Saturday, June 21, 2003

How to tell when it's the longest day of the year:
-You wake up on your own at 5:30 ayy emm, not because you have a funky internal body clock but because there is sunlight streaming through your window.
-You are sunbathing by 7:00 ayy emm
-At 12:30 when it is 85 degrees and beautiful, you are stuck in a gym.
-You're having a water fight outdoors at 10:30 pee emm (or you were and you will, anyway), but you're finding it a bit difficult to hide because it's still light outside. This is unfortunate, because you're using empty pop bottles as weapons and they still have some traces of pop in them. This makes things sticky. But damn fun.
So if you're finding it a bit difficult to sleep at all tonight, I have composed a list of songs to snooze by. Simply download illegally and douse (not douche, mind you) your conscience with sticky water as you fall asleep to beautifully sleepy songs.
-"Little One", Beck
-"Asleep", The Smiths
-"Weeping Willow", Grandaddy
-"The Long Day is Over", Norah Jones
-"Bedside Story", Badly Drawn Boy
-"Lullaby" Shawn Mullins
-"Reservations", Wilco
-"Mississippi", Train
And I don't want to hear any complaining about the song selection. These songs calm me in one way or another, and I'm the music-sleeping expert. So off to bed, all of you!

Fresh squeezed by melly at 9:48 PM

Friday, June 20, 2003

Oh god, the Order of the Pheonix comes hither tomorrow. Kids will scream (some from excitement, some from fright). Adults will scream (some from excitement, some from their retarded 'Wizards are evil! Harry Potter is the devil! Burn! Ban!' philosophy). Wizard paraphenalia will be sold to a disgusting extent. Anna Nicole Smith will lose weight by hefting the heavy 900 page hardcover.
In short, the world will end.
I've got to hand it to Rowlings though. Despite my sarcasm, "Harry Potter" books are a good read, and it's a good thing for people to read anything at all. While I can't say I can approve (or tolerate) all the merchandising crap that comes with it (Hermione hair scrunchie, anyone?), at least Rowlings got her ass off welfare. Besides, I was way ahead of you all on the craze; reading the first book a month or two before it became uber-popular. Eat my dust.
Oh my. I'm sorry, children of the world. I'm just not good at liking anything.
But if it means anything one way or the other, I am hauling my butt out of bed at the asscrack of dawn tomorrow to go line up at the local mom-and-pop bookstore in hopes of retrieving a copy for the weekend.
Groupie I'm not. Reader I am.

Fresh squeezed by melly at 9:54 PM

Thursday, June 19, 2003

Indeed, I was MIA, but now I return. With a rant.
An Open Letter To the Shampoo Makers of America (Or, Rather, To the Shampoo Makers that Sell Their Shampoos in America) (This Includes You, You Snooty Swiss and French and Italian Shampoos),
Hello. My name is Melly. I have stick-straight, super-thin, shoulder length (with layers!) light brown hair. My hair is all natural; it contains no chemical highlights or perms or whatever. Thus, I find it disconcerting when my hair looks fuller and more volumous after I spend a day in the gym.
I start the day with a shower. I wash my hair with volumizing shampoo and conditioner. The brand of these shampoos changes from time to time, but suffice it to say that no brand of volumizing shampoo and conditioner I have ever tried actually volumizes my hair, even after I blow-dry my hair upside-down.
Therefore, I usually scoop up my hair into a loose bun or ponytail and get on to my life at the gym. After about 2 hours of intense workout (especially in the summer), my hair is drenched with sweat in its ponytail glory. So I go home.
I drink some fluids and just sit and rest for about 45 minutes. After this time, my ponytail is no longer dripping with sweat, but it's still rather damp. I take my ponytail out in order for my hair to rest.
And you know what? My hair is beautiful and volumous and moving at that point in time, albeit a bit smelly. My sweat has plumped and nourtured my hair. For free. What do you have to say to that, Mr.-And-Mrs.-12-bucks-a-bottle?!
With that being said, Shampoo Retailers of America, I must tell you that my discovery could be a good oppurtunity for us both. I promise not to share my secret that could ruin your industry with anyone else as long as you make a product that harnesses the natural power of human sweat and puts it in a shampoo. As long as it smells better than actualy human sweat, you'll make a fortune. And I'll make, say, 5% of the profits.
Whaddya say?

Fresh squeezed by melly at 10:00 AM

Monday, June 16, 2003

My buddy old astrologer pal Bernice Bede Osol told me today that "Bright ideas usually come rather naturally to you to begin with, but today you're likely to posess a well-spring of inspiration that ranges from brainy wit to pure brilliance."
This is the last shred of proof needed to show that astrology is a big pile of shit, unless Bernice Bede Osol considers my "Coffee Talk" impression a work of brainy wit and pure brilliance.
No big whoop.

Fresh squeezed by melly at 7:13 PM

Sunday, June 15, 2003

I have a serious problem with anyone who is unable to recognize the simple glazed beauty of a Krispy Kreme doughnut.
There we sat in the dirty gas-station Subway, eating our respective subs. We hadn't eaten since 2 o'clock that afternoon, and it now being 10:30 pee emm, there was little the grimy place could do to diminish our appetites. At least my appetite anyway--I needed to feed the adrenaline that had kept me awake for nineteen hours and counting. Apparently, his appetite was a bit more picky.
"Holy crap, Dad! They have Krispy Kremes here!" And so they did. In a little kiosk by the cash register stood four Krispy Kremes, tired-looking but sweet.
"Those are very overrated."
It was a long drive home, despite the Lynyrd Skynyrd on the radio.
Would anyone like to know who just won the Michigan USAV State Championship for her age group? No?
Well, I'd like to know who the kid that keeps going in my backyard and sitting by the creek is. He sits there, staring out into space, until I turn the sprinklers on. This causes him to get a startled expression on his face as he makes a mad dash for the street.
I wonder if I should've struck up a conversation with him before he fled. We could discuss things at random, but with underlying meaning. We'd become secret best friends, bravely facing the world around us until one of us died from leukemia.
The whole thing sounds like it could be made into a touchy-feely middle-of-February blockbuster movie (Hell, anything is a blockbuster in the middle of February.). A movie so good that Roger Ebert would put himself through mutating radiation in order to grow extra thumbs to point up. And I'd become a millionaire, free to go to Old Navy and buy every single size 9 flipflop they've got.
I need a summer job.

Fresh squeezed by melly at 6:39 PM