Friday, September 30, 2005



I learned a new word today: Drachonfodder. It's German for dragon fodder, and it means the act of bringing home flowers and candy (and bourbon! --Ed.) and etc shit because your wife is super pissed.



If you don't go look here, yr a dope.


I just remembered that Death Cab for Cutie covered Julian Cope's "Shut Your Mouth." I don't really have anything else to say about that, it just kind of popped into my head?


LJG: the best thing ever
LJG: "The Litany of Beer:
LJG: on a T-shirt
LJG: I'm buying it
LJG: because it encompasses possibly my two favorite things: 1) Beer 2) Sci-fi.
The G: DUUUNNNNNNE. HAHAHA. They have it as a baby doll tee.
LJG: should i get regular sized or baby doll?
LJG: I feel like regular even in a small wouldn't be normal
LJG: maybe a medium baby doll??
The G: that's you - you're my medium babydoll.
The G: blog name. right there


The Oasis concert was good. Jet was eh, Jet. Teeshirts were ugly, high school kids were all saliva-y and stumbling. Hanging with my brother's girlfriend (The GF: "I will give you a crisp new twenty if you yell 'WONDERWALL WOOOOOOOOO' and hump that guys leg over there. The 17 year old. Yeah, him. Remember, the 'WOOOOOO' is crucial") was most definitely above-par, and I took a picture of Liam onscreen with my spanking new camera phone thing, but it's just a big blobby of bright light.

Tonight, I'm experimenting in drinking binges with my husband at L16. Why? Why the Local? What hast thou done to deserve? Why on a Friday night, god, why?

Remember, "Burn to Shine" is tomorrow, only 6 dollars.

Wish you were here.



all ye who live in Chicago, or are planning on being in the greater Chicago area one week from tomorrow. Grand opportunities for you await.

Email me.

Thursday, September 29, 2005

Thoughts from 106 minutes of Wednesday night TV

1. David Blaine is a monstrous dick. Here's the official description of his show Magic Man last night on TLC:

The magician performs on city streets and travels to the jungles of Haiti and South America for a new collection of illusions.

It should have read:

The magician fucks with poor, uneducated Haitians and a tribe of South Americans Indians by performing tricks that strongly manipulate their beliefs and fears.

Blaine "reads" the mind of a young Haitian who clearly gets frightened and starts to panic. He asks if Blaine can look inside his head, but the magician just responds "It's not what you think," before it cuts to commercial. The producers were probably hoping we'd be astonished on how easy these guys were fooled. I was more amazed about what a Giant American Asshole Blaine is. He later does it again, back on the streets of New York, but while the Gothamists are fascinated by the feat, at least they understand that there is a rational process to the trick, even if they don't know it.

2. I finally watched the Simpsons from Sunday and was surprised there wasn't more reaction to a quote from Bart. Lisa question's him on the origin of the some mystery and he answers:

We don't need to know how. It's a natural thing that happens, like a hurricane. Or a war.

Looks like an either an ill-timed, feeble swipe at the Admin. written months ago or an well-timed, feeble swipe at the Admin. written days ago.

3. New favorite commercial: Intel's Centrino In Your Lap, the last segment featuring Michael Owen sitting on a guys lap heading a winning goal. I've had a crush on Owen since is spectacular goal against Argentina in the '98 World Cup. You know the game, the one Becks blew for England after kicking out Diego Simeone all "baby Christian Laettner" style. Michael Owen can sit on my lap whenever he wants.

I'm fit and ponces like the Nabob know it.

4. Why I couldn't be Desmond: First, not so much the fan of Mama Cass. Second, not so much the fan of the self control required not to eat all the candy bars first. Once they were gone I'd eat all the freeze-dried ice cream, then the spam and the good vegetables like candy corn. That leaves only the bad vegetables like beets and regular corn after 3 weeks. Then I'd say screw the quarantine and I'd go get some of that fine polar bear meat. I could use Jin's super-hotness as a knife.

Why yes, I'm fluent in Crazy

Basically, this is the deal in sound-bite form:

The Doogie-looking dude from "ER," (and from this movie) will be the lead singer for the GERMS reunion show.

Pat Smear is involved.

Also, the performance will include Suicidal Tendencies, The Dead Kennedys, Marky Ramone and Flipper.

I'll just let that one-degree-separation of Mandy Moore/Darby Crash sink in a little, and melt your cranium into gooey black stuff.

Um, m'god.

Thanks, Jessica Hopper, for making my head implode.

I'm obsessed and all, but...

- In Born To Run, after Tom is shot, the camera focuses in on the toy plane, and we see a Minnie Mouse toy on the car seat next to the plane. Minnie Mouse is a fictional character of the Mickey Mouse universe featured in animated cartoons, comic strips and comic book by The Walt Disney Company. The comic strip story The Gleam, was published from January 19 to May 2, 1942 (42), by Merrill De Maris and Floyd Gottfredson. They first gave her full name as Minerva Mouse. Minerva has since been a recurring alias for her. Minerva was a Roman goddess of crafts and wisdom. The Romans celebrated her festival from March 19 to 23 (23). The earlier comic strip story, Mr Slicker and the Egg Robbers, published from September 22 (this is the exact day Lost premiered!) to December 26, 1930. Mickey and Minnie debuted together in Plane Crazy, first released on May 15 (15), 1928. Their next appearance in The Karnival Kid, May 23 (23), 1929, casted Mickey as a hot dog vendor and Minnie as a carnival Shimmy Dancer. Her final appearance for the year was in Wild Waves, first released on August 15 (8/15), 1929. She spends a day at the beach with Mickey. Their activities of singing and dancing are soon interrupted when Minnie is swept by a wave into the sea. She panics and seems to start drowning. Mickey uses a row boat to rescue her and return her to the shore but Minnie is still visibly shaken from the experience. Mickey starts singing the tune of Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep, a maritime ballad written in 1832 by Emma Hart Willard, who lived from February 23 (23), 1787 (1 + 7 + 8 + 7 = 23) to April 15 (15), 1870 (1 + 8 + 7 + 0 = 16).

Holy freaking crap already.


1. OMFGLOSTHOLDSTEADYBLARRGGFGHHEARTATTACK: I'M NOT EVEN SHITTING YOU AT ALL OR ANYTHING. Read the whole article. I take ONE day to play hooky, and the DC blogosphere gives me this. My heart is filled with joy. (last night. too much raft. not enough Ethan explanation. I am the only one still obsessed with Ethan?)

2. Can I Get A What Loudoun What: Listen. I realize that hating on Virginia is just, TEH COOLEST. I get it. And I don't defend my native state because I don't agree with much that it does. But, for rilla, enough already. I tire of the uppity game, CITY>SUBURBS. Yes yes, you live in DC and therefore, you is probs ++ indie than me. Color me careless, dude; I can still come into your bar and spend my suburban money with righteous glee. Once upon a time, I wanted to buy a small piece of property, with ample, tow-free parking, and to do so, it required living 1.5 miles across the river. Born and raised a NoVa kid, baby, and totally apathetic about it! But the next time I read some jokey-ass remark in the DCist comments section about "banning VA licenses in DC bars, a har har buh har", I will kindly remind you. to. fuck. off. Because seriously? Find a new target to bum-rush. I'm sure Frederick or Germantown could do quite nicely. You grew up in Muncie and suddenly you call native rights? You aren't allowed to make fun of me yet. Call back in 25 years. And be creative about it, for god's sake.

3. Where the stores are: On the day off, we went to walk around the mall to return things (second time in so many days. There were lots of pregnant women there. Who am I??? Later, I went to Outback. Time to reiterate I DO NOT SHIT YOU) and then later down the street to score CDs. After piling many into my hands, I left them all in a pile(unalphabetized, I'm so sorry hip Cellar employees) and just one was purchased by the N. - the Pony's "Celebration Castle." Produced by Steve Albini, but sometimes love just ain't enough. Report to follow. I passed on the May released Scout Niblett album. Although now, I'm not sure. Opinions?

4. Steal this car: Currently, I'm living in my car like a tramp (hobo not sexual.) I have lots of food containers, empty shopping bags, my windshield is cracked. I am practically on red-alert Jewel status. Layers of coffee cups, fossilized french fries a la Morgan Spur-what's-his-name experiment, a winter coat or two, and 7 billion CDs. Anyone who'd like to join me for a nap at lunchtime is welcome, because I have a comforter in the back seat. Smells kind of like hound dog, but whatevs. Naps are good no matter what the smell!

5. Sixteen Days of Doubt:From my man on the streets of Cary, the venerable MJ: BREAKING NEWS! Four songs into it, and the new Ryan Adams CD is good. It's great. It's wonderful. I have no idea whether the next ten songs will be as good, but I'd say right now that it's the best thing he's done since Heartbreaker.

I do not believe him.

6. Supernova: My brother just called, he has an extra ticket to Oasis? Dear worker drones, what should I do tonight? Choices are a.) Oasis b.) not Oasis.

okay let me know.

UPDATE: Okay, the Oasis ticket is costing me the equivalent of two beers for my bro and his GF. So there! Come find me on the lawn.

Wednesday, September 28, 2005

When the drums kick in

From one of the participants:

just wanted to let y'all know that the Nite Lights are going to be playing with Meredith Bragg and the Terminals at the velvet lounge tonight. so if you want to hear weird pirate music followed by sad acoustic dirges you know where to find us.

Okay, he didn't really describe the music exactly how it sounds, but close enough. See y'all tonight at the Velvet.


I was making no sense yesterday, so happy "Mental-Health, Sleep-In, Clean-my-Bathroom, Play-on-the-Computer-in-my-'Jammies" day to me. I heart comp time.

PS. Who wants to go see Burn to Shine with me on Saturday night? Hit me up.

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

really gonna rock tonight

if sage vaughn knew me, he might love me. If he loved me, he might paint me a blue jay that looked a little like brian schneider, wee soul patchy thing and all.

birds that are baseball players! Can't you just imagine??

- - -

Anyways, leaving work soon. going home, shall kiss my dog, eat some veggies, drive to cleveland park, drink some beers. Tuesday Tuesday.

Looking for Shooter's O

Now that Apple’s Law of Diminishing Recharges has fatally crippled my iPod, I find myself in severe music want. I excitedly finger through the mail each day, hoping Steve Job’s lawyers have responded to my entry in the class action lawsuit but I have yet to receive any response or satisfaction. Minus the occasional WOXY desktop spin and NPR bumper of Nepalese scream-singing, I’ve heard no new music. I steal the G’s iPod when she’s not looking but every time something like Neutral Milk Hotel comes on, I want to throw it in that little trash on the back step where we put the dog poo. She's a good kid and all, but some of her taste in music is weaker than a homÅ“opathic soup made by boiling the shadow of a pigeon that had starved to death. (Thanks, Linc)

My old portable CD player skips worse than my heart leaving me the old cassette player/radio. DC radio is obviously shite and it can't pick up WRNR this far from Annapolis. I found some old cassettes in the glove compartment, but it only causes frustration knowing I bought a tape with Dog’s Eye View on it. The only other two I've found were a Soup Dragon's single and that "Life is a Highway" guy.

But I wasn't really aware of how bad things were until my subconscious voiced its indignation the other night. I dreamt I was trying to get into a club to see a show but was barred until I could prove my cred. The bouncer would point to someone on the street and I had to run over and yell out their name. Whatever city this dream took place in was only populated by the cast of CMJ and Paste magazines. The bouncer gave me credit for "the drummer the Old 97's that looks like Teddy Ruxpin," "one of the two girls from Cibo Matto" and I guesses at "a Sleater-Kinney" and got it right. The only person I was able to positively ID was Neko Case but she wouldn't stand still long enough to see her face so I had to tackle her in a parking lot.

Nabob = neither funny like on TV nor smart like it is in books.

When they finally let me in, Shooter Jennings was sitting in the back with a bunch of girls and he said he was disappointed in me. Then I woke up.

This is one of those stories that is too good to make up. But what do it mean?

Much more than a death-notice-poster

Fare thee well, EW

* * *

Hi October, you are shaping up nicely. Between snoozing in the back seat of my mom's new leather-covered sedan and waking up in Upstate NY (when Upstate = chilly breezes, technicolor trees, booze); Jon Stewart tix I totally forgot we had ordered until I went to pay the cable bill and EUREKA AND STUFF, there they were; concerts; my dog chasing leaves; apple-orchards and pumpkins and the like; and a trip to Baltimore, city of my mid-twenties, to see a friend run a marathon (any suggestions you have for clever signs, please yell at me herrr) and drink at a bar named GRUMPY'S!!!

I mean, THIS is what I'm talking about, October!

Also, I learned last night on some tv program that the most popular birthday in the world is October 5th. So happy birthday, everyone. (My educated guess is the whole world gets a piece on New Years. As it should be, I suppose.)

* * *

I am back at my office. It is a gray and quiet place, silent except for the in-unison sneezings occurring between me and my office mate. It is kind of nice.

Monday, September 26, 2005

Only because Ilia Jarostchuk is way too obscure

Presenting the Governess's fantasy football starting lineup if her draft were based on one Sunday of watching football and ranking players by their names.

Kimo von Oelhoffen
Plaxico Burress
Quentin Jammer
Dat Nguyen
Marques Tuiasosopo
Kabeer Gbaja-Biamila
Obafemi Ayanbadejo
James Mungro
T.J. Houshmandzadeh
Adewale Ogunleye

She was also amazed to hear that Antonio Gates did not play football in college.

See G, how can you call Sunday a waste when you learned so much?


Added bonus! Word's suggested spelling for the list above

Kim von Huffing
Plaices Burgess
Quentin Jammed
Data Nguyen
Marques Tease solo
Caber Baja-Biaxial
Bateman Aryan Bandito
James Mango
T.J. Hush mandated
Deale Gooney

PS: innocent

(Postscript One: Yes, I indeed realize that I spent my weekend totes hanging at the mall with my GF, instead of at the protests.

Two, apparently some of the DCPD protest round-up vans ended up in Cleveland Park, which is the funniest thing, maybe ever.. I wish they hadn't of done anything else. Hopefully they didn't, you know, actually book them at a CP precinct. It would have been the ultimate Punk'd- driving those pesky ideological kiddies off to the far reaches of NW, and then just letting them loose to figure their way back to the Scene.

Three, how good was that Contstantines album from a few years ago, anyways? And what about the song "On the Table" by AC Newman? Just bringing it to your attention again, caase you want to hit a Sam Goody or something. Consume! Or the terrorists win!

Four, yes yes. I've heard about the dolphins. It's awesome.)

Keeping up with the Jonesez

1.21 jigawatts: an Alton interview.

With the new Candy Corn soda, the Nabob discovers he has a new favorite bev.

Creepy Abandoned Chi-chis: Finally updated. What a guy.

* * *

Today is my fake last day at Das Office, at least until budgets/contracts get figured out. It is quite difficult to full-on-emote how happy this makes me; right this very now, however, I'll be back VERY SOON, mere days, and that makes me want to sink into a deep black ditch of depression. The ditch includes eating bean dip from the bowl with my fingers and taking naps on my dog's flank. My life perfectly described, one again, by cartoons: I have great hope partnered with immediate sinking despair. I have... hopelash.

In other news, I bought a camera phone this weekend, so please join me in welcoming myself to a Modern Era. Also, I bought two sweaters (vaguely librarianish), two pairs of brown pants almost identical in nature, (except one is made of corduroy and the "whish-whish" sound is such overwhelming/crippling first-grade nostalgia, that I might have to return them), a skirt, and a pair of brown suede high heels I am trying to convince myself are not so much "work" shoes but also "hey lets go out and be sexy and cause trouble" shoes. However, they have a buckle, so that negates the previous statement. OH PRACTICALITY, OH CAPRICORNARY.

Since this is becoming a blog where I detail my weekend shopping trips, I'm going to stop now.

Also, Patton Oswalt got married this weekend, and "Cool Hand Luke" was on cable.

Friday, September 23, 2005


-- 8 Days until Crafty Bastards! I will be there, buying copious amounts of screen printed teeshirts to add to the collection. Can we start a movement change "Caj Fridays" to "SP Fridays," please?

Anyways, K. says "save yr allowance."

-- Not always, but occasionally, humorous.

-- Also, it's Friday, and this weeks is freaking hysterical.

ooh it's gettin hot in here/must be something in the atmosphere

Do you ever find a mystery mix CD under your car seat, and when you put it in, you actually experience a hangover by proxy?

"WOXY Sept. 2002", I'm talking to you.

P.S.: This!

Thursday, September 22, 2005

Thursday Complaints

1. I got scolded for eating an ice cream sandwich earlier this summer, but yesterday no one said anything to this guy who flinging around a yoyo on the Metro. And it wasn't some tourist's kid, it was a mid- twentyish guy going to work. Plus he wasn't that good. I'd judge his skill level somewhere around reckless.

Should playing with a yoyo on the Metro platform be allowed?

An informal poll of the people giving me a ride home last night resulted in the following responses...

  1. No.
  2. Depends on if he's good.
  3. Was he cute?
Good answer K. And I don’t think he was, but what do I know of guy cuteness.

2. The ancient male pursuit of throwing junk at each other's heads resulted in the purchase of the cheapest balled object at CVS = the imitation hackey sac. It appears my intended use for the thing is not same as the manufacture's = healing ACL injuries with magnets.

3. Complaining of knees... how 'bout some rain? Our lawn is the brownest of brown and the tomatoes deadest of brown and the ground's too hard. Every soccer slide tackle or unnecessary dive results in bloody knees. They're both gross. You can’t tell where the earth ends and the manhole covers begin when we play on the Ellipse.

4. My camera has suddenly just joined my iPod in the useless dead electronics drawer. The lone .jpg survivor...

Oh, old timer, the life guard warned you the waves were too big for you to go in with you pajamas. And now you’ve lost your shoe.


Exile in PA

WTF? Matt Pond PA and Liz Phair?

How many times in one week can I utilize the not-so-creative and relatively juvenile "WTF" to express current state of emotions? Even if accurate?



things from this last night/morning:

* *"LOST" SPOILERISH MAYBES, don't read if you didn't watch:* *




- "THERE'S A MAN IN THE HATCH! AND JACK'S HAIR MIGHT EAT IT!" The dog and I were scurred, we cuddled for safety and warmth.

- Whoa, have you heard the book theory? That the numbers actually match the numbers that are the chances that you meet your twin? And the book was written by a guy named Roussaeu in 1988? Okay, sorry, I'm not making any sense at all. See, this information is from DC101 listeners, so verification is STRONGLY needed, and I haven't had any coffee yet.

- So, the guy in the SUV that died when Carol Vesey came into the ER to be treated by The Hair? He died at 8:15, and he was Shannon and Boone's dad.

- The numbers are on the vial Desmond injects himself with. And the mural, (the bad, bad mural that appears as if it was painted by a kid in one of my college classes who used to call everything in his "series" of "work" "Sin: Sin I," "Sin: Sin 2," etc....) anyways, on the mural is the word "SICK."

- HOW CAN DESMOND live in a HATCH in the GROUND and have a nicer pad than mine? Can I get the humber of his interior decorator? The fuck?

Okay, time for internets.

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

William, It Was Really Something

2005, can you suck it any harder?

A friend's dad passed away on Monday. Coincidentally, her birthday.

I've known her since I was 6, (5?), and therefore her parents just as long- I have really, really fond memories of her dad, Bill. He was incredibly patient, weird, creative in a mad-scientist-genius kind of way, and just plain funny. He had insane taste in music, and wore nerdy glasses, and his daughter inherited the best of his traits. This, of course, is just how I remember him as a 13 year old- I can only imagine he'd gotten better with age. I hadn't seen him since I was 19 or so, when I ran into him back home, shopping over Christmas break.

Regardless of where our paths have taken us, I've always held my girl K.S. with deepest respect and admiration, and it pains me in very weird and inexplicable ways to see her hurt. For a brief, specific time in my life, her pops was practically a surrogate father- in the way all dads are to their daughter's junior high BFFs. Giggly girls holding court over sleepovers more days of the week than not, crank calling boys, fucking with his stuff in the garage, exploding things with chemistry sets, recording weird demo tapes in the linen closet, building dioramas in the basement- (what? that wasn't how you acted as a sixth grade girl?) In a way, I'm sure she could think of my dad like I thought of hers, if she wanted to. But let's face it- her house was always way more fun. Explain, please. How do dads do it? Moms, at least, have been there, (well, kind of - I can't fathom my mother ever being a pre-teen, she popped out of the womb ready to talk some fucking business and never looked back) but I cannot imagine a stranger existence than being a father of a 13-year old female. It boggles the mind.

The one pleasurable thought I've had in the last hour since learning that he's gone is that finally, Bill and Frank Zappa are somewhere, together, being awesome.

Please, someone, I beg of you - get married. Make a baby. Get a kitten. Adopt a pony, anything. This year, I haven't even explained a quarter of it, Internets. It's breaking me, and I am sick of funerals.

large heart boy/overusing italics edition

1. Hey, Uncle Billy, Aunt Joy? RUN.
(My daddy spent his childhood summers earning his melanoma in Galveston, so this kind of makes me sad sadder than usual. Also, my dad now has to have parts of his face burned off pretty regularly, so remember your sunscreen. Especially if you're a Viking.

2. OMGNSTUFF. I have found theeee place to hang at lunch hour, especially if you need gas, or Diet Coke and Swedish Fish. Keedz, gather round: the Sunoco off of King Street.

Holla at yr girls when they leave TC Williams campus for lunch!! And "remember the Titans" as you holla!!!


"HE. IS. FINE. Fiiiiiine. I even told my MOM he was fine."

"Gurl, they call me Apple Bottom cause that is WHAT I ROLL IN!!"

"You have twenty dollars? Tight, buy me some cake."

Translation please- is Apple Bottom a fashion line? (I think it is.) That would make sense, I guess. You should see these girls. They are totally macked-out and macked-up, sequined purses and blue eyeliner and faux-fur backpacks and shiny, creative hair, WHATTUPPPPP ALEXANDRIA HILTONS!!!!! They are funny and young and totally loving their bodies no matter what shape-n-size, eating Hostess products with hedonistic abandon and then fixing their Bonne Bell, teetering on heels with glittery butterfly-type things tied up their legs, fluttering eyelashes at giant muscley boys in cars with spinning rims.

I am jealous, I am frumpy, my hair is mousey and I want - just for the time it takes to fill up my gastank - to be a sophomore again.

Like I said, the Sunoco. Be there, it is hotness. Neon-bright, the hotness.

3. Sad- John Keitz died yesterday. The story the Post published on Keitz earlier this year was pretty touching, although I wished it would have focused even more on his family- is it in bad taste to think the Keitz clan may have inspired a John Waters character or two? I don't think so.

4. After this week of work is over, I'm going to have a few weird down days because of a thing with a thing and a thing at work. Maybe I'll even be sent home???? I AM SERIOUSLY CONSIDERING A 7-BAR IN 7-DAYS CHALLENGE. (cue cheers) Moderate, responsible, vaguely boring and adult consumption every night for a week!!!! Who's with me???

5. PS, this via Ultragrrrl.

6. I can't think of much else to say, so LOST LOST LOST LOST LOST LOST LOST. My house, 8 pm for Cliffs Notes. Bring candy, and no talking allowed unless it's me, throwing things at the telly because the suspense is making me have a grand mal.

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

Pirates, check. Polar bears, check. Ninjas? Vikings? Sweet anticipation.

Besides the fact that this day has sucked, why is it not Wednesday night yet?

Believe for all the World


1. An Asian feast was partook-en of last Saturday night, paid for via an expired-ish, maybe, gift certificate and a nice tip; thai iced tea and crab and lime and noodles and spices and perfection and glory in a nice, neat clay pot package. Thai food, done right, is the best food in the entire universe. The only thing that might be better than Thai food is the Big Gulp. I love the entire concept of a Big Gulp. Don't argue with me on this, I'm a touch pissy lately.

Anyways, after said food (DINNER AND MOVIE. THAT IS A GINUWINE DATE MON AMIS!), we saw Broken Flowers, which was just as I expected? No real surprises? Bill Murray was good, blank, just the way he/the character should have been. Tilda Swinton, however brief, was great. The best, in my opinion, was Frances Conroy. Run see, and tell me she's not brilliant as Dora. (Apparently also going to be in "Shop Girl" as welll, but playing who IMDB doesn't specify.)

Also, Homer Murray, Bill's boy, looks like the poor chump ex-husband of Shannon Elizabeth. (You know, of "Tomcats" fame!!!!!!!1)

2. "NOW THIS IS JUST A REGULAR GIRL. Not indie-rock anymore, because of the hair is too long, THAT'S WHY."

3. Let us, for a moment, consider the fishing ground. Doesn't this story warm the cockles of your heart? Doesn't it seem kind of, I don't know, quaint? Given the horrors in the Mid East, recent natural disaster tragedy, missing teenage girls, the crazed mass murder of black dogs in Northern Virginia, etc; I like reading about "boundaries of the continental shelf between Ellesmere and Greenland, upon in 1973."

4. The most awesome search that landed someone on Pyggy to date. Germans, you are a hoot.

5. Psssss, I didn't know if you knew or not, but it's football season. Who wants a scotch?

6. Thanks, bloggers of the world. Now I am sad, for not being wealthy. SWOON!

Monday, September 19, 2005

Black Dog Barking in the Dead of Night

Since we are on the topic of the black dog...

This is the same animal that disrupted my football watching when it climbed into the attic and FELL THROUGH THE FUCKING CEILING!

Brown dog is cute but of average dog intelligence. Black dog is occasionally cute but is too damn smart for his own damn good. The black dog's owners have to keep hydrogen peroxide on hand at all times in case it eats something it shouldn't. Like 3 pounds of bottle rockets. Yes, 3 pounds. Or an entire bag of Snicker's Halloween candy, wrappers and all. Or two whole loaves of freshly baked bread.

Other aggressions:

  • Learned to climb chain linked fences. His owner's had to effectively build a batting cage in the backyard to keep him in.
  • He hates the mailman so much that he destroys the mail at soon as come in the house. His owners had to buy a new door because his lunges toward the mailman knocked it out of its frame. If you are holding the mail, he will destroy your hand. He barks as soon as the mailman enters the neighborhood and doesn't stop until he's left again. He has tried to attack the mailman in the mail truck and has actually taken a bite out of its bumper.
  • If you yell at him for misbehaving, he will walk to the other side of the room, make eye contact and shit on the floor. Solely out of spite.
  • After being locked into a bedroom for causing trouble one night, he managed to open a screen door leading to a second story deck, jump onto the roof of the house, walk overtop the building to the window of another bedroom and secure re-entry by scratching until a shocked Duchess let him back in.
  • Countless other Mephistophelian acts.

If there is an aspiring dog shrink who needs a patient for their thesis, I've got a good patient.


Black Dog (not my dog) is lucky I am not wearing him as a fucking COAT today.

Brown Dog (my dog) remains adorable and perfect.

Can you imagine how bad I'd be with actual children? Although I can't really imagine wanting to punt a human infant across the room as much as I wanted to kick the ass of the dog responsible for eating my new and expensive window treatments.

In total self restraint, I did not abuse the dog.

So. Furious. I can't even talk right now.


G.O.B. is my co-pilot

Creative control, spin-off rights and theme park approval for Mr. Banana Grabber, Baby Banana Grabber, and any other Banana Grabber family character that might emanate there from.


I congratulate FOX for not waiting until the baseball playoffs are over before they started airing their new fall schedule. Having the Simpson's Halloween epsiode being the season opener the last few years was a huge mistake.

It might even take the Governess' mind off the huge hole in the brand new blinds.

Saturday, September 17, 2005

saturday sound

I've spent the entire morning procrastinating, and the past 2 hours or so actually working, albeit with a crick in my neck. The dog's asleep on the couch, the husband is off playing some sort of barbaric adult football (where one of them old-timers is bound to get irreparably damaged. Those achilles don't repair themselves you know, and you aren't 17 any more.)

Prizes for the first person to send me an email with a good reason to be stuck in the basement on a weekend. Overtime pay doesn't count, because said overtime is already earmarked for fixing two massive cracks in my windshield. Kids, don't ever grow up.


- Starlight Mints (via Fluxblog)

- "Lonesome Stray"(via Glossary Online)

- Mikey D. (via hisself)

and last but certainly not least-

- Cypress Hill/Sonic Youth remix of "I Love You Mary Jane" from the Judgement Night soundtrack. (via 3Hive and Brealonline).

- Hey, Black Sheep Boy appendix!!!! Also, the "For Real" video (Zack Margolis animation.) If it is Will Sheff who illustrated this (as the credits read, kind of), and not Will SCHAFF (responsible for several OR album covers, and who's work I love- especially his "Mail Art") - then Sheff's at least been heavily influenced by the other Will in his own illustrative techniques(check out the "ribbons" and script text.) Needless to say, it doesn't look like Schaff's work, but I'm kind of confused as to who actually illustrated it.

Friday, September 16, 2005

Welcome to Dweebsville!

Secret Shame #15:

The past few days, I've had weird chunks of downtime while waiting on coworkers to get me giant piles of archived documents; papers I need to work on a recent URGENT URGENT URGENT project.

I've been passing those timechunks by playing lots of this.

(Incidentally- best quote ever by TR: The Word 'italic' is kind of sexy because it reminds me of the word 'Italian.' And everyone knows about sexy Italians.")

Slim Fit

Did you know sometimes penguins wear woolen jumpers? Me neither.

* * *

1. I looked on approximately 700 news sites this morning. FYI to my peeps - if you are interested in whatever Bush tried to say last night, you will first have to wade through Brit's ("BritFed") birfing news and the fact that Renee Squinty-Eyes ("ReZelChes") and Keith Urban Kenny Somebody are getting divorced. Yay, America!

2. I had this entire diatribe scripted out about Laird&Partners, and how they can fool me once with their MISSY & MADONNA FRIENDSHIP LIES, but you know what they say. Can't fool a girl twice or something. Anyways, this newish-now-oldish Gap thing? LAIRD & PARTNERS PLEASE. We is not an idiot. Brandon Boyd ("BranBoy")? What has BB even been up to since 2000? And, really, no one's favorite song is by Sealhenry. That's just crazy talk.

But I guess PR firms are, after all, in the business of crazy talk.

PS Who's Keith Urban ("KeUrb")?

3. "The Penis Mightier for 200, Alex!"

4. So I got to Stetsons late last night after spewing forth DRIVEL for a few hours on the company dime, only to find myself tired and overworked and not nearly as drunk as everyone else/I wanted to be. Really, after this week, I desired to be outrageously drunk, in a way that can only be described as "outrageously." But that didn't happen, so I settled for a sweet little conversation or 2 wit mah gurl; the ILB; this nice guy, briefly, at the bar; and a tornado in a tube dress.

The cake, rumor has it was from Costco.
The cake, rumor has it, was delish.

Then I went home and went to bed, and forgot to let the dog out, meaning my ever-suffering spousal unit was awoken with great furrocity at 5:30 AM as I lay comatose, and that is how I spent my summer vacation, or at least my Thursday night.

5. Since I'm at my "other office" for a few short hours, I have video capabilities! And real walls! Made of drywall and steel! And a door, that closes! Look what's keeping me company this AM!

6. I know I've brought this up before, but based on a comment last night ("every girl I know loves Stevie Nicks"), I'd like to re-request a portrait of Stevie and my dog, together, please; as a Christmas gift.

Okay, go on, shoo. It's September. Shouldn't you all be studying right now?

Thursday, September 15, 2005

yawn blink hi

Okay hi.
I'm going to Stetson's tonight. I think. I'll try my hardest.
I might be a little late.
Who's in????


- I finish a mind-numbing QC strategy, complete with numbers, which are scary. On second thought, this actually might be easier (and much funnier!) to do AFTER Stetson's. ("The aforementioned requires monthly meetings to consistently re-evaulate resources and shifts in clients requirements. Measurables, blah blah; Results, blah, if meetings are not met in a timely and cost effective manner, client can request aforementioned... KISS THUR ASSHOLES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It's CRACK, BITCH!")

- I skip my weekly volleyball game (which is scheduled for 7:00, which I can't make because of said my mad Excel graphing skillz, mentioned above, because I need all this to be finished before doing anything fun, which won't be by 7:00 PM, which is when my volleyball game is, which makes me mad, and nothing's more fun than an angry drunk. Homework can BITE ME.)

- My head doesn't explode from having to drive to LANDOVER IN FUCKING RUSH HOUR to pick up a SINGLE PACKAGE. Seriously. Maryland. Jesus.*

So, by the time I get to Stetson's, I'll need a drink. And a lobotomy. I'm sorry if I'm not as cute or as funny or as charming as usual, which is so cute/funny/charming, its mind-blowing. (when cute/funny/charming = awkward.)


It's not funny.

Seriously, stop laughing.

* Okay, scratch that, I do not have to go to MD. Yay!!!!

Oh, and this update: It's been determined I prolly dreamed up that Eartha Kitt pic, so you can stop your frantic searching. I think I just combined the thoughts of her holding a kitten, and her laying on a lion/large-cat type rug. Feh. A girl can dream.

Yawn Factory

Why YOU are cooler then US

We watched Mythbusters last night, the one about yawning being contagious. We then spent ten minutes trying to get the dog to yawn. Instead, it got us tired and we went to bed at 10pm. The dog was fine, though, and stayed up destroying his new toy. This morning, stuffing, everywhere.

Why HE is cooler then YOU

There were two guys on the metro last week who stood in the doorway as people tried to board. One was a tourist who just seemed confused. The other was a well dressed business man who ignored the people trying to squeeze by and gave dirty looks to those who dared rustl his WSJ. At Roselyn, a bunch of riders were slowed by his stubbornness. The last one on was a Metro, let's say, official. He at least had on a shirt with a big M on it. He took one step on, turned to the bidness man and said, "Is there a reason you're standing in the door and slowing down the entire train?" The other guy eventually whimpered, "No." After pulling his pants back up, he got off at the next station. But I don't think it was his stop, he just wanted off the car.

I love a man in uniform.

senses working overtime

The screen is all squiggly, type is making no sense, and I've had three cups of coffee in twenty minutes. My brain is on total overload. I almost just typed "overlord." SWEET!

1. Speaking Of/Our Fearless Leaders: Jerry Kilgore is a cartoon character, and Tim Kaine has evil eyebrows and looks... slicky.

2. Black Sheep is back together!

3. Looking forward to: We're headed to my aunt and uncle's house in upstate NY for the long Columbus Day weekend, or as my family refers to it, Get Drunk On Wine Weekend. The Finger Lakes region has some exceptional wineries, some o' my past favorites including Heron Hill, Lamoreuaux, and Standing Stone. I haven't been up in a few years, and rumor has it some new ones have opened. You would think that this would mean I know something about wine. You would be wrong. But oh, how it does sparkle! And taste good! And stuff! Swirling and spitting is totes for chumps.

And maybe I'll force everyone to Bully Hill, home of great label design and mediocre-to-poor actual wine. Bully Hill, you and your goat are so adorable, why must you taste like actual goat?

4. This, for you. But you, especially.

5. Patent Pending Industries

6. I've yet in my long, long life to actually make it to CMJ, although the Nabob went, years ago when CMJ profiled chamber music and the Nabob's hairstyle of choice was a powdered wig. Anyways, and everyone in my social circle is sick of my rants against CMJ publications (short version: if you ain't gonna do it right, why do it?), so I'll cease for the time being - I'm gonna miss not seeing !!! this year. Something tells me a !!! show in NYC would be bananas.

7. Kurt Vonnegut on the Daily Show? Hilarious.

8. Happy birthday, DCist.

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

why you won't hear from me

The next week is going to be hell. I actually have to DO WORK. Perhaps even WORK OVERTIME. It's like I'm writing a term paper, only longer and much more boring. I was an art major for a reason. My little dinosaur brain can barely wrap around this foreign concept, effort.

Also, as noted in the comments, somewhere there exists a photo of Eartha Kitt holding an actual live lion. The one of her holding a cat doesn't count, I'm talking LION. I know I've seen it somewhere, the first person to find this photo wins my undying devotion. Besides, I need it for my Friendster profile.

Or maybe I'm just making this up.

- Related, definitely: did you know when you google "eartha kitt" on Google Images, John Goodman comes up?

- Related, maybe: I'm taking suggestions for Halloween. People, it's only a few short weeks away! And no one will do my "Running of the Bulls" idea with me, even though I swear it borders on genius. I've also just thought about the classics, like zombies, or mummies. Both kind of funny in a retro way. What do you think about Judy Garland, and I carry around Vicodin and booze all night, instead of candy?

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

Michael Shirtoff

I assumed this was a senior picture one of the G's friends had taken. One that has only just now found its way to my inbox. But Newsweek suggests otherwise.

The online article doesn't include the picture that's in Newsweek's print edition. Via my bad digital camera...

The town where above pictured Austin is from, Spencer, Iowa, is the same that produced my father. And it's where half my family still lives. Growing up, pictures like these littered our refrigerator and family photo albums as various cousins and uncles graduated high school. As far as my 10-year-old self knew, it was how things were done. Naturally, a freckled second-cousin Andy should be posed on his red Trans Am. I also assumed that as I passed from elementary school to middle school, I too would be furnished with a wide range of possible backgrounds for my class picture. Alas, it never advanced beyond standard blue. (Although, I do remember a couple kids had parents who sprang for the laser.) These Midwest pleasures have faded from my conscience since moving out of Ma n’ Pa’s. But it seems the days of simply having cousin Jake leaning agin' a fence post are long gone. Today’s modern high school boy must display his abs.

My parents are currently back in my father's hometown working on our family's genealogy and attending the best damn county fair in the nation. (116,563 in attendance so far, in just 3 days!) I hope my mom isn't too traumatized by all the shirtless high school seniors walking around.

Monday, September 12, 2005

Comfort Scene

Refer to Nabob's post below, if you want human interest, or football. I have nothing of substance to offer.

- The Wrens on Friday were teriff, a nice (nice! I like that word, it was a nice night) combination of rock and light histrionics and audience participation and Miller Lite. The Wrens are one of those groups that when asked, I cannot name or think of a single song they sing. I can visualize Meadowlands, but I just can't say what's on it. However, at the concert, I'm all five-year-old at the zoo or something, high on cotton candy: "I know this one! And this one! And this one! I actually may have forgotten how much I liked this group!"

- Saturday I had breakfast w/ SNM; beignets and coffee in Del Ray, served by an adorable urchin named Holly, sporting a hairbow and white apron, a child who has probably never had a tantrum in her whole life, and most likely gives her parents stock tips and balances their checkbooks. Dinner that night with my parents and my brother + girlfriend was uneventful, his favorite gift being Nancy Grace's "Objection!" (A joke, we think, but in a semi-serious moment- held the book up during dessert and proclaimed: "JUST LOOK AT HER COME-HITHER STARE!" Ugh.) There was some slight family drama (as always) and, oh, I did tell a hilarious story about the guy I once saw eating a giant sheet cake while driving on Rt. 66- remind me to tell you that one (that's mostly the whole story, but I'm much better in person - I involve swooping dramatic hand gestures, and usually start laughing at myself too hard to actually finish the damn tale.)

- Then I had brunch with 2 friends, all nice and drowsy on Sunday morn, we felt like real life ladies, and I ordered quiche and - who am I? Ordering quiche? On a Sunday morning? One of us wore a skirt? With girlfriends? Who talked about their kids the entire time? We should be hungover, barely functioning from a night of coke and crowdsurfing to teen punks named "Vampire's Revenge" or something. (Maybe next weekend, who's with me?)

- Also previously mentioned, we're dogsitting. Our tiny house is a warzone of dog farts and chew toys. Elder Statesman Black Dog, for whom we are dogsitting, is teaching Rookie Resident Brown Dog all sorts of tricks, like finding one’s voice and jumping on furniture.

In conclusion, The End, all I did this weekend was eat and drink and be merry-ish. Nats game tomorrow night.

And now, here's a picture of Indira Ghandi holding a koala bear!

Scenes from the Sunday Coach

First off, today's Post Express...

Wow! Emmitt Smith, 148 yards and 2 scores. Pretty good for a retiree watching the games from his home in suburban Dallas. Should have drafted him over Cadillac Williams.

The G. spent Sunday having a ball attending lunches, picnics, parties, box socials, brannigans and practice, leaving me home with the kids and a huge pile 'o' laundry. But that's cool because it's opening day of the NFL. And when I got back from my 9pm soccer game, at least she would have folded the sheets and gathered the trash, like she was asked. Oh, wait.


Fox Football coverage - You stink. And not at the big things like hosts and announcers, because they always stink. I was disappointed in the graphics and sound effect, especially the bumpers between football and commercials. They're boring and old. Three years ago you had the giant robot factory with everything spinning, whizzing and sparks flying. They were annoying but creative. Two years ago you had cityscape 3D models and you achieved background graphics perfection. They were CG but had a hand-drawn muted blue Basin City feel to them. They were probably ignored by the masses but appreciated by those who noticed.

This year had some average slow moving dark blue slates. Blues and blacks, with some yellows and whites as contrast. Some designer knows the basics. Yawn.

The pregame show also had audio bumpers that were designed to separate differing segments. I'm sure they were meant to be noticeable and dynamic, so you would know that Howie Long had finished talking about Champ Bailey's shoulder and was moving on to Green Bays' woefulness. It did not seem appropriate, though, as James Brown segued from the importance of the season starting on 9/11 to how the New Orleans Saints are the most courageous football team of all time.

I did see one Fox NFL promo, though, that actually had character. It had a football being unlaced with creepy vine-like tentacles lowering small monitors. Game highlights were on each of the screens. It was a mix between Invasion of the Body Snatchers ( the Donald Sutherland one) - War of the Worlds - and Stephen Gammell* artwork. It was a little unsettling. And though it was derivitive, it was at least creative. Which is probably why Fox didn't air it much during the 9 hours of football I watched. The boring stuff was everywhere.

Commercials - If the Superbowl of football is the Superbowl of commercials, then surely opening day is also, uh, good. The winner: the FedEx spots with the fully padded players providing advice on shipping. Specifically, Joe Montana trying to shuck and jive in an airport terminal on his old man knees.

Marc Summers - is a bastard. Whatever show that guy does on the Food Network did a piece of fish tacos. They looked so good. I spent all of Skin's-Bears halftime and most of the third quarter driving around NOVA looking for a place that sold them. No dice. If anyone wants to join me at lunch today, I'll be on a fish taco prowl throughout DC.

Laundry - Eight loads. I had to re-do two loads because I found wet dogs lying in them before they were folded.

Dogs - The G's new pet has a thing for blondes. It plays happily with any other animal at the dog park but as soon as a Golden Retriever or Golden Lab show up, it's wee brain narrows into dry-hump mode. A delightful new discovery. I think it's his subconscious trying to re-establish dominance over the G. and her yellow locks.
In conclusion, Javon Walker's knees are going to screw me. The end.

*While the Scary Story franchise was a good read as a kid, Gammell's painting scared me to no end. I wouldn't leave them on the bookshelf out of fear that some of those drawings would come to life in my room.

If this is one about the scarecrow that comes to life and dries the skin of a shepard on his roof, well then sir, prepare to see me wet myself.

Friday, September 09, 2005

bird on a wire

Public Health Goddess Pal, K., presented unto me a link:

"Anti-Rape" Condom

There seems to be some serious logistical problems with this. Does one have to wear this all the time? If so, I assume the woman's health has been taken into account? I can only imagine some dangerous side effects to the wearer, should this thing malfunction.

"This is not about vengeance ... but the deed, that is what I hate," she said.

Absolutely, any mortal soul with half a brain and a teaspoon of human compassion hates violence against women, and men, and children, and animals. Rape against women is particularly vicious/cruel/nauseating, mostly because it's so freakishly prevalent. The packaging just isn't accurate. The preventing pregnancy/STD's I can stand behind, but the claim that it is "anti-rape?" Uh, no. This little barbed contraption is EXACTLY about vengeance. The name itself is a total misnomer: this isn't actually preventing rape, it's just retribution.

(I don't know, maybe they can still consider passing it out to freshmen in orientation packets or something.)

Or maybe we should just all teach our children it's not fucking okay to sexually abuse someone, so in the future, the need for products like this diminishes. I'm not optimistic enough to say "disappears completely."

Less important, but what if you are a willing participant, but fully, uh, loaded? Will it come down to all of us women in society saying: "If you can hold on just one second- my crotch is potentially harmful right now, so I need to disarm." And, is an anal version in the works? Don't giggle, that's a valid question.

Anyhoos, fascinating concept, in the least. It's time like these that make me wish I had kept in touch with all my Steinem Leadership Institue cohorts from undergrad. Thems would be some FIERCE discussions.

* * *

Really, completely, totally unrelated:

Seeing family this weekend, seeing Wrens tonight. Eating beignets at Evening Star early tomorrow morning. Volleyball practice and a barbeque on Sunday. Dinner with my old boss, Tuesday? Bluestate on Saturday night. DCist birthday party next week. (If I attend these last two, is it a desparate attempt on my part to, gulp, enter - a scene of some sort? Because listen, chickens, I am not cool. I wear Old Navy sometimes. I know I've mentioned it before, but my bedtime is totes 10PM LATEST.)

Busy! But I have to say, I love Septembers. I can actually SMELL back to school in the air, and my 12 year old neighbor hates my guts for waving all chipper-like to her every morning at the bus stop. I am a, sigh, Big Nerd.

Much weekend love.

fifty ways to leave your lover.


Apparently, Brownie, the job you were doing wasn't THAT great.

I don' t think you're ready for this jelly

I don't think I'm ready for Dan Barry.

I don't think you're ready for such cuteness.

* * *

My extended family is kind of, I don't know... difficult is such a colossal understatement. Which makes me appreciate my immediate family even more. Not to say we all don't have our moments (stories about my father could produce an entire separate blog's worth of material, and once had my friend Jim in such hysterics he may or may not have wet his undies. Also, S. used to tell same said stories at keg parties in college, making my father the MOST POPULAR FRAT GUY ON CAMPUS!, years before "Jackass," even though no one had ever met him and he lived several hours away. When I visit my cousins, we have Olde Fashioned Story Time round the fireplace, where we all tell our favorite tales about my father. It's really that bad. Or good.)

Anyways, besides my insane papa, one of the longest relationships I've had with a member of the opposite sex has lasted for 26 fucking years. A LONG 26 years. In some ways, it's the worst and most abusive relationship I've ever been in - resulting in bruises the size of grapefruits, emotional distress beyond comprehension, and an annual salary's worth of therapy that we both need but will never get. Dude once chased me with a knife, TRU STRY. Also, he was a biter when he was younger, and several people have scars to prove it.

As adults, we don't talk often because we don't have much in common and do not live in the same city. Bad things: we passive-aggressively needle and roll our eyes at each other when we are together. He's a total tattletale. I'm a total grudge-holder. He says I am an uppity bitch and I say he is a mainstream poser. Of course, if anyone else said such things we would launch total Mortal Kombat style kung-fu attack. Good things: We know the same movie quotes, have very similar senses of humor, he likes Kim Deal, and ON RARE OCCASSION the boy will put down whatever asshat jam-band music he is listening to and take advice from me ("hey, that Hold Steady album is really good!" ((MY EYES ROLLED OUT MY NOGGIN.)) )

Also, we share genetic code-type shit.

It probably has not been easy to be my brother. I'm sure my America's Top Model Beauty and brain so advanced it processes quantam physics problems in mere milliseconds is a bitch to live up to. Even with these challenges, my brother has grown into more than just a freakishly tall young man.

He is a solid tennis player. He is smart, and has a memory that is to kill for. He is witty, is an extremely hard worker (unlike his big sis, who is pictured in Wikipedia if you type in "sitting on potential" or "winging it.") He is incredibly likable, great with dogs, and goes to my 6-year old cousins baseball games just to cheer him on. He has the ugliest feet you have ever seen (seriously, his second toe is longer than my INDEX FINGER. It is so weird.) He dresses like a total fratty-frat boy- He'd probably wear puka shell necklaces if people (ie, me) didn't mock him, but we can overlook all that. His dating record has been total pap, but is finally dating a smart girl who I love and I want her to stick around forever. For a big sister to say this, it is amazing, because usually no one is good enough (and DEFINITELY not good enough was the brainless 17 year old Britney/dance major in a glitter thong who told my mom "she must live under a rock for not having heard of Weezer," when my mom was in the kitchen holding a KNIFE. She also called my father "daddy" the first time she met him. STEP. OFF. Anyways, we love current girlfriend.) He is willing to ask for help when he needs it, and is not stubborn. He is patient with my mother. He has nice eyes. He is honest to a fault, and respects women. He let me push him down the stairs in laundry baskets when he was little, just to see what would happen. He works as a Big Brother to inner city kids who he lets beat him in basketball, and he can probably cure lupus with a simple handshake. He's a great guy, and I'm proud of him.

So- he won't read this, because I respect his opinion and therefore don't tell him much about my life, including the fact that I am an internet phenom, but- happy birthday to my baby brother, a very old 26 come Sunday. In case anyone's keeping track, he has the misfortune of sharing his day with 9-11. Unlike me, who would have held that over the Taliban's head for the REST OF MY LIFE, he is so like: nonchalant and caring and whatever about it, because people DIED and it's just a birthday. (If you don't turn 26, the terrorists win.) Really, he's much nicer than me. You'd love him.

Wednesday, September 07, 2005

Jill Cunniff, where you at?

In an ongoing effort to post nothing but fluff, I give you this.

Let's not talk about the actual content/subject of the article. Shhh, shhhh. Let's please just play the quiet game for a few minutes, children; focus on the last two paragraphs. Do these peeps at ANI need a second, part-time job? Because they are lazier authors than I am; and I know suckers out there looking to hire.

* * *

I read somegenius blog comparing the Yeah Yeah Yeah's to LUSCIOUS JACKSON (! ! !), and I kind of got mopey. Aww. Remember "Natural Ingredients"? Remember Sassy magazine? Hells bells, people.

* * *

Other: Federal City Five is playing Rock N Romp on Saturday, I need new running shoes, salad for lunch, I'm trying to convince People In Positions of Authority to have Okkervil River stay at my house this fall. Slumber Party! Indie vegetarian brunch! I'll buy edamame, or whatever that crap's called.

Edit/PS: Dude is everywhere. Celeb sighting: Now would probably be the place to bring up the Head Gypsy stealing my cheese fries, chilling with us ladies latenite at Ben's, startin shit with a belligerent LJG, me being transfixed Eugene's moustache and sparkly gold things. But I think I've talked to this before. How Now Brown Hutz; look for him in the upcoming Everything is Illuminated (!)

Gross, Point Blank

My college religion professor loved him some karma. We sprinted through all the Abraham-based religions, Shintoism and Zoroastrianism (personal fave) to then spend weeks on Hinduism, reincarnation and karma. The class was a required Religion 101 and the teacher was, uh, “accommodating” toward us jocks, so the room was filled football, baseball and soccer players. The karma stuff was probably the teacher’s subtle way of encouraging the defensive line to stop throwing unwanted party guests off third floor balconies, as they were want to do.

The professor would speak of a giant sack that held all of our past deeds and our lives would be determined by its contents. Some things would play out in the near future, some later on and some may determine out status in out next reincarnation.

But I got a much better example than a giant sack.

In high school I dated a very nice girl. But as so often happens, a young man’s fancy wandered and we broke up. Our relationship became strained and although we still spoke to each other, it was rather chilled. To patch things up I, naturally, ran against her for class officer our senior year. For a position she had held for preceeding three year. And one I didn’t necessarily want.

It was out of spite. And I won.*


Blog-forward nine and a half years. “Hey Nabob? When's the reunion?”

Right. Class officers are supposed to be in charge of that. Fuck.

Tracking down old classmates has been an incredible plague. I would love nothing better than to ignore this or hire Magnum to find everyone. Google has done most of the work but there are also the wonderful cold calls.

Beeeep. “Hey Jake, this is the Nabob from high school. I got your number from your dad. He told me about his divorce, so sorry about that. Hope you’re doing okay. I see your siser at the Cowboy Cafe every once and a while. She's seems to be doing alright. How's uncle-hood treating you? Three kids by 23. Wow! But she still seems happy. Guess what? The ten year reunion is coming up and I’m trying to track everyone down. It’s going to be the day after Thanksgiving at (lame NOVA bar). It should be a good time. Give me a call back or shoot me an email at bloggedy dot blogblog at blogspot dot com . Cool. Oh, and the whole thing when you slept my girlfriend, that was, like, a decade ago, so who cares. You probably did me a favor, anyway. If it hadn’t been you it would have been some other guy. It was just awkward, you know, right before homecoming and all. OK, well, remember: reunion Friday after Thanksgiving. Cool. See ya"

I asked the girl who I broke with if she wanted to help, or at least pass along the names of people she still kept in contact with, and she wished me luck. And laughed in my face.

Stupid karma.

*The position afforded me unbelievable power and access to all levels of the school administration. Superintendent Gosling answered to me. I would call WAVA and Don and Mike and they would announce a snow day at my urging. It was a fabulous year. The elevator ran on time. Vending machines were stocked with the sweetest joys. The school swept all the science categories at VJAS. The Patriots beat the Generals in every sport.


1. Focus groups suck!

2. Wrens on Friday night!

3. Trader Joes last night! Food, glorious food, everywhere! Lunchtime awaits!

4. High hopes for Match Point!

Tuesday, September 06, 2005

An island, actually.

Bob Denver died?

Seriously, where have I BEEN for the past three days?

Invisible man who can sing in a visible voice

Vacay/Beach Bubble Habitation Perception Thingies:

-- I caught the Kanye thing when CNN repeated it. I was hungover and eating candy for breakfast. "George Bush doesn't care about (fill in here whatever you think he doesn't care about, there's plenty to choose from)" was the second-most used catchphrase of the weekend.

-- So. When the group finally caught the news re: Rehnquist, we thought it was hypothetical.

CNN: "What will happen with Rehnquist's death?"
LJG: "I don't know, but that's a little rude, don't you think?"


-- The actual winner in Overused Quotes for the Weekend was Whitney Houston's "KISSMYASS!" Have you seen the Bravo trainwreck that is "Being Bobby Brown" yet? Damn, Gina. DAMN. This is the reason we kept missing newsworthy items: "Being Bobby Brown" was on.

-- Beach trips are really just "family board game nights" fueled by cases of Miller Lite and cheap red wine in juice glasses. We didn't get so far as to charades, but one bazillion rounds of the "Name Game*" were played. Hint: avoid playing the Name Game with highly educated lawyers. You pull a Keenan Ivory Wayans or Marky Mark, thinking you is hot shit; and it's promptly replied to with "William Makepeace Thackeray." That being said, one lawyer didn't know what "tranny" was when it was played in Scrabble earlier that same night. (Second hint: "tranny" is not a real word, according to the Scrabble dictionary. Nice try, Nabob!)

-- The dog is a total chickenshit when it comes to water. But, he's adorable. There were, what, 8 people together this weekend? 8 lovely, fascinating, extremely good looking people in swimsuits, and my entire camera is filled with photos of the dog?

It's official: I am that woman.

-- Cue lyrics to Mariah Carey's "Hero."

-- Besides mass emails from Planned Parenthood and PETA, my hotmail account (routing for all things liberal mailing list/Phoenix University MBA offers) has been flooded with indignant missives on NOLA/politics from my hippie cousin (built farmhouses in Muncie, teaches agriculture in Cheektowaga.) HOLY COW. I'd repost these, but I think Blogga's servers would explode.

-- October 2004 National Geographic

-- Phew: Alex Chilton, no longer missing, instead spotted in a bar. How very rock and roll.

* * *

That's it. Today officially starts detox for me, all dark leafy greens and wheat germ and shit. If I never see another fast food hamburger/Red Stripe meal combo, it will still be too soon. I had terrible nightmares last night: they were about the BTK killer strangling people on rafts; the Superdome falling like the towers on 9-11. In the background, my high school's marching band played "Tusk," a la USC. Although, I don't know that this weekend's dietary choices can be held wholly responsible for such dreams.

* EDIT: Thank you, Miss SNM, for bringing this to my attention. The best "Name Game" offer was Meredith Baxter-Joyner, an unholy combination of Florence Griffith-Joyner and Meredith Baxter-Birney. And it was stated with such confidence. MoJo!

Friday, September 02, 2005

time out

Dear blog, happy Friday. We're off for a few days of sun and dogs. And sand. And cards. And shitty celeb mags. Probably beer. It's like a party in the Hamptons, but not. Wish us luck.

Have a good LD.

Thursday, September 01, 2005


With sadness like this, that and the other in this crazy world, it's hard not to over-analyze one's own paltry existence. For instance: how did I make it this far in life? (Not far like "accomplished," because a-har har; more far like: still breathing.) Is it weird to think every year I'm alive, it's mostly due to plain luck? I mean, with all those carcinogens* and speeding buses and drinking too much "Olympus" in a guy named Dave's basement when I was sixteen, what are the chances that LITTLE OLD ME made it to the ripe old age of 187? Yet here I slump.

Sorry to get maudlin.

- In related-ish news, I need advice. What does one say to someone after that person has just gotten a tattoo in memorial of their deceased significant other, and the tattoo is SPELLED WRONG? I ask because that's what's happening with me today. Dudes, take note: all of you should be on your knees and weeping with gratitude that you did not marry into my family. Unless, of course, you were working on a movie script, because then you've missed out.

- Also, I'm apparently going to have to cash out my 401k just to gas up for the beach this weekend.

With all tragedy, comedy.

* (Great choice on that font for CANCER, people!!!! Red and yellow and pixelated all over. Very scary.)


(Katrina sidenote: Apparently and not surprisingly, the Red Cross site is bogged down - I've only been able to get on sporadically, maybe the rest of you have had better luck.

Other options: if yr a God-fearing type, or a God-appreciating type, or a whatever-type, try your religious organization. Mine, anyways, seems easier to access. I can't speak for any other institutions, cynics, but I'm gonna rep us liberal Lutherans and tell you that this initial $$$ isn't going to missionary work. Funds are being used for travel for disaster response volunteers, food and water, chainsaws, medical supplies and all that other stuff people desparately need.

Again, not pimping the religion thing. If above isn't yr bag, I've accessed Network for Good and FEMA with ease, too.

It seems the most obvious and neccessary help is cold, hard bank. Send a few bucks. I have a feeling Houston might need some extra funds as well, so consider giving to Texas/Arkansas/Missouri chapters if possible. Houston has opened a local phone bank and have a "donate" button on their website that appears to be working.

Anyways, words honestly fail me, which is very rare. I got an email this morning that the family of a friend-of-a-friend rode it through in their Bay of St. Louis/ Gulfport attics, they lost the family's parakeet but otherwise casualties are low. Their homes, obviously, are destroyed. The wedding of friends so carefully planned in NOLA for November obviously won't happen. But you know- the parakeet and the wedding? Such small sacrifices.)

Take Your Medicine

How great is it that Grace Slick Paints BUNNIES???