If it wasn't for Diane Court, I wouldn't have gotten into Cornell.

job·bing / [jawh - beengh]
- adjective
1. to sit at the computer belonging to one's parents for multiple hours attempting to find an employment listing completely unrelated to the degree which person possesses and is still engaged in the recurring act of distributing funds to someone named Sallie Mae
2. being super rich and awesome and not taking crap from that silly old PC guy

Right now I should be jobbing, but the daunting Craigslist postings for administrative assistants -

Laid..Off?..Fill-Out-Survey..Job..Made_Me..$157-in-2 Days.-So Can..You - (Minneapolis / St Paul)

- is a BORING, typo-infested list longer than Warren Jeffs is used to waiting for the bathroom. (Ah, ha, ha! Get it? Big family? One bathroom? Three girls, a Guy and a Polygamous Sect-Friendly Pizza Place!)

Alas, I cannot focus on finding work; I am far too troubled by the ever-changing United States of America that I have returned to. Specifically, the study of mass culture and moral identity through the volatile medium of Prime Time television and mass distributed glossy-print media. And stuff.

• After two hours of Grey's Anatomy season finale last night, I discovered producer Shonda Rhimes' answer to the WGA strike: letting San Fernando Valley high schoolers take a stab at it! Two of the sub-plots featured 9-12th grade characters: a couple engaged in a star-crossed affair and a Luke Skywalker aficionado.

(I can just see things heating up in the writer's room! High schooler #1: Let's do a plot line where like, it's like, that movie with Claire Danes? You know, Romeo and Juliet? High schooler #2: Yeah! And one where a kid gets dared to jump in a big vat of cement and he does it because there's this girl there that he wants to kiss but she pretends not to love him because he's not cool. Just like me. Except without the cement.)

But the real gem:

Meredith: I'm still mad at you and I don't know if I trust you, I wanna trust you, but I don't know if I do. So I'm just gonna try, I'm gonna try and trust you. Because I believe that, we can be extraordinary together. Rather than ordinary apart.

Ahhhhh, the 'stuff that legends' are made of.

• At least Betty was cute.


• Gas is expected to reach $4 this weekend. OPEC, schmopeck. I blame Tina Fey. Yeah, that's right. And you, Marie Claire, are an enabler:

When you cover-girled Ms. Fey without the scar (yes, the very mark on her face that makes it acceptable for girls like me to not shave excessive amounts of arm hair - that may or may not resemble alpaca wool sweaters) you forgot that the scar is the flag of La Revolución! Fey proves that funny girls can be HOT with some quirky weird flaws too and that's really ok because we all accept ourselves and love ourselves because we're soooooooo witty and smart.

You messed with the natural order of the universe and in turn, someone actually asked 7 people he knew to track down Kevin Bacon, there was an incident aboard the space shuttle Columbia where an astronaut brushed his teeth without spending trillions of tax dollars AND Nestlé crossbred the Twizzler with the Spree, giving my sister a cavity. Not to mention the cyclone thing in Myanmar. All you, Tina Fey.

• Since I've been residing in Iowa, I have heard Ace of Base, in public, twice, and it has led me to conclude that Iowa is but one big soft-rock radio station. It's really great at first with a "OOOOhhhh, man! I love this song!" and a triumphant fist pump upon receiving a nostalgic audio waft of fifth grade. But then. You hear it again. You realize that Wilson Philips is a daily occurrence and after more than 3 minutes, soft-rock's hallowed synthesizers and repetitive percussion tracks are old news.

So then it's back to jobbing, with my search queries on Monster.com eliminating the following threads: Iowa, Photo Shopping Arm Hair and Shonda Rhimes. I'm sure it will be no time - no time at all - before I'm working again.