A Quick, Objective Look at Kenan and Kel

You know that it's objective because there are charts and stuff.

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A Short List of Sweet Nothings That I Wish Jeff Goldblum Would Whisper Into My Ear

Jeff Goldblum speaks slowly, dramatically. He stutters in that way that bookish men sometimes do. Everything he says is peppered with pensive grunts and pregnant pauses. He stares, contemplatively, off into the middle distance. Sometimes, when we're lucky, he'll raise a finger to his bottom lip, thoughtfully.

Jeff Goldblum is, ah, perpetually...um, in the process of-of-of deducing something. He's also the guy you're gonna want to stand next to if you need to be close to someone with the absolute perfect amount of chest hair. 


We'll never know precisely how many 12-year-old girls in the mid-90s nursed debilitating  Jeff Goldblum infatuations, but I can assure you that the number is higher than you'd probably expect. When I was in middle school, I regularly fantasized about Jeff Goldblum. As I got older, those fantasies didn't cease, they merely became more elaborate.

This isn't some kind of strange sexual euphemism, I'd really just like to feel that Jeff cares enough about my health to pay attention to my eating habits.

This, on the other hand, is some kind of strange sexual euphemism.

(This may actually be the first time that I've creeped myself out with something that I've posted here.)
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You're cordially invited to the Jeff Goldblum YouTube par-tay.

I like how he touches Laura Dern's hair at 0:54. Smooth.

My Idol: Fuller McCallister

My dream is to one day write, direct, and produce Home Alone. 5--the movie that could've and should've come between Home Alone and Home Alone 2: Lost in New York. It starts out just like Home Alone--every scene is exactly the same--but instead of following Kevin McCallister and all his shenanigans, it's about Fuller, Kevin's cousin/the most compelling character in the movie, and whatever was going on with him during the time that Kevin was alone in his home. 


Fuller McCallister is my idol because he wears suspenders and because he has fly hair, but mostly because he never, ever goes easy on the Pepsi. He knows drinking Pepsi before bedtime is just going to make him pee all over the place and he knows that everyone knows this about him, but he doesn't care. He hits that Pepsi hard and fast. Fuller hits that Pepsi like a champ. There's a lesson to be learned there, my friends. A lesson about Pepsi and how you should never go easy on it. 


In another world, Fuller and I are BFF. We devote whole evenings to not going easy on Pepsi. 

After these marathon Pepsi binges, we inevitably slip into a sugar induced quasi coma and end up peeing all over the hide-a-bed...

and Kevin. 

It's really gross, I know. But what are you gonna do? Go easy on the Pepsi? Yeah right. When I die, my headstone will read: Here lies Amber. She did not go easy on the Pepsi. Her pee was bright yellow and globular.


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Can this song please be my ringtone? 

To: Paul Reiser. Re: The Fact That I Hate You.

Paul,
I am a bit of a 90s connoisseur, so I think I can say with some authority that you, with your wry observations about upper-middle class relationships, are as quintessentially of that decade as Ethan Hawke's hair in Reality Bites or using the phrase, "It's the 90s" to denote a social paradigm shift. During the 90s you were practically meta-90s (See Bye, Bye Love; Mad About You; the light wash of your high-waisted, slim-fit, tapered-leg jeans). Having said this, I hate you. I love the 90s but hate you. How is this possible? After spending many long seconds puzzling over this paradox I've finally arrived at an answer: You're lame. 


OK, so I'll give you My Two Dads, a show that made me want to (a) live in a loft, (b) have a family court judge at my beck and call, and of course, (c) be the precocious daughter of two dads who are polar opposites--one neurotic, one with an acid wash jean jacket. 

But you lose any cred that you may have garnered there with this:

The cover of your book Babyhood (the follow-up to Couplehood and harbinger of Familyhood) is the single creepiest and most baffling thing I've seen all day. What is that baby gripping your ear supposed to symbolize? Or maybe it isn't supposed to symbolize anything. Maybe a large bulk of being a parent is literally just sitting around with your head slightly tilted to the right as a baby holds onto your ear with one of its hands and offers sweet consolation with the other.

You, Paul Reiser, are my least favorite 90s artifact. I hope this doesn't offend you. It's just the simple truth. 

Mad about you in the sense that I hate you and not in the sense that I'm crazy for you,

Amber