Heather Anne

Before Michael Jackson was a punchline, he was my hero. When I was a kid I loved him so much I had that red jacket—you know the one—and a single silver glove. By the time I was six-years-old it was obvious that my great talent was going to be video games, not rhythm or vocals. But my mom and dad let me dance to the Thriller record for hours and hours anyway, singing about how Billie Jean was not my lover. (She's just a girl who thinks that I am the one.) (But the kid is not my son.)

Sometimes I would dance in the yard, twirling around in my sharp red jacket with the metallic shoulders. My across-the-road neighbor, Ivy, would walk to the end of her yard, toes touching the edge of the street, and shout, "Heather! Tell your mom if you can come over!" I'd roll my eyes and say, "It's ASK, Ivy! ASK your mom if you can come over. And I don't want to come over. You never help me pick up my toys when you come to my house, and I always have to clean up when I come to your house. Besides, can't you see I'm dancing? Now, beat it! Just beat it!"

The only Michael Jackson rule in my house when I was a kid was that I couldn't listen to the actual song of Thriller before bed because it creeped me out and I couldn't sleep. Every time something new and terrible is allegedly uncovered about Michael Jackson, or every time someone makes a joke about him, it breaks my heart a little.

Saturday I was in the living room putting new stickers on my Guitar Hero guitar when Amy blew my mind. Out of the clear sky she cranked up Thriller and started doing the dance. The whole dance. The actual dance.

"Amy," I said, "what... what are you doing?"

"Playing," she said.

I watched her roar-to-the-right and roar-to-the-left, my very soul filling with a sense of awe and wonder it has scarcely known. "Yeah, you're playing," I said. "With zombie-shaped fire!"

At first there was a woman barking out instructions at Amy on a video. "Right-left-right-left. Booty bounce! Booty Bounce!" But soon the coach was replaced by me: "Shake-it-and-a-uppa. And-a-shake-it-and-a-uppa!"

Amy is learning the dance for a project for school, but the place she learned it from is called Thrill the World and their goal is for all the people in the world to do The Thriller dance at the same time on the same day: October 25th, 2008. Apparently, on October 27, 2007, 1,722 people, in 52 cities, on 5 continents, danced Thriller at exactly the same time!

Amy hasn't suggested we Thrill the World yet, but I'll bet she will. And even though I can't dance, I'll say yes. I love my young Michael Jackson.

And unlike Ivy, Amy always cleans up my toys.

Posted by Heather Anne at 10:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (16)

My latest post is up at The Collective.

"So if I'm going to tell you what you should hate, I have to tell what you should fear. Omniscience, Omnipresence, and Omnipotence are the abilities to know everything, be everywhere, and do anything. God encompasses all those things, and that's okay; he's a benevolent sort. But what if a man was all three Os. You should fear that man in the deepest places of your soul. He's everywhere; he knows everything; he causes things to happen. You should hate him: he's Ryan Seacrest."

Seacrest, Out(side the Law).

Posted by Heather Anne at 07:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (6)

DAY ONE

8:45 a.m.: Open up blank Firefox tabs to get browser set up for the day. Left to right: Google Reader, Gmail, Washington Post. Think of opening a fourth tab for TwoP Forums. Decide to get work done instead of debating pros and cons of a Bette/Tina reconciliation on The L Word.

8:46 a.m. Feel conflicted about Marlee Matlin because I like her, but not when she was keeping Donna and Josh apart on West Wing, and not when she's keeping Bette and Tina apart on The L Word. Decide for the hundredth time to stop watching poorly-written television.

8:47 a.m. Notice bookmark button for heatherannehogan.com. Remember I haven't blogged in weeks. Make note to talk to Abigail about blog revitalization plan as first order of Monday business.

11:00 a.m.: Wonder why Abigail hasn't logged onto G-chat. Maybe she still has death cold and is sleeping in.

12:30 p.m.: Am pissed at Abigail for letting my blog die.

1:00 p.m.: Don't understand why it is so quiet. No Kat. No Jennie. No updates to Google Reader. The Internet must be broken.

1:05 p.m. Remember it is MLK, and I am the only one of my friends who has to work. During self-imposed moment of silence for Dr. King, I remember there is no new Gossip Girl this week, which means no recap from Jacob. Contemplate violence. Redo moment of silence.

5:26 p.m. Stick Post-It note to computer monitor: Talk to Abigail tomorrow about resurrecting blog.

6:40 p.m. Check snail mail at home. No new disc of Coupling . Curse Blockbuster. Curse Postal Service. Remember, again, that it is MLK. Curse National Holidays.

7:00 p.m. Amy has cooked spaghetti and the new DSL router has come from AT&T. Internet will be restored to my house on the morrow. Watch Ocean's 13 with best friend while eating best meal. We both note that George Clooney looks better in a tux than any man alive. Also note that Brad Pitt is sexy in Ocean's movies, but still a whore for leaving Jennifer Aniston.

9:00 p.m. Tell Amy I need to blog. We decide to watch the Friends Pilot instead. Laugh at Joey's hair and boots. Decide Phoebe was always our favorite character. Note how pretty Rachel Green was, even then, before she had iconic hair. Hate on Brad Pitt some more.

9:26 p.m. Decide to start Crime and Punishment.

9:28 p.m. Run bubble bath and read Gossip Girl.

11:00 p.m. Fall asleep reading Gossip Girl. Dream that Blair and Serena fall in love, but Marlee Matlin breaks them up.

DAY TWO:

8:45 a.m.: Open up blank Firefox. Think, again, of adding fourth tab to the mix for TwoP Forums. Decide to read blogs instead of wanking about L Word.

8:50 a.m. Read on No Pasa Nada that Heather B. is watching The L Word. Engage in a morning-long e-mail exchange about show with Heather. Determine that Jodi and Bette are doomed, and that Helena is very pretty.

10:00 a.m. Think about blogging. Decide to do work instead.

10:05 a.m. Catch up on New York Magazine's Daily Intelligencer blog.

12:00 p.m. Decide to skip lunch to blog.

12:05 p.m. Call friend to meet me at Mexican restaurant.

2:30 p.m. Tear apart desk looking for Post-It note that has technical support number for AT&T. Am going to need it tonight to install new DSL router. Come across note to ask Abigail about resurrecting my blog.

4:38 p.m. Mention to Abigail that this is our first week without TWoP Jacob. Abigail says, "I still have him." I say, "I'm sorry. You have him?" Abigail chat giggles (Hehe.) I decide she's lying. Don't chat her for 11 minutes just in case I am mistaken.

7:00 p.m. Start installing DSL router.

9:00 p.m. Curse and swear and kick things. I look all around for that damn Post-It note with the tech help phone number. I can't find it anywhere, but I remember I was supposed to talk to Abigail about my blog. Try to decide again if she's holding out on me about Jacob. Swear some more.

9:02 p.m. Amy discovers the tech help phone number is on the DSL packing slip.

9:03 p.m. Call AT&T tech help. Receive no help. Hang up.

9:04 p.m. Call AT&T Tech help again. The woman who answers does the thing the woman I just spoke to said she couldn't do.

10:00 p.m. Send out text message: "DSL is my bitch, yo." Decide to take a bubble bath and start Crime and Punishment.

10:05 p.m. In bed with my stuffed dog Ollie, reading Gossip Girl.

11:16 p.m. Make mental note to BLOG TOMORROW.

DAY THREE

9:30 a.m. Doctor's appointment. Free USA Today is available at doctor's office. Feel superior for getting my news from Washington Post and New York Times but read USA Today anyway. No telling what kind of germs are on the stale doctor's office magazines.

9:42 a.m. Notice a Highlights magazine on the table. Have the urge to read Goofus and Gallant. Ask receptionist for a pair of latex gloves, in manner of Jack Nicholson in As Good as it Gets.

9:45 a.m. Read Highlights with latex gloves so as not to catch germs.

10:00 a.m. Weigh in at doctor. Really decide to lose holiday ten pounds.

10:30 a.m. Have some bacon and eggs for a late breakfast, but will have oatmeal tomorrow. Swear.

12:30 p.m. My office is in code red panic mode when I arrive.

3:45 p.m. Chat Abigail about blog. End up discussing whether or not being a pilot makes a person cocky or hot. Abigail says hot. I say cocky. Jennie says both. Whatever.

5:26 p.m. Make a note in Outlook to blog tomorrow, no matter what.

6:30 p.m. Check mailbox at home. Still no Coupling. Dammit!

6:40 p.m. Log into Blockbuster queue. It's empty. Realize I probably shouldn't have deleted all those "Your queue needs attention" emails from Blockbuster. Put Coupling back in. Send email to self: Write on your blog, you lazy son-of-a-bitch.

6:41 p.m. Delete email. Positive self-talk is the way forward, not self-loathing emails.

7:00 p.m. Little League practice. Favorite player tells me she broke up with her boyfriend because I told her to. She tells me he cried. I tell her he's eleven; he'll get over it. Amy glares at me.

10:07 p.m. Fall asleep blogging. Lose all data.

DAY FOUR

8:30 a.m. Show up at the office with donuts. Am hero.

9:00 a.m. Peruse Google Reader. Wish there were a hundred LOL Cats per day.

9:30 a.m. Try to blog. Only thing I can come up with is how PBS' Masterpiece Theater is airing The Complete Jane Austen on Sunday nights. Decide not to write about it because this week is Mansfield Park and the protagonist of Fannie Price is everything Elizabeth Bennet is not. Bleh.

12:15 p.m. Chat Abigail and tell her we need a blog plan STAT. She agrees.

12:16 p.m. Read the 2008 Presidential candidate profiles on The Onion. Bite down on knuckles to keep from laughing so hard that I get fired. Email link to dad.

12:40 p.m. Get into political debate with someone on television forum. Get instructed by moderator to take it off-board. Am ashamed. I never break forum rules. Lash myself with blue pen.

12:42 p.m. Send flirty email to office supply guy. Get new box of blue pens for free.

1:30 p.m.Try to blog.

1:36 p.m. Edit Gossip Girl entry on Wikipedia because it sounds like it was written by a drunk Jenny Humphry.

2:30 p.m. Try to blog.

2:30:07 p.m. Fail.

2:30:15 p.m. Wipe tears from eyes. Give up dream of ever being published.

3:15 p.m. Change Firefox skin to AeroFox. New theme. New me. Me without the dream of being a writer. The new theme is shocking black, like my future.

4:43 p.m. Chat from Abigail: Now we need to talk about how to save our blogs. I tell her I have to go to a little league game, which I do. I don't have the heart to tell her my blog is doomed.

5:50 p.m. Little league game.

6:45 p.m. Console little leaguers on another loss. Tell them there is no practice tomorrow night. They interrogate me as to why, and one of the parents suggests I have a date. The girls "oooooh" at me. I let them think it's true.

7:00 p.m. Amy and I eat Chinese and talk about how we're going to use The GW 600 for plane tickets out of the country. Amy asks if I wrote anything today. I tell her no. She smiles encouragingly and says she saved the local newspapers so she can show me I'm a better writer than an old old basketball nemesis who writes for the sports section. I decide maybe my blog isn't a total loss afterall. My best friend and sister will still read it.

10:15 p.m. Fall asleep reading Writer's Digest. Have decided to implement a new plan: get up an hour early to blog.

DAY FIVE

5:45 a.m.: Alarm goes off.

7:15 a.m. Wake up and get out of bed.

11:00 a.m. Decide to write something, anything, for my blog.

11:30 a.m. Post.

Posted by Heather Anne at 11:28 AM | Permalink | Comments (21)

Little-Leaguer: Coach Heather, do you think I can make this shot from way back here at the three-point line?

Coach Heather: Kid, I'll bet you five bucks you can't make that shot.

Coach Amy: Heather! Don't do that!

Coach Heather: What, teach the kids to gamble?

Coach Amy: Well, yeah, but mostly I was thinking that is terrible shot selection for an eleven-year-old.

---

Today on The Collective, Jennie tells you about The Loins of Ohio.

Posted by Heather Anne at 09:42 AM | Permalink | Comments (8)

Last night I dreamed I was making out with Charles Guiteau in—get this—a train station. You know: the guy who assassinated President Garfield in the place where he assassinated President Garfield. The dream was sick on so many levels that I got out of bed to rebrush my teeth when I woke up, spitting double what is necessary for a regular brushing. Before I went back to bed I took my copy of Sarah Vowell’s Assassination Vacation out of my bedroom and put it in the freezer.

I’m not sure if I should blame Assassination Vacation for making me care even more deeply about the details of history than I usually do, or my gym for making me watch Fox News while I’m on the treadmill, or Papa John’s for delivering pizza so late into the night, but my sleep has been fitful over the last several weeks. And by fitful, I mean that I have dream-snogged more than my fair share of historical figures this year.

I would like to say I am so excited about election season (I am) and care so deeply about democracy (I do) that I am just expressing my love (physically) in my dreams. But I’m not making out with the John Hancocks or Robert Livingstons of the past. No, I’m getting busy with historical deviants like Guiteau.

In her book, Sarah Vowell mentions that before becoming an assassin, Charles Guiteau was a member of the Oneida cult in upstate New York. The Oneidians were very Brave New World in the way they lived and loved and, er, slept. Which is to say that Guiteau could’ve shagged any of the women in the community, so long as any of the women would have shagged him. But none of them would. Love was free in Oneida, but Guiteau was apparently so annoying he couldn’t even buy it.

Yet I kissed him—with tongue—in a train station!

The night before the Guiteau dream, I dreamed that I was raining down havoc on the deck of a ship docked just off the coast of Massachusetts. With one hand I was giving the finger to the sea—to King George, really—and with the other hand I was reaching up to high-five Thomas Jefferson. “Taxation without representation, my ass!” I shouted. Thomas Jefferson gave me the stink-eye to let me know that it’s unbecoming for a woman to swear, and pulled his hand away before I could slap it.

I smiled sheepishly at Jefferson. “In other words,” I said, “Whenever any form of government becomes destructive, it is the right of the people to alter or abolish it.”

Jefferson pulled his Moleskine from inside his coat and jotted down my words. He nodded his approval as he reread them to himself. “Well said, Miss Hogan.”

“Thanks, TJ,” I replied, hitching up my petticoat to get better leverage on the crates I was shifting around on deck.

Jefferson sighed a big sigh that made me think he’d thrown his back out again. “I thought I asked you to stop calling me TJ.”

I shook my head. “Sorry.”

Jefferson smiled, meaning it was okay. Then he said, “Here, help me out with this.” We heaved a huge crate up between the two of us and tossed it over the side of the ship. The crate splashed into Boston Harbor, and tea, tea spilled everywhere. I grinned and Jefferson grinned. I held up my hand and, this time, he high-fived me.

It feels like I’m going to get an Abraham Lincoln dream this week, too. Before I go to bed tonight, I’ll need to repeat it until it’s sure: Don’t make out with Lincoln. Don’t make out with Lincoln. Don’t make out with Lincoln.

Also, maybe, don’t make out with Booth.

Even though, according to Vowell, John Wilkes Booth was “really super cute.”

---

Toady on The Collective, Abigail extols the merits of Procrastination. Capital "P."

Posted by Heather Anne at 02:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

This week's theme on The Collective: Why Everyone Should Like [fill in the blank.] I have, quite unsurprisingly, filled in the blank with Batman.

Check it out here.

Posted by Heather Anne at 09:11 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

My Internet has been down at home for SIX DAYS, Team Blog. Six Days! Blah blah blah, I ended up changing service providers and it's not like I've been without entertainment or anything. a) I started the BBC show called Coupling on DVD. People always say it's the British Friends, and I get that, but it's funny in a different way than Friends and also kind of dirty. b) It snowed. Enough snow, in fact, for Amy and I to spend hours sledding. It's supposed to snow more this weekend. c) Little League basketball. We have three games left, and then my little girls will be all grown up and too old to play for an elementary school. This year some of them have boyfriends and I spent the whole second quarter of our last game telling one of my girls that was in foul trouble (and therefore on the bench) why she should break up with her boyfriend. (He's mean to her friends.) d) The Collective. This week we did book reviews. Abigail wrote about The Playboy Mansion. Kat wrote about her lover, Fitzgerald. Jennie wrote about alcohol and why you shouldn't run with scissors under the influence of it. Today, you can write your own book review. Do it! Next week we're writing: Why You Should Love [fill in the blank]. Except, um, we'll actually be filling in the blank.

"Blank" is one of those words you can say over and over really fast and it loses all meaning. Like blog.

Happy weekend.

Edited to add: I really hated to do it, but I had to put comments on moderation. I am getting spammed out the wazoo and my new Internet at home won't be up and running until Monday. I'd hate to open my email Movable Type and have a hundred thousand spams. I would have to kill a person. Or bot. (If you've commented before, you should be on the Trusted Commenter List, and your comment will be posted right away.)

Posted by Heather Anne at 02:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (11)

I am the nicest person in the wide world except when people call and try to sell me things. This happens to me all the time at work, and I rarely lose my Southern manners, but I DON'T NEED ANY TONER. I ALREADY HAVE HEALTH INSURANCE. I READ ALL MY MAGAZINES ONLINE. FOR THE LOVE OF MERLIN TAKE ME OFF YOUR LIST. Please. A few weeks ago, I was about to politely hang up on an office supply guy (because hello? I use the Internets to buy office supplies) when he said, "Let me ask you something, how important to you is customer service?" I realized just then that I was not talking to a nameless, faceless telemarketer. No, I was talking to Jim Halpert. Jim Halpert of Dunder-Mifflin, who was just trying to make a living and save up enough money to buy Pam Beasley an engagement ring. My Jim Halpert was called Jeremy and I ordered all of my office's beginning-of-the-year supplies from him.

I bought Geico insurance because of that Gecko. And I only bought Nike trainers for ten years after that If You Let Me Play Sports commercial.

I own this shirt because it's true:

I won't feel so ashamed if you'll tell me that advertising also helps you decide. I doubly won't be ashamed if you can link to the commercial on YouTube.

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This week on The Collective, we're reviewing the last books we read. My day is today, and I am reviewing Gossip Girl. (Because that's not nearly as embarrassing as buying car insurance from a lizard.)

Posted by Heather Anne at 07:39 AM | Permalink | Comments (10)

True Story:

(Posted with permission.)

Heather Anne,

Over the holidays I asked my girlfriend to marry me, as I said I wanted to. And she said yes, as you predicted she would. I’ll spare you the details, as I know engagement stories are only interesting to the two parties involved. I did, however, want to take a moment to let you know that your advice worked. My fiancé’s parents were tough nuts to crack, even though I tried all of your conversation suggestions. I even memorized those questions you emailed me. On our third day with her family I was beginning to lose hope. After dinner that night her entire family and I were in the living room enjoying wine and stories, and that is when I decided to put your contingency plan into action. I moved from my comfortable position on the couch and sat on the floor near their dog. Then--and I would have never allowed this had you not promised it would work--I let my fiancé’s parents’ Great Dane lick me full on the face. He slobbered all over me and my brand new cashmere sweater. I smiled and pretended to like it. Immediately the family’s mood toward me shifted, and the next morning I asked her father for her hand in marriage. He said yes. I am so glad that you returned to blogging, and that you are gracious enough to share your wisdom with folks like me. You are invited to the wedding, of course.

Sincerely,

(Someone smart enough to listen to me)

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Today on The Collective, you tell why you're an asshole.

Posted by Heather Anne at 11:10 AM | Permalink | Comments (12)

Y'all You guys, I have not been sleeping.

I know, I know, didn't Maggie Mason write a book so you don't have to listen to me talk about how I can't sleep, or what I had for lunch. Yes, she did. But I haven't read it because did you know there are, like, 12 Gossip Girl books? Twelve. (Poorly-written) Gossip. Girl. Books. (Last night was the season finale of Gossip Girl, and Abigail and I have unearthed so much Upper East Side-y goodness on the Inernets this morning that we may both get fired from our jobs. Whatever, though. After a whole season of watching and dissecting Gossip Girl, I'm pretty sure we can both get jobs as Trophy Wives.)

I haven't been sleeping for various reasons ranging from specific to vague. Like, specifically, I have been wigged out about the girl that was murdered on that hiking trail in north Georgia, so very near my house. And specifically, I have been following the primary elections with invested tenacity, and interactive blue and red maps and political pundits and the electoral college and people quoting the Constitution, it gets me hot excited about democracy. Vaguely, I'm restless.

Last night, though, I did sleep, and I slept so hard that I dozed through a thunderstorm and a power outage and also I had this dream that I was playing basketball for The University of Tennessee Lady Volunteers (this is a recurring dream), and even though I was a second-stringer, I was still training with the best team in the country (hush your mouth, Geo), and Pat Summitt loved me and Knoxville loved me, but then Pat Summitt (my hero of heroes) said to me as I sat on the bench, proudly, so proudly, in my orange and white that I had to choose between my dreams: was I going to be a basketball hero or was I going to work really hard and learn to write? My high school basketball coach posed the same question to me in a dream last week, and I punched his balls off. But I couldn't do that to Pat Summitt, because she's my childhood hero, and, well, she doesn't have balls. J.K. Rowling, she appeared in my dream, and I knew a had to choose. Books or basketball. Books or basketball. She must decide, she must decide, even though I made them up she must decide!

Fortunately, Margaret woke me because she's more terrified of thunder than I am of bears, and I didn't have to pick between Pat Summitt and J.K. Rowling. I'll be afraid to sleep tonight, because if I dream that dream again, I will surely wake up in two pieces, having been rent in twain by an impossible decision. Sophie will lose her fame and it will become known as Heather's Choice, and... I think not sleeping is giving me delusions of grandeur. I wonder where I can trade those in for visions of sugarplums.

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Today on The Collective, Jennie tells you why she hates wonder, and why that makes her an asshole.

Posted by Heather Anne at 10:06 AM | Permalink | Comments (15)

Some months ago Abigail or Kat or Jennie said, "You guys, we should start a group blog. We'll post lists and reviews of movies and books and television shows. It will be awesome." And I looked around like, are they talking to me? Did I just get invited to the cool kids table? Better sit down before they retract the offer or kick my ass. There was no talk about how on Wednesdays we wear pink and how once a week we can wear jeans. No, it was all CSS and Photoshop and Google Docs and I just sat there smiling, hoping they wouldn't figure out they meant to invite an entirely different fourth.

The blog is called The Collective. We each post on the same topic on different days of the week. (I know that sounds confusing, but Abigail and Kat color-coded it into a chart for Jennie and me.) This week's topic is: Ways I'm an Asshole. I suggested we all list ten things, but no one except me could come up with ten. So we settled for five.

I've never been a cool kid before. Um, give me your lunch money.

No? Okay, go read the new blog. Please.

Posted by Heather Anne at 09:35 AM | Permalink | Comments (12)

I bought some president flash cards over the weekend, and have been resolutely working through them. I talk a lot of smack about Trivial Pursuit, and it feels like time to bone up.

In the bookstore trip that yielded the flash cards, I also bought the first Gossip Girl book. I read it in one sitting, and called my sister to say so, and she called back to tell me my Scottish accent is getting really good.

The new American Gladiators is just as awesome as the old American Gladiators, and I found myself texting like mad and shouting at the television during the premiere. Which: standard.

Tomorrow is the New Hampshire primary, and I am nervous as can be for Hillary Clinton. I’ll support Barack Obama if he wins the nomination, of course I will. But deep down, I’m a Hillary fan. (One of seven in my state, I’m sure.)

There is a fun blog project on the way.

Yesterday I had a conversation with Amy that went like this:

“He’s an asshole, and I never want to speak to him again.”

“So don’t speak to him. Write about him.”

“Why?”

“Because then he’ll be an asshole who’s paying money for your book.”

I don’t like assholes, but if they’re giving me money, I’ll tolerate them.

I miss The Office.

Posted by Heather Anne at 02:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (16)

When Margaret found Amy and I several years ago, a lot of people said a lot of reasons why she should not come to live with us. For starters she is a stray dog, a wild dog. She'll never do the things you tell her to do.

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She'll never learn to wear a leash.

And even if you get her to cooperate on a leash, once you take off the leash, she'll bolt.

Dogs like that will never give or receive affection.

Or do tricks.

Or be house broken.

Don't keep that stray dog, people said. She'll eat the cat.

People are so silly sometimes.

Posted by Heather Anne at 10:40 AM | Permalink | Comments (9)

Next Wednesday is the last episode of Gossip Girl for the season, which means the bleak cloud of the Writer's Strike has now enshrouded all of my television shows in it's dark, chilly mist. One-by-one my favorite characters and couples have been sniped, and what I am left with is real, flesh-and-blood people, the ones who have hugged and kissed and adored me for years and years and years.

Television is gone.

Me and my flesh-and-blood people? We have nothing left to talk about.

Posted by Heather Anne at 01:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (12)

Abigail and I do the legwork so your Blockbuster queue can stay full and your pizza delivery service can stay happy. You're welcome.

January

Arthur and the Invisibles

HH: Double meh.

Freedom Writers

HH: McDreamy is better with Amy Adams than Hilary Swank.

Miss Potter

AS: Knew my mom would like it too.

HH: Rene Zelweger, you deserve to be British. I love you.

Stomp the Yard

HH: Watch Bring it On instead. (Brr. It's cold in here.)

Catch and Release

HH: Caught the same disease as Elizabethtown. Bleh.

February

Because I Said So

AS: Keaton and Moore reprise all previous roles. But Rev. Camden!

HH: Why does the big screen waste Lauren Graham's talent so?

Music and Lyrics

AS: I forgot all about it until someone hummed the song.

HH: One wee slice above the average rom com.

Gray Matters

HH: Without Molly Shannon, this movie would bite hard.

March

Wild Hogs

HH: City Slickers on motorcycles, without that cute cow, Norman.

The Last Mimzy

HH: One of the one-too-many fantasy movies this year.

Blades of Glory

AS: Saw it for Fischer, Arnett, Pohler. Love them. Always.

HH: Not as many quotables as you'd hope from Will Ferrell.

Meet the Robinsons

HH: Disney really did re-win my heart this year.

April

Disturbia

AS: I even watched the Director's Commentary. Good times.

Hot Fuzz

AS: Ha! Great even though I wasn't the target audience.

May

The Waitress

AS: Blah blah blah pies.

HH: Fox Searchlight, you grope in the dark, poorly.

Lucky You

HH: Not really.

Spider-Man 3

HH: Phoned it in, the lot of them.

Georgia Rule

AS: Really did blow me away.

HH: Lohan, get your shit together. You could be so good.

Once

AS: Too much music, but at least the music was good.

HH: Engaging, endearing and Irish. Awesome!

Shrek the Third

HH: Should have stopped at two. (Like Pirates and Spider-Man.)

Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End

AS: I can admit that I loved this movie.

HH: Still not ready to talk about it.

June

Gracie

HH: Girls can play sports. Surprise!

Knocked Up

AS: Rudd and Mann need a spin off: Best Movie 2!

HH: Made me forgive Katherine Heigl for stealing Sandra Oh's Emmy.

Ocean's Thirteen

AS: Bad guys turn good turn gooder.

HH: I love these movies. I want to rob a casino.

Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer

HH: Better than the first, but still? Yawn.

Live Free or Die Hard

AS: John McClane had plans.

Ratatouille

AS: Grandmother dubbed it "far-fetched." Awesome!

HH: I LOVE RATS.

Evening

HH: The best thing about this movie was the poster.

July

Transformers

AS:Fell asleep, but the girl was hot.

HH: Schilbot, that girl was trashy.

License to Wed

AS: Painful jokes. Krasinski is so hot though.

HH: Robin Williams, I loved you in Aladdin. Do that again.

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

AS: Favorite Potter movie. Ron Weasley stole the show. Finally.

HH: Michael Goldenberg, thank you for giving Ron his balls back.

I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry

AS: Way less dumb than I expected.

HH: Adam Sandler, remember when you used to be funny?

No Reservations

AS: Aaron Eckhart is my boyfriend.

HH: Abigail Breslin and Catherine Zeta-Jones made me feel syrupy.

The Simpsons Movie

HH: I've never really understood the appeal of The Simpsons.

Hairspray

HH: Loved it. Sang along. Bought the soundtrack.

August

The Bourne Ultimatum

AS: Ultimate action trilogy. Get it? Ultimatum.. Ultimate!

HH: Could Abs choose between Bourne and Bond? I think not.

Hot Rod

AS: Saw it on an airplane. Still regret.

Becoming Jane

HH: Anne Hathaway, remember how scary you were in Brokeback Mountain?

The Nanny Diaries

HH: The Devil Wears Prada: Babysitter's Club Style.

September

Feast of Love

AS: Feast means more than 10 words.

October

August Rush

HH: The trailer to this movie was really good.

November

Bee Movie

HH: Watch Seinfeld on DVD instead.

Enchanted

AS: Disney is still best at everything.

HH: Disney for the win in 2007!

This Christmas

HH: Had one hell of a comeuppance scene. Merry Christmas!

December

The Golden Compass

HH: Good, but not great. LOTR spoiled us.

Atonement

AS: Maybe McAvoy will kiss me after he wins the prizes.

(HH: WHY DON'T LIMITED RELEASE MOVIES COME TO ME!)

Charlie Wilson's War

HH: Ah, Aaron Sorkin, I missed you.

National Treasure: Book of Secrets

HH: I love these movies, okay? Get off my back.

The Water Horse: Legend of the Deep

HH: Worth it just for the Scottish scenery. (And New Zealand.)

Best Movie of the Year

AS: I CAN'T PICK FAVORITES WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME!

HH: Ratatouille. (Duh.) Then: Meet the Robinsons. Then: Enchanted. Good work, Mickey.

Posted by Heather Anne at 09:27 AM | Permalink | Comments (8)

Stolen from Dean.

1. What did you do in 2007 that you'd never done before?
Buried my ghosts.

2. Did you keep your new years' resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I don’t make resolutions. I make grilled cheese sandwiches.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Um… not that I remember.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
Also not that I remember.

5. What countries did you visit?
Mexico, in spirit.

6. What would you like to have in 2008 that you lacked in 2007?
A hoverboard. (Which will also be my answer in 2009.)

7. What date from 2007 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
July 21, 2007 on account of the last Harry Potter book and all.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
I ran a lot of 5Ks and wrote a couple of pretty okay stories.

9. What was your biggest failure?
Getting lost every time I drove to visit my sister.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
I got the flu pretty good, and also on my birthday the worst stomach virus in the history of time.

11. What was the best thing you bought?
A plane ticket to Washington D.C.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
Brad Bird.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
I spent half the year in therapy so I don't have to be appalled and depressed about anyone’s behavior, because other people’s decisions? Not my responsibility. (That’ll be $6,000, please.)

14. Where did most of your money go?
Un-England. (And Regal Cinemas.)

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Thanksgiving.

16. What song will always remind you of 2007?
The Way I Am, by Ingrid Michaelson, from the Old Navy commercials.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
i. Happier or sadder? Unbelievably happier.
ii. Thinner or fatter? A wee bit thinner.
iii. Richer or poorer? A wee bit richer. (Must buy more burritos.)

18. What do you wish you'd done more of?
You know, I’m pretty happy with the way I spent my time this year.

19. What do you wish you'd done less of?
Do you mean “Do I wish I had someone to do my laundry?” Because: yes.

20. How will you be spending Christmas?
Spent it with my awesome family.

21. Did you fall in love in 2007?
Le coeur a ses raisons que la raison ne connait point.

22. How many one-night stands?
Hi, have we met? None.

23. What was your favorite TV program?
30 Rock, The Office, Ugly Betty, and Gossip Girl.

24. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
I don’t hate anyone, Questionnaire. Geez.

25. What was the best book you read?
The Partly Cloudy Patriot, by Sarah Vowell and Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, by My Hero.

26. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Stars: In Our Bedroom After the War. (Thanks, Kat!)

27. What did you want and get?
A lot of hugs.

28. What did you want and not get?
See question number six.

29. What was your favorite film of this year?
Ratatouille.

30. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I was twenty-nine, and I got really sick, and Abigail (who’d flown all the way in from LA) had to sit on my couch and watch The Real Housewives of Orange County while I puked and Amy organized my bookshelves and wiped my brow with a wet washcloth.

31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2007?
Chuck Taylors, duh.

32. What kept you sane?
There are three of you. You know who you are.

33. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Uh, J.K. Rowling. (And Tina Fey.)

35. Who did you miss?
Jenn on account of she moved 40 miles away, and how am I supposed to know when to get a haircut!

36. Who was the best new person you met?
Lyra Belacqua

37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2007.
Therapy? Pretty awesome. Fannie Mae Mint Meltaways? As good as you remember.

Posted by Heather Anne at 12:04 AM | Permalink | Comments (8)

Usually when I lose things (flat things) I find them inside the book I was reading when the (flat) thing(s) went missing. It's my way, because when I'm engaged in a story, I lose sight of other stuff. (Reality.) Despite my love of books, I am pretty (physically) irreverent with them. (I scar them.) I underline clever sentences. I dog ear pages. Also, I make notes. (Opinions.) (Facts.) (Arguments.) (Quotes.) But not just notes about the book; no, I also make notes about other things I've read (or heard) and want to remember. I jot reminders at the tops of pages. (Get milk and dog food!)

Inside the back cover of Sarah Vowell's Assassination Vacation, which I am reading at the moment, I wrote down some of Jacob's best lines from the most recent TWoP Gossip Girl recap. ("When Blair and Chuck made love, I made a big deal about it: once you start taking off clothes, if you're brave enough not to stop, you see the person for real. The film falls off the projector, and it stops being a story you tell yourself and starts being a story nobody tells at all.") ("The things that they give each other: the appearance, the burlesque of Christmas over the environmental issues interfering with real Christmas: this is how their relationship should work, 24/7/365.25: I will give you the fantasy that we can't really have. Because of the Palace, because of global warming, I will give you the fantasies we have in common.") ("Mostly I love how fiercely they love each other, where Serena can just sweetly rest her head on Blair's shoulder and wait for her to finish her demonic shit without even asking.") In fact, I have taken to keeping a pen handy every time I read Jacob's Gossip Girl recaps because he's Robert Penn Warren-good with words and Harper Lee-sincere in a way that is equal parts hilarious and poignant, and it's easily my favorite writing on the Internet.

I just pulled All the King's Men off of my bookshelf to further illustrate this point. (The point being that I mar my books, not that Jacob of TWoP is Pulitzer-worthy.) (He kind of is.) The first dog-eared page: "She kept on looking at me, not saying anything, with that look which always said, 'You've got something I want, something I need, something I have to have,' and said, too, 'I've got something for you, I won't tell you what, not yet, but I've got something for you, too.' The hollow in the cheeks: the hungry business. The glittering eyes: the promising business. And both at the same time. It was quite a trick." And I have scribbled in the margin, in deep, blue pen, "There is no virtue like necessity." I guess I was reading Richard II at the same time.

Just now I was lying in bed, scribbling a note in Assassination Vacation that said, "Sarah Vowell is an amazing wordsmith and a great historian, but as a statistician, she kind of sucks" when I noticed a piece of paper poking out of the copy of Anna Karenina that is stacked beside my bed. Turns out the paper was just a faded receipt, but inside the cover of the book, in my untidy scrawl, were the words, "Zac Efron is spelled Zac Efron. What a lovely face for such a weird name." Apparently I was researching (looking up on Wackopedia) High School Musical while reading Tolstoy. (Vronsky would have supported that. Levin? Absolutely not.)

Posted by Heather Anne at 03:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)