So I started this blog a little over a year ago to keep in better touch with my friends in New York.
And then a funny thing happened. People I didn’t know who started following me. First 100 followers? Victory Dance!
And it was really fun for awhile. I made friends that live in the Internet. Shut up, don’t judge.
And you guys read about my job, my break up, my dog…my life. Facebook? Pshh please. Tumblr is where it’s at!
And as it grew and grew and more and more followers came a comin’, I started to feel weird for the first time. I want to post certain pictures, but I don’t want certain people to see them. I want to say things I don’t particularly want particular people to read.
It’s such a strange thing. In the beginning, you want your friends to read. Then you want the randoms. Then you have friends, randoms, ex-friends, family all reading, and suddenly you’re like, “Wait, that’s personal.”
So I know I’ve been slacking lately. I’m just trying to find my voice again…Trying to keep this about me and my life, without it being a place for announcements. Trying to let go. Trying to hold back. Trying to find that happy place again. You know what I mean?
It’s 7 a.m. and Bethenny Frankel is hard at work. The reality TV star is talking to Don Imus about her new book, her new daughter and the time when, eight months pregnant and stitched into a wedding dress, she relieved herself into a champagne bucket on national television.
“My wife likes you,” Imus smirks, unimpressed by his guest.
Frankel smiles knowingly and leans in a few inches from his face. “You’ll like me soon.”
“1. The bandage was wound around the wound. 2. The farm was used to produce produce. 3. The dump was so full it had to refuse more refuse. 4. We must polish the Polish furniture. 5. He could lead if he would get the lead out. 6. The soldier decided to desert his dessert in the desert. 7. Since there was no time like the present, he thought it was time to present the present. 8. A bass was painted on the head of the bass drum. 9. When shot at, the dove dove into the bushes. 10. I did not object to the object. 11. The insurance was invalid for the invalid. 12. There was a row among the oarsmen on how to row. 13. They were too close to the door to close it. 14. The buck does funny things when does are present. 15. A seamstress and a sewer fell down into a sewer line. 16. To help with planting, the farmer taught his sow to sow. 17. The wind was too strong to wind the sail. 18. After a number of injections my jaw got number. 19. Upon seeing the tear in the painting I shed a tear. 20. I had to subject the subject to a series of tests. 21. How can I intimate this to my most intimate friend?”—
Okay, so let’s start with where I’ve been. It’s that time of year again in the television industry…
There’s a little thing called “pilot screenings” which essentially hijacks network TV employees’ lives once a year. As most of you know, I work in reality television. Reality is completely different than scripted. We shoot year round, we’re cheaper, we don’t really have a “season,” etc. Scripted is a whole other beast.
To keep it simple, comedies and dramas are pitched to the networks starting in the spring into the early fall. Usually around Thanksgiving, major networks commission a certain amount of shows to shoot a pilot, usually around 20 or so. Production begins around the start of the year. The first cuts arrive in the spring. And then…(dun dun dun) PILOT SCREENINGS. Schedules go out the window. Lunches are canceled. Meetings are put on hold. For about a week, a select group of people screen all the pilots. It’s complete lockdown. Now, it may sound fun watching new shows back to back to back, days on end, but it can be exhausting. Sometimes it’s amazing. You’re watching what will be the next Grey’s Anatomy, Lost, or Modern Family. Other times, you’re stuck in a room watching the most un-funny hour long show you have ever seen in your life that will never see the light of day, and there is no option to fast forward, leave the room, or shout out WHY GOD WHY!?
But then…then the announcements are made. It’s very exciting. We sit and we wait. And we wait. And then, it inevitably breaks in the press, and you hear cheers up and down the hallways. Hooray for the people who worked on Good Christian Bitches Belles! The River reminds me of Lost, and that makes it an obvious choice in my book! Dawson Leery fans are going to love Apartment 23. Every network slowly announces what they’ve picked up for the new season. You may have heard NBC was making a new Wonder Woman. You may have also heard they scrapped it. All signs point to bad testing during pilot screenings.
If you work in television, it’s a very interesting time. We hear (and read) about what other networks are banking on. But you never know what’s going to get picked up or not. Nikki Finke from Deadline.com is essentially that kid in high school who knows EVERYTHING before everyone. So there’s a lot of “refreshing” happening on just about everyone’s desk. It’s very strange. It’s inside Hollywood info, but not celebrity-driven. On Deadline, I’ve read about the hiring and firing of people I know personally BEFORE it was internally announced. But I’ve digressed. My point is, no one wants their info to leak before their competitors’. So that brings me to Upfronts.
After the networks select which shows they are picking up, they have to make some sort of grandiose announcement. All the very, very important TV people fly to New York for the Upfronts. Throughout the week, each network presents their super flashy and exciting schedule to the advertisers and other very important TV people. And then all the minions of the industry (myself included) compare all the schedules and gossip about what is going to fail and what will succeed and who is going to kill in the ratings. We finally get to see clips of the shows we’ve been hearing about on other networks. ABC’s Upfront presentation is today, so I’ll be with some coworkers watching a live feed of New York. Now I know I’m biased and all, but I think ABC has some killer shows coming up! I’ll be posting some clips for you all to watch.
And that’s all I got for today’s “Where has Tinsely been?” and “TV 101.”
That awkward moment when you are sitting in church on Sunday morning slightly hungover and you realize you spent your nephew’s first holy communion gift money on that last cab after bar hopping last night. 9 year olds take checks right?
I’ve been working hard and playing hard, which leaves little time for the blog. I know things will slow down soon.
Here’s a quick story, which I feel pretty much sums things up nicely. This morning I was late to work. (Shocker). Hungover. (Shocker). I was getting off my freeway exit when out of nowhere, an SUV cuts me off. No blinkers or anything. Before I had a chance to say, “Hey Asshole—” I realized it was my own father. True. 70 year old foreinger, still drivin like he’s in the old country. I pulled up next to him to get his attention. Nothing. Nada.
We happen to work next to each other—he’s at the hospital, I’m at the tv network. Clearly didn’t follow in his footsteps. I see him from time to time on my morning commute, but this takes the cake. Thanks Daddy-o!
Fascinating. I had forgotten about these kids. I mean, yes, we all know Bush was reading to kids in Florida when news of the attack broke. I remember it was a book about a goat. I remember he took flack for continuing to read the book until the very end. But do I ever think about the kids? What it must have been like for them? Where they are now? No, not until now. It throws me that they are nearly adults. There are things that are frozen in time when I think of 9/11. I think of the very first footage I saw on the TV. I think of my mom waking me up because “something really bad has happened.” And I think of the images of Bush reading to those kids. So naturally, those kids are still kids to me. But not so. In the near 10 years that have gone by, they have formed into people with very real opinions and memories of that day. And I find it ironic that for the last 10 years or so, we adults have yapped on and on and criticized Bush for continuing to read that story. We’ve all thrown in our two cents. But no one asked the kids back then about it. Maybe it would have been wise to stop and think, those kids needed him to keep reading. I’m glad someone finally thought to ask them what they thought, even if it took almost a decade.
Don’t get me wrong. I am by no means a fashion expert. If I could wear jeans and Target white t-shirt everyday, I probably would. I wouldn’t even pronounce it “Tar-jay” to make it sound cooler. Nope. Straight up—TarGET. I walk around my house in men’s boxers, complete with saggy butt, and I have no shame. (What? They’re comfy.) But I follow enough to know the Met Gala is like, really important. A time when the stars really go for it. They opt for slightly more couture; they just go there. But this year, I find myself asking, just where are you trying to go? Some super fug dresses if you ask me. In no particular order:
Now, I know she just pushed out a 9 pound baby naturally, but that does not give you an excuse to dress like an asshole:
I think my parents had that rug in our house back in the 80’s:
I know girls sometimes “let themselves go” once they get married, but….:
Did she go shopping with Kristen Stewart? And what’s with the braid:
Being “curvy” does not mean you can disregard proportion:
I’m pretty sure they just wrapped filming on Spiderman, so I think you can stop campaigning for that role:
Do I need a comment:
Ladies, this is the MET GALA. Fail. No. Not at all. Bad choice. Again please.