Dear Steve,

It's over between us. I never want to see you again.

I can forgive the drugs, the partying, the bad reputation for destroying your friends, but THIS:

At least two sources blame British actor Steve Coogan. The party boy rehab veteran was Owen's costar in Night at the Museum and Around the World in 80 Days.

"I went through it with Steve," rocker Courtney Love, who dated Coogan, 41, until an acrimonious split in 2006, tells Us.

"I was just out of rehab, and he was right there with the drugs," she says. "I tried to warn Owen. I tried to warn his friends ... I hope from the bottom of my heart that Owen stays the hell away from that guy."

You dated Courtney Love?!? And I find out through Us online???? How am I ever going to be able to watch "Tristram Shandy" again? I can't bear to look you in the media eye.

I thought you were so witty, so urbane, so ... so much smarter than that.

What a fool I was.

You suck.

Love Always,
l'il hateful

Wiiiiiiiiiiillllllllllssooonnnnnnnnnnn

Dear Owen,

Sorry to hear about your recent upsets. The movies aren't big successes and, I know, Disney pays peanuts for voice over work. Why do you think Cliff Edwards died broke and alcoholic? Oh sure, Walt paid for his funeral, but too little too late, I say.

And I know you're nearing 40 and the playboy lifestyle is starting to feel sordid and empty -- how long can you really pretend you're 20? Honestly. But, 40 isn't as bad as you keep hearing. Yeah, your friends are married with kids, but they'll be divorced by the time you're really ready to settle down at 45 or 50. Fah, look at Clooney. He's nowhere near settling, but he has other interests than throwing down a key and getting cocktails from a bunny. Doesn't make him any less a solid bachelor.

What I'm saying is the next time you feel down, put on some Charles Aznavour. I recommend "Les Plaisirs Démodés" for the really bad days.

And, for heaven's sake, let go of Hollywood, sugar. It's a turgid hole that's sucking you dry. Settle in someplace and start writing again. You're good -- really good -- at that. I always suspected the moments of wit and sincerity were your contributions to "Bottle Rocket" and "Rushmore" -- really, the heart seemed to be cut out of "The Life Aquatic".

If you want to borrow my Aznavour, let me know.

- l'il hateful

Hot Cha

How hot is it in my library?


























This was my Checkpoint Charlie chocolate ... auf wiedersehen, pet

flu you

I've had the worse, messiest flippin' flu since Tuesday night, but since I can only chew on the left side, eating hasn't really been as big a problem as it could be. If you suck on the saltines long enough they soften up, so it's okay.

What gets me is how quickly my bedroom broken into a complete sty. There are shoes all over the floor (honestly, how many pairs of shoes have I worn in 2 days ... I thought it was the same pair of sandals, and yet everything else is out and rolled over by the cat in her attempts to mate (unsuccessfully ... poor Cat) with them, various pieces of clothing on various pieces of furniture, and I haven't made the bed since Tuesday. The sheets are even pulled out on one corner.

And I don't care. I'm in no hurry to straighten any of it out, and I don't have to straighten any of it out, because it's my room. Mine alllllllllll mine. And that pleased me today.

Now I've got to go barf again. (sorry ... ladies don't barf ... we aren't well)

Two things I can't believe I heard at the dentist's office:

"No chewing or flossing on that side of your mouth." (until when? I asked) "Until the real bridge is put in."

That's 2 weeks from now. I have to get through Labor Day Weekend chewing on my left side (where the heat/cold sensitive tooth is) and not flossing.

NO.
FLOSSING.

THAT'S TOTALLY F**KED UP, MAN! I'm not going to make it ... I know it. 2 weeks without floss is like ... like ... like ... like I don't know. I'm shaking and going through withdrawals already.

And then, when she was putting in that crappy cement for the impression:

"You'd be surprised how much fits in your mouth."

whoa dude

Hey, man, like, what's the big deal, man

Last night I watched "Easy Rider" for the first time, and it brought about 2 distinct reactions:

The first was thinking about how exciting it is to see a movie like this for the first time after hearing all about how great it is over and over again. Like the first time I watched "Network" and how it completely blew me away with the weird way it balances over-the-top examples of '70's counter-culture stereotypes ("You can blow the seminal prisoner class infrastructure out your ass. I'm not knockin' down my goddamn distribution charges.") with the male-dominated corporate control and Old Boy's Club mentality, merging the two with Max and Diana's past-future, old-young, acknowledging-the-truth-and-manipulating-it relationship, and also how it merges in the one character of network tool Howard Beale. It's absolutely stunning. "Dog Day Afternoon" is like that too. So is "The Godfather" and "Apocalypse Now" and "Midnight Cowboy." They all live up to what's been said about them.

"Easy Rider" just didn't hit that same nail. Yeah, Jack's great in it and I get the America is un-American thing ("But they see a free individual, it's gonna scare 'em.") and how unfair the '60's were to freedom of expression and yah yah yah. But the good moments that actually show that rather than say it (the riding of the bikes on the open road, the way they walk through the seed-planting at the hippie commune) are short and pushed out by weird attempts at avant garde editing and psychedelic camera tricks that smack of art school failure. And then the "heavy" ending and the America's not for the free ... ... cah ... whatever. Although I like when the one guy says "Think we should go back for him" and what that really means. That was a good touch.

Maybe I was in a bad mood while watching it ...

Because the second reaction was the desire this morning to put on a red communist ("бОЛЬШЕВПК!") t-shirt and walk into Walmart.

It was fair

Another summer, another county fair, another chance to ride on the fabulous Zipper. Last year I said I would ride it ... ... and I meant it! ... But then ... because we wanted to wait out the line for the Zipper, we went on the Tornado first.

dude.

I blame the cousin/roommate for spinning the effer around too fast ... although, sure, you're supposed to do that, I know I know ... but I was so sick. We even went on the giant ferris wheel to settle it out, but no way. The only fear I had for the Zipper was throwing up in the cage and having it flung back at me as we spun around again. Forget that.

So next year for the Zipper -- this time before the corn dog.

Textiles and baked goods were amusing and diverting again. Good to see the prizes were shared among about 3 juniors this time, rather than on that one Ashley person (her sister Stacy took some and a prolific baker named Rebekah took quite a few).

The Jest in Time clowns were a little spooky-weird and we missed the pig racing, but all-in-all not a bad way to spend an afternoon. We didn't stay for the vocal stylings of REO Speedwagon, and I was hoping that we'd catch a few strains of "Take It on the Run", but we can't actually hear anything at our house. It's weird. We're across the street from the fair, but the sound goes east and we're just to the west of the back side of the stage. Even the traffic is louder. Bummer, but not really, since tonight is The Charlie Daniels Band and I really didn't need to hear "Devil Went Down to Georgia." Chicken in the bread pan pickin' out dough...

Note to Steven: Saturday, August 18th is the Slavic Festival 1:00 - 2:00 on the East Garden Stage (wherever that is) AND the Emerald City Roller Girls teach the do's and don't's of roller derby from 8:30 pm to closing.

"Gotta be there" indeed!

cuz I'm a blonde: b-l-a-n-d

Did a second go with the blonde dye and it came out ... like ... well, I wanted it to be like Julie Christie in "Far From the Madding Crowd"or "Darling" but I think it's more like Jane Wyman in "The Yearling". It may have something to do with the fact that I don't look like Julie Christie and if I had to impersonate one on the spot, I would be closer to Jane Wyman ... at least in hair ... and lips, I'll never have a pouty bottom lip like Julie Christie no matter how hard I try to bite, pull and push it out.

So summer will move through until September and before school starts I'll probably red it again.

But it was fun.

thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me

When I started T'ai Chi it was with the idea that I would somehow lose the frantic craziness that fills my head all the time. Stuff runs through my head constantly, like speeding down the Autobahn with a soundtrack made up of 1970's am radio. It isn't pretty, and it's always like I'm right on the verge of being completely manic. Swear. And when I started mixing up work and school, I knew that this kind of speed-thinking would get worse. So I signed in for the chi class and things were going great --

And then they changed the instructor.

Rather than take the second level class from someone new, I decided to continue on the original teacher, who is now my good friend Brian. And I stuck with Brian, because ... well, here was what I said at the time:

"I don't want to end of taking this from someone who does stick fighting or some weird thing like that."

You know the kind of guys I mean. The ones who have nunchucks in the truck of their Chevy Cavalier; the ones who are really Really REALLY serious about martial arts; guys with their own samurai swords (bought at The Magic Castle of Swords in Springfield) and call their room their "dojo"; guys who walk up to us in the park and show off their akido moves: "What would you do if I did this, man? Huh?"

That said ... ... I'm actually really enjoying this new Stick Chi. I have my own stick (it was in our back/side yard and looks like something broken off of an old shovel -- probably broken by the last tenants when they tried to dig that concrete out of the front yard) and it's loads of fun to swing that sucker around. It's kind of nutty to practice it in the public park and all, and it draws attention in a really embarrassing way, but it's a laugh and it works the same way as the regular chi, in terms of balancing the energy and yah yah yah. Not only that, but now I can break elbows with my hands or with my handy, dandy stick -- although most of the moves seem to concentrate on taking out knees.

I know ... I KNOW ... but when I pull the stick back like Mifune in Ichijoji no ketto and bring it around and down ... ooh la la, it's really satisfying.

I really don't think I'm going to go in for the sword practice though. I'll just end up sticking the cat or slicing off my own ear. And the idea of going into The Magic Castle of Swords to get a practice weapon ... ... no. no way.

I believe in America. America has made my fortune.

My good friend Wendy passed along her Associated Press Stylebook and Libel Manual for my continuing studies in Journalism. (Side note: she switched to the English Department when she discovered that the J-school was full of a-holes ... a studies change that I am also thinking about doing since the J-school is still full of a-holes.)

As of this summer my new goal is not to work for People or US (although I wouldn't turn them down, especially if offered the Stars Are Just Like Us segment in US). I've decided to aim much lower and go for a job at Star. There's much more creativity involved in a story at Star. My theory is that most stories are built around a photograph, or short series of photographs. The interviews are usually with people unconnected with the story ("Doctor has not treated Britney/Lindsay/Nicole/Paris/Paula Abdul") so it's really just so-and-so appears to be causing a scandal and what the general opinion is of the scandal or the so-and-so. It's totally made up. It's like creative non-fiction that's mostly fiction, but presented and believed to be non-fiction.

Which made Chapter 6 so much fun to read: "Don't try to fix a possibly libelous story by elimination, correction, sub or new lead. If there is any unprivileged or unsafe material in the story, the dangerous portion MUST BE KILLED ... It is not necessary to kill the entire item." fah ha ha -- Star has no such guideline, clearly. Nicole Richie looks anorexic ... she won't comment, the doctor interviewed has never treated her, but thinks she's anorexic, and there's no medical proof ... but there's the photo ... so ... uh ... okay RUN IT.

Working for Star has also cemented my desire to own a Cooper Mini convertible. My paparazzi can shoot out of the top of the car while we chase down the celebs. "You just get a photo! I'll make a story!"

A few hours after finishing the last entry, I had a phone call from a woman who had entered her address wrong on her order -- she told me she did it; we didn't do it wrong. I said "Are you sure?" and gave her every opportunity to blame us, but she wouldn't budge. She typed it wrong -- and was hysterical because she had to go to UPS to pick up her package. She was screaming at me on the phone that she wanted us to compensate her for the "misery and heartache" this caused her. And when I say screaming, I'm not exaggerating.

All we did was fill her order, man. That's it. That's all. We charged her card and shipped her stuff.

She said she was going to see that no one NO ONE ever bought from us again and that she would "blog your company into the GROUND."

Honestly, it was kind of cute to run into someone who still thinks that blogs are read by someone other than their mom ... ... although I don't think my mom reads mine. Anyway, I haven't found her blog yet or I'd link it, so looks like I beat her to posting.

Punchline: I was told to call her back and offer her a credit of $5.

Dude.

will these hands ne'er be clean?

Yesterday cousin/roommate and I had another blowup about why I'm an asshole, and it made me think of what makes other people assholes, and then I came into work and figured it out.

Every day some jerk is taking an inch out of me over stupid, trivial crap. It's usually because they think that the company I work for is somehow screwing them over, as if that was an American business policy. And that made me sad -- not only that people are "stupid, panicky animals" (to quote Tommy Lee Jones), but also because I take that home with me.

Jaysis, I was so relaxed after the vacation and it's completely blown apart after only 2 weeks back at work.

I know you're not supposed to take what these people say as a personal attack, but when the phone call starts with "I own my own business and you work for somebody else. Get it?" it's hard to let it roll off without some residual grime hanging on your neck. Today I asked someone for a correct phone number (the one on their order was wrong) and got this response: "You don't want to ship? - Fine! Cancel the Order! I'll buy from other merchants!"

I mean what the f**k is that?! Over a fecking phone number? It's crazy sad.

I need another vacation.