Category Archives: TV

East Coast Girls are hip (and other tales of moving to a foreign state)

With apologies to the Beach Boys, I prefer David Lee Roth‘s version of ” California Girls.” Holy crap, what a great video. If you don’t remember it, it’s here. David Lee Roth and in some instances, (I’m talkin’ to you, “Hot For Teacher“) Van Halen, made perhaps the best videos of the Great Video Era, the era that made me who I am today. Ah, MTV. You are now so full of suck.

But I am belaboring the point of this blog. It does, however, make nice little entry points into what I really want to talk about: ME!

In fewer than three weeks, I’ll be living and working in Connecticut. I know I’ll be working in Bristol for ESPN. I’m not sure, however, where I’ll be living. That’ll take care of itself. And since I have absolutely no idea if I want to live in the city or country, I guess I’ll know it when I see it. Fortunately, Disney/ESPN has an app for that — a real life app/counselor who will show me around the great Nutmeg state until I find someplace where me, the dog and everyone else can live in peace and harmony and sports.

I haven’t blogged, yes, I know, but my life has been in relative chaos, plus my brain hurts. I think I’m vapor-locked. I have been getting just exhausted at the idea of doing anything — but then I get so much accomplished, I’m shocked. Today I’m waiting for people to call to tell me how to go about selling my house. I had already sorta gone through this with my own Realtor, but you know, Disney has their own way of doing things — and that’s totally cool since they’re moving me gratis.

I’m going to let them ship my car, then rent a car and make the trek up to C-State with my bro Nick. He’s already requested to see a large ball of twine. Challenge accepted.

I haven’t hardly had a chance to let the whole “I’m leaving Oklahoma, land that I love” angle sink in yet, and that’s probably a good thing. I will NOT be listening to any Shelley West/David Frizzell classics, at least until I’m so settled I can’t change my mind. “You’re the Reason God Made Oklahoma” was the reason I moved back to the Sooner State after living in Dallas. But Dallas was so much closer — and the job wasn’t as awesome as the one I’m about to undertake. Holy crap, I’m workin’ for ESPN.

I’m kind of packing, mostly just getting rid of stuff. Disney’s moving team does the actual packing. I just have to pack the stuff I don’t want them to see! Seriously, I don’t want them reading my crappy poetry from the 90s and thinking I’m a psycho. I’m sure they won’t but I’m a paranoid girl who wrote a lot of bad poetry.

Life is sort of on one of those weird collision courses right now. Way too many coincidences. It’s like when I lived in Tahlequah and I knew I was exactly in the right place at the right time. I missed Tahlequah and my friends before our time was even up. Right now, I just can’t help but think this is, great job aside, where I belong.

Not to go all transcendental weirdo here, but I had a dream a few years ago that I moved to Portland, Maine, and it started this whole East Coast love again. Don’t know why I’ve always had it. Since I was 11, when I went there on a summer trip, seeing Boston, Nantucket, Cape Cod… I felt like it was sort of my next home. And lo and behold, it is.

Now, instead of wondering about the news value of 2012’s supposed End O’ the World, I’m hoping it’s all bollocks and I will live in New England in a great apartment FOREVER. Make bi-annual trips to the Cape, actually become acquainted with NYC, go to Red Sox games (preferably during Interleague, when the Rockies are in town) and a million other things.

(Yes, I wondered at the news value of the End of Days. I can’t help it. 100 percent journalist.)

I’m still waiting for ESPN to call and tell me the deal’s off.  They haven’t yet. In fact, they keep calling with more details, so I guess it’s really going to happen. Geez, am I ready for this? And I know I’ll be missing all my Oklahoma people before long. I know they’re happy for me though, and with the magic of the Garish  Chicken, I intend to keep you all hanging on my every word (haha, yeah right.)

To avoid a possible meltdown here, I’m going to do what I do best and deflect with music. Let’s go back to the land of the music video, that bygone era when music and movies came together for 3 to 5 minutes of brilliance.

Case in point:  Yankee Rose. 

 

 

 

 

 

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Filed under Brain Disorders, Connecticut, ESPN, Fun!, Moving, Music, Tahlequah, Travel, Tulsa, TV

Artificial Nails and a trip to the Mothership

So I haven’t blogged since the Rapture threat. Bet ya’ll thought for a second that I’d been raptured on up, didn’t you? Then you took a moment to look back at my scandalous blogs and realized I use a lot of dirty words, which according to most studies of Rapture, would automatically disqualify me for a spot in heaven.

I’d rather be down here with all you sinners anyway.

The day after the Big Fake Rapture, Sunday, we had a horrific tornado not too far from my home in Tulsa, in Joplin. People outside of Oklahoma may be shocked to learn that Joplin is close to Tulsa — about an hour or so, actually.

No joking — that tornado was awful, and I have a few good friends who survived, but will never be the same. Prayers for the whole city.

Later that night, Tulsa was visited by the loudest, most obnoxious hail storm I’ve ever heard in all my days. Egg-sized hail flung itself at my roof, freaking the absolute fucknuts out of my cats. Percy perched on my chest, then bolted, digging his Ginsu Talons into my soft chest skin. Penny went into complete hiding. Leon wanted to go outside because he’s a dog and kind of a dumb bunny.

But the best part of this story is that I had to be up Monday morning at 3:30 a.m. I tried to go to bed at 9, heavily dosed on Tylenol PM. I fell asleep for about 30 minutes, woke up. Fell asleep, was awakened by what sounded like falling sledgehammers hitting my roof during the hailstorm. Woke up again at 1 a.m. with nausea. Was awake when my alarm sounded at 3:30.

This is the sign for ESPN. No, I didn't take it. I took no pictures, lest I look like a complete tourist. And no one likes a tourist.

Why, oh why, did I have to get up at this ungodly hour? I was making a trip to Bristol, Conn., to board the Mothership, and they made the travel plans nice and early.

For my reader(s) who aren’t sports fans, ESPN’s headquarters are in Bristol. It’s called the Mothership because it’s the be-all, end-all sports Mecca, the keeper of the cheese, the owner of all the playbooks. I had a job interview with ESPN for an associate editor position. Considering I only got about 30 minutes of sleep the night before the interview, it went remarkably well. Or maybe I’m just fooling myself into believing that.

Because I have artificial nails now — an attempt to wow the good folks at ESPNs, so they wouldn’t see my gnarly nubby  nails that have taken years of abuse — I am a horrible typist. So I’ll construct the Day of the Interview in timeline format so I don’t drive myself crazy. I’m a really good typist normally, but these nails make me hit extra keys. It’s tres annoying.

Ladies and Gentlemen, The Time… line.

It went a lil’ sumthin’ like this… hit it!

* Wake up at 3:30 a.m., surprisingly at peace and awake. Realize it’s self-imposed bullshit, but nevertheless carry on. Shower,  get ready, eat raisin bran. I’m packed. Head to Tulsa International Airport, park the car, get stuck in security behind a chirpy church group headed to Disneyland, roll my eyes 1,000 times, board the plane.

* Travel to Detroit on the only comfortable flight I’m going to get out of this whole trip. Got a solo seat, stretched out, actually napped a bit. A little worried about why they took my bag that I didn’t want to check, afraid they’ll charge me for it and I don’t have that kind of spare money. Ask the gorgeous statuesque flight attendant with the smoothest, darkest skin I’ve ever seen. She tells me in an Atlanta accent that it’s just valet because it’s a small plane. Chill, yo. Everything is fine.

Detroit's airport

Swear to God, this is Detroit's airport. Very trippy. Kind of soothing. Altogether awesome.

* Land in Detroit, realize I don’t have time between flights, run through Detroit’s trippy-awesome airport at breakneck speed, aided by people-movers, which make even fatties like me feel like a Kenyan. Board plane that brings me back to reality… tiny Delta plane, middle seat, feeling like I weigh just over 600 pounds. Can’t relax. Sweat pours out of me, starting to feel nerves of impending interview.

* Land in Hartford, Conn., wander around aimlessly looking for the rental car place, have to ask someone, an older woman with a thick New England accent. I ask her to repeat herself twice. Sound like an Okie. Run to the shuttle. Still don’t know where they’re taking me (I’ve never rented a car) but arrive at the National lot. Go inside, get reserved car, and the guy checking me out is so impressed that ESPN is paying for it and that I’m a girl who knows sports that he gives me the nicest, newest car on the lot, a 2011 VW CC. Gorgeous… and terrifying. I get in, am about to drive off, when he comes back to my window to tell me his boss thinks he gave me too big of an upgrade. So I have to go back in, reprocess all the paperwork, get a Ford Fusion that is also nice (only 12 miles on it), load my GPS for Bristol, which is about 30 minutes away, and finally leave the car rental place. The clock in the car is set wrong, sending me into a complete cold sweat. I want to call ESPN to tell them I’m running late, but the oh-so-friendly shuttle driver has already overtly warned me of Johnny Law crackin’ down on cell-phone users in their cars. So I’m one of THOSE states, am I? In Oklahoma, driving/phone talking is regulated by the NCAA.

* Only get briefly lost on the way to Bristol. Finally figure out the clock is wrong, but still am cutting it close for my 2 p.m. interview. Especially since I have done nothing but sweat and worry since Detroit, and I’d really like NOT to look like a methed-out trucker during the interview. Check into the Clarion Hotel across from The Mothership, which if you haven’t been there, is discretely tucked into what appears to be a forest where Bambi went to get away from it all.

* Check into hotel. Do an actual shot of coffee. Wash pits/thorax and put on pretty dress. Call HR to tell them of possible lateness. No answer, leave hasty, worried message. Slap on makeup… yes, literally slap it on. It was almost painful. Race to ESPN, enter Big Time Security, get checked in at 2:08, eight minutes late, but not bad considering I just few in from Tulsa (and boy, were my arms… Oh, sorry.) Get a second to breathe, then am escorted to another building in the official ESPNmobile (not to be confused with their iPhone app! HOHOHA). Meet up with head of department.

* Interview with some extremely smart people. Fantasize about living in Bristol. Michael Wilbon said hi. People rushing around all over Making It Happen. SportsCenter anchors just hanging out in the newsroom, like actual folk, because — get this — they are actual folk. 

* Realize around 3 p.m. that the bowl of raisin bran I had 12 hours before isn’t filling me up anymore. Start to sweat coldly. Shaking commences, like sudden diabetes. My interviewer asks me if I’ve had anything to eat. She’ll make a good mom someday — picking up on clues like that. Of course I was gnawing on the news desk. She whisks me to the Caf, a beautiful place where all my dreams could come true. Cooks standing around waiting to make you things. Remember that scene in “Annie”  when she’s singing “I Think I’m Gonna Like it Here”? That was me in the ESPN cafeteria. The girl interviewing me didn’t seem too deterred by the singing and dancing. Later I would have dinner there, and all would be OK again. Broke out in song again.

* Interview more, learn a few of the ropes, realize how normal this place is. It’s just a huge freakin’ opportunity. Nerves dissolve somewhat, enough for me to attempt to be myself a bit more.

* Dinner. With the woman interviewing me. Turned out to be a good time, good food, excellent day. I’ve had approximately 2 hours of sleep and 300 calories, but am somehow pulling it all together. Try not to inhale dinner, eat slowly though I want to eat what I got and go back for seconds. I had the pasta puttanesca from the pasta bar, sauteed fresh with olives, garlic and mushrooms. And a garlic roll. Are you kidding me? This is available every day? Have great conversation with the interviewer, head back to the Clarion.

* Watch enough of the Thunder game to get a false sense of security. Slip into coma-like sleep for four hours, get up at 4:30 ET, 3:30 CT, realize the Thunder blew a 10-point lead, and head to the Hartford airport. Drop off car I now loathe because it doesn’t have the Corolla’s raw power and well-worn seats, go directly to Dunkin’ Donuts and get an egg white sandwich and large coffee. Smile all the way to my shoes.

* Go to Atlanta. Eat again, a Wendy’s airport cheeseburger at 10 a.m. ET. Get on the world’s tiniest plane and sit uncomfortably close to a guy who doesn’t even courtesy smile. Feel uncomfortable for three hours. Land, get the hell out of all airports, walk aimlessly around the airport trying to find my car, pay way too much for parking, go the fuck home.

* Have to call the plumber as soon as I get home. The house flooded before I went on my tour of the Eastern Seaboard. This plumbing visit resulted in a few more, lots more dollars spent, but finally, the ability to shower without flooding the kitchen.

* The day I returned was supposed to be the biggest night for tornadoes of the season. It was awful west of Tulsa, but we just got wind and storms. Still gunshy from Joplin, the entire population of Oklahoma was crammed into shelters and closets and God knows what for most of the evening. But I was finally full, just had an interview with the biggest sports organization in the world, and I was finally — FINALLY — full. The making-up-sleep part took several days to get over.

So that’s my trip. Not sure what’s going to happen with the job, but I totally was thankful for the opportunity to interview. We’ll see what happens. I’m happy here, I’d be happy there. I am doubly blessed to not be desperate for work, something I try to remain mindful of every day. But it sure was cool seeing the Mothership. Did I mention they have air hockey? In the HALLWAY?

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Filed under Sports, Travel, Tulsa, TV, weather

I’ve got my health… and not much else.

Perhaps I’m the stupidest person on earth. I think this because I seem to find freedom in bondage, pain in happiness, and liability in irresponsibility.

Who needs cash when you've got Tim Riggins?

I’ve been more cash-strapped than ever these last few weeks. It’s a combination of reckless spending on lunches and dinners I didn’t need coupled with ridiculous gas prices, increased food costs and the fact I haven’t had a raise in going on five years. (Viva journalism!) I was all sad and mopey about the fact that I’d have $40 to live on for two weeks until I made it through the first week spending barely anything. Just five more days to go. And I’ve got $35.

I’ve been working harder than ever, 12 to 14-hour days. And I’m looking for freelance gigs. And still, I smile on.

Turns out, I don’t need to eat lunch out every day. Turns out I have cabinets full of food, freezers full of treats and a condiment-stacked fridge containing all sorts of flavor-enhancing goodies. I think this is God’s way of telling me I need to take Lent more seriously. I gave up going out to eat for Lent, with the exception of one day a week. I haven’t honored that vow since Day 1. Lent unfortunately coincided with the craziest time of my career, when I got a new job that I’m still getting used to and the NCAA Tournament came to town. And the only consolation I received was a fast meal, usually from Taco Bueno.

Have I mentioned how glad I am to be somewhat back in the world of sports journalism? It feels like home.

But I’ve cooked dinner every night, brought my lunch to work and even taken my own cans of Diet Coke to the office. I’ve gotten lucky, too. For some reason, Netflix gave me a free month of service. I had a luncheon to go to and my friend Frances is helping me out by paying my way. I was able to buy the staples at the grocery store. I have plenty of pet food… as long as Leon doesn’t go on an eating binge.

Now if I could just find some trash bags… I might borrow some from my workplace. Or use paper bags from the store. Or just throw it on the ground, hobo-style. Canyou compost paper towels?

That’s another thing: I’ve got paper towels and toilet paper. I would spend my last dollar on making sure those things are stocked. I won’t live in an uncivilized world without paper towels. I am not a barbarian.

Really, all these decks I’ve stacked against myself came down, and I’m still in a great mood. I don’t have money, but I’ve got health (finally… I was sick for a week, hence the lack of Garish Chicken posts), I’ve got a computer I can surf and write with, and I’ve got friends who I adore.

And I’ve always got Netflix. I spent my sick week watching streaming episodes of “Friday Night Lights,” and kind of got strung out on that show. Tim Riggins, I want to marry you. Not the real person. Tim Riggins.

Oh, and I’ve got an account at the Press Club should I really, really need a cheeseburger or a beer. Come Friday, that may sound pretty good.

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Filed under Fun!, General Nonsense, Sports, TV