I didn't go to the BlogHer conference this year, but it sure was interesting to follow along from afar. As far as I can tell, for instance, from piecing together various tweets and blog posts, a baby got elbowed in the head. Is that right? Did that happen? Did a baby really get elbowed in the head? What the hell did that poor baby do, steal someone's last drink ticket? Get your own vodka-cranberry, baby! This is mine! Pow! That'll teach you! You probably write compensated reviews too, don't you? I thought as much! How'd you like to review this knuckle sandwich?
(Seriously, I really hope a baby didn't actually get elbowed in the head. How terrible! Who would elbow a baby in the head? I hope all the babies who attended BlogHer '09 are decidedly elbow-in-the-head free. Perhaps it was just a crazy rumor made up to shock the people like me who couldn't make it to the conference because they were too consumed with worry about getting married in six weeks and also they totally left it too late to buy a ticket because the whole thing sold out in, like, three seconds this year, I mean, come on, what was it anyway, a convention of bloggers or a Madonna concert?)
So anyway, instead of going to BlogHer, I went to Philadelphia for work. Man, Philadelphia is such a great city. I only wish I could have stayed a little longer, or at least that I could have seen a glimpse of the Jonas Brothers, who, the front desk clerk informed me when I checked in, were staying at the same hotel as me and whose entourage was apparently occupying all the higher-floor rooms I had hoped to transfer to. Not that I like the Jonas Brothers, you see---or actually really know who they are, come to think of it, although I assume they have floppy heart-throb hair and many exclamation point-laden Tiger Beat cover stories---but man, it would have made a good story, right?
As it is, it just makes a pretty lame story, perhaps the lamest story ever. Hey kids, Sean will warble at our offspring's offspring one day; did I ever tell you about the time grandma almost saw the Jonas Brothers in a hotel lobby in Philadelphia? And our offspring's offspring will sigh and roll their eyes and go back to Skyping their friends who are wintering on the moon and demand the story about Gavin Rossdale's bottom instead. (Hey, who wouldn't? I would.)
Finally, I would just like to know if I am the last person in the world to discover the TV show called Friday Night Lights. Have you been watching the TV show called Friday Night Lights? Because I think perhaps the whole country has been watching the TV show called Friday Night Lights---all three seasons of it, in fact, that's how long it's been going on---and Sean and I are just the last ones to figure out how good it is.
In fact, I was going to write more, but I just remembered that Disc 4, Season 1 arrived from Netflix while I was in Philadelphia last week and I've got a little catching up to do. In the meantime, however, if you are bored and female and if you never really got over Jordan Catalano back when My So-Called Life was taken off the air in 1995---oh, don't pretend you did; don't you remember how he leans?---I would invite you to google the name "Tim Riggins" and see what you think of that. Oh, you are welcome, ladies of the Internet. You are so welcome.