All at Once

When I was in the 6th grade, in 1986, I had a pair of white Keds. I loved them. I loved them so much, I wore them out. So Heidi Huntington and I planned a funeral for them. I buried them in a shoe box in the garden while pumping Whitney Houston's 'All At Once' from my tape player. It was moving and emotional. No other pair of shoes (except maybe some Simple slip-ons) have ever touched my heart quite the same. It's hard to get attached to shoes when they can so easily break your heart. Thank you, Whitney, for your personal influence on my life.

Barry White Defined

There comes a rare time in every single girl's life when she purposely chooses to listen to a Valentine's Day playlist someone else published on Spotify. This particular playlist includes a song called "Love Makin' Music," by Barry White. As I pondered the great mystery of Barry White and the type of music he records, I expressed my confusion to a friend (via instant messenger):

ME: Barry White. I wish there was an appropriate word to describe him.

MJ: Not a word. A moan.

I may not recover from this one.

Feelings of Abandonment

I'm most assuredly an iTunes harlot.

A few years ago, I was whining to my boss at work that I needed a bigger hard drive on my computer because I kept running out of disk space. Ever the financially conscious, he came in, pushed me out of chair, and began looking at my C: drive.

"What's this folder that's taking up 35 GB got in it?" he asked. One look at the contents and he had his answer: I needed additional disk space for work applications and documents because I owned nearly the entire Neil Diamond catalog plus about 2.9 million other music files no one else would be caught dead with.

Needless to say, later that day, I bought a package of bandaids for my bruised ego as well as my own external hard drive. I then spent 2 hours transferring the contents of that precious music folder to the new disk.

Did I mention I'm an iTunes harlot?

So a few months ago, one of my co-workers started bragging all up on this application called Spotify. I couldn't be bothered with entertaining his rants because I was too busy making playlists and trying to figure out ways to get people around me to like the same kind of music I like.

Then, after one particularly long day filled with the same Barry Manilow Christmas music I've been listening to for 15 years, I caved.

I installed Spotify.

I immediately went to Preferences and cleared every setting that would broadcast to the world every song I had listened to. (Yes, you may thank me for this with gift cards. I prefer Best Buy.)

I searched for something I didn't have on my computer. (Such stuff actually exists.)

I clicked Play.

And I wept.

And I searched, played, and wept some more.

And then I discovered the beauty of creating a Spotify playlist, which I can share with any of my Facebook friends who also have Spotify. Are you kidding me with this stuff? I can share my favorite music with anyone, and I don't have to actually give them the song file?!? And they can choose to listen to it only if they want? (And let's be honest, who doesn't want?!?)

I am now a Spotify harlot.

I haven't used iTunes for longer than 3 minutes in almost 2 months. That external hard drive of music has an inch of dust on it. I feel kind of bad, but not bad enough to give up listening to every Abba album ever produced. And nowhere else can you hear Bob Rivers' "You Don't Smell Like Flowers."

Seriously, people.

Latest Obsession: American Pickers

Why do I love American Pickers?

• It's more interesting and less patsy than Antiques Roadshow.
• I have a monster crush on Mike Wolfe. I'm not kidding. I'll probably get run up a flagpole for being just that weird, but I'd freakin' ride around in that van with him if he'd say funny stuff to me like he does to Frankie.
• I fantasize about what their own homes look like. Are they clean? Are they using gas pumps as night stands? Do they have stacks of old car magazines hidden in every corner, the way women hide stashes of chocolate?
• It's like Hoarders, but with less cat feces and moldy pizza boxes, so I don't feel as weirded out at the end of an episode.
• It feels far less fake than other junk-collector shows, like Pawn Stars. Speaking of which, I think every guy on Pawn Stars probably shows up on the Nevada sex offender registry.
• Both of these guys try so hard to appear tough, but they giggle like girls and use the word "crap" an awful lot.

Seriously, Mike Wolfe. I could be your mega pick.

They're Alive!

What is a Boy To Do?

Thanks to Lifetime, I would hazard a guess that I have seen every episode of Frasier at least three times.

Yet, I am watching it again on Netflix.

Frasier will never leave the building. Scrambled eggs be hanged.

Stranger Than Fiction

Here are five reasons I love the movie Stranger Than Fiction:

• Will Ferrell isn't obnoxious in it, like he is in every other movie he's in. You actually forget you're watching Will Ferrell, which is a miracle nigh unto waking up in the morning with pleasant breath.
• The story is beyond creative: A guy hears his life being narrated by an author who's writing her next book and who notoriously kills off her protagonists. What will he do when he hears her say he has to die?
• It makes you want to eat cookies.
• Emma Thompson doesn't wear any make-up at all in the movie. Revlon and Maybelline -- eat that!
• It has Buster from Arrested Development.

All I Know About Myself I Learned from Netflix

I gave myself an Apple TV for Christmas. Since that blessed Christmas morn, I haven't watched more than 4 minutes of real TV. Instead, I have grafted the Apple TV remote to my fingers and have given the folks at Netflix headquarters legitimate reason to personally examine the increase in my account usage. I won't confess how many seasons of 30 Rock I have rewatched in the past two weeks (5) or how my Instant Queue has multiplied like it spent the weekend in a rabbit hutch. Let's just say that if Netflix raises their fees for Instant Viewing again, you can probably send hate mail directly to me.

That said, here are a few things Netflix has taught me over the course of our marriage:

1. I've got a 22-minute attention span. If I can't watch or watch at a TV show in 22 minutes or less, I'd rather not watch it at all. I've tried watching the pilot for "24" twice now and all I know is there's some dude named Jack Bauer who used to hang upside down in his bat cave and people all around him are making stupid mistakes and getting blown up. I want to watch this show. I want some intelligent head-scratching TV. I really do.

2. I'm developing an aversion to TV shows that have a laugh track. I can laugh on my own, thanks. I don't need some pretend studio audience to tell me something is funny. When Ron Swanson (Parks & Recreation) says of his ex-wife Tammy 2 that looking at her is like looking into the eye of Satan's butthole, I can muster up the strength to laugh all on my own. (His words, not mine. Dangit.)

3. My Recently Watched list is embarassing at best. Here's a sample:

-- 30 Rock: See earlier non-confession.
-- Lost in Austen: I had a moment when I thought I could stomach a movie ABOUT Jane Austen, but then I had another moment when I realized I couldn't. Look, I appreciate the Collin Firth ManCandy associated with Pride & Prejudice as much as the next girl, but I just simply cannot find it in my psyche to watch a movie about a woman obsessed with Austen. Women like this make me nuts.
-- Annie: I watched it. The whole blasted thing. And I liked it. I want a Punjab.
-- Family Ties. It's always there, in 14 of my Recommended Viewing lists, taunting me. I'm pretty sure my obsessions this past summer with Cosby and Cheers influenced its appearance in these many lists, which influenced my decision to turn it on one afternoon while I was cleaning. Someday I'll give it more attention when I can no longer fight the urge to reunite with Skippy and Nick -- the true stars of the show.
-- National Geographic: The Appalachian Trail. Judge me. I don't care. I love me some NG. And I'm as convinced as ever that I will, someday, walk a few steps on the trail. Bucket list that, ye naysayers.
-- Murder She Wrote: I was showing off the Apple TV to my mom on Christmas afternoon and I pulled this up to show off.. She wasn't that impressed. She has them all recorded on her DVR. Or firmly planted in the fleshy folds of her heart. My mom loves Jessica Fletcher. If Jessica and Thomas Magnum conceived a child together, she would steal it in the night and raise it as my changeling.
-- Breaking Bad: Watched an episode. It was longer than 22 minutes and it had language even this old sailor doesn't love. Wish there was a Recently Unwatched list for shows like this. (Heap the hate. I know I'm in the minority on this one.)
-- Saturday Night Live, the 90s: Every few months, I like to reacquaint myself with Three-Legged Jeans. (They aren't any dumber than acid washed.)
-- Frasier: I obsessed over this show when they were showing it every night on Lifetime a few years ago. I've seen every episode about a thousand times, but it's my go-to show.
-- Kramer vs. Kramer: Watch it if you haven't. Hoffman and Streep at their finest. Seriously.

4. I have a hard time watching normal TV. TV is better enjoyed when you can watch it a few episodes at a time -- especially those shows that are 22 minutes long.

5. Grey's Anatomy will never be as good as it was in Seasons 1-3, before they drove off all the good characters and brought on the characters who kiss their leading ladies by eating their faces. That's just wrong, you weird ginger-haird Iraq vet character with vampire teeth. Yes, I'm talking to you.

And, let me justify my 30 Rock marathon by saying I did A LOT of stuff while I was watching it, including sleeping, putting on make-up, vacuuming, cooking, cleaning, and destroying all traces of Christmas in my house post-December 25. If I'd sat on my couch, stationary, for that many episodes, you'd have permission to call someone and have me committed.