I used to be considered one of the foremost authorities on TV and movies in my own circles. (For the record, I never claimed music or theatre.) But these days my hippocampus seems to be on hiatus. I think I've taken a deep dive in my knowledge of all things celebrity. It used to be if you needed to know Doogie Howser's BFF, I was your girl (Vinny, played by Max Casella).
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Did you know all the castaways on Gilligan's Island have last names? Some we knew all along: Thurston Howell, III and Ginger Grant. But how about Jonas Grumby? That's the Skipper. The Professor was Roy Hinkley. Mary Ann's last name was Summers. And Lovey Howell, well, just Lovey.
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But now I recognize my gift is atrophying and as far as I can tell the demise is due to a 3 ingredient recipe. Here's how you make it.
Losing My Mojo
a frozen beverage
a frozen beverage
- 1 part: aging memory
- 1 part: onslaught of cable channels, social media and the internet
- 1 part: people who are simply "famous" for reasons I don't understand, know or care to know
- Add ice (not Rob Van Winkle, Vanilla Ice) and toss in the blender. You now have a delicious summer concoction of what it feels like to see your prowess be sucked through a bendy straw.
It's really a sad dose of reality that my best cocktail party babble is behind me. I always thought I'd be hip and cool and be able to carry on a celebrity-driven conversation in any situation. But how far can I get when I honestly don't know the difference between Kristen Cavillari and Lauren Conrad.
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Other than Kim, I know no Kardashians by sight. And I've loved Amy Adams since Wedding Crashers until I realized she was actually Isla Fisher.
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Could it be only a matter of days before Dermot Mulroney and Dylan McDermott face the same fate? Someone help me.
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