My Gilmore Girls recap is up.

A man brought his catapult. I'd worry about David's safety if I thought he was actually in that box. [Thanks to Annie for the link]

New Entry. Someone wants to know who this Dan person is, I get an unexpected evening of fun, and then I tell you a little about those wacky candidates running for office over here -- in their own ridiculous words.

I can't get this thing to work, but that doesn't mean you can't have fun with it. Blaine Assassination Game. [Thanks to Dave for the link]

Sigh: here.

After I got snagged last time trying to live a life of quiet, obscure dignity by not telling anyone I was going to be on TV, VH1 saw fit to air this thing no fewer than fourteen times in its first twenty-four hours.

But don't let me find out that you wasted your whole Saturday night in front of your televisions waiting for an appearance that will probably be so short it will only be registered subliminally. Don't y'all stay home just for me. "Yeah, um, nothing to worry about there," you find yourself responding? Good. I'm glad we had this talk.

Your check, sir: cash or charge?

Many years ago (I mean, like, ten years ago...not like earth-bursting-with-lava many years ago), my sister got engaged. She has since married and had two beautiful children as beautiful and lovely as she is. But, as happens with marriages, she got engaged first. That is the story I am here to tell today. Sidebar of eventual importance: at the time, my unremittingly feminine sister had something of a choppy, trendy, short-ish haircut. It killed. People loved it.

Meanwhile, in another corner of Long Island, my grandfather had died several years earlier. And the saddest part about his passing is that it was merely a device in order to further the narrative of this story. Anyway, my grandmother had a female friend named Ruth (no names have been changed in this story, because old people think computers take up whole rooms or are strictly for "Atari-loving whippersnappers," so they've never heard of pamie.com and they're not reading this right now. No offense, Pamie) who had a husband named Lester (and a story isn't a story without an old man named Lester) who my grandfather, an amazing judge of character himself, hated hated hated. Ruth was strident and loud; Lester seemed more the quiet neighbor with an ambiguous bicycle shop in the back of his fake-wood-paneled-basement. The kind of people my grandfather would take pains to keep us away from. Hence, Ruth and Lester would never be invited to any parties or events, and my grandmother would have to chill with Ruth on the sly. It wasn't until after my grandfather passed away that Ruth and Lester started sneaking into the fold, appearing at parties we're not sure they were invited to and taking the last piece of rye bread at family functions even through I don't think they're family. It got to the point where they would show up early at family functions to "help" set up. And so it was for the day of my sister's engagement party, held on the lawn behind my mother's house.

My sister, sleeping in the bedroom she grew up in and wearing the clothes she slept in when she was sixteen, woke up early on the day of the party, seeing as it was to take place 50% in her honor. She stumbled down the hallway wearing plaid pajama pants and an orange sweatshirt reading "Birchmont," heading toward the salvation of the fresh bagels and the pink plastic cup of dry Cheerios poised to meet her for breakfast. But on her seemingly innocuous journey from bedroom to kitchen, she was stopped in her tracks by the aforementioned Ruth. My sister stared in horror. She was born ready to face the barbed running commentary of a Jewish grandmother judging her aesthetic appearance, but you'd better make damned sure that it was HER Jewish grandmother who was there to do the judging.

Ruth looked at my sister. My sister looked at Ruth. Ruth looked at my sister. Ruth spoke:

"You’re the bride? YOU'RE THE BRIDE? Honey, that's something. I looked at you from down the hall, and, well. I thought you were a little boy."

On the day of her engagement party. When she had to look and feel her prettiest. In front of a lot of people. All day. I thought you were a little boy.

Anyway. Lester was probably excited about the "little boy" part of the story, but otherwise he didn’t figure in again.

People know better than to snark about how I look. Or perhaps my numerous television appearances have been so short, sporadic, and subliminally "Mystery Oldie" that no one's been able to adequately quantify my physical shortcomings. Also, the nose job really helped.

That's a parable about how much Pamie rocks.

Currently in love with Running with Scissors.

In case you wanted a translation of the photo shoot scene in Lost in Translation. [thanks, evany, for the link].

Well, Michael Moore snoozes, pamie loses. Laura Bush just started her library book drive with Good Morning America. Maybe one day Mike and I will get to do our special something-something for public libraries everywhere. But for now the First Lady's getting some of the spotlight.

I'd also like to take a moment here to mention how much I loath the comic sans font, the kid font that people use for kiddie websites. Drives me nuts.

Anyway, I'm happy to see that the book drives are still growing. Yay, books for kids.

A news article concerning your donations to the Castle Rock Library boasts the one and only rumored hardcover copy of WGAW. I like the sound of having something in hardcover, but before you check eBay or write to me I have to tell you: there's no such thing. But thank you, "woman in London" for sending Castle Rock a copy of my book!

New Entry. People like to discuss the way I look. To my face.

How do they know what he's thinking?

Just noticing the amount of times we've used the word "blind" in two days.

Also: I made my $1000 StarWalker goal. Thanks so much to everybody who helped out, in gifts big and small. Karma points to all.

Six hours to Gilmore Girls.

Thinks on it a bit, reckons ultimately, "Don’t know."

Incidentally, the first suitor able to ape successfully Henry's voice saying, "Oh Punky" will have me as his slave. Forever.

And now.

Pam quotes emails about books as a means of using her powers for good. I'm whatever the opposite of that is. I said I was done with the topic. But it doesn't mean the rest of y'all are.

Alyssa says:

I felt compelled to share with you - weird, I know - but I have the same problem with Life of Pi. I'll be honest. I've stopped reading it. And I'm really patient. I've read some really boring books just because I felt like I should finish them. I paid good money for them, why not get to the end?

Good question.

Julia says:

I feel your pain. I truly do. I don't think Life of Pi is actually a book, but rather a secret mind control project by the Canadian government to colonize the United States by lulling those of us intelligent enough to pose a threat (aka, reading at at least a 6th grade level) into a stupor as we attempt to finish the damn book. Blame Canada, that's what I say.

I had the book for a book group. I also had a friend pestering me on a daily (hourly) basis to finish the damn thing because she saw God in the book, and wanted to talk me about it. God or the book, I don't know which. All I was getting from the book was a traveling coaster for my drink (work, home, the car, the manicure place...) an insult to my claims of being a reader and a serious risk to my sanity. I couldn't just drop it, that would be admitting defeat to the book. Life of Pi and Canada would win. I couldn't let that happen. I had to conquer it. It was my Everest.

Yet the book was sapping my will to live. My co-workers wondered why I was yelling to a Richard Parker to just eat Pi now, for chrissakes! Get it over with finally. And Meerkats. What the hell is the deal with Meerkats?? (If you haven't got there yet, there's Meerkats. Lots of them. Timon's cousins have a colony in the middle of the Pacific) I wondered if it was all worth it, if a single stupid book could make or break a person. And I wondered again why I was putting myself through all this. Finally, in desperation, I stumbled upon an answer, a lifeline, so to speak, that got me over the hump and to the end. It's so simple I wondered why I didn't of it before. Be careful with this knowledge, it may save your life. Are you ready? Here it is:

Read every other paragraph.

Really, you don't miss much, and it is a much more interesting book this way. Also, it significantly decreases the time with the Algae (if you haven't gotten there yet, guess what, there's algae. A lot of it). And, ultimately I found in the book group that I didn't lose anything and could still make coherent points (tiger, gaffs, hyena, meerkats, religion, yadda, yadda, whatever). I didn't see God, and told my friend that she was nuts in a very loving way. But I did finish the book. And I am still blaming Canada for it.

Brilliant advice, but it only solved 50% of my problem.

Ericka says:

I'm glad you don't love Life of Pi. I thought I was alone in this world.

I guess I really AM bringing the world together.

In other news, am FINALLY reading: Running with Scissors, because it's Pamie's and she needs it back before mailing books ain't free anymore. I'm only thirty pages in, but thus far I'm choosing to proclaim it as the second most electrifying book with the cover featuring a head-obscuring instrument to show up on a Bay Area bestseller list.

One letter got through to the East Bay Express concerning their article that suggested pamie.com's Oakland Book Drive only helped out the affluent branches. Thanks to those of you who wrote in to express your thoughts, and thanks again to those of you who participated in the book drive.

Hi, Pamie!
First of all, I love your writing. I'm sure you hear that a lot, but who
doesn't like to hear it as often as possible? I don't know if you're still answering pop culture questions, but I figured I'd give it a shot anyway. I'm currently going through an 80's & early-90's kid sitcom phase (conclusion: "Clarissa Explains It All" is still good, "Saved by the Bell" is so bad it's almost magical) and I realized I have these giant gaps.

What in the world is "Blossom"? I asked my sister about it and she just started ranting about Joey Lawrence, and I was all, "ohhh, right, Joey Lawrence". And then I realized I thought she meant Joey McIntyre. So what's the deal with Joey Lawrence and/or "Blossom"?

While we're on the subject, I know nothing whatsoever about "Punky Brewster". Any help and information would be much appreciated. Thank you muchly, and if you can recommend anything else, I'd be thrilled.

Again, you rock. Because it just can't be said enough.

Sincerely (I never sign e-mails..what should I use? "Cordially"? I thought "Love" was kind of personal),
Daniel

Ai ya. Clarissa is good? Where to begin from there?

Blossom.
More Blossom.
Joey Lawrence.
More Joey Lawrence.

Your confusion must be in their trademark sound effect. Joey L: "Woah!" Joey M: "Oh-oh-OH-OH-oh!" Although Joey L does fancy himself a musician, nothing he's done is going to land him on Boston Public or Boomtown. Back, back, back in the day, JL was on a little show called Gimme a Break. But my favorite thing Joey did was sing the theme song for "My Buddy," a commercial featuring a pre-Chucky doll who towered over small children. "My buddy and me, like to climb up a tree. My buddy and me, we're the BEST friends there could be!"

(That's the place in my brain that might have cured cancer, except I put baby Joey singing a doll song in there instead. Wonderful.)

Oh, man. You don't know anything about Punky Brewster? That's just sad, oppoDan. Sincerely sad. Cordially sad.

In addition to having one of the best theme songs of my childhood, Punky was the coolest girl my sister and I had ever seen. We wanted to be Punky. (to be honest, my sister wanted to be Brandon, Punky's dog). Yay, Punky Brewster. You must not be watching too many of those kids shows, because Soleil is all growns up (post boob job) and was on Sabrina the Teenage Witch.

Punky (real name: Penelope) was an orphan who often reminded us that her mother abandoned her and left her for dead (blink your eyes reallllly hard and say "She went into the store..." Then blink again and again and again, like you really want to cry. Then finish: "and she never came back." My sister and I were always worried after that when Mom left us in the car to run in to get some eggs.). Punky snuck out of her foster care center (because she couldn't keep the dog, I think) and hid in the closet of loveable curmudgeon Henry, who for some reason was allowed to keep Punky, who was friends with Cherie (pronounced "Cherry"), who lived in the building and had a mother who helped Henry learn how to take care of a little girl and her dog. Foster care antics, a brat named Margeaux, and the first time we ever learned why you shouldn't crawl into an abandoned refrigerator on the street ensued. Then there was a crap animated series that featured an annoying creature named Glomer, but we're going to ignore that. (Check out this trivia site for some weird Punky facts.)

Awww, thanks for watching as to the status of my back, Pam. This must be why unpopular opinions are called "unpopular opinions." The silent majority has emailed me accordingly. And the revolution will NOT be blogged.

I know the vast majority of media pundits have already sounded off on the topic and I know the triple issue of People is already on its way to my house, so I’ll make it quick:

*The Emmys sucked.

*I love Jon Stewart.

*And Conan.

*And Ellen.

*Wayne Brady makes me sad.

*You’re inside, Dr. Huxtable. How will you ever deliver babies when the future's so bright you’ve gotta wear shades?

New entry. stee helped.

And a shout-out to reader Heather, who recently wrote an email to my friend that simply read: "WAIT! You're Puppethead Frank?!" We are very much enjoying his new nickname.

I like elevating my reasons for reading East of Eden this week from "I think that episode of Oprah is coming up" to "I'm celebrating Banned Books Week." It's also one of the few Steinbeck novels I haven't read. Just never got around to it. For an 800 page book, I'm flying through it, and enjoying every page.

I like telling you guys what I'm reading, but I hate that I always sound so ignorant when I tell you what I think about the book. "Hey, Steinbeck's a really good writer!" Oh, ya think? Thanks, Pam. You too.

But for those of you who also discuss their current selections and in doing so are moved to write horrible lies about Dan, I have this to say: I liked Life of Pi as much as the next Man Booker panelist, but nobody talks smack about my sidekick without me threatening to sweep the leg, Karate Kid-style.

That's right. Bibliophile blog warz. Ain't nothin' geekier on a Monday afternoon.

I found out if I raise $1000, I get a crown. That's $200 away. Time to start mass-emailing my friends until they hate me.

From Catronia:

The madness continues. Spreads.

Legoland, a theme park at Windsor has a miniature London, made from Lego bricks. They've added a new attraction...

Which amuses me greatly.

Still no sign of him escaping, falling "dead" from the box and
reappearing moments later in the river, an email prediction from "those in the know", which most of the country has now received (he vanishes from the box on day 39 apparently). Nor is there any sign of him doing anything that could be remotely classified as "magic". He could at least do a couple of card tricks for the entertainment-starved masses underneath...

From Annie:

I thought you might like to see this lovely picture of DB (known around this parts at 'the eejit in the glassbox') from today's Sun. We passed over Tower Bridge on Sunday but he seemed to be having a snooze and didn't rouse himself at the sound of us tooting the horn.

We are planning on making a return trip someday soon, complete with picnic as appartently it is 'the place' to be seen at the moment - recent visitors include Sir Paul McCartney and all the papers are writing 'serious' articles about what he's doing, what the crowds around him are doing and what it says about us, the media and life in general.

My favourite story so far though has to be about the tabloid newspaper who organised a remote control helicopter to hover outside the glass box with a big mac attached to it!