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A British study recently stated that the more time people spend online, the more depressed they tend to be...

http://uk.news.yahoo.com/5/20100203/tuk-surfing-the-web-can-make-you-depress-45dbed5.html

"There was a high correspondence between the amount of time spent on the internet and levels of depression," said study leader Dr. Catriona Morrison. "If you look at how dependent people feel they are on the internet, that is likely to correspond with how happy or sad they feel."

Now I'm not saying that you should be online all day and all night. Doing an impression of Clara in "The Guild" and locking your kids in a corral so you can play World of Warcraft for hours on end -- we can all agree that's bad. And sure, "normal social interaction" as defined by this study probably is necessary to being a well-rounded, well-adjusted member of society. But let's not make the computer, or rather social networking on the computer, the bad guy here.

I'm no stranger to depression. It started in my teens, as it likely does for most people, and continues to linger like the scent of burnt toast in one's kitchen. It predates the Internet and texting and Facebook, and back then I either found my escape in books or in drawing. Then one chilly January night, I signed on to Prodigy. And I made friends. Ones that could quote Monty Python and MST3K with equal alacrity, ones that lived a few counties away or several time zones away, ones that encouraged my creativity.

I was accepted. I wasn't judged. I didn't spend an entire conversation mentally worrying about the way my hair looked or if my clothes were fashionable or if the words were running through my head too fast for my lips and causing me to stutter and sound like an idiot. Communication was carried out through the written word, and it was beautiful. I could be the articulate, intelligent young woman that I wanted so badly to be.

Eventually we have to come back to the real world. We have to work, to pay bills, to feed our families, to share the despair of the latest calamity around the globe. But for the time that we are online, we're free. We can be the best version of ourselves, and we can find people willing and able to share the human experience with us. Friendships that I have made online are ones that I will cherish forever because they come from a place of truth. It's not about the facade or fitting in; it's about finding people that accept you as you are. And that's not depressing at all. That's hopeful.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go discuss the "Lost" premiere with my friends on the Galactic Watercooler forum.

B-I-N-G-O, B-I-N-G-O, B-I-N-G-O...

...and Bingo was the name of the game on Friday night. Our meetup group headed out to a fundraiser for the Green Foundation at the Empire Room in downtown Greensboro. Colorful daubers, fabulous drag queens and cheap candy--what more could you ask for? We played ten games, each worth more money than the last, but sadly no one in our group won anything. No luck with the raffle tickets either. But we still had a great time. The drag queens were there to entertain, and I'm seriously in awe of the work they put into their costumes and make-up. Thanks to Sharon and Christina, you can see some of the photos at my Facebook page:

http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=3131969&l=30935535b1&id=561239805

Couldn't really sleep in on Saturday as I had to go in to the Twin City Stage shop for paint call. The set designer arrived this past Thursday, bringing with him homemade cookies and an offer to track down pieces of set dressing that we hadn't found yet. Shiny. So he worked on the bleachers, Caitlin and Misha worked on the "Putnam County Spelling Bee" banner, Yvonne and Tasha and Terrell worked on wall tiles, and I continued painting blocks of styrofoam "wood" that will be karate-chopped in half every night by one of the actresses. Things are coming together slowly but surely. Next Sunday is the first tech rehearsal, and I'm looking forward to actually hearing the songs.

I felt oddly energized afterward so I headed over to Silas Creek Crossing for lunch at Quizno's, my monthly visit to Ssalefish Comics (who just celebrated their 4th birthday--woohoo!), and browsing around A.C. Moore for yet more art to go on my walls. There was a group of Star Wars cosplayers selling raffle tickets outside the comic shop, and a woman had brought her daughter there as a present for getting first chair trombone. The girl was absolutely giddy at being able to hold a lightsaber and pose for a photo with the various versions of Jango and Boba Fett. It was very sweet and inspiring. There's hope for this new generation yet.

Then I went downtown for a matinee of "An Education" at the new Aperture Cinema. It's small and minimalist but very cool. Really enjoyed the movie, too. Granted it was a long time ago, but I remember being the sort of girl who was obsessed with "Jane Eyre," studied like crazy for college and yet wasn't averse to being swept off her feet by an older man who took her to parties and restaurants and Paris. Hope Carey Mulligan wins the Golden Globe tonight. Way to go, Sally Sparrow!

After that, I just came home and caught up on housework. Today's been pretty low-key as well. Met Mom and Dad at church, went home for lunch and dinner, and now I'm back at the condo awaiting the premiere of "24."

Tomorrow is frozen hot chocolate day at Kernel Kustard. A great way to start off the week, don't you think?

I'm good enough, I'm smart enough...

...and doggoneit, I'm worth it.

In the words of Senator Al Franken when he was not a senator, this is going to be my year of change. I realize that I say that every year, and manage to follow through on it for about two or three weeks. But this time I mean it. And I'm hoping for support along the way because I'm really bad at asking for help even when I desperately need it. The perils of being a stoic Irish introvert.

So let's start with the blog title. I'm thinking of taking more of a Bridget Jones-esque look at things. Don't get me wrong, I'll still be snarky and cynical when the situation calls for it, as many situations these days do. But I'd rather put more positivity out into the ether than my usual resigned pessimism. I mean, who is that helping? Apart from the news media.

Second point: I resolve to make regular use of my YMCA membership, even though it's intimidating to be there and I always feel like I'm in someone else's way. Zumba is fun, despite my lack of coordination, and I want to get my arms tank top-ready in time for the Galactic Watercooler meetup in March. I've also signed up for a 5K training course so that I can participate in the Race for the Cure in May. Cancer has touched many, many women among my family and friends, and it's a cause that I strongly believe in supporting.

Point the Third: I'm going to conquer my fears and do things that scare me. I'm not talking skydiving or holding a tarantula -- no, no, no. Are you insane?! I'm talking small things, like going to parties or cooking seafood or meeting up with a guy from Match.com. I've been reading Julie Hadden's book (she was a contestant on The Biggest Loser) and she talks about not having the strength or courage to do things for so many years because she was overweight. Letting the extra pounds and lack of self-confidence hold her back from being the best version of herself. Now, my self-worth meter has bever been high. When you're called "ugly" to your face everyday of fourth grade by a table of older boys who cackle gleefully while you cringe and pray that the earth will open and swallow you whole...well, that sort of thing tends to stick with you. Especially when there's very little evidence to the contrary. Even now when I look in a mirror or see a photo of myself, all I see is that big nose, those dark circles under my eyes, that complexion that will never be clear no matter how many different cleansers/toners/exfoliants I use, those hips as wide as the open range, etc.

Anyway, you get the picture. I'm not a supermodel and never will be, and that's okay. Because there are other good qualities that God gave me, and taking full advantage of those is what will allow me to bless the people in my life. Although I will continue to spend far too much of my wages on lip gloss -- it's an addiction, I know.

Fourthly, I want to find a job that I love. There are many good things about my current job, but customer service is not what I was meant to do. I think my co-workers, supervisor, and customers would agree without hesitation. I don't work well with people, but I do work well with data. And I work really well with audio-visual data. So I'm hoping to go back to my first degree and learn the ins and outs of editing. I'm sure the software has advanced alot since I was in school, but I have friends and friends of friends in the broadcasting field so I'll be doing the whole networking thing. Movies and TV, it's what I've always loved but was too scared to truly pursue it. We all know that no job is safe in our economy so why not make a career out of one's passion? It might even get me to Austin one day.

Because I'm worth it. And because I don't do well with wind chills in the teens. Oh-Em-Gee, is it cold in here! Time to crank up the thermostat.

Something that's been bugging me...

Why does Katie Cassidy keep getting cast in films and TV shows? Just because her daddy is David Cassidy? It's certainly not on talent. Her smug smile and shiny hair ruined season 3 of Supernatural for me, and frankly she couldn't die soon enough on Harker's Island. Now I see her in the trailer for the remake...er, sorry, reimagining (eyes rolling, can't type) of Nightmare on Elm Street, and apparently she's playing a bisexual PR agent on the reimagined Melrose Place. Big deal--who hasn't played a bisexual PR agent on an Aaron Spelling show?

Actually, wait, that's not what was bugging me. It's trying to figure out how many guys are lying on their Match.com profile. Because if as many guys were into hiking and kayaking as they say they are, the Yadkin River wouldn't even be able to flow for all of their "athletic and toned" or "average" or "a few pounds overweight" bodies. Where did they get the idea that this outdoorsy Paul Bunyan crap is appealing? Maybe if these were frontier times and I needed my fella to go out and bring down a 10-point buck so that our malnourished, shivering children would have roast venison to eat and buckskin coats to wear and a rustic antler coat hanger for their jaunty newsboy caps. But no, this is the 21st century. Dude, I don't need you to go out and bring down anything other than a carton of milk, extra batteries for the camera and some Chinese take-out. I'm not interested in climbing hills or fording streams with you. Now get out from in front of the TV; it's Saturday and I'm trying to watch college football.

Then you have the guys who are "laid-back" and "easygoing" and "have no time for drama." And I'll grant that the majority of my guy friends are indeed laid-back and easygoing, as long as their team is winning and the IKEA cabinet assembly is going smoothly and the car/game console/grill/random appliance is functioning properly. But no time for drama? Come on. Anyone who's seen an episode of Bridezilla knows that you boys are lying through your uneasily-clenched-in-a-smile teeth. Sure, your girl's not gonna' disrespect you in front of your friends or make you ask permission to go to the pub or force you to take her side against your mother. Or maybe she will ... if she's hot. The hotness is directly proportional to how much crazy a guy is willing to take. That's why moderately attractive women like me have to work so gorram hard to be understanding and accommodating and maintain our great personalities. Because if we dared to pout or disagree or throw a hissyfit while having the audacity to not look like a Brazilian supermodel, you'd be making a beeline for the door. And it sucks. I wish I were pretty. With a little...okay, alot of reconstructive surgery, life would be so much easier. Instead I have to be a good listener and empathetic and articulate and handy with a lint brush to get up all the cat hair.

Oh, and to the guy who said he has fine tastes and nice shoes, you just labeled yourself an asshat and that'll be a no. Have fun with your glass of Riesling and Gucci loafers.

I Can Be Your Hero, Baby

But can you take away the pain? From the looks of the new "Heroes: Redemption" promo poster, I doubt it. It prominently displays my three least favorite, overused characters in the entire ensemble (and it's a big frakkin' ensemble). Which means the NBC promo monkeys just made it a lot easier for me to stick to my pledge of not watching the new season. Yes, Ray Park is adorable and nine shades of awesome. But does that make up for the big ol' mess that the writers turned this show into over the past three seasons? Not really, no.

It started off so well. Ordinary people discovering they have extraordinary powers. Deciding whether they would use said powers for good or evil. A truly scary villain whose mere shadow sent chills down our spines, and a complex Company keeping watch over everyone while operating in the morally grey area. Every episode ended with a cliffhanger that left you chomping at the bit for your next weekly dose. Granted, there were some missteps here and there, but then an episode like "Company Man" or "Five Years Gone" would come along and all was forgiven.

Sadly, once season 2 premiered, such well-written and well-acted episodes started to become the exception rather than the norm. Road-tripping with Maja y Alejandro, whiny West, whiny amnesiac Peter and the Irish girlfriend he so rudely left in a plague-ridden future, months and months of feudal Japan that couldn't even be saved by the innate charisma of David Anders, Kristen Bell as a sadistic sociopath who murders innocent (and handsome) pub owners just because they won't make a Veronica Mars movie.

I actually kind of liked Elle because, apart from Sylar at that point, we hardly ever saw anyone enjoy their powers. Hero or villain, you gotta' drop the angst and start believing this stuff is kinda' cool. Embrace your inner Mystique. We all know you're ripping off X-Men, so just acknowledge it already. Yes, you give Stan Lee a cameo every now and then, but you owe Marvel a whole lot more.

Anyway, a shortened season 2 (due to the writers' strike) led us into season 3 where we finally met...dun, dun, dun...Arthur Petrelli. Because the viewers certainly hadn't had enough of Angela and Nathan and Peter and all their family angst. This volume entitled "Villains" seemed very promising at first. The most dangerous and powerful of the Company's inmates set loose to wreak havoc on an unsuspecting public. With the added benefit of talents like Jamie Hector, David H. Lawrence XII, Robert Forster, Andre Royo and Jessalyn Gilsig raising the bar.

A bar we shall now call "Sylar's Daddy Issues" and which we shall be beaten over the head with for the rest of the show's run. Gabriel Gray started out as a cipher--a gifted watchmaker turned serial killer who traveled the world collecting powers, and snowglobes. His father was gone, and his mother (the luminous Ellen Greene) was a possessive harridan pushing him to be "special." Ah, but wait: he was actually the orphaned son of Arthur and Angela Petrelli, who each took turns manipulating him into being their weapon of mass destruction. Ah, but wait, again: Ma and Pa Petrelli were lying to him, and he was rasied by the watchmaker and his wife, but his real dad was John Glover. The devil from "Brimstone," Lionel Luthor, the magnificent bastard himself. He and his prodigal son faced off in one episode. That was it. One episode. Frak me.

Meanwhile, all the other people with daddy issues (Nathan, Peter, Claire, Niki, Parkman, Mohinder, etc.) are either working with the government to round up "specials" or trying to evade its goon squad led by Zeljko Ivanek. Who is brilliantly weaselly, as always, and should have shared more scenes with Jack "HRG" Coleman. But even as the cast improved, the storylines got dumb and dumber. It got to the point where if you didn't read the graphic novels on NBC's web site, you had no idea who was doing what and why. I'm not sure if it's because the writers are lazy or they're trying to be all hip with their interactivity, but crazy as it sounds, there are people who don't have access to a computer. And even if they did, they wouldn't use it to figure out why Daphne is the way she is or why Agent Rachel was trying to help Doyle. Psst, writers--there's this thing called a script that includes dialogue and expository action and story beats. You've written them before, people; I know you can do it again.

That's the thing. Now that Bryan Fuller has left, again, someone needs to slap these writers around, take the crack pipe out of their hands, and make them write out a show bible. You people created this world, now's the time to set the ground rules. Actually, back in season 2 was the time to do that, but nevermind. Who has what power and why? What are the limits of their powers? Who's related to whom? And have any of you ever been in a real comic shop? Dig this: sometimes there are girls there. And sometimes those girls actually read the books that are on the shelves. And sometimes they actually talk to the guys in the shop like they are fellow human beings and not insulting caricatures. Dude, did I just blow your mind?

So, in a nutshell, I won't be watching this next volume of "Heroes" because I just can't stand the aimlessly wandering plots or the dizzying character shifts or dropping truly interesting characters in favor of yet another Ali Larter clone. Quality genre television on a mainstream network is very hard to come by these days and when you have a genuine hit, you should stop messing around with it and stick to what works. Also, Mr. Kring, stop being a D-bag to your viewers. You need every single one of them.

Of course, all these words are mere empty threats if they manage to get Christopher Eccleston back. I will gladly swallow my pride with a tequila chaser if that happens. Y'all keep me posted, okay?

Signed, Sealed, Delivered--I'm Trapped!

Pushing the envelope in Austria: 2 boys in 1 week rescued after locking selves in mailboxes

Austrian authorities aren't about to give these pranks their stamp of approval. Frustrated officials say rescuers have been deployed twice this week to break open large mailboxes after two children locked themselves inside in separate incidents. Firefighters in the westernmost province of Vorarlberg say the latest incident occurred Thursday evening in the village of Schwarzach, where an 8-year-old boy climbed inside a mailbox and couldn't get out. Postal officials weren't able to find the key, so rescuers used welding torches and bolt cutters to open the box and free the child. He was uninjured. Authorities say an almost identical incident happened Monday in nearby Feldkirch, where a 4-year-old boy locked himself inside a mailbox.

What's German for "Hey, y'all, watch this!"? Hey, if these jungen wanted to remove themselves from the gene pool, who are we to stop them?

Sew You Think You Can Dance

According to Women’s Wear Daily, Katie Holmes is moving on from her Scientology-ing and her appearing in overhyped Broadway revivals and her auditioning for the next Hollywood musical, by venturing into the fashion industry. She'll be partnering with her stylist Jeanne Yang to launch her own clothing line, which will include "premium women's clothes and children's wear inspired by her daughter, Suri."

Apparently, this new hobby started with their collaboration on the dress she wore to last year's Tropic Thunder premiere.



Okay, so it's a blue velvet pencil skirt with matching bra, and several strips of that tape you put around tennis rackets to improve the grip. Not exactly haute couture. Hawt shoes, though.

Katie is the latest in a line of many celebrities to get their own clothing line: Jessica Simpson, Milla Jovovich, Elizabeth Hurley, Christy Turlington, Jaclyn Smith, Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen, Kanye West, Sean "Puffalicious" Combs, Victoria Beckham, Gwen Stefani, Bono, Lauren Conrad, and Daisy Fuentes. I won't talk smack about Ms. Fuentes because her tops are super-cute and comfortable, and they wash really well. Trufax.

What qualifies one to have a clothing line? Surely said celebrity would have to have at the very least a sense of style. But some of them don't even seem to have a sense of sight, or a sense of touch, or a sense of decency really. There's a reason Katie is so frequently featured on the pages of Go Fug Yourself.

Exhibit A: After health care reform, let's talk about high-waisted pants reform.

Exhibit B: She's a lumberjack, in gladiator sandals, and she's not okay.

Exhibit C: Nylon stirrup leggings? Even the Chicago ensemble wouldn't go there.

Exhibit D: Fuchsia cardigan plus red high heels plus pegged acid-washed jeans equals casual wear fail.

Exhibit E: I did try to make this photo less of an assault on your retinas by using my Photoshop magic, but even my computer declared "Aw, hell no!"

I don't know if you'll rush right down to your local Maxfield store this fall to fill your wardrobe with offerings from the Holmes & Yang line. I'll admit that almost all of my clothes come from Kohl's or Goodwill so I can't really comment on fashion do's and don'ts (as if that would stop me). But I think we can all agree on one thing: that Jaclyn Smith sure knows what she's doing.