24 is on my television for the first time in four seasons. I don't know why I'm watching this -- perhaps the near constant promotion on Fox and the radio stations brainwashed me -- but Jack Bauer just kicked some dude through the door of a subway train and it was awesome. Thank goodness I have my TiFaux, though, because I'm also in the process of trying to find curtains for my bedroom.
They need to be silk dupioni. They need to match my comforter set, but not be too matchy-matchy. They need to be relatively inexpensive (preferably around $35 a panel or less). And they also have to be available at a store in the Westminster Mall. My parents gave me a $150 gift card to Simon malls for Christmas, and Westminster is the closest one. I could go to Mission Viejo, but I'd rather not.
(Side note: The American Idol promos make me want to vomit. They're so, I dunno, self-important.)
(But I might actually watch anyway. After the initial embarassing auditions.)
(OH MY GOSH IS JACK BAUER CRYING IN THE PROMO FOR TOMORROW NIGHT?)
So, given that I worked my first Television Critics Association tour this past week, I'm feeling game to tell a story. It's a story I've shied away from telling a lot of people because, well...because I've felt like an appearance of apathy is the best way to go. One isn't supposed to be a giggly fan of anything in this industry -- or so I thought. But you know what? It's a great story. It was a life-changing night for me in the sense that it made me a more confident young woman, and in a city as crazy as La-La Land, that is definitely a good thing...
To this day, I still say that the deepest advice I've received came from my former roommate's boyfriend Brad: "Go in through the fucking kitchen." I had just told him of my plan to crash the ABC party at the Television Critics Association that January (2004), and he thought it was brilliant. At the time, I was working for said Satan-With-a-Speculum and looking for my way out, whether it was working in publicity or as a writers' assistant. Considering I'd had no luck with resume submission after resume submission for either type of job, I thought I'd try to actually get face time with people who might be able to help me with that. And I knew that the chances of seeing ABC's publicity head, as well as some show-runners (specifically J.J. Abrams during his Alias days), were pretty good.
Keep in mind that I had never done anything like this before. I was always that kid in high school who did the right thing, if only because I didn't want to get into trouble. In fact, this was one of my worries with this particular plan -- what would happen if I got caught on the way in? Would I have to call my dad from jail, asking him to bail me out? I did it anyway.
The night of the party arrived and I put on my most professional dress and headed down to the Pacific Design Center in West Hollywood. Per another friend's recommendation, I put my hands-free earpiece in my ear and carried my cell phone as I strutted through the PDC's corridors. (Yes, I strutted -- Sydney Bristow was an inspiration!) Before I knew it, I was on the escalator behind Sara Rue and on my way through coat-check. Security never once stopped me. I guess I just "looked the part."
Now looking back on it, I'm thoroughly convinced that I was out of my mind. If I had gone up to the head of publicity, she'd have had security all over me in a heartbeat. It was a very, very, very stupid idea. But I guess that sometimes stupid pays off...
Once inside, I realized that partaking of a free cosmo might help my nerves. Yeah, except they were effing strong. Even though I was less nervous, I was muy tipsy, so I switched to Diet Coke. After a conversation that I swear screamed "imposter" with David Anders and Ron Rifkin (Alias), I saw J.J. Abrams across the room. I decided that I was going to introduce myself. So, I walked over to wait my turn. As I'm standing there, though, someone says to me, "Are you J.J.'s wife?"
Um, no. And that is how I was discovered by Michael Ausiello of TV Guide. Luckily, he took care of me for the rest of the evening, even introduced me to J.J., who said that he thought it was cool that I managed to crash. Eventually, I decided I'd had enough, said goodnight to Michael, retrieved my coat and purse, and headed to my car. (Yay free parking!)
Nothing big ever came of the party. When I woke up the next morning, I went back to my job at the gynecologist's office, as I did every Monday through Friday for the next eight months. But it was awesome, and for the first time, I truly felt like I could make it happen.
Whatever it is.
And I realize that's kind of an abrupt end to the story, but my brain just gave out. I'm watching an old episode of C.S.I. and I don't even think I'm going to finish it. Goodnight.
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