Category: etc.

Movie quotes o’plenty to guess over at Marisa’s.

Don’t make me hog NO MORE THAN 3 of them all for myself. Come on!!

Go! GO!!

Okay. So I know you’re saying:

“What???”

Yeah, me too. I don’t know. I was clicking around and it’s on NBC and I find that so …. weird. Like, Don’t read right now. No, instead, watch our awards show for books you haven’t read because you watch too much TV.

Still ….

Okay! I WILL! I am easily led! And Hota Kotb’s involved?! I am THERE, baby!!

Stephen Colbert gives out the first award for Best Humor Book.

The nominees arrrrre …… a number of Jewish folk and Amy Sedaris.

The winner is: My BFF, Amy Sedaris for I Like You, Hospitality Under the Influence. She reads her speech — which I find funny. Like, weird funny. Reading speeches is never funny, Amy Sedaris. So if you ever wanna win this bad boy again, I strongly suggest you STEP UP, Peaches: memorize/extemporize/satirize/before our eyes … uhm, okay, please shut up, Michael Hutchence. You are ruining this category with the dark cold specter of death, ‘mkay?

Anyhoo.

Now Brooke Shields and Tiki Barber are here to announce Best Romance Novel, but not before he’s done making cheesy jokes about scoring. See, he’s a football player and Romance Novels are about scoring! Lord. A roomful of writers and Tiki Barber is left to write his own jokes. Also of note: Brooke Shields has huge hamhock biceps, so clearly, she’s on steroids. Don’t tell Tom Cruise.

The nominess are: Honestly, I don’t know and I don’t care.

The winner is: Hey! My junior high gym teacher, Nora Roberts for Angel Falls. Wow. Small world. An aside from MB, “Is she a lesbian?” “Yesss, honey, she is. Weren’t you listening? This is the Lesbian Romance Novel category.” Sheesh. I hate having to explain the plot to people. AND I hated doing those four-count burpee things in gym class. Curse you, gym teacher!

Joan Allen is onstage now, instantly overwrought about piggly-wigglies and children who don’t have books. OR piggly-wigglies. Or black sparkly gowns cut deep to show the wide white valley between one’s teensy boobulahs.

Dan Rather and Catherine Cryer. Award for Best History, Current Events, or Politics.

The award goes to: My garbage man, Al Gore, for The Assault on Reason. He’s not there, thank God. But if he were, according to his daughter, he’d say, “Take that, Nobel Peace Prize.” No. She didn’t really say that. Forgive me. I made that up. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Oh, and, Karenna, will you please tell Alberto enough already with the can-banging every Thursday morning? Thannnks.

Okay. Now some dude — showing my ignorance here — some ventriloquist, it seems. Award for Children’s Picture Book. The old man dummy makes a joke as they go to tear the envelope: “We pre-opened this envelope because he can only use one hand ….. then again, he’s used to that.” Annd ….. there’s an image for your Children’s Picture Book, kiddos.

Oh, so the winner is: Wow, cool! My pool boy, David Weisner for Flotsam. Congratulations, Coco! But, look, I still need you next Tuesday. Those leaves in the drain won’t remove themselves.

Gay Talese and Lorraine Bracco, who — wow — is clearly in on this whole steroid scam with Brooke Shields because her arms are exacatackally the same as Brooke’s. Or else she just had some huge rowdydow with her backstage about — I don’t know, whose depression is worse — and then ripped Brooke’s hamhock arms off in a fury and jammed them into her own somehow pre-emptied arm sockets. At least, I hope it’s that one, because I just can’t bear the thought of our dear Miss Brooke on steroids. And don’t be glib, anyone. Don’t you dare be glib. You just don’t know the history of steroids like I do.

Oh, so …. Award for Best Fiction. There are 5 nominees, but only one is an Oprah’s Book Club selection. Hm.

The winner is … oh, who will it be? Surprise! It’s my hairdresser, Cormac McCarthy for The Road. He’s not there, but look under your seats, everyone — copies of the book, courtesy of Oprah! She’s the ginchiest. Even with a goiter. Cormac! Hi! I need a trim, hon!

Award for Best Biography or Memoir.

Annnd the winner is: Oh, my trainer, Walter Isaacson for Einstein, His Life and Universe. Ugh. He drones … on and on …. and on … he’s a ball of fire, that one. I only use him as a trainer to feel better about myself by comparison. No one does it better, Walter!

Joan Allen is back. If I had to venture a guess, she’s not involved in the massive Brooke-Bracco steriod scam. Maybe she should be. She’s like a praying mantis. That dress, though. You know, it’s an important dress, I think, so I’ve decided to give it a title: Maybe The Big Valley. Or The Valley of the Shadow of Nothing. Or Turns out, V is for Void, not Vendetta. This is all just spitballing, really. You know, I’ll have a teensy pow-wow with my editor and get back to you on that.

Now there’s a montage from all those Bourne movies. Because — did you know they came from books??? Well, quiver me quillies!! I am learning many things. Thank you, TV!

Oh, here’s Mary Higgins Clark. I read one of her books once. There was a portrait of a woman and a psychotic husband and snow, lots of snow. That’s all I remember and that’s fine with me.

Award for Best Mystery/Thriller.

Annnnd … the winner is: Oh, look, it’s my CPA, Laura Lippman for What the Dead Know. Still, that’s no excuse for not getting my taxes done on time. Thanks, Lippman.

Look. Now it’s Sarah Ferguson and that wanker-chef, Rocco DeSpirito. I hates him so much.

Best Cook Book. Okay. Pay attention to this one, my bunnies, so when I come over for din-din, you can make me something yummy.

Annnnnd …. the winner is: Oh, my dog groomer, Ethan Becker, for The Joy of Cooking, 75th edition. Now, please! Someone help him to the stage! Can’t you all tell he’s 157 years old? God bless ‘im! Look at you go, Beckie! You should call your next book The Joy of Walking. Oh, and, Beckie? Yeaah …. uh, this is awkward, but you know my new Labradoodle, Mr. Ripley? Yeah, uhm, he didn’t really seem to like that papier mache codpiece you made for him …. he ate it and barfed it up all over my Persian area rug. It was nice that you painted your portrait on it and all, but let’s just keep to the bathing next time, okay?

And last but not least, oh, no, not at all:

Award for BOOK OF THE YEAR!!

And …. the winner is: That Prolific Lesbian Romance author Nora Roberts for Angel Falls!!

Wow. The Secret got ROBBED, man!!

What are you still doing here? That’s the end. Now go read a book.

ME: So I’m gonna be impossible and emotionally volatile this weekend.
HIM: Okay.

….. forearmed.

Twelve firefighters trapped atop a ridge off Santiago Canyon Road in Orange County after flames jumped the road. The blaze roared up the hillside and prompted the crew members to deploy their fire shelters. They were surrounded by burning brush, but they made it out alive. “We just remained calm, everyone did,” one firefighter said after he was checked out by paramedics. All of the firefighters were treated at the scene and did not want to go to the hospital.

Once the flames passed over, they all just got back into the fray. I cannot even imagine. It gives me chills.

Just …. heroes.

Okay. Please SHUT UP, homeowners in Ramona. Everywhere you looked yesterday, one of you was on TV, bitching about those “idiots” in the police and National Guard not allowing you to go back to your (still-standing!) homes. Dudes, there were downed electrical wires! There was no power! There was no water! How do so many of you not GET that?? Your homes were not safe to inhabit yet and these men you denounce as idiots have been working their asses off — literally for days straight, frequently with no rest — for YOU. To protect your lives. Your homes. And you have the gall to stand in front of a camera and, in an appalling display of ingratitude, blast them as morons. I was gobsmacked. I was ashamed. SHUT UP!! When your community was almost entirely decimated by fire and most of your neighbors lost everything but their lives, how dare you behave this way? I get that you are obviously stressed by what you’ve been through, but others have LOST their homes. Others have LOST their lives. Before you shove your big fleshy face into a camera, can you stop to consider everything you still have thanks, in large part, to the heroic efforts of the people you denounce?

Gratitude, man. Gratitude.

Here is a link to The Salvation Army, for anyone who’d like to donate online.

Click the link and scroll down to where it says “Donate Online.”

That will take you to the donation page where it gives you a choice about where you want your money to go: Where most needed, San Diego County, Los Angeles County.

Please consider donating. People all over these counties are now starting over from nothing.

Thanks, everyone.

Because someone emailed me asking how close we were to the fires. Okay. I’ll walk you through the map, if you want. Maybe this will give you some frame of reference for any of the city names you’ve heard thrown around on the news. (I had to crop it to fit the frame here, but it’s got the pertinent areas on it.)

— See where it says San Diego and Downtown San Diego? We live right in between those 2 labels, basically. So unless our canyon catches on fire, we’re not in any fire danger.

— Follow me north from there now. There are fires burning in or near the areas of Fairbanks Ranch, Rancho Santa Fe — both extreeeemely wealthy neighborhoods — and most of those north coastal towns are under mandatory evacuations, from Del Mar to Carlsbad. Officials were concerned about the fire jumping the I-5, the main north/south artery there, which would be unprecedented. And almost unfathomable. That hasn’t happened, thank God.

Confused yet?

— Okay. Now move your eyes east of there to Rancho Bernardo and Ramona — both hit terribly hard. (For those of you who watched Katie Couric on the news tonight, she was broadcasting from Escondido — north from where you are now and smack dab in the middle of the map.)

— Now let’s go south back to San Diego. (Just consider this eyeball aerobics. It’s good for you. I mean, probably.) From San Diego, move slightly southeast to Rancho San Diego and Jamul. Fires raging all around that area.

— To give you an idea of distances, the private school were I taught performing arts a few years ago is in Solana Beach, just above Del Mar. That’s 20 miles away from me.

— My brother and wife and The Banshee north up the I-5 in Encinitas, oh, 25 miles away. My mom and dad live east in El Cajon, about 10 miles from me. Sister lives in Orange County, not on this map, but with its own issues right now.

— Oh, and last thing. See that yellow triangle at the very northwest corner of the map? Again, I had to crop this map, but that designates the start of the Camp Pendleton Marine Base. There’s now a fire burning up there.

— Just picture the fires basically forming an arc, a backwards ‘C’, facing the ocean, starting north and running south. That’s my best description of what’s going on here.

Uhm, don’t know if this served any real purpose for any of you, but there it is!

“And these people with the fires and the floods and everything, they overbuild, they put nature to the test and they get what’s coming to them. That’s what I say.”

Later, he said, “And if you’re in tune with it (nature) like the Indians, the Hopis, especially, the balance of life, the balance, the harmony of nature, if you understand that, you don’t overbuild. You don’t do all this moron stuff.”

Thank you, Mr. Carlin. Another celebrity making it all better.

Asswipe.

The whole scene at our stadium, the way it’s functioning, the images I see — it makes me feel kinda proud. There’s day care and grief counselors. There are massages and yoga classes. There’s free wi-fi and a place to recharge your cell phone. There’s acupuncture and organized games for the kids. There are insurance agents to start the rebuilding process. And there are literally piles and piles and piles of supplies. Even the national media here — let’s see, we have Katie and Matt and Al and Charlie Gibson — have commented on how well organized it all is and how impressed they were.

Katie Couric, though, did turn into Quotie McGee down there at the stadium, what with her Dickens and her Yeats. Which was nice, I thought, because nothing was brightening the somber faces of all those kiddos crowded ’round her until she started quoting from The Second Coming. Katie Couric — helping the hurting with a big ol’ dose of smartypantsitis! Thank you, Katie!

Get ready for some super cruppy cell phone photos.

This morning, about 9 a.m. we stuffed all our extra 5-lb. bags of coffee and all our extra boxes of tea into the back of our car and headed out to the stadium.

And, wait, before I really get to that, I have to mention something else.

I’ve been on the phone a lot more than I normally am, talking to concerned relatives who don’t live in the area. They’ve all heard about the crowd of people at the stadium and they say, “Oh, man. It’s just like Katrina!!” And this IS a disaster, no DOUBT, but let’s not add to the problem by over-catastrophizing. Which is not a word, probably, but it is now. You get my drift. It’s catastrophic enough without drifting into that dimension, that hyperbole.

And I really have to say — it’s not like Katrina. After seeing the stadium firsthand, it’s not like that. It is not CHAOS. Actually, apart from the sound of bands playing — yes, bands — and radios playing and dogs barking, the stadium is rather quiet. People are subdued, not surprisingly, and well-behaved. One major difference from the Superdome: The stadium has power. People evacuated with time to pack belongings. They have things with them. Not everything, of course, but essential things: clothes and water and blankets and pets and cars and motorhomes and each other. There are portapotties all OVER that parking lot. So there are not sanitation issues. There may be lines to use them, but there are working facilities. The Red Cross is there. Police are there. Army Reserves are there. The National freakin’ Guard is there. There are — they say — almost as many volunteers as evacuees. And right now, there are about 15,000 evacuees at the stadium alone. It is hot here, really hot for this time of year, and the air stinks; it’s hard to breathe; people have lost homes or are waiting to hear if they lost their home; there is MAJOR emotional trauma all over this county, but there is not mayhem at any evacuation center and definitely not at the stadium. This is HUGE. A huge psychological/emotional difference — I think — from what happened at the Superdome.

That being said, uhm, when we arrived at the stadium — maybe they coulda had separate lines for the cars? You know, one for donations and one for evacuees? Just a thought. We ended up in a HUGE line of cars that basically encircled the entire stadium, a line that just blended everyone together. One lady in her SUV drove up alongside us with her three kids stuffed in back. “Can I go ahead of you? I’m evacuating and I’ve got my kids!” So that wasn’t good. There needed to be separate lines. Maybe they’ve fixed that now. I hope. We waited in line over an hour to make our little donation. Which isn’t the end of the world, obviously, but the line situation could have been better. Oh, on that point, they just said on the news: No more donations at the stadium. We are overrun. And the wait in line is up to 2 hours. So ours was nothin’.

But all that just left me time to snap some cruppy cell phone photos. Extra cruppy, actually, because the air is so smoky and hazy and disgusting.

Typical tent/canopy arrangement. These were everywhere.

I’m not generally a huge fan of Wal-Mart, but today changed my mind a bit. While we were sitting in our line, I was able to count — just at that moment in time — 19 Wal-Mart semitrucks on the scene, loaded with supplies. I could hear Wal-Mart dudes through my open window, talking to each other and pointing. “Yeah, that entire truck has water. That one has pillows and blankets. This one has diapers and baby food.” Stuff like that. It got me all teary-eyed. Here’s to you, Wal-Mart! You were there. You were there in force. Thank you.

Father and daughter and Fido, coming from the supply tent with blankets.

Here’s the view from our spot in line. See that black truck turning towards us? Look past that, you’ll see even more of our line of cars. Notice how the air at the horizon is the same color as the asphalt. This is looking north towards the fires. Oh, and during our wait, we saw a couple homeless people (they most likely came from the river’s edge right next to the stadium) ambling past us, their arms full of free stuff from the supply tent. I could feel my inner Shaniqua rising. Guess they helped themselves. Bastards.

Finally! Our destination in sight! The donation center! National Guardsmen (and women) were everywhere. I was all choked-up and tongue-tied. “Yes, sir.” “No, sir.” “Yes, ma’am.” The Guardsmen found out what we were donating. “You guys brought coffee?? That is so COOL!!” Then one teeny Asian chick — a volunteer — came up to our car and said, “What are you donating?” “Uhm, we have, like, 50 pounds of coffee and some tea and sweeteners. Coffee filters. Cups if you need them, too.” “So the coffee is, like, brewed, then? In, like, cups?”

I’m sorry. I just stared at her for a second. No, Precious, I didn’t just make a run to Krispy Kreme.

“Ah, no. It’s ground. In bags. So you guys can brew it for the evacuees.” “Oh. Uhm. Okaay.” She looked at me like I was a weirdo. I felt like a total weirdo. But the Guardsmen made it all better — swarming happily around the bags of coffee. Thanks, you guys! For everything!