Tuesday, June 29th, 2010
What’s with weathermen? Do they have to be cheesy as a prerequisite for the job?
- Embarrassed for These People
Why are you embarrassed for them? Being a television meteorologist (let’s not be sexist, there are plenty of cheesy weatherwomen these days) is the best job in the world.
Okay, that might have been an overstatement. Being Jay-Z is the best job in the world, as I note later in this edition. (That’s a ploy to keep you reading. Mommy taught me that trick.)
If you’re me, the best jobs in the world are Dog Food Taste-Tester or Professional Toy Fetcher or Roll of Paper Towels Shredder. But, I digress…
Don’t blame the meteorologist for being cheesy, especially these days, when computers do all the work. We don’t actually need a human being relating to you the same stuff you can find faster on your computer. So the only thing keeping these people employed is personality.
Are they cheesy? Of course they are! If these weather—um—people were any more interesting, they’d be doing something better. If they were any less interesting, they’d be replaced by someone else who can read a monitor and tell you “it’s 72 and sunny” without accidentally swearing or drooling.
And that’s all it requires. Which makes it a pretty good gig.
Honestly, I could do the job. Dogs are very sensitive to changes in barometric pressure. And you’ll always know when there’s lightning and thunder, because I’ll be under the bed, shivering.
How come it’s cool to like certain music in college but suddenly it’s uncool when you’re a bona fide adult? And how come nobody tells you this stuff in advance?
- Music Geek For Real
Dear Music Geek,
You have me at a loss, because I’m not sure exactly what music you’re talking about. Granted, I’ve never been to college, given how poorly my obedience training ended. (Once again, dear instructor: Only having 8 ½ fingers is sexy. Really. Chicks dig that.)
But I’m into music too. My mommy is friends with lots of musicians so I grew up around music and I love it. That said, I’m highly attuned to high-pitched sounds, which can actually be a problem with stuff like Mariah Carey songs and the squeals of Ryan Seacrest fleeing in terror from a mouse.
Best I can tell, if you’re a real music geek, you probably liked good music in college. What was legitimately cool then isn’t any less cool now that you’re a “bona fide adult.” Also, to be genuinely cool is to have the conviction to like what you like, regardless of what other people think.
On the other hand, if you were listening to Nickelback in college, your tastes were never cool, and you should immediately seek therapy.
How long do broken hearts last?
That’s the kind of philosophical inquiry I’m given to consider for hours while getting my belly rubbed. Okay, that’s not entirely true. While I’m getting my belly rubbed the entirety of my consciousness is going I’m getting my belly rubbed! I’m getting my belly rubbed! Oh, sweet Lady Gaga, I’m getting my belly rubbed! NEVER STOP RUBBING MY BELLY!
Sorry, I hope that wasn’t too painful to hear, especially since I get the impression that right now no one’s rubbing your… um… belly. And you desperately miss whoever was rubbing your belly, and I totally get that.
Everyone tells you time heals all wounds, and outside of a sawed-off shotgun blast to the face, that’s generally true. But no one ever mentions how much time it takes. And it takes a long time. How long, I can’t exactly tell you. But it can seem like forever, as in how long it will take to clean oil out of the Gulf of Mexico. How long it will take to get out of Afghanistan and Iraq. How long it will take for David Caruso to deliver his next line.
We’re talking a long time.
In the meantime, take care of yourself. Get out of the house, spend time with friends, find your favorite tree and take a good, long pee on it. You’re in good company. Everyone deals with a broken heart once, twice—actually, on average, 37 times. When you’re ready, you’ll be back in Belly Rub City.
Did Jay-Z ever elaborate on what the 99 problems he had were? I get that none of them was a bitch, but what were they?
As a matter of fact, Jay-Z did elaborate. I was hanging with Jay the other day (that’s right, I call him Jay). While we were kicking it, I happened to ask Jay what his 99 problems are and he was happy to break it down. They are:
1. Restless Leg Syndrome
2. Ongoing beef with Andrea Bocelli is becoming increasingly violent.
3. Overly-general search warrants
4. How when you’re counting massive stacks of $100 bills and someone mentions a number, you lose your place and have to start over again.
5. Running out of those $100 bills to light your cigars with.
6. The way the tag in the back of your T-shirt flips up and no one tells you about it.
7. The FBI, the CIA, and the DEA
8. Static cling
9. Caprice Crane won’t bequeath him the most adorable, sweetest, handsomest dog in the world, and it’s breaking his heart…
Okay, so that’s when I woke up. Jay and I didn’t hang, and I don’t know what his 99 Problems are. the guy is insanely rich, insanely popular and he’s with Beyonce. How bad can his problems be?
Also, for the record: a bitch is not a problem! Granted, Jay and I might not be talking about exactly the same thing.
Monday, June 28th, 2010
Uniting all dog lovers and fans of great writing with this humor-meets-heart collection, critically acclaimed memoirist Wade Rouse has gathered some of America’s best known humorists – authors, comics, actors – to write hilarious, never-before-told tales about their beloved dogs.
Caprice is contributing an essay to this humorous dog anthology titled, I’m Not the Biggest Bitch in This Relationship!, (NAL/Penguin) which will benefit The Humane Society of the United States and other local/national animal shelters/causes, and feature some of America’s favorite funny writers and comics, including Chelsea Handler, Carol Leifer, Jen Lancaster, Laurie Notaro, Bruce Cameron, Merrill Markoe, Alec Mapa, Jeff Marx, Rita Mae Brown, Jill Conner Brown, Jane Green, Stephanie Klein, Annabelle Gurwitch, Gigi Levangie Grazer and many others. It will publish in summer or fall 2011.
Monday, June 21st, 2010
I’m an aspiring writer. Could you please let me in on some of your writing tips? You seem to be quite the creative dog. Also, I saw your picture… I’m a miniature female Yorkie – in heat. Hahahaha, you know, just FYI.
– Writer’s Block
Dear Writer’s Block:
I’m always happy to help a fellow writer, especially a miniature yorkie in heat. (Or what the boys and I call a “Nicole Richie.”) My top writing tip is this: Know the best time for you to write.
For example, I never write between noon and 8 p.m., because that’s nap time. I never write from 8 to 9 p.m. because that’s dinnertime, and I need those calories to power my writing. I never write after 9 p.m., because I’ll be sluggish from dinner and winding down. Finally, I never write in the morning, because you can’t expect me to be creative before I’ve had a chance to really get into my day.
If that sounds unproductive, just remind yourself that this schedule is true for most writers, except the team of 150 interns known collectively as James Patterson.
Finally, if you really are interested in hooking up, let me know and we’ll exchange digits sometime. I have a great pinky finger I got off the mailman just last week.
My favorite book EVER is your mommy’s Stupid and Contagious. It is indeed stupid how contagious this book has been in my life, as I read it at least twice a year. What I love most about this book is the way it plays out in my mind, and how much I laugh out loud at Heaven and Brady’s ridiculousness. (Cinnamilk? Genius.) I have thought many times about how ecstatic I would be to see it in movie format, but then I’m reminded of all of the train wreck screenplays that have come from fabulous books. My question is, what does your mommy think? Would a movie version of the novel destroy its perfection?
– Overborne and Self-assured
First off – that’s cute, playing off the title. (Kurt Cobain would be impressed, and his spirit needs some good news after those Robert Pattinson rumours.) Next, let me thank you for loving my mommy’s book, because I witnessed firsthand all the hard work she put into it. Well, on certain occasions. Like during full moons, or when there wasn’t a VH-1 reality show on or an especially interesting episode of To Catch A Predator.
Seriously, I know she appreciates your love of the book. I know because she re-read your email out loud 500 times and she’s wondering whether she can blurb your comments under the name “Nicholas Sparks.” (That is you, right? If so, just say nothing. Good enough, Nick. Can I call you Nick?)
As for a film of Stupid and Contagious: Mommy would love it. It’s an idea she back-burnered for a bit while working on “other projects.”
Sure, it can be tricky adapting a book for the screen, but for every Bonfire of the Vanities (poor Tom Wolfe), there’s also An Education. For every Striptease (poor Carl Hiaasen), there’s Marley and Me. (BTW, shouldn’t someone have warned me about the ending to that one? COME ON, PEOPLE!)
One day, Stupid and Contagious might very well hit the big screen, and we hope it’ll be great. We also hope that happens before iCarly and Justin Bieber are old enough to be cast as Heaven and Brady. But whatever happens, what matters is you’ll always have the book. (Though if you lose it, feel free to buy another one. Dog food ain’t cheap.)
Are all the girls wild about you or is it just the smart and sexy ones?
The smart ones are wild about me regardless of whether they’re sexy… but then again, since to me being smart is sexy, I guess they’re all smart and sexy. That sounds a bit narcissistic, granted. But anything that works for Robert Downey, Jr, can work for me too. (BTW, Gwyneth: Call me.)
It’s not my fault. I was the pick of the litter, and let me tell you, that was one fine litter. (Kinda like the Kardashians, but with slightly less alliteration and dating of pro athletes.) I mean, look at me! Your table scraps can’t defend against these eyes. One hungry look and your willpower melts. Just like your leftover roast beef will when it gets between my incredibly attractive jaws.
As for the other girls, what do I care? All I need are the smart and (thus) sexy ones. Like you, Bridget. And you, Neytiri. And you, Sailor Moon. And you, Betty White. And you…
My supposed ex-boyfriend is an enigma. He had been acting very cold, but texting me all day and night. When I asked him what was up, he said “it is too real” for him, but he doesn’t want to lose me as a friend. Broke my heart. But the next day, BAM, he’s texting like usual, like nothing happened. He acts like a dog, so I figured I’d ask the top dog: YOU. What is he doing? And why? He is acting exactly like he had been, minus calling me Sweetpea. What’s up with this dog?
I’m glad you asked, because this topic has bothered me for a long time: referring to selfish, game-playing, string-you-along types like your “supposed ex” as dogs. This guy is no dog, no way, no how.
A dog is loyal and loving (especially me). A dog is caring and sensitive to your emotions (especially me). A dog will protect you and defend you from anyone and everything (especially me, and imagine the balls that takes from a guy my size).
Your “supposed ex” wants you only on his terms, in which you’re there for him whenever he needs a sounding board/ego boost/occasional mounting. (What? I’m a dog, people.) Your “supposed ex” wants to have his cake and eat it too, whereas a dog just wants to devour the cake. (And probably the plate it arrived on.)
He’s not a dog. That moniker is way too good for him. Change his status from “supposed ex” to just plain “ex” and find someone who loves you like a real dog does.