Clinch. Enough said.
-M

I scream, You Scream (and so does Jonathan Papelbon)

I just found this linked off of the Boston Magazine's daily blog. To keep this post on the fast track to the point, please read this ever important passage.

"How does the closer feel about the idea of pitching on Monday?
'Question mark…I’m going to come to the field (Monday) to find out. We’ll see,' said Papelbon, who then asked reporters whether he had chocolate ice cream on his face."

To set the frantic tone of the importance of the initial question. The Sox were up in the series against the Angels 2-0. Best of 5 series. They could have swept it last night, but instead, lost 5-4 in 12 innings. The Sox only beat the Angels once all season long, but maintained some sort of ridiculous string of post-season wins against them. After winning two on the road, they lost at Fenway, made me get not enough sleep, and caused all of Boston to give a melodious groan at 1am last night. Lowell is hurt like an old man, and you know he's not playing tonight. Papelbon threw for two innings again last night, putting him in the 'question mark' status.

The Sox need to pull through tonight, because otherwise, it's game 5, back on the road. We don't want to risk having to win another away game, against a team that kicked our butt for the better part of the season. I dont want to have to stay up for another West Coast game (hello 10pm start time). Please, don't put me through this kind of emotional turmoil.

However, what is on Papelbon's mind? Not the fact that we're a win away from going onto the ALCS. Not tonight. But his chocolate ice cream? Part of it is lovable -- he's just like that college guy you probably had a crush on. Kind of goofy. Good at sports. Nice blonde hair and -- well -- we know of Papelbon's best asset. But seriously though, what was he doing eating ice cream? It was well near 35 degrees outside when the game finally ended last night. Wasn't he cold? Is ice cream what he uses to ease his broken soul after an extra inning loss? Why would he ask reporters if he had it on his face - this is a clear cry for a need for a girlfriend to answer these questions for him, and not the WEEI reporters.

Oh well, I guess. As long as he saves me a bite. I'm partical to sprinkles.

-M

Are we hypocritical prudes?

This past weekend, I was graced with the presence of a quasi-sick boyfriend and a Degrassi: The Next Generation on MTV. Now, I've never quite got into Degrassi - the N was always too high up in the cable channels and I always found something else to watch before flipping to channel 246 or whatever it is. Regardless, on a lazy Sunday morning, I figured I'd give it a shot.

To my surprise, I found in the first 10 minutes of the first episode that I watched -- the girl that plays Annie in 90210, drug use, nudie photos (of a minor!) posted online, internet cyberstalking, sex, a high school dropout boyfriend that just got released from jail, drinking tequila at a birthday party -- oh and whoever "Mascot Boy" is -- he got shanked while trying to open his car door (at the tequila filled birthday party) and died.

All of these storylines sound oddly (or not so oddly) as inticing, and oh so scandalous as its' American teenage drama cousins, Gossip Girl or 90210. Only Degrassi shows everyday high schoolers (who don't live in hotels, attend private school or drive around in limos), struggling with these issues that mainstream America cries scandal over. It shows real kids with real issues - and that is probably why it lasts 7+ seasons. It's probably why Degrassi isn't a show, it's a freakin' franchise -- multiple tv series, books, internet specials. On it's Wikipedia page, I see little to no discussion of parent complaint - which leads me to think of every teenage show that family groups here in the US cry foul on. Dawson's Creek. Felicity. Gossip Girl. For the love of bejezzus, why are Americans on such high and mighty moral ground when it comes to teen shows? Why boohoo over sex in high schools and not see the connection to advertising campaigns like this that go without blame?

Is it Canada's European influence that causes the approval (or at least, understanding) of such teenage shows? Are issues openly discussed via dinnertable discussions with Mom and Dad? Do they walk by Abercrombie and Fitch billboards of mens' sock-stuffed crotches and have the same reaction as us? Moreso, how is it alright for us in the US to have this out of sight, out of mind thought with all of these issues? Just because parents complain about Serena Van Der Woodsen drinking a Belevedere vodka martini on an awkward double date with her ex doesn't mean that doesn't happen, or cease it from happening. Somehow I think the Canadians might be right about something other than universal health care.

-M

Newsflash!

It's Friday! Start your weekend with a little bit of online gossip reading.

Just in case you missed the VP debate last night, here's a roundup. Oh and Palin's wink.

"Ms. Palin tried to contradict him, but the most memorable part of her answer was that she got the general’s name wrong."

Apparently recessions are only for poor people? Long live $1900 antlers.

As we all do, Rachel Zoe.

Can these tips really ward off the sniffles? Another reason for me to bribe backrubs out of my boyfriend.

You know I'll be one of these parents one day.

My sixth grade English teacher would be throwing a fit over this.

Gee, because this really sets me more at ease about Palin.

Well, duh.

What?! No more iTunes?

-M

Overshare!

I recently found this on my favorite local, Boston-based blog, and it got me starting to think. Everyone overshares now. Maybe not to the extent of the crazy guy who posted his own death announcement, but look at our Facebook accounts. Email addresses. Cell phone numbers. Favorite colors, books, relationship statuses. Everyone knows I love to talk and have some hefty opinions on issues that many in my parents' generation consider "private matters," (cue my mother's hushed tone of voice). Abortion, contraception, preference of cell phone providers.

(Sidenote: midnight blue, Confessions of a Shopaholic, in a relationship [happily], pro-choice, I'm on it and T-Mobile -- for the record.)

My mother never shares such information for fear of insulting someone else. Or being judged. She plays nice and acts nice, even if she agrees to disagree. Also for the record, she never actually agrees to disagree, she'll still think you're an idiot, and just not say so. I on the other hand, will say so. This generation of young adults are a bit spunkier than that of the 1950s and 60s.

But it's just not about being opinionated, now is it? It's about sharing it all online, on the internet, for everyone and anyone to see or read. Social networking sites. Blogs. MySpace. Flickr accoutns. It's a bit ironic posting of all things, a blog post (that will be filtered through to my own Facebook account so my friends, friendimies, co-workers, and people I downright don't like [why are we Facebook friends anyway?!] can read it) on this topic. The huge case in point that glares out in my mind is the current trend of online PostSecret sharing. There are entire blogging communities where people simply share their secrets -- and there's intense stuff. Stuff I'd need some serious Zoloft just to read in one sitting. Molestation secrets. Rape secrets. Pregnancy secrets. Cheating secrets. This isn't lofty, 'I like so and so and we slept together,' stuff but some heavy information just floating around in the world of the internet. Do these secret writers know that some bored girl at work in Boston is reading their secrets? And hotlinking their secrets to a blog? Do they even care? And why is it so acceptable for everyone to anonymously post all this (sometimes horrific) stuff that they've done? And moreso, is it okay that anything that's written is totally okay if it's untraceable to the everyday person and has no known person behind it?

Maybe my mom was on the right track of keeping stuff to herself.

-M

On the interweb...

In these troubled times, NYT thinks it would do us all good to think like a college student

These shoes weren't made for walkin'

Orientalism at New York Fashion Week

Politics of fashion: The hijab (headscarf)

It's a dog's life

Could this be the worst Bollywood film ever? This reviewer seems to think so!

The Most Wonderful Time Of Year

No, not Christmas. Not fall clothing season. Not the impending long Columbus Day weekend. No, no, when you're a girl born and bred in the Boston area (especially as of late), the best time of year happens in early October. Soxtober, to be exact. Red Sox playoff season is here, and it starts tonight. 10pm (EST) vs. the Angels. The roster is set and I am giddier than a little girl on Christmas Eve.

Forget the fact that it's a Wednesday night, and that my alarm will go off at the ungodly hour of 6:45am tomorrow for work. Forget that I am bound to have a few too many Coronas at Cask'n Flagon tonight. And forget the fact that half of those beers will probably be spilled on my new, green, Varitek t-shirt. It's the playoffs, and I finally get to be in Boston for all of it. My Dad would be appalled if I go about the next few weeks any other way. Dad (and Mom, but definitely Dad) raised me to be a Red Sox fan. Yankees are evil, Fenway Park is sacred and the Red Sox are the only team worth being frenzied over.

There are baby photos of me, being held by my Dad, on the not-so-great night of the 1986 World Series (let's not mention what happened that night). I sat -- or more like slouched -- in Dad's lap, hardly 10 months old, in a Boston Red Sox onesie.

Another photo, cerca 4 years old, next to my brother Ryan in a high chair. He wears a baby sized Boston Red Sox cap. I wear a new Red Sox jacket -- I remember wanting that jacket so badly. It looked like one that the players wore, and I knew that made it cool. I lived in it, and wore it to shreads. Until the white and red threads of the Red Sox logo started stringing apart. I cried my eyes out.

In 2004, the Red Sox won the World Series during my first few weeks at UMass. I threw on my pink Red Sox hat, and ran out the door of my dorm to go celebrate with some other 17,000 college undergraduates. My mom thought of my grammie-- afterall, it was her that stayed a fan for her entire life and never saw them win. For Mom, the Red Sox mean something far more than parades and trophies and curses and overpriced tickets.

I flirted with boys in college who started conversation after seeing my baseball made Red Sox bracelet (I wore them way before they were popular, cheap, and at every tourist shop in Fanueil Hall). I went on dates to watch games, wished there were classes I could take on just Boston culture and the Sox, and cut classes last fall to see the celebratory parade. I still don't date men that wear Yankees hats (sorry boys, it's an automatic dealbreaker), and my boyfriend is fairly assured that in the rare occasion that I see Jacoby Ellsbury out anywhere, I'm allowed and obligated to have a hot, steamy tryst.

It's October 1st, and we are once again in post-season games. Excuse me while I try not to smile too much behind my desk at work. Is it 10pm yet?

-M

Newsflash!

Being halfway through the week feels oh so good. Also so good? More news to fill my mind.

TABLOID COVER WEDNESDAY. WOOHOO. My favorite day of the week.

For those who missed it and weren't there with me, shame on you.

See! I'm not the only one eating only mac & cheese lately!

Sigh. Maybe one day my name will be on this list. Hey, a girl can dream.

This country is so effed up.

Wow, Palin, you must have so much spare time in your igloo to read all magazines and newspapers, huh? Clearly all that intellectual reading made you believe that you could actually be a conservative feminist. Oh dear.

Spencer. Sucks. Newsflash in case you missed The Hills!

See, one night without cable and I miss shows like this.

Oneeee more Gossip Girl roundup for the week.

-M

Comcast Is My Best Backstabbing Friend

I would put up a roundup of Tuesday night television (90210, in particular), but right at 8:01pm last night, my Comcast (and that of all my neighbors) decided to die. Not a single channel came in. No On Demand selection. Nothing. Just a black screen in my living room and snow-like static (think, a la The Ring) in my bedroom. It was the worst thing to have happened to me since... well, I can't quite remember. That went down, my internet went down. Comcast, you are my biggest nightmare ever since I moved in two months ago.

That being said, prior to the cable blackout (which makes me think of Brit-Brit's album, Blackout, only that album was fantastic, and this was the pits of an experience) I was enjoying my HBO On Demand selection -- I could only take so much dinnertime news about the spiraling downward sprial of my nations' economy before I needed a break (or CNN was going to induce a panic attack in me as I started to wonder how I would ever keep on affording Tory Burch bags, pretty dresses -- oh right, and food like my beloved mac & cheese -- and, oh right, that pesky thing called rent).

Now I took an advertising/media class back during my sophomore year of college. As the professor criticized mainstream media, he stated that the only television with any validity, meaning and substance (as far as shows go) are those that he's seen on HBO. I'd like to include Showtime in this selection now as well (hello, has no one else seen Californication? It's great, although the first time I saw it, I was sitting with my possible mother-in-law and it was just, uh, awkward.) as well. Anyway, HBO recently put the first season of Six Feet Under up for my viewing pleasure. Now, also during the timeframe of my media class, my then-boyfriend and I became quickly obsessed with Six Feet Under. Our relationship lasted as long as we could make our way through four seasons on DVD (spread out, have no fear, I can hold onto a man for longer than a few weeks, thank you very much). I never did get to the fifth (and final) season after the tumultuous breakup. Now, hopefully HBO can give me the fifth season via my handy On Demand button, but until then, I'll settle for the early episodes. I forgot how cute Nate Fisher is, how much Brenda is like me, and how hilarious Ruth Fisher is. There goes my weeknights that I have free.
-M

No Comment?

It is no secret that M. and I spend the better half of our time online scouring countless blogs, web zines, mags & newspapers online etc. We are constantly sending each other links on topics we find interesting and then breaking them down (sometimes not-so-intelligently...but there is only so far you can intellectualize The Hills & GG)

Our blog is basically an offshoot of our tendencies to over-think and over-analyze pop culture (and the world around us)...which is why we would really value your comments.

It may not come as a surprise that we are our own blog's biggest fans but we also know we have loyal readers (you know who you are, even if you read us simply because you are our best friend or ahem our mother). A lot of the blog so far reads as a conversation between M. and I, and while that will continue, dear reader, it would certainly be nice to get YOUR thoughts/opinions/comments to make our little contribution to the blogosphere even more meaningful.