What Appeals to Me

The Dirty Martini
Make mine cold. Make it with Ketel One vodka. Make it with at least two olives. And make it dirty. The dirtier the better. Update: These days, I drink nearly nothing but Ketel One sodas. I realize there are fancier vodkas, and some of them taste all right, but Ketel One can be purchased in giant bottles, and that's more important than fanciness.
Peace and Quiet
If you are the family that lives downstairs from me, please know that I can hear everything your very expressive children say when throwing tantrums in the bath or refusing to eat their breakfasts or fussing as you shuttle them off to church on Sunday morning. And because you leave all those little eyesore-ish pairs of shoes outside your front door, I'm often tempted to fill them with bacon grease just to let you know I care. Update: I no longer live above that welfare parade. I now live BELOW one. Although there are no children. Just one really abominably loud and inconsiderate dude and his unfriendly, fat girlfriend.
The Internet
The Internet is our friend. And no friend of mine is going to be denied his or her first amendment rights while I stand idly by.
I play it, listen to it, buy it, live it, love it. And you should, too. I'll allow you to view my CD List if you promise not to pass judgment on me. Many an ill-advised purchase decision was made while under the influence of such forces as Columbia House and BMG Music.
Yeah, I write it. You wanna make something of it? Then visit the Mary Forrest Poetry Archive.
No one will argue when I assert that I usually have a lot to say. But you may be surprised to learn that I am interested in what others have to say, too. As long as they're not saying something stupid. Or in a language I can't understand.
While I would love for folks to go around believing that I received the gift of the gourmet from god, in truth (a) I don't believe in god, and (b) I owe much of my success to Epicurious, the Electronic Gourmet Guide, my mother (no link available), and other terrific resources for those who practice the culinary arts. The unfortunate flip side is that I have a really fucked up relationship with food, and I'm always much happier starving myself.
Supersonic Air Travel
What I'm really holding out for is teleportation technology, but going faster than nearly anyone else is good enough for now. I never got to fly on the Concorde (too poor), but I appreciated its intentions. It's too bad all those people had to drive the company's profits down with their untimely deaths. I will always feel like I got cheated.
I hereby make my lecture notes from two semesters of Richard McLaughlin's mythology courses at San Diego Mesa College (some time back in the earlier part of this decade) available for the first time ever (to my knowledge). I have tried to keep the narrative as close to Mr. McLaughlin's wonderful lecturing style as possible. Have at. (Warning: This is a big ass file. The staff here at maryforrest.com are working round the clock to break up this data clot for your convenience and browsing pleasure. Please bear with us. And by "us," I mean "me.")
Marilyn Monroe
Nothing iffy going on here, not that I mind anyone thinking I would have wanted to bone her. I just think she was a very pretty lady who got a bad rap. And my memory of reading a book about her out on my porch in the sun when I lived in this very nice condominium in Hillcrest is one of the fondest sensations my recollection can conjure.
Big surprise here, eh? I'm one of those courageous few who is willing to admit I like the cinema. Admire me now while you can.
Danny Kaye
I have had a crush on Danny Kaye since I was a little girl with nearly none of her permanent teeth. And not only because of the striking resemblance he bears to my father -- although that helps. I just love watching his movies and wish he had made more of them. He's one of those rarities. The really talented guy who didn't get quite as huge or mainstream as he could have. Consequently, there's more of a premium on things by and about him. You can get all the video you want of Bob Hope. But I've really had to scrounge and bid and finnagle to get my hands on the many bits of his greatness that I own. I have even videotaped his appearances on programs such as The Cosby Show and the new Twilight Zone. I don't mess around.
Star Trek
I would watch Star Trek twenty-four hours a day. If there was a round-the-clock Star Trek channel, I would watch it. Even after I'd seen every episode a thousand times. Deep Space Nine is my favorite of the spin-offs, and I actually don't like Enterprise or Voyager, but -- even if it's one of the shows I don't like so much -- show me that Federation insignia, and I'll stop and watch. I just want to live in outer space so badly. Don't you see that?
Look, ma! I've got my very own favorite comic book! Oddjob, by the genius twins* Ian and Tyson Smith, is one of my favorite things. And lord knows, I need something else to collect. Although, I'm sad to report the last issue has already been printed, you can buy Oddjob and other stuff from the good folks at Slave Labor Graphics. You can actually buy the omnibus now, too. You should. It's cool.

*I have no actual reason to believe Ian and Tyson Smith are twins. And I have met them. And they have emailed me.
Jordan Crane
While we're on the topic of comic books, I think Jordan Crane is just the ginchiest. I have an embarrassing crush on him. Every time I see him at Comic-Con, I blush and run away. That being said, you should buy and read his comics, and you should buy his art and give it to me as extravagant gifts. Then everyone wins.
Mr. Show
Mr. Show is (was) mister freakin' awesome! I used to watch the show when it was originally airing on HBO, and I would tell people about it, and so few of them knew what I was talking about. So I would tape the show and make people watch it when they came to my house. And then I bought a TiVo and subscribed to digital cable for the specific purpose of recording the episodes as they were to be aired on what was then the new HBO Comedy. Wow. I latch onto something, and I really don't let up, do I? Anyway, it was a jim dandy show. And it's a testament to the suckness of television that it didn't last longer than it did.
Paul F. Tompkins
You can't very well go on and on about Mr. Show without also mentioning the awesomeness that is Paul F. Tompkins. If you haven't already heard me gushing about him in my blog, let me just clue you in: he is the funniest, smartest, charmingest, best dressed man in the world. And he is not nearly famous enough for these things. I'm just doing my part as an evangelist in spreading the good word. Mainly because I don't like talking about Jesus.
Harry Shearer
I know this page is just becoming a sort of "Hall of Men I Wish I Could Marry," and I apologize for that. But if such a list is indeed being generated, then Harry Shearer's name must be on it. Harry's even got a home page, bless his heart. Visit it and pay homage to one of the brilliantest minds on the comedy frontier.
Jean Reno
Why do I find this man so heart-stoppingly attractive? I wish I knew. He reminds me a lot of my Uncle Bruno, who is dashing and handsome and always treated me like a lady, even when I was a lady of only five years of age. Maybe that's it. He's been in some fine films, too. Leon: The Professional, yet another Luc Besson triumph, should be mandatory viewing matter for those who consider themselves culturally complete. It's not really cultural or anything. It's just a really cool movie.
Luc Besson
How could I not love the man almost singlehandedly responsible for breaking Jean Reno (see above) into the American film market? The Fifth Element, although disturbingly lacking in Jean Reno, is also a screen triumph. The fact that I could have bought seven Whoppers (at which point, to be clever, I was going to provide a link to the Official Burger King Home Page, but that page is completely lacking in anything of interest -- trust me, don't bother clicking) with the money it costs to see a flick these days didn't even phase me...the fact that it was bargain Tuesday at the cinema might have had something to do with that.
The Tick
Cadbury Mini Eggs
A year-round treat. My personal shelf-life assays yield an expectancy of eternal freshness -- even with the bag open. I hope you got yours before the Easter bunny retired to his pagan digs for the year. I did.
The Baroque Composers
We violinists usually bear a common prejudice here. I am proud to report that the more I play, the wider grows my scope of musical appreciation. And my CD collection is evidence of my breadth. But that doesn't mean I'll ever like the soundtrack to Transformers: The Movie.
Spam is yummy. Mysterious, but yummy just the same. Some may prefer the elegance of Treet. Others may opt for deviled ham in a can. But for my money, it's Spam all the way. (It's especially good with rice.)
I'm a dyed-in-the-wool consumer, and I'm proud of it. I recently learned to steel myself against the considerable allure of late night infomercials, and this has been a good thing. But the malls just keep cropping up and making themselves more and more convenient and accessible. What's a girl to do?
Knee Boots
Any references to a fashion half-life are entirely unwelcome. Sooner or later, a gal's gotta shimmy. Might as well be properly attired.
Conan O'Brien
I don't know that a link is a necessary testament to my affection, but if you must have one: here it is. I think he's super awesome. I used to want to marry him. Then I grew up emotionally and professionally and wanted to be hired to write for his show. And then I returned to reality and settled for watching him with some amount of frequency. What a relationship we've had over the years.
Quaint Symbols of Americana
An ice cream social with square dancing and twilight hayrides...patchwork quilts...shaker-style decor...farm motifs...these are a few of my favorite things!
See "Quaint Symbols of Americana."
Marc Chagall

Dance     Red Nude Sitting Up     Music

Marc Chagall's Dance   Marc Chagall's Red Nude Sitting Up    Marc Chagall's Music

So very many other artists
Oh give me the Rothkos and the Richters and the Klines and the Frankenthalers. The Bacons, the Freuds, the Ruschas. The abstract expressionists. The labelless. There is a Mark Rothko painting in the LACMA permanent collection that I go to visit from time to time. And every time I see it, and every time I happen to be there with someone, I always end up telling the same story. That painting is me. It's my flesh. My blood or something. Every time I look at it, it's like surgery is being performed. It almost hurts. And it's one of my favorite things in the world.
Or hadn't you noticed.
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