Chalked Full O Love

Today I ate quite possibly the most delectable cookies I have ever consumed.  The decadent German Chocolate Cake Cookies by Liz Lovey are not only heavenly, but also full of love, organic materials, and animal rights friendliness.  The cookie line includes a gluten free variety, and being one with a nasty intolerance to the weaty ingredient, I'd challenge anyone to find a better cookie sans gluten. 

LL's cookies come from a little town in Vermont, are vegan, and totally organic.  They are delivered in pairs, perfect for sharing with your hubbie, date, bff, or a stranger to spread the sugary love.  They are decked out in lovely colorful cello bags, or can be ordered in sampler sets sent in pink doughnut style boxes.

The next thing from Liz's arsenal: chocolate goodies--mint, pb, mangoes, organic oreo style cookies, and ginger candy all come heavily coated in organic dark chocolate.

Liz truely is spreading the love as I, a now loyal customer put on the pounds.


Gossip Guilt

A recent post by my dearest friend Ariel, and last nights seedy and sultry episode have resulted in my single obsession: Gossip Girl.  I know I should be ashamed.  I know I should pretended to not give a damn about Dan and Serena, Blair and Nate, and especially Blair and Chuck, but the Waldorf-Vanderwoodsen-Bass-Humphry clan has got me hooked.  I don't know if it's all the gossip, all the sex, and the fabulously fabulous clothing, or the fact that they make high school everything it never was or could have been, but whatever it is it is good.

Other than my childlike love for iCarly (don't knock it til you try it--Nick can do no wrong)  Nothing can take me away from Gossip Girl, not even my dear friend Dr. Gregory Masochist House, who now fights Gossip Girl for air time.  

I just wish I could know what it is these kids--or twenty-somethings do to make the hour of programing so irresistible that it even has my very level-headed  mother watching calling me to ask "is there a new episode next week, I must know what will happen to Serena!"

This is one kind of gossip I just can't do with out.  Dare you to miss it!

Bobbi Noodle


Theory of the Lost

I'm finding myself lost in theory without attention.  At first I defended my state as a day dream, but have since realized that hour after hour of social, political, economical, plain old boring thought must be theory.  I once read that people constantly practice theory and don't even know the term.  It's like practicing feminism, without knowing the meaning of the word.  

 This rose my curiosities, why does Ashton Kutcher have more Twitter followers than CNN? Why do either of them have any?  Who really cares to read what anyone ate for lunch? (I of course had a grilled cheese sandwich)  And moreover why can't I stop ponder these thoughts?  

Here is where I get stuck in the catch-22 of theory, theory cannot exist without these questions, and questions are what lead to theory, they are as hand-in-hand as Zach and Vanessa, PB & J, AM & PM, or me, Bobbi Noodle and her over active imagination. 


Tube Tied

After a long day, I took to watching back episodes of the new NBC show Cupid last night.  A good twenty minutes into the romantic comedy my worries, troubles, aches, and pains began to vanish.  I had, and for a good few hours found myself lost in the glory of television.  I wish I could say this was not a regular occurrence.  I wish I could say that not nearly every evening in my week was spend this way, but alas it is.  I sometimes spend my afternoons in bed dreaming that if the great artists like Proust and Watteau lived now, they would be highly less productive and also love America's Next Top Model as much as I do.

I fear its become an illness greater than the illness that confines me to my bed.  Gossip Girl has not been new in two weeks, and like a dear friend who is equally concerned and P.O.ed, I just have to say "What the fuck are they doing to us!" 

Some people--mainly my mother--think that this television (which lets face it, is now mostly web-based) addiction is going to kill me, or at least rot my brain.  Alec Baldwin thinks so too.  But you know what I think?  Screw them.  Sometimes there is nothing greater than getting lost in a 47 minute love story to avoid 47 minutes of your own.