Good food and great tunes

Jill- the Material Girl

Objects of My Affection

Iím not very picky when it comes to the ďstuffĒ in my life. I could live without all my material possessions. My family, my dogs and my health are about all I need to get by. Iím a t-shirt and jeans kind of girl, and Iíd be as happy with a cubic zirconia over any diamond ring. I like the little luxuries I can afford, and since I donít indulge often, Iím a discerning customer. My greatest downfall would probably be my ardor for whole loaves of crusty fresh-baked bread (the Atkinsí enemy) and extra-chunky natural style peanut butter(a whopping $8, and 200 calories per measly serving). I love eating out at fancy restaurants and non-fancy ones too as long as theyíre serving exotic, inventive cuisine. Iím all for camping, but put me up in a five-star hotel or Zagat-rated bed & breakfast, and Iím eternally yours. Okay so Iím a bit refined when it comes to food and travel, but my taste in music and television is a different story. My brother, whose refusal to like anything mainstream or trendy seems itself a trend, constantly nags at me about my mediocrity. I love mainstream pop, reality television and daytime soap operas. I am the fluffy white sheep being led along with the rest of my brainless buddies by the capitalist mass media. So what? I used to try to defend my love for Mariah Carey, even after her breakdown, though Iíve come to realize I probably wonít be winning anymore recruits to her fan club. Thatís okay, because Iíll still blast ďHeroĒ and ďDream loverĒ on my radio and dance around, blissfully tone-deaf in everyone elseís opinion. I also know the whole Body Guard soundtrack by heart and Whitney and I have performed many a duet on karaoke nights. My room was once covered with teen-magazine fold-outs of NíSync. If the grocery clerks didnít give me such an odd look every time I reach for a Bop at the checkout counter, Iíd probably still have Justin Timberlake plastered across my walls, my dorm room walls. Lower still, than my tastes in music, are probably my television-viewing preferences. Iíll watch anything, granted I can change the channel five or six times when I get bored. My fondness for reality television, in every sleazy, cheesy form it comes, will probably keep me a bachelorette for the rest of my life. Sigh. I just hope the people at Real World, Big Brother, The Amazing Race, Survivor, I Love NY, Rock of Love, and most coveted, Flavor of Love can keep pumping out season after season of trash. If not, Iím sure I can fill my time with enough Dr. Phil and Oprah to drive any peaceful soul to violence. Yes, Iím nodding my head to Mr. McGrawís self-righteous rants and sobbing as Oprah rescues yet another African village along with every other sappy, self-help loving fool out there. I canít contest, my favorite things probably wonít be showing up as any awards-show winners anytime soon. Call me mindless, I say Iím open-minded. There is however one thing I hold dear, one piece of entertainment Iíll defend without question. General Hospital. If you donít know what this is, I suggest you get ABC or Soapnet pronto, and clear your schedule Mon-Fri from 3-4pm. Itís an addiction you wonít want rehab for. It is the greatest soap opera, scratch that, greatest program ever to be aired on television. The brainchild of some masterful writer, GH- as I affectionately call it, follows the lives of a few prominent Port Charles families, wrought with strife- and a lot of love tri-angling. In my head, Iím engaged to at least five of the male leads, and if the day came when Iíd have to choose, it would definitely be Sonny Corinthos, the resident crime boss of my favorite fictional little town. See Iím pretty easy to please. Give me a jug of chocolate soymilk, a banana smothered with extra-chunky peanut butter and an hour of my favorite soap, and Iím happy.

Just Jill Jill- the Drama Queen Jill- the Softy