stoop and a snarl. "GET OUT OF MY WAY!" she squawked as she smacked her chubby little forearm into an ususpecting Asian tourist. She immediately barreled into a black girl who was trying to give her some room. ("YOU'RE IN MY WAY!") Then I realized she was headed for me. There was nowhere to go - people were standing three deep. If you moved too much you risked shoving someone into the tracks. Suddenly, there she was. "ALL YOU PEOPLE ARE IN MY WAY!" she shouted as she lifted her tiny little fist to, what? Shake it at me? Punch me in the gut? I mean really, who knew? That babushka was capable of anything!

Now I could've gone two ways with this. The nice way (or as I like to call it, "Matt's way") which would have been to realize that the little woman was small and half-blind and that it was my responsibility as the bigger person to show her a little respect,

or...

I calmly put my hand under her nose, extended my middle finger and held it there for a good three seconds.

I won't say it felt good because it didn't... really. (Okay, for a second it did.) But I believe that God punishes the wicked, I truly do. And right about now I figure I've got some kind of nastiness coming from the Big Guy Upstairs. "Thou shalt not flip the bird to thyne elders". That's in the Bible somewhere, right?

Don't get me started on the $5 I practically stole from some lady on the street. (I'm working on repaying that, I swear!)

Extra! Extra! Read all about me!

Here I am! (I'm curious - what section was in in? Could the T-town peeps get back to me?) I think they removed a line or two (how dare they defile perfection?!) but all-in-all I'm pleased.

If only I wrote this good

I know, I know, it's totally lame to put a forwarded email on your blog just because it's 100 degrees outside and you're too hot to actually write something, but some of these were so brilliant - SO BRILLIANT - that I just had to share just so I wouldn't steal them and claim them as my own. (Thanks to Mare-Mare for this one.)

Every year, English teachers from across the country can submit their collections of actual similes and metaphors found in high school essays. These excerpts are published each year to the amusement of teachers across the country. Here are last year's winners.

I'm only including my favorites, because I'm the boss.

- He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.
- She grew on him like she was a colony of E.Coli, and he was room-temperature Canadian beef.
- She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.
- Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.
- He was as tall as a six-foot, three-inch tree.
- The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated because of his wife's infidelity came as a rude shock, like a surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free ATM machine.
- From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you're on vacation in another city and Jeopardy comes on at 7:00 p.m. instead of 7:30.
- Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Pittsburgh at 4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.
- John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.
- He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant, and she was the East River.
- The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn't.

And my very, very favorite:

- The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike Phil, this plan just might work.

Cap-Journal alert!

The second half of my L&O story will be rearing its adorable head in Monday's paper, for those who care about such things.

Ooof.

Have you ever eaten so much that you can't bend at the waist?

Had a lovely day, even if the bulk of it was spent wearing ridiculous shoes. Went to my Weight Watchers meeting, which was immediately followed by a trip to Mr. Softee. (I know not what I do...) Had lunch with a friend at the 79th Street Boat Basin - a lovely little spot overlooking the water. A little wine, a little nosh, a stroll through Riverside Park. (Those wedges that looked so cute with your summer dress? Satan's pumps.) Then off to my voiceover lesson (which is always a challenge) then finally, date night with the Mister. (And apparently, some Pull 'n Peels. Those chewy little bitches call to me.)

Total cost? $170.

I'm too stuffed to make a snarky comment about, oh, anything at this point. But I will say this -

Ooof.

Scientology IS gay!

Stories like this make me happy to be alive.

Look at me! Look at me!

Not to sound like a self-congratulatory ass-wipe, but days like this don't come along very often and since I've still got two more hours before my life turns back into a pumpkin, check out my slippers, man!

So I got a call out of the blue yesterday from CBS. CB-muthafucking-S! Home of Survivor and... other shows! I'd sent out my headshot last week so I could pretend that I was being proactive with my so-called career and sweet googly-moogly, someone actually opened their mail! And then somebody actually picked up the phone! And THEN somebody asked me, Alisha McKinney, to read for the LEAD IN A NEW SITCOM!

To put this into perspective for all you non-thespians out there, this is roughly the equivalent of sending a letter to the Brad Pitt Fan Club asking for a date - and then getting one. It just doesn't happen. Except that today it did.

And I didn't meet with some low-level assistant, neither. Head of East Coast casting, peeps! Suffice it to say, I'm not heading to Hollywood yet. Still, it went surprisingly well. (The phrase "fantastic actress" and "definitely calling you in for other things" might've been bandied about. Frankly, anything that doesn't end with the cursory "Thanks for coming in" or me pooping myself, I call a victory.)

And as if that weren't enough, I got a call from my commercial people; I'm on hold for another commercial. Verizon. National network, kids. National muthafucking network.

Today, I am awesome.

Tomorrow, back to normal.

I covet that gravy bowl, Stef.

Last night I curled up with one of the cats, my Ceveris obsession and a half a box of cookies for the 60th Annual Tony Awards. It was, as they say, a little.. erm...

Meh.

Now I know me some theater folk. Considering the fact that there were roughly 6,000 queens and chorus girls packed in a room together, I expected a little more fizz (or color or cuntyness or something). Rumor has it they thought about having Dame Edna host this year but worried that (s)he'd be too gay. Which begs the question, "Is it even possible to be too gay when you're handing out theatre awards?"

My Cerveris didn't win which was (unfortunately) unshocking. But the wife of my former catering captain did which was pretty great. I was a little surprised to see John in a tux, though. I mean the man wears a polyester penguin suit every day. I kept waiting for him to point me towards sanit.

Spent the day with my dear friend Stefanie at her fantastic bridal shower. (Dude, why didn't I have one of these? They're awesome!) Her friend Mara lives in an enormous loft down in Chinatown, which is why it took me about two hours to find it. (I got to see two Chinese weddings and several enormous jars full of unidentifiable sea food - Is that octopus? - on my way there, though.) The best part about Mara's place? She lives above an illegal Chinese gambling parlor! If you think I didn't peek inside, you don't know me at all. Lots of old men, flourescent lights and crates of Heinekin. Scandalous.

A little birdie told me -

Two little gossipistas before I hit the gym:

Not that I really care about this, like, at all but it does seem like a strange mix...

And finally Missy, this one's for you.

I'll write some real stuff later. I will be watching the Tony's to see if my Michael Cerveris takes the gold (the Frankie Valley impersonator's gonna wipe the floor with him, I fear) but my crush has abated a bit. Did anyone see the season finale of Dr. Who? Boy, I'd sure love to play doctor with that Doctor... in a doctor... if i had a doctor...

KA-RA-TAY!

So this is good - I hung out with a gal last night who works for a big-name wire image service (the people to whom the paparazzi sell their photos) and it, as they say, was awesome. She gets to see all the photos that don't get released - meaning all the ones I TOTALLY WANT TO SEE. Her best story had to be her retelling of the Tommy Hilfiger/Axl Rose dust up. They had a photog there who captured the whole thing, including... WAIT FOR IT... Tommy Hilfiger's full-blown karate chop to Axl's face! Not a punch, not a bitch slap - KARATE!

Why, God, can I not see that picture?! I LIVE FOR THAT PICTURE! Please, please, somebody let me see that picture.

I give all the fellas woodies!

I subscribe to Google Alerts because apparently I'm just that narcissistic. While I get a lot of lame ones (Google doesn't seem to understand that just because there's an "Alisha" or a "McKinney", it isn't necessarily "Alisha McKinney") it's interesting to see where your name pops up online.

Like here for instance.

Who knew I was so popular in the construction industry?

I totally had their comic book when I was a kid.

In what is perhaps the lamest attempt at a comback perhaps, oh, ever, KISS (yes, KISS) is launching a new line of frangrances.

I give you a moment to fully appreciate the retardedness.

I could deal with Brit-Brit and her nastacular "Curious" and Paris with her... whatever the hell she named hers and Jessica and that "Dessert" crap she came up with - but this?! "The man's scent has a subtle top note of desperation and cunnilingus while the woman's adds a soupcon of Aqua Net and low self-esteem". I mean lets get real, fellas. Even the KISS ARMY won't follow you into this madness.

Make mine a Doctor sandwich, with a side of Sweeney.

In order to kill time at a teeedious 80th birthday party last night (enlivened only by our captain allowing us to prowl St. John the Divine in search of peacocks) a fellow waiter and I decided to play a little game called "What Your Celebrity Crushes Say About You". Sure, I could've gone the Brad/George/Wolverine route but since I don't find any of them remotely attractive (except maybe that third fella), what's the point? My three choices will come as no surprise to my regulars:

1: Michael Cerveris (Insert sex pun about murderous, singing barber here.)

2: Christopher Eccleston (I'll take a ride in his Tardis - OR HIS PANTS - anytime!!! she says, followed by an adorable emoticon.)

3: Hugh Laurie (I love Dr. House. I'd like to play house with House in my house... if I had a house.)

To sum? It's all about Geeks Made Good.

Okay, spill it. Who's tickling your fancy?

Don't try this at home, kids.

I thought I'd written about this but apparently not.

You know, I honestly wasn't that shocked. I mean it's never good to spike your rival's drink (unless you really, really want the part) but I totally remember the frenzy of high school drama. Take the year that a certain overly dramatic Sophomore got the lead in her high school's production of The Glass Menagerie over certain Seniors... Whoo, the shit hit the fan over that one! I think a couple of Seniors ended up boycotting over it. (That's right, Seniors! Bow to your UNDERLING! I'm talking to you, Alicia Brende!) Anyways, while I'm certainly not condoning spiking your opponent's soda with Draino, I'm... I'm... not sure where I'm going with this, actually. But I can guaran-damn-tee that the lead role in a play called "HA!" is not worth hard time.

Don't touch me.

Here's a little something I learned this morning -

When Maintenance says that they're turning off the hot water at 10 am, Maintenance is turning off the hot water at 10 am. Maintenance doesn't really care that just got back from the gym and only have one leg shaved and a head full of conditioner and that you "REALLY DON'T NEED THIS RIGHT NOW". Maintenance is shuttin 'er down, regardless of your one furry leg.

I have one furry leg.

We won't discuss my hair.

I knew seven of these.

A combination of a busted back and a busy schedule means only one thing - recycled blogging.

Here's a little something I (and everyone else who's read this piece) likes to call THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW, BUT PROBABLY DON'T.

*1. Money isn't made out of paper, it's made out of cotton.
*2. The Declaration of Independence was written on hemp.
3. The dot over the letter i is called a "tittle".
4. A raisin dropped in a glass of fresh champagne will bounce up and down continuously from the bottom of the glass to the top.
5. Susan Lucci is the daughter of Phyllis Diller. (I TOTALLY DIDN'T KNOW THAT!)
6. 40% of McDonald's profits come from the sales of Happy Meals.
7. 315 entries in Webster's 1996 Dictionary were misspelled.
8. The 'spot' on 7UP comes from its inventor, who had red eyes. He was albino.
9. On average, 12 newborns will be given to the wrong parents, daily.
*10. Warren Beatty and Shirley MacLaine are brother and sister.
*11. Chocolate affects a dog's heart and nervous system; a few ounces will kill a small sized dog.
12. Orca whales kill sharks by torpedoing up into the shark's stomach from underneath, causing the shark to explode.
*13. Most lipstick contains fish scales.
14. Donald Duck comics were banned from Finland because he doesn't wear pants.
15. Ketchup was sold in the 1830's as medicine.
16. Upper and lower case letters are named "upper" and "lower" because in the time when all original type had to be set in individual letters, the upper case letters were stored in the case on top of the case that stored the smaller, "lower case" letters.
17. Leonardo DA Vinci could write with one hand and draw with the other at the same time, hence, multi-tasking was invented.
18. Because metal was scarce, the Oscars given out during World War II were made of wood.
19. There are no clocks in Las Vegas gambling casinos.
20. The name Wendy was made up for the book Peter Pan; there was never a recorded Wendy before.
21. There are no words in the dictionary that rhyme with: orange, purple, and silver.
22. Leonardo Da Vinci invented scissors. Also, it took him 10 years to paint Mona Lisa's lips.
23. A tiny amount of liquor on a scorpion will make it instantly go mad and sting itself to death. *24. The mask used by Michael Myers in the original "Halloween" was a Captain Kirk's mask painted white.
25. If you have three quarters, four dimes, and four pennies, you have $1.19. You also have the largest amount of money in coins without being able to make change for a dollar.
26. By raising your legs slowly and lying on your back, you can't sink in quicksand.
27. The phrase "rule of thumb" is derived from an old English law, which stated that you couldn't beat your wife with anything wider than your thumb.
28. The first product Motorola started to develop was a record player for automobiles. At that time, the most known player on the market was the Victrola, so they called themselves Motorola.
*29. Celery has negative calories. It takes more calories to eat a piece of celery than the celery has in it to begin with. It's the same with apples.
30. Chewing gum while peeling onions will keep you from crying.
31. The glue on Israeli postage stamps is certified kosher.
32. Guinness Book of Records holds the record for being the book most often stolen from Public Libraries .
33. Astronauts are not allowed to eat beans before they go into space because passing wind in a space suit damages it.

(Thanks to mom for this one.)

Time to buy stock in IcyHot

It'll be interesting to see how this day turns out. So far I've thrown out my back lifting a blender (not the whole thing, mind you - just the pitcher) and a pigeon just pooped all over our window.

I've been having a lot of trouble sleeping these past few weeks. My heart starts racing and wakes me up several times throughout the night. Has anybody else had this? I don't feel all that stressed and I've stopped with the caffeine again (mostly). Maybe I'm like one of those Ambien people but instead of raiding the fridge in my sleep, I'm running 5Ks.

I finished the second part of my Law and Order saga - coming to a paper near (some of) you soon - and have started on a second piece about my first New York apartment. One of you might be featured in it... A certain baldish one... A lovingly exaggerated version of a certain baldish one. (Don't get to comfortable, folks - you might be next. GRIST FOR THE MILL, BABY! YOU'RE ALL GRIST FOR THE MILL!)

All right, I'm off to watch the baby. Don't ask me how I plan to pick him up. ("It's time to practice a little thing called 'levitation'...")

Food, glorious food

Oh people, I got nothin'. Although I am watching an interesting thing on 60 Minutes about the head of Whole Foods. Whole Foods is now going to offer meat that has been raised humanely. (Funny, I thought they'd been doing that all along.) They're also offering lobsters that are kept in a tank that is the "most comfortable" temperature for them. I must admit, at this point I almost rolled my eyes. (I'm not sure what that knee-jerk reaction was about since I'm a total bleeding heart liberal who eats organic as often as possible and can get uppity as all get out when it comes to things like hydrogenated oil and corn syrup, usually while eating an entire bag of Twizzlers.) Dan Rather was giving Mr. Whole Foods shit, asking him if it really mattered if the lobster was kept comfortable since it was eventually going to be dropped in a pot of boiling water at the end of the day. WF's reaction was priceless.

"Dan, are you going to die someday?"

Dan admitted that he was.

"Well, does the quality of your life matter? I mean, you're going to be dropped in the pot, as it were. While you're alive, doesn't it matter how well you were treated while you were on this planet?"

You go, WF! SMACK! Now if you'd just stop charging so damn much for your damn vegetables...

It's all about me.

It's been pretty crappy here the last few days. Biblical amounts of rain (was that a pair of camels?) accompanied by, lookee here! More rain! So to perk myself up, I present the May* issue of THINGS ALISHA LOVES:

- Amy's Roasted Vegetable Pizza (I know it doesn't have cheese. Be adventurous.)
- Mr. Softee (A brief story about Mr. Softee: For those who don't know, Mr. Softee is the ice cream of the summer months here in NYC. You'll find one of their ubiquitous white trucks parked on every block offering an assortment of frozen delights. Up until now I was able to ignore the siren song of soft serve, figuring that anything sold out of a truck couldn't possibly taste like anything other than ass. But I'll tell you right now, if ass tasted this good I'd be... stopping this sentence right here. Another ridiculous assumption? That "soft" equals "low-cal". Damn you, rainbow sprinkles!)
- Freaks and Geeks (How is it possible that this show was cancelled after only one season? So funny. The theme song is funnier than half the crap on NBC.)
- Peonys
- Sondheim (Specifically when sung by a certain Michael Cerveris, who should stop trying trying to write his own music because it just embarrasses everyone involved and stick to being pretty.)
- Dove Ice Cream (Have you tried this stuff? Not only is it Dove ice cream, not only is it filled with brownies and caramel and cookies and such, but it's covered in freaking GANACHE. Insane.)
- Cupcakes and Burgers (I haven't actually tried this is a place yet but it just opened up a few blocks from my apartment and with a name like that you're crazy if you think I'm not popping my head in.)
- Dr. Who (I'm referring to the new series, featuring my former - well, mostly former - imaginary boyfriend Mr. Christopher Eccleston. Sure, the first few episodes were crap. And so were a few in the middle. But for the most part the series is irresistably fun. Apparently Christopher - he lets me call him that - is gone after this season which will inevitably lead to much thrashing and gnashing of teeth - at least on my end.)

So, found anything good lately?


* Yes I know it's June.

Put on a happy face!

So this is interesting. I was reading an article in Newsweek the other day (YES, I READ NEWSWEEK! SOMETIMES!) about how Botox is now being used in the treatment of people who are severely depressed. Apparently they did some study where they used Botox on the frown lines of these people (which rendered them unable to make sad faces) and almost all of them said that they felt significantly happier. It was like a 90% success rate vs. something like 70% for antidepressants and talking therapy. The scientists said that best they can tell, our brains work from the outside in. If we frown, our brains think that we're unhappy and manufacture feelings of unhappiness. If we smile (even if it's a fake one) eventually our brains start to believe that we're happy and we, in turn, feel happier. Crazy, huh?

The way I figure it, half of Hollywood must be feeling pretty perky right about now.

Yeah, I'll probably watch it. So what?

Sometimes I wonder why it feels like my chosen career is an exercise in futility; like I'm a fluffy, perky hamster on a wheel, as it were. ("Look at my shiny fur! Look how fast I can run! Do you see? Do you see?") But then I remember that deep down, acting is a noble profession. We bring great joy to many, many people. Noble, dammit! Noble.

Then I read something like this and want to smash somebody's head in with a very attractive, well-groomed stick.