EastGirlsWest

From the Associated Press:

Screaming Paris Hilton sent back to jail
Today at 12:22 pm

Paris Hilton was taken from a courtroom screaming and crying Friday seconds after a judge ordered her returned to jail to serve out her entire 45-day sentence for a parole violation in a reckless driving case.

“It’s not right!” shouted the weeping Hilton. “Mom!” she called out to her mother in the audience.

Hilton, who was brought to court in handcuffs in a sheriff’s car, came into the courtroom disheveled and weeping. Her hair was askew and she wore a gray fuzzy sweatshirt over slacks. She wore no makeup and she cried throughout the hearing.

Seriously, could this have turned out any better if it was scripted? I love seeing the words “askew” and “sweatshirt”, along with the phrase “no makeup” in the same paragraph.

Read more here if you haven’t already.

Listen to Weekend Preview on These Days on KPBS in about an hour. I’ll be, well, previewing the weekend. Both ‘Attention Eileen Myles‘ at Voz Alta and the Citybeat ‘Bordering Beauty‘ soiree sound like desirable options for Friday night. If you’re feeling Irish, why not go to ShamRock on St. Patrick’s Day?

Tamara has introduced us to this non-word, and it’s become the preferred adjective/Proper Noun for our estrogen-centric blogger weekend. EXCELANDO. Note the tags on everyone’s Flickr photos.

It’s half past midnight, and we’ve got five laptops out. We’re maxing out our access to stolen WiFi from the neighbor. Flickr is S.L.O.W. By the fifth bottle of red wine, there was mutual love being declared. Someone, and I’m not naming any names (Leah), suggested a blood oath against plastic surgery except for boobs.

Leah is writing her first blog post about the weekend.

“You mean, we only get one lousy mention? I think we each deserve our own paragraph.”

“Yeah, maybe later when I’m not drunk.”

It’s 90 degrees out here in the desert, people. Palm Desert, to be specific. And truthfully, hot feels pretty good right now - especially after my flirtation with the low 20s in Chicago earlier this week.

I’m here for a mini-mini Blogger/BlogHer gathering, generously hosted by Susan. We’re joined by four, fabulous other women: Katie, Tamara, Leah and Aaryn. So far it’s been wonderful, with a quiet morning at Susan’s a leisurely walk and lunch along The Paseo this afternoon. And art. We saw lots of photogenic art. There were two rides in a bright yellow golf cart.

Everyone’s got a big, fancy camera except me. I feel like I’m being followed by the paparazzi.

We’re all blogging and uploading photos and laptopping. We’re all taking pictures of each other taking pictures. I just commented on one of Angela’s Flickr photos while sitting three feet away from Aaryn who was looking at it. It’s all very meta.

Love that Melissa Ethridge just won an Oscar. Love that she kissed her wife in front of the camera before going on stage. Love that she thanked her wife in her acceptance speech.

Altarcations: their new weekly scorecard for New York Times wedding announcements.

This is brilliant. And even though it’s only their first outing with this new feature - it has the potential for MUCH amusement. Also, can’t wait to apply the scorecard to my own vows in a few months.

In other news, I’m seriously worried about Britney. Although, the worse she gets, the more fascinating she becomes. Really, really hoping that Britney lover Dooce weighs in on the train wreck this week.

Finally, Comedy Central’s Insider Blog has a fantastic review of the Fox News (failed) attempt at clever, witty political satire. From what I’ve seen? Ummmm…awkward. In that out-of-touch-vaguely-racist-and-oh-by-the-way-NOT-FUNNY kind of way.

Molly Ivins has died.

So sad. Such a great writer and an inspiring woman.

I can’t remember how I was first exposed to Molly Ivins, but I’m guessing it was through my mother. Was Ivins syndicated back in the 80’s? Maybe it was her first book. I don’t know exactly when I first became aware of her, or started reading her, but I was probably a teenager. A teenager being raised by a politically vocal mother who drove around with an “ERA Yes” bumper sticker on her car in the late 70s and early 80s. A teenager forming her own liberal views. Ivins writing was perfect narration to the way I was beginning to see the social climate and our political leadership. And a fearless female voice that I would quickly learn was a rare find in mainstream media.

It is possible to read the history of this country as one long struggle to extend the liberties established in our Constitution to everyone in America. - Molly Ivins

One of the cute and charming things about my sister: she’s occasionally out of the loop on some of the basic, cultural touchpoints that bond those of us in our socio-economic cohort.

Like ordering coffee, for instance.

We woke up the other day to the painful realization that we were out of caffeinated beans. I discovered this when I stumbled over to the coffee maker to pour myself a cup of the sweet nectar that The Betrothed prepares for us every morning, and he said “we’re out of caffeine.” He drinks decaf, and did not share my devastation.

Tay and I modified our pajama outfits just enough to pass public muster and shuffled up to Starbucks a few blocks away.

Upon arrival Tay has to spend a few minutes actually reviewing the menu over the counter. There is some evident indecision, and the distinct look of unfamiliarity in her eyes.

“Um, do you have soy?” Tay asks.

The barista smiles at me, somewhat conspiratorially, as if to say “duh, of course everyone in the whole world knows Starbucks has soy.” And the thing is, she’s right. EVERYONE in the whole world knows Starbucks has soy. Except. Tay.

“Okay. Um…I think I want a chai, but with soy, and cold.”

“So, you want an iced soy chai latte?”

“Yeah…I think so. Is your chai green or black?”

At this point, I have to jump in. Barista is looking confused, because obviously the entire concept that chai is an actual tea that comes in different varieties is lost on her.

I say, “Tay, it’s a actually a mix.”

Tay now looks terrified. She’s still pre-coffee, has barely been able to communicate her needs due to the language barrier (she does NOT speak Starbuckese), and clearly can’t face a reorder. In the meantime, the barista has pulled out the box of chai mix so Tay can inspect the ingredients. She reads and reconsiders.

“I mean, I guess just some kind of decaf, iced.”

The barista leans over quite seriously now, and in a low voice queries, “Where do you usually go?” - with a look of pained disbelief on her face.

Again, the communication falls apart here. Tay is oblivious that the real point of the question is the woman’s shock that there is anyone on god’s green earth who doesn’t have experience ordering a grande iced decaf at the most ubiquitous corner establishment ever.

“Oh. We’ll, I don’t. I just moved here.”

“Really? From where? Mars?”

I’m not kidding. She actually accused Tay of being an alien. And while it is most likely true that Tay is indeed the LAST Earthling in the universe who can’t use the word venti in a sentence…I actually think it’s kind of cool.

On Huffington Post today, P. Diddy on George Bush:

It’s like my man ain’t got no marbles up there…Ain’t nobody feelin’ this war.

(thanks to Angela for pointing this out)

So in six weeks, my sister is moving in with us. That’s right: driving her Honda from Austin to San Diego and setting up camp in the guest bedroom. I know, you’re
wondering how The Betrothed got tricked into this, right? No trickery involved, I promise. Or pleading, even. He claims to fine with it all, and I’m inclined to believe him.

Anyway, Tay (as she’s known within the family, long story), is Quite Something. A tall, blonde, gorgeous, glamourous, funky, cool rock star type. You know, exactly the kind of person you want for a sister. And even though she wears things like fingerless gloves, which I would not be caught dead in, she does have some items of clothing that I like to play dress-up in. I mean, who doesn’t wannabe a glamourous, cool rock star type once in awhile?

We talk about 12 times a day, and conversation number seven just went like this:

“I have a new vintage dress. Thirty dollars, it’s totally hot.”

“Oh my god, I can’t wait until you move in and I have full access to your wardrobe.”

“I’m not going to lie to you - it will enhance your life.”

“I know! Of course, I realize my wardrobe won’t exactly do the same for you.”

“Well, you know, your clothes might be good on those days when I just want to…”

“DON’T even say it!”