I watched the full audio commentary on “Can’t Hardly Wait,” which I guess is the obligatory activity for new DVD owners. It is a process totally without enjoyment, even when Seth Green does a fake English accent which he refuses to drop until all the other people commenting gang up and yell at him to quit.
What I did like about it: the other commentors clearly had a thing for Jennifer Love Hewitt and just as clearly did not find Seth Green at all amusing. At one point during a Love scene, one of them said “And of course Love was filming Party of Five at the same time she was filming this. I think she actually pulled a few 24 hour days. But she looks just sensational, she’s so amazing.”
Seth said, “Hey, I was filming Buffy while I was doing this.”
Long pause. “Shut up, Seth.”
Saturday my parents are taking me to my first anti-war protest. (Unless you count the time in middle school when, seeing that the high school next door had gotten news vans to cover their anti-war rally, about sixty of us sixth graders decided to stand around on the playground after the final lunch bell had rung, yelling slogans our parents had taught us and hoping Wolf Blitzer would run over with a camera. But I don’t count that, myself.)
I always tell people I had a standard-issue California childhood. The 1989 earthquake was on my 10th birthday; my parents were friends with drug dealers (really just one, who dealt what my mom refers to as “the soft drugs” in order to be a stay-at-home mom); and my dad used to tell me that when I was ready to try pot I should let him know and we could all do it together in the living room. We had a swimming pool and fruit trees and a semi-famous cousin. We talked about sex. We had a Mr. Natural postcard and a quote from Gandhi on the bulletin board. And now we’re protesting together. Good times.
Nothing beats the small pieces I’ve heard about Pants’s
childhood, however. He hasn’t blogged about his all-health all-the-time diet but maybe he should, hint ahem hint.
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