tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-225978492008-05-13T01:36:23.569-04:00Carolhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11131348843688523415noreply@blogger.comBlogger19125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22597849.post-1170098768872601942007-01-29T14:25:00.000-05:002007-01-29T14:41:41.190-05:00

I watched my mother stroll down 6th Avenue in a Spring dress on her way to the Conan O'Brien show. We had just finished lunch and that morning she had helped me seal the deal on a new apartment, my first in Manhattan. She had been riding the subway, exploring the city, talking to realtors, meeting my coworkers and just generally living it up and getting things done in NYC for a couple of days

Carolhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11131348843688523415noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22597849.post-1168621773894598022007-01-12T11:28:00.000-05:002007-01-12T12:43:29.410-05:00

Michael threw a love note across the room during pre-algebra class and it landed on my notebook. It was folded down tight and on the front the word, "HI" had been drawn in outline, with the background shaded. I turned the note over; he had shaded the back as well. I slowly opened it: "Carol, I'm sorry if I'm bothering you, but I love you. You are more precious to me now than ever. The only

Carolhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11131348843688523415noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22597849.post-1168452513589649852007-01-10T12:40:00.000-05:002007-01-10T15:50:05.420-05:00

I was thinking recently about the short list of films I've seen multiple times in the theater. The Little Mermaid was the first movie I went to repeatedly and I ended up seeing it four or five times. Same with Silence of the Lambs, Much Ado About Nothing and Basquiat. Basquiat is particularly notable because I was in college at Auburn University at the time and it wasn't showing anywhere near

Carolhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11131348843688523415noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22597849.post-1160663787928733212006-10-12T10:33:00.000-04:002006-10-12T10:36:27.946-04:00

[Some of this may have appeared in bits and pieces in other columns. I'm working on a book pitch and this is from the intro...figured since I haven't posted a column in a while this would suffice. xoxo, Carol] When I was around five or six, all of the girls I knew in my hometown of Tarrant, Alabama were joining the cheerleading squad at the recreation center. They would practice once or twice

Carolhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11131348843688523415noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22597849.post-1155741505676069682006-08-16T11:07:00.000-04:002006-08-17T11:17:33.906-04:00

Mitch: Alright Ed, your best day, what was it, twins in a trapeeze, what? Ed: No, I don't wanna play. Mitch: C'mon, we did it... Ed: I don't feel like it. Mitch: Uh, okay... [pause] Ed: I'm 14 and my mother and father are fighting again...y'know, because she caught him again. Caught him.... This time the girl drove by the house to pick him up. And I finally realized, he wasn't just cheating

Carolhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11131348843688523415noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22597849.post-1152284221081940032006-07-07T09:56:00.000-04:002006-07-07T17:39:09.716-04:00

In the 1986 film The Hitcher, Rutger Hauer ties Jennifer Jason Leigh between two semi trucks, then puts one in reverse and rips her in half. Sometime around 1988 I saw that movie and to this day when I drive past a truckstop my stomach tenses just a bit, as if in that situation I would somehow be able to will my body to stay in one piece. I've actually spent a lot of time speculating on exactly

Carolhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11131348843688523415noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22597849.post-1149868381415197662006-06-09T11:34:00.000-04:002006-06-09T11:54:06.943-04:00

Yeah, I haven't posted a column in two weeks, but that's because I've been editing the first Drink at Work short film, Agoraphobic Superhero. Today I'm submitting the rough cut to the Sidewalk Moving Picture Festival in Birmingham, AL, and I'm hoping against hope that we get in. The audio is really rough and I haven't added any music or closing credits to it, but it's very funny and looks

Carolhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11131348843688523415noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22597849.post-1148056966378575342006-05-19T12:40:00.000-04:002006-05-19T13:03:08.966-04:00

It has just occurred to me, just now, not a minute ago, how important, definitive and utterly crucial Sally Field's career has been to my life. Let me tell you how I arrived at that thought, because the process in and of itself is, at least to me, illuminating. I decided to write a column called "I Am What Hate Looks Like." There was no particular reason for that other than I'm in a foul mood

Carolhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11131348843688523415noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22597849.post-1147893610046039272006-05-17T15:16:00.000-04:002006-05-17T16:44:00.163-04:00

When I was a senior in high school my A.P. English teacher stopped our lesson plan cold during the first semester in order to give us a two week remedial course in cursive handwriting. Now, while that was an exercise in retarded futility, there is something to be said for taking a step back and relearning some things we should have already mastered. As a professional comedy show audience member

Carolhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11131348843688523415noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22597849.post-1146853902959086362006-05-05T14:29:00.000-04:002006-05-05T15:50:43.106-04:00

I'm pretty sure my seventh grade boyfriend was an albino. He had almost white blonde hair, really pale skin and pale blue eyes. He wore a tux t-shirt to the 8th grade banquet (instead of a real tux rented from Mr. Burch or Tant & Tant) and he died in a car accident with his grandfather when we were in 10th grade. I hadn't spoken to him in a couple of years. We weren't friendly after the

Carolhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11131348843688523415noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22597849.post-1145647932570521762006-04-21T15:23:00.000-04:002006-04-21T15:32:53.463-04:00

Hail to thee our alma mater here's our praise to you guide art thou in youthful school days banners gold and blue Raise your voices, swell the chorus sing of gold and blue Alma mater we adore thee and we'll aye be true. GO CATS GO! Look, folks. Let's make no bones about it. I grew up rich. My family lived in a 4 BR house in the nice part of Tarrant, AL, called Tarrant Gardens. We had

Carolhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11131348843688523415noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22597849.post-1145030568778799622006-04-14T12:02:00.000-04:002006-04-14T13:14:29.320-04:00

Last week I didn’t write an article. I tried, but I just couldn’t make it happen. I had an idea about lambasting movies centered around a clearly retarded main character that no one will admit is retarded because it's an attractive female (i.e. Flashdance or Pretty Woman). Then I had an idea about making a list of my 10 favorite New York comics who aren't currently on comedycentral.com (Craig

Carolhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11131348843688523415noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22597849.post-1143837467686953242006-03-31T14:23:00.000-05:002006-04-01T20:58:54.243-05:00

This past Monday at the first Drink at Work.com Presents... I read aloud the virginity pledge I signed at church camp when I was 13. That got me to thinking about the week I spent at this camp every summer from age 6 to 18; how hot it was, how I would always try to win first or second place in every single sports competition...even skimming stones which I didn't consider a sport, how I would

Carolhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11131348843688523415noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22597849.post-1143213331592122842006-03-24T09:54:00.000-05:002006-03-24T11:16:18.706-05:00

While I was trying to figure out what to do for today's column I came across this Word doc on my computer called "dialogue." It's apparently something I jotted down a few years ago for a screenplay I wanted to write. There are three snippets of conversations between two unidentified characters, although one is clearly based on me and the other is clearly wise to the "me" character's bullshit.

Carolhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11131348843688523415noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22597849.post-1142610216215102632006-03-17T10:35:00.000-05:002006-03-17T11:25:46.750-05:00

When I first understood what death was and that it was inevitibly going to happen to me, I became very angry at my parents. "You mean, you knew this is what would happen and you brought me here anyway? How dare you people?" My favorite stuffed animal was a small Pink Panther I received for Christmas when I was five. He was plagued by self-loathing and ennui and routinely attempted suicide by

Carolhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11131348843688523415noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22597849.post-1142026016048028432006-03-10T16:23:00.000-05:002006-03-10T16:34:18.036-05:00

In a slight break from form, I want to write this week about something other than me and my endless fascination with all things male. We'll get back to adventures in penis envy next week. As a devoted comedy fan, I spend an awful lot of time going to shows, upwards of four to five a week at this point. Up until the last few months, I pretty much made the same rounds: Rififi, UCB, The PIT,

Carolhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11131348843688523415noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22597849.post-1141597554078056212006-03-05T16:05:00.000-05:002006-03-05T17:47:02.473-05:00

My dad has an impressive collection of guns stored in the downstairs guest bedroom closet. When mildly coaxed, he’s happy to escort you down there and take each piece out one by one, show it to you and explain what year it’s from and what the significance behind it is. Mostly, he collects rifles and shotguns but he also has a small handgun collection in the nearby chest-of-drawers. His favorites

Carolhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11131348843688523415noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22597849.post-1140753700709371742006-02-24T00:01:00.000-05:002006-02-23T23:17:57.553-05:00

It has occurred to me that I am a bit like a Jack Russell Terrier. I’m small, weak and testy, but I bark like I can tear everyone else apart. I fancy myself a tough guy, imagining all sorts of scenarios where I crack someone in the jaw, land a spinning back kick or give one of those great head slams like Mel Gibson did to Gary Busey in Lethal Weapon. But when it comes right down to it, I have

Carolhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11131348843688523415noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22597849.post-1140181952094190392006-02-17T08:06:00.000-05:002006-02-17T08:13:30.463-05:00

When I was a kid, one of my teachers asked what I wanted to be when I grew up. My response was, simply, “A boy.” When queried further I explained in what I can only assume was an exasperated tone, “Because girls can’t do anything!” And it was true at the time. That same year I became the first girl in my town to join—well, infiltrate—the all-boys recreation center basketball league. The

Carolhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11131348843688523415noreply@blogger.com