moosh in indy.

When Casey asked me to “blogsit” for her today, I was beyond flattered, as I adore this woman. So let the blogsitting commence: The kid is sleeping, the fridge is stocked, and there’s premium cable. She’s not coming back for a while, so you can even bring your boyfriend over and make out.

(Not like I ever did this when I babysat.)

(Maybe once.)

(Or seven times.)

ANYWAY.

Hi. I’m Metalia. I live in NY (where I am constantly accosted by hobos) with my husband, J and my son, Toopweets. Although Casey and I were both at BlogHer this year, for some reason we didn’t find each other until afterwards. (Dear Universe: Suck it. xoxo, Metalia.) Nonetheless, we’ve made up for lost time since then. We share a penchant for dressing our respective children in things that will serve as the impetus for countless years of therapy. We each have a deep and abiding love of America’s Next Top Model, and both harbor secret crushes on Alton Brown.

And so, it is in her honor that I’ve composed some poetry:

An Ode to Alton, Casey-Style

Oh Alton, sweet Alton, you’re as foxy as can be;
Your chocolate cake doesn’t even come close to being as sweet as thee.

I love your horn-rimmed glasses and your spiky blond hair, too.
Next time you’re Feasting on Asphalt, won’t you take me with you?

I love your shows, your recipes…and when you host Iron Chef? Wow.
It’s hard to keep from licking the screen while you talk about basting cow.

Oh, Alton, sweet Alton. Should I call you Mr. Brown?
Although I love my treadmill, you can always go downt— [I’m self-censoring here.)

Moving on!

The Models (AKA, Trying to put my literature degree to good use by riffing on “The Raven”)

Once upon a weeknight dreary,
While I pondered week and weary
After concluding that all of Wednesday night TV was a bore…
Suddenly there came a sound, of 20 girls jumping around,
Each one looking more and more like a tarted-up old whore.

“’Tis some commercial!” I muttered “for some tarted-up old whores-
“Only this and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was way back in September,
Before reruns had concluded and TV was good again.
Eagerly I hoped for my shows, because the reruns really did blow.
Wished for my shows to return, and end this dullness evermore.

Back I turned to watch the antics, of the girls, more and more frantic.
As they jumped around while crying, pictures in their hands.
Deep into the distance, peering, long they stood there, wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams, and boosting up their cans.

Suddenly, as if from nowhere, a woman, with a weave in her hair,
Appeared before the girls and softly whispered “hush” to them.
Wearing a tunic with golden glitter, “Ty” selected her picks of the litter,
Thirteen girls to appear on a little show called ANTM.
Quoth the Tyra, “Keep it fierce.”

The year was ’03, there was nothing else on; I was quite hooked in short order.
Bald caps, swimsuits, catfights, and the occasional eating disorder.
I always laughed aloud at Tyra’s sanctimonious speeches.
As if she alone could stop the wrath of 13 rampaging bitches.
Quoth the Tyra, “Keep it fierce.”

Four years of the show have now passed by, and with them, memories,
Some good, some bad, some stupid (like the thing with the vandalized brownies).
But still I watch this ridiculous show; I can’t lie, there have been some tears.
‘Cuz though it’s dumb and laughably fake, you can’t deny that the girls? WERE FIERCE.

Have a lovely weekend, Casey fans!