Wishing you a warm winter solstice on the longest night of the year.
Many blessings and much love.
The Andy Cohen Diaries: A Deep Look at a Shallow Year may be the laziest book I’ve ever read. Once, I kinda liked Andy Cohen the way you like your annoying gay cousin. After drudging through an absurdly tedious 352 pages of narcissistic drivel, now I know that I imbued more credit to Cohen than he rightfully deserves (though my expectations weren’t high for this book). Cohen meagerly attempts Warholian observation, but the total lack of insight makes his diary read like a glorified to-do list. A better title might have been The Andy Cohen Diaries: A Year in the Life of a Shallow Queen. Cohen name drops to the point of disorientation failing to provide the reader with even a last name or crumb of context. Half the time I’m like who the fuck are you talking about, but I never bother to dig very deeply because it’s not even like there’s a morsel of noteworthy gossip to geek out on. Cohen adopted a dog, Wacha, and like many first-time dog owners is obsessed with his canine to the point of co-dependency. He had me considering dog adoption for a minute, but then I talked to this lovely woman who warned me she spent $12,000 on vet bills last year for her adopted golden lab. Poop in the house and a drain on the savings account, no thanks; I’ll keep my clean carpets and compound interest. Back to the scathing review. Is there a Razzie equivalent for shitty books? If so, I nominate The Andy Cohen Diaries for worst book of the year.
Caudalíe Divine Oil soothes my weather-worn skin and hair. Smell this mix of luxury oils first before you buy. Potent and intense, I love the fragrance, but not everyone will.
This is the End. I know I’m late to the party, but I rarely get to theater. When a movie makes me laugh out loud while alone in my apartment I know it’s funny. Campy and self-aware, even though it meandered, I still greatly enjoyed the motion picture This is the End. I will never look at Michael Cera or Channing Tatum the same way ever again.
Look, I’m not trying to bore you with some belabored analysis of the SOA finale. I know some of you (dudes) probably loved, loved, loved it. But I can’t put it to bed without making a point about Kurt Sutter’s repressed spousal rage. Did you notice his perverse enthusiasm for showing his wife in a body bag? Get that lingering tight shot of them zipping up the morgue sack over her purple lips and gray skin. The motivations behind writing the gruesome gang rape from earlier in the series could be easily chalked up to awards-baiting, and Katey did deserve recognition for her work in that season of SOA. Such justifications don’t apply here. It doesn’t take much in the way of acting to play dead. Sutter presented numerous images of his lifeless wife; truly, gratuitously dead Gemma served up ten different ways.
I know the chia rage has been going on for a few years now, but I never really understood the fuss (and I’m skeptical of food trends – enough with the kale). I’m not trying to spend $4 a bottle for those fancy chia drinks at Whole Foods. On a whim, I bought a bag of chia seeds with thoughts of adding them to my muffin mix. My first attempt at baking with chia wasn’t that successful. I’ve since learned to soak the seeds first, so the seeds don’t soak up your liquid. What I’ve enjoyed most is adding the seeds to my hot tea in the morning and at night. The seeds absorb water and take on a tapioca-type consistency. It’s tea + texture = fun. In addition to the much-touted health benefits and impressive nutritional profile of the seed, the gelatinous mucilage creates a sensation of satiety as well as cleaning the bowels. Known for sustaining energy, these little seeds do provide a notable lift. I’ve integrated the fad-food into my daily routine and must admit I’m better for it.
Girl please. That’s what I’m thinking too. We need to talk about that SOA series finale, but I’m going to give you a day or two to catch up, so I don’t spoil it for you. If that’s possible. Ugh.
Know what I love, but sometimes forget to stock in my own cleaning arsenal? Steel wool scouring pads, that’s what. It’s so basic, right? Yet how many of you employ this heavy artillery when needed? Thinking they are too abrasive and scratch surfaces? That hasn’t been my experience. I find they make light work of hard and gross chores. In the past couple of weeks, I’ve used these handy scrubbers for the following purposes:
1) remove melted cheese from dishes;
2) clean the persistent baked on gunk from the flat top stove;
3) lift baked-on sauce from porcelain bowls.
Use a soapy scouring pad until it gets gross or loses it’s suds. Then pitch it. They are the ideal cleaning product for commitment-phobes.