You gotta be in the know. That’s why I slave away over the internet all day long to bring you these little gems so you can pretend like you slave away over the internet all day. I mean, at other sites, other than Facebook.

Videogum brings you the 13 cutest animals of 2009. This is my favourite: squirrel in a yogurt cup – straight out of Anchorman!

There’s also the pygmy jerboa, which I will take two of, please! One for each pocket:

On Gizmodo, the great debate over which blanket with sleeves is the best blanket with sleeves is finally answered after each one – all four! – are tested. “Thank you, Snuggie, for raising blanket-with-sleeves awareness.” (I’m not sure how I have become the world’s premiere blogger about Snuggies, but I really had bigger dreams for myself.)

This is pretty funny: beloved local alt-news rag, NOW Magazine, runs a purely comical piece on teh internetz. Jason Richards writes about quitting Hotmail.

When you try to attempt to quit Hotmail, a window appears on the screen that says “Internet Explorer has shut down unexpectedly.” Ignore it. 30 seconds later, the window will close on its own and the affable voice of an Australian man says: “OK, you got us. We were just trying to distract you. Good job, mate.”

Then, you are prompted to endure a 53-page emotional gauntlet that begins with questions about why you want to quit Hotmail, but veers into more philosophical, obscure, cryptic vague, and qualitative territory. Some of the questions aren’t even questions. Among things Hotmail asks:

Who are you on the inside?

What is beauty?

The word “cobra” is short for “cobra de capelo,” which is Portuguese for what?

Whatever happened to the Walt character in Lost? It seems like the writers kind of ditched that storyline.

What is the best recipe for oxtail soup?

and

We hope your brother is enjoying his tap dancing lessons.

Finally, I think this piece about Malcolm Gladwell is meant to be insightful. Well, maybe if you’ve actually read a Malcolm Gladwell book. It couldn’t hold my interest past the first sentence but I’m really stuck on the picture of that guy at the top. Is that Malcolm Gladwell or the author of the post? Either way – holy cow!

That’s your internet update for Dec 22, 2009.  Let’s do this again sometime!

Three Keyboard Cat Moon

Buy it at Threadless

Where to begin?

When I first saw a preview for this movie, I couldn’t believe there was hype for it. I really thought it looked dumb.

I changed my tune the minute I heard it was 3D. Isn’t it funny how you sort of pick things up from the ether sometimes? I swear that up until last week I hadn’t even heard the term “3D” since the ’80s, but leaving the movie 2012 recently, I had only this to say: “That would’ve been awesome in 3D. Why aren’t more movies in 3D?” Sheesh, my sub-conscious mind was picking up signals from the collective unconscious like I just got a new wireless card installed. Next thing I know everything’s in 3D. I can’t even tell you how excited I am to live in the future.

So I went to see Avatar.

And it BLEW MY MIND.

It was a classic over-the-top blockbuster, with the kind of action that never fails to keep me riveted. It was huge. Absolutely epic. And on the big screen, in 3D, it was also completely beautiful. I mean that without a note of sarcasm. It was a completely beautiful movie, like a work of art.

The movie takes place on a planet called “Pandora,” whose wonders left me completely agape: the flowers, the “floating mountains”, the plant life, the insects, the animals… My mouth dried out during Avatar’s almost 3-hour run because it was open the whole time.

Plus things blow up, people run really fast, and the aliens (who, strangely, start to appear attractive, once your disbelief has been suspended – and it will be) wear next to nothing. This movie really has something for everyone!

I’m including some links to clips I trolled the internet for, just for you! But I don’t think you should watch them. It’s not the same. Just go directly to the theatre, right now, and watch the movie fresh – in the larger-than-life format it was intended to be viewed in. Trust me on this one. I think that’s all I need to say on the matter.

We all do crazy things under stress. Some people hallucinate. Some people commit crimes. I consume garbage.

I mean, not literally garbage – you won’t find me outside by your trash bins, tossing back your eggshells and banana peels – but figuratively garbage: Pop-Tarts by the box, tabloid magazines, chick flick videos. Getting out of the house to munch down on your nutrient-rich eggshells and banana peels would probably be healthier. But what can I do? I am powerless in the face of my vice. Many deadlines? Get me a cheeseburger and an update on Tom and Katie.

I’m not proud of this, but I tell you in the interest of full disclosure that the other day I rented the movie The Ugly Truth. No one was home, which meant that I could watch anything I wanted and it would be my little secret. I crept shamefully to the video store in search of something that had a full-body shot of a man and a woman on the cover. To be specific, a sassy-looking woman with a man who looked like he’d been told. Maybe with her holding his tie. After hovering in front of anything remotely rom-comish just a little too long, I finally grabbed The Ugly Truth with sudden haste, like it was an X-rated movie and I didn’t want anyone to notice. I shot the salesgirl a gruff thank-you, shoved my embarrassing purchase into my purse and scurried home to consume it with relish.

I must, at one point, have seen an enjoyable chick flick; one so delightfully fun and rompy as to have inspired a lifetime’s secret love. Yet looking back, I recall only cringeworthy horror after cringeworthy horror: The Sweetest Thing, How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, 27 Dresses, Crossroads… The list is endless. The Ugly Truth was (no surprise here) one monumental addition to my growing compendium of WORST CHICK FLICKS EVER.

Let me tell you about it!

In the opening scene, our heroine, Abby (played by star-of-every-bad-chick-flick-movie-ever, Katherine Heigl), is arriving at her demanding job as the producer of an a.m. news show. Cool and unflappable, Abby has an answer for every staff member’s ridiculous problem before she even reaches her desk. Yes, she is efficient, all right! Clever, too. I know her type, the viewers are made to think. It looks like she’s got it all together, but if there’s one thing we’ve learned from movies of this ilk, it’s that no woman could ever be successful in business without being a lonely old hag at home. And sure enough, within minutes into the movie’s opening, Abby’s assistant/bestie is swooning over the dating profile of the man Abby is going out with that night. “Don’t screw it up!” she says, or something to that effect, anyway.

But – oh noes! She can’t help it. ‘Ere the man’s even ordered his dinner, Abby has pulled out the print-out of his profile, discussed his background check and drawn out a list of “talking points”. Are you thinking “control freak”? Well, don’t worry if you’re not, the script-writers point it out for you by having Abby’s date call her as much.

Back at home, Abby’s getting ready for another solo trip to bed when her cat (“cat” is movie-prop speak for “lonely spinster”) steps on the remote control and changes the channel to a cable access show called “The Ugly Truth”, where soon-to-be main character, Mike Chadway (played by handsome dreamboat, Gerald Butler), is dropping bombs of misogyny, like “Ladies! Don’t bother being smart, all men want is for you to not be fat!” or similar. Abby wants to turn it off but she’s huffing and puffing over his inflammatory statements and getting increasingly involved. Finally – WITHOUT BEING PROMPTED TO CALL OR BEING IN ANY WAY PROVIDED WITH A PHONE NUMBER – she begins angrily punching numbers into her phone and gets through immediately. A lengthy discussion ensues, far exceeding the length of any real-life call-in discussion, in which Mike Chadway cuts to the core of her, nearly breaking Abby’s tough-guy veneer, by calling her ugly. Man, he showed her.

The VERY NEXT MORNING, Abby’s boss announces that they have decided to hire a new TV personality for the show – SINCE YESTERDAY – and shows a clip from “The Ugly Truth”. In fact, it’s actually a clip of the discussion with Abby from THE NIGHT BEFORE! Boy, is she mad! Abby snaps off the TV and calls Mike Chadway a jerk, but then he walks in! Yikes, he’s already been hired. “You mean you signed the contract already?” asks Abby, agog. I was agog, too. When did he sign the contract? Last night at midnight?

Blah blah blah, more idiocy ensues. Abby decides she’s in love with her neighbour.  Mike Chadway is like, “I know you don’t like me, but you have to admit that I know how to get men,” and he coaches her on winning her man a la Cyrano de Bergerac. During this coaching, natch, they realize that they love each other. Each moment - each single scene, sentence, glance, everything about this movie - was so stupendously bad that I want to be recompensated for it in some way. I want Sony Pictures to reimburse my life by 96 minutes. I think Sony should cover the costs of cryogenically freezing my body until reanimation becomes scientifically feasible, and then bring me back to life for 96 minutes so I can watch one other movie – any other movie – before sending me back to hell, which will probably be just one enormous multiplex theatre playing The Ugly Truth in every single cinema for the rest of eternity.

In the final scene, just to bring the absurdity full circle, Mike Chadway has left Abby’s show because of their love-drama, and Abby has attempted to replace him with a young man who takes the shock value thing too far when he tells audiences that women mean yes when they say no. Shooing him off the live camera, Abby does what is clearly the only thing that can be done in the situation: she takes the mic herself and starts reading off the men-are-scum riot act like she’s in the erstwhile CityTV Speaker’s Corner booth. Meanwhile, from across the… way? The park? From across the city? Mike Chadway, watching the diatribe on live TV, takes offense and rushes over to where Abby’s filming – in a matter of mere seconds – to defend himself. Hey, as it turns out, they’re standing in an air-balloon, which fires up and takes off while they’re in it, which they don’t notice, and the whole world watches them argue, resolve their differences, and declare their love. Impassioned pleas on the seemingly-heartless Mike Chadway’s part are interspersed with footage of everyone they know watching the show with baited breath, from various locales around the city.

I didn’t even bother to tell you about the a.m. news program, but Roger Ebert summed it up when he said it made Anchorman: The Ron Burgundy Story “look like a documentary.” Movies like this are like trans-saturated fat for the soul.  No wait, that sounds too tasty.  Toss this one out.  It really is garbage.

And we’re back!

Check out the job board, my hard-working little friends.

LAUGH OUT LOUD FUNNY!

Being a freelance writer (same thing as unemployed person/job-hunter) means never having to say “I don’t need any more work.”  That’s why you should check out my new offering here at Not Jessica McGann - the Job Board!

Go quickly, before the rest of my 9 million* readers apply for all the jobs first!

*2

What is it about ladies who compete in beauty pageants?  Can’t you be pretty and smart, too?

stephenie-meyer1All right, settle down, Twilight fans! According to the internet, you’re all going crazy over Stephenie Meyer’s appearance on Oprah today.

Will she or won’t she was the big question on the lips of rabid fans dying for a fifth book. Although Oprah promised the answer to that question (“coming up”), it never got covered – hence the internet searches, perhaps. Luckily for you, crazed masses, someone stopped Meyer backstage to get the goods. Skirting around The Big Question, Meyer said that she is a little “burnt out on vampires right now,” but didn’t write-off the possibility of continuing the series completely. What I found most redeeming was her confession that she was “so raw” when she wrote Twilight and that now, as a more seasoned author, she’d like to go back and re-write them. Bless.

Watching Meyer speak makes me feel slightly uncomfortable. Her syntactic errors and awkward… nerdiness (“I might go spend some time with my aliens”) make me cringe, and then I wonder if I am some kind of nerd-racist and become even more uncomfortable. Still, in her mediocrity – her multi-million dollar mediocrity – she is the living embodiment of the enigma that is the Twilight series.

Like many an adult woman in her thirties, I read the series with great relish (okay, three of the four. By the time I finished the third my sturdy sense of pragmatism had broken whatever strange spell had kept me enthralled and I realized I couldn’t stand the damn books). Every sentence, every scene, made me cringe with the same embarrassment Meyer’s demeanour does – although to be fair that’s because it’s a child’s book, and I, (against all reason,) am an adult*. But although that excuses some weakness in the plot- and character-development departments, it still doesn’t explain why I couldn’t put them down. How can you actively be reading something and acknowledging that you don’t like it, and still not able to put it down? The first one, in particular, enraptured me. When I was not reading it, I craved it. A impromptu survey of my friends (same demographic) confirmed that the phenomenon was common. What kind of page-turning black magic does Stephenie Meyer know? And how can I, as a fledgling commercial fiction writer myself, learn it?

Is it my soul that you want, Stephenie Meyer? Because for what you have, I will give it.

*Further defense of Twilight’s value: sorry, Stephenie Meyer, the internet is a small place and you are a nice lady, I am sure. Just not fond of vampires, is all. Never was my thing. Not even Lestat.

Briefcase

Image: FreeDigitalPhotos.net

I have a friend who’s a carpenter (you know, like Jesus) who told me that for the first couple of years he was in business he was always under-quoting because every job he took was for something he’d never done before. You know, first time constructing a built-in unit, first time building a deck, etc. You hardly feel you can charge regular rates if you’ve never done it before. But one day he realized that every job was always going to be a first; each job had some new, uncharted aspect to it that no previous job had. After two years of selling himself short, he stopped under-quoting. He had to make a living, after all.

Same thing for new writers. Every job is new. You don’t want to under-quote forever, but if you don’t have a robust portfolio, your low prices and your enthusiasm are your only selling features. The challenge, then, is to charge as much as you can get away with. And to calculate that, you need some kind of scope.

When you get the question, “What is your expected rate?”, don’t you just wish you could come back with, “Um, you first.”?

As with all questions that want answering, look to the internet! The would-be authority on the matter for Canadian writers is the Professional Writer’s Association of Canada. They publish their professional fee guidelines based on information they collect from their members across Canada, as well as from Canadian businesses that hire writers. Novice writers may want to take their suggested fees with a grain of salt. A grain of poverty salt, that is. These fees come from established writers, and if you have no experience, quoting $12,000 for a technical report will get you laughed out of the room. On the other hand, they give you an idea of what real, grown-up, profesh writers are earning. Check out the list here.

Local writer, InkyGirl, also has a list of informative links on her site here.

It’s a saturated market, my friends, meaning that many lucky employers score talented writers dirt-cheap because they have no resume to speak of. On this note, let me throw a few metaphors at you:

A rising tide floats all boats. It’s in every writer’s interest to set and maintain standards for writers’ pay, because, as young ladies’ mothers warn them about promiscuity, they won’t buy the cow if they can get the milk for free. That said, 2004’s flash-in-the-pan, Kelis, advised us that our “milkshake[s bring] all the boys to the yard.” When you’re a freelance writer, nobody’s going to come to your yard if you don’t have any milkshake, but if you want to sell the cow, find out how much the milk is worth.*

*Really, I couldn’t do any better than that.

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