The Skeleton Also Rises

Rock-n-Romp DC, which is a great idea, is back on for the summer.

Color me child-free, but I'd be willing to make a big donation, Debbie of Rock-n-Romp, if I can attend your Halloween show.

check it!

Pierrette

The Nabob isn't proud to post this, but considers it payback for having purchased a ticket for The Haunting.

I'm Burning, I'm Burnig, I'm Burning For You

This won't be a great post. Or even a good one. But I feel that it needs to be recorded somewhere or will be lost to history. A fellow member of the Brotherhood of Vibrating Pants (named such for the Nabob's métier now requires a cell phone, pager and blackberry) was questioning my claim that Billy Corgan was 6'3" but weighed less than 12 stones.

It was then this Gentleman's claim that his Brother-in-Law was a member of the Blue Oyster Cult (which has been subsequently confirmed) and there was a height requirement for potential new members. It seems that the lead singer was of Madisonian stature and no BOCers could be taller than 5'8"

Magnus Sveningsson, Chris Novoselic, and of course Gene Frenkle are Shite out of Luck.

Again, not a good post, just a thought.

EVENT.ORG.UPCOMING.TONIGHT.LECTURE.COM.EDU

Internets. If you and I didnt's have a hot date already tonight to play volleyball, or, say wash our hair, you might be tempted to check this out.

But then you'd remember that if you were REALLY interested in this kind of stuff, you' take whatever bedraggled Dan Brown novel (it's under your bed, covered in dust bunnies. Go look, I'll wait. ... There you go, see?), grab a Slurpee (make sure to vodka-infuse it), and take a leisurely stroll down the street to, potentially, the most dangerous and/or kick ass sledding site in all of the 'burbs, and let your imagination make it all up for you.

Sidenote: I'm wearing strange shoes today. They make my feet look exceptionally tiny. It's kind of weirding me out.

netplayish, phil collins, hip hop, the usual

Okay, now we have a lass substitute, and need another lad. GOD.

Any dudes out there want to play some laid-back volleyball tonight? At 9:00? In Springfieldish area? The Nabob has declined, he has more important things (read: drink) to do. (A pox on ye, Naboob.)

Please?

* * *

I FORGOT UPDATE:Also, does anyone know of this existing under $20, or do you have, um, a totally legal copy you are totally legally willing to somehow to get to me, legally and ethically? (I'm trying hard not to use the word "b*rn", I got called out on that earlier.)

thxcakes.

Dear random internets person who is probably incredible:

I don't really know you, but please let me come to your steampunk party.

Please.

In Case You're Extra Pregnant

The Nabob finds this odd. Yet I find this perfectly acceptable. Of course, I am 280 years old.

Internets, I have a favor to ask.

(Um, this is kind of weird, Internets, but do you know any women interested in playing volleyball in NoVa this evening at 9:00? My team is short one chick, and that screws us. My team is hilarious, and co-ed, and I can provide more details if you are interested. pyginablanket@gmail.com. Thanks, internets.)

GARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGHAGSLKAG HDN GFF ASS

(OH JESUS. Stupid "Lost." Why didn't Shannon get mauled, already.)

Treadmill Lightly

Spotted the Duchess at the gym last night but didn't say hi. Looked like you didn't want to deal with any more pains in the neck. A little observation, though. If that OCD gym fascist harasses you again for not signing in at the elliptical when four machines are open and no one is waiting, smack him in his red-headed, no eyebrowed mouth.

For 4 hours every day, he checks the list, walks a lap (always in the third track lane and he never, ever stepping on a line) and then checks the list again. It takes about six minutes per cycle. And he smiles to himself when he sees someone hasn't signed in.

He flipped out on me yesterday when my water bottle disrupted his stacked Swiss ball aesthetic. I told him I would move it when I was done tying my shoe. He waited through a knot, double knot, unnecessary untie and re-doubled knot. The judges ruled it a draw.

i'm a particular fan of Darrin & S'mntha's pad

If I wasn't already happily happily happily married, and if the surprise hadn't already been spoiled by that college drafting class (hint on said surprise: Surprise! interior design department filled chock full o' gay men), I'm sure I'd probably be all "Hey. So Mark Bennett. How YOU doin?"

Scroll through, they're pretty neat.

EDIT: My birthday is in 221 days, 8 hours, 31 minutes, 17 seconds. Just a note.

A Packetful of Splenda Makes the Camera Pill Go Down

The way I see it, a blog gives me the Michelle-Malkin-given right to demand that things be the way that I think they should be. Therefore, drug companies, I command you to stop making commercial with cartoonish versions of diseases, histamines and other maladies.

Worst offenders:

Allegra


I'll admit that lil' Pollen there does look itchy.

Lamisil

Since the side effect of the Lamisil is losing all your toenails, I'll go with unhealthy.

Mucinex


Mr. Mucus really crosses the line. Some sort of tasteless plaid-pants, suspendered, wife-beating loogey line.

Cartoons are too 1920-2002's. If these companies want to reach todays modern hypochondriac they need to get with the 28th century. People want amazing new technology, like camera pills. MTV, when this reality plastic surgery runs it course, may I suggest Celebrity Pill Camera. I bet you could hook one up to a Radio Shack 9 volt and steer it back and forth between Chad Michael Murray's intestines. The spin off will be called What Has The Ephemeral Hollywood Starlet Swallowed Now?

You've Got Meme

Our turn.

Maybe I should turn this whole project into "Meme's I never participated in but now I feel guilty about it because now I really do want to know what Lord of the Rings character I am?"

Also, to note- I wasn't an English Major. Neither was the Nabob. Nor the Duchess.

Ahem. That means there's one left. LJG, git yer gun.

The list of stuff I've read and hate would be much, much longer and more interesting. (Heart of Crapping Darkness, I'm looking at you. Making 17 year old girls read Conrad is akin to some sort of crazy punishment involving sharpened bamboo and drinking your own urine. I don't exactly know what, but I'll let yr imagination run wild.)

For the most part, I read everything that was assigned to me, because I like to read. Even the excrucitating stuff. I'm really trying to stick with stuff that every other person in America who can tie their own shoelaces has probably heard of. I'm not going to let on how guilty I feel about not reading Camus' The Plague a second time to fully absorb his existentialist thought process. (I mean, I read AS Byatt's "Tower of Babel" three times. Beat that, uppity motherfuckers!)

Here goes.

"You are a Worthless Fake for not Having Read These Books, but It Doesn't Seem to Have Affected Your Life in Any Particular Manner."

1. Pride and Prejudice. I even wrote an 5 page paper on it my senior year, that's the power of bullshit, my friends. I half-read it? maybe? right before I quit reading anything assigned to tackle a Faulkner project that almost devoured my soul. My teacher didn't seem to mind much. Also, in my senior year English class, I sat behind these guys Jon and Kevin who every so often would turn around, hold my arms down, and then staple my hair to the back wall when the teacher wasn't looking. Quick and silent, like ninjas they were. Hindsight, it was hilarious, and I always looked like I was sitting at total attention. Then Jon ending up marrying my best friend. See how quickly I went from Jane Austen to ninjas? Exactly.

2. Brave New World. Doesn't everyone in high school have to read this? I think so. As whats-his-name in the whats-his-name movie says, "Aldous Huxtable!"

3. Moby Dick. How many people are going to have this on their list? My guess numbers in the thousands. "Call me I DON'T CARE."

4. Dune. I know this one doesn't make much sense, but I mercilessly tease LJG about her love for "Dune." It makes me feel I should at least have some background for my constant bad jokes.

5. Richard III. Shakespeare. I really don't have anything to say about that, except for the fact that I didn't read it, and yet I feel I should have.

6. Kavalier & Clay. As previously referred to. I pretend like I've read this one ALL THE TIME, but I haven't.

(sidenotes: 1. the next person who tells me to read The Time Travelers Wife will get such a swift kick to the groin, it will amaze and astound you. I accidentally read that book when I was on a business trip. Which is why I've decided to consider gouging my eyes out. Audrey Author-person, I want MY time back. Lots of my friends rave about your book, so it's okay if there's one American woman not willing to find yr story about 2 completely insufferable people romantic and cute and stuff. 2. If you want an awesome book reccomendation, I suggest you pick this up. It's kind of about giraffes! And it's made me laugh out loud several times in the past few days, which is hard. (I'm suggesting to VH1 they really consider programming for next season a little spinoff I like to call "Shittiest Week Ever." I'm more than willing to host, if my FER-SURE-AWESOME FUTURE BOOK DEAL! falls through. This past week has been so, so bad.)

Might I end all this by saying the last English class I took was "Modern American Literature", like a decade ago, and all I read in that class was an assload of Joyce Carole Oates.

Oh man, this was a boring entry. I could've done better. Sorry, guys.

I came, I saw, I refused to "Chalupa."

Dear Future Governess;

I’m assuming you are some sort of sexy robot by now. (After my head was cryogenically saved, I can only imagine they attached it to a robot body modeled on Halle Berry. Here’s to hopin’!

Anyways, Future Governess, I had a question for you:

Sometime last night, here in the present, someone on TV (do you have TV’s anymore? Or do you just watch 3-D hologrammic programming?) mentioned "Demolition Man." This was awesome, because I have not thought of "Demolition Man" in a very long time, and I then had a strange craving to watch it, even though it is pretty much a horrible movie that also involved a horrible teenage date- I think my mom was pissed/worried because ole what’s-his-name was relatively newly licensed AND drove a convertible, and used too much hair gel AND had a pager, all early 90s signs of Trouble with a capital T.

I’m sorry, Future Governess, I’m getting distracted. Here’s my question: are Taco Bells really the way they were planned? Cause if so, I’m totally passing on the future. I’ve been expecting to do the whole pill-in-food-form thing, and Taco Bell-as-gourmet is not even worth a sexy Halle Berry robot body.

Sincerely,
Present Governess

* * *

PS, completely unrelated to early 90’s cinema, but SOUNDS like cinema: Cinerama. All over my IPod last night. ("Shuffle Songs" = joke.) Um, did not realize Cinerama’s connection to the Wedding Present, because I am a musical dunce. Thank you, Allmusic.com, yr an American hero.

That's Million with a "B"

Recent happenstance found the Nabob in the town of Williamsport, PA. Further happenstance led me to witness a high school football game featuring one classiest team nicknames ever put to helmet: The Williamsport Millionaires. Not the classiest because it seems there is another.

While the nickname itself would surely shame any other team into forfeiting all scheduled games, ahem Hazleton Cougars, it's the Millionaire's team logo that really classes them up right.

Yes, that is a top hat. And that is a cane. And those are white gloves neatly atop each other. I only assume legal action threatened by Mr. Peanut himself prevented the use of the monacle. Now I couldn't see if this logo was actually on the side of the team's hemets. In leiu of this, however, I would have also accepted a $ or possibly a burlap sack with gold coins spilling from a cinched top.
............
On a side note. If you too find yourself in Williamsport, PA and then suddenly discover yourself at Mango's Tropical Cafe, take care. The trachea shave is scheduled for later this year.

You Can Math Anything if You Number It

So, we're 12 days in, and yrs truly is curious: does anyone read blogs anymore?

I'm thinking the answer is "no", and we're played out. God, do I love traveling at the Speed of Trend.

In case you were wondering, I've been working on my Summer 2005 Goals:

1. Drink beer.
2. In my front yard.
3. In an inflatable baby pool.
4. Grand idea seen elsewhere: preferably wearing a black glitter bikini.
5. Also, read Kavalier & Clay so I can stop pretending like I already have read it when people talk about it in groups. I know, I'm 15 years behind on this.
6. Seriously, get my car inspected already before the fuzz tracks me down.
7. Build some sort of amusement park. Mebbe in honor of Jesus.

Also, dog.

Anyone who's willing to help on all this, pls. inform TOUTE SUITE. thanks.

Imagine the Riots This Could Have Caused Overseas

After the scrutiny brought down on the MSM after Newsweek, Dan Rather and Gannon/Guckert it good to see the AP policing themselves.

NEW YORK (AP) - In a May 23 story about the "Desperate Housewives" finale, The Associated Press reported erroneously that the character Lynette, played by Felicity Huffman, had sabotaged her husband's promotion because she was jealous over a sexy co-worker. Instead, Lynette derailed the promotion because she was afraid it would take her husband away from home too much.

An early version of the story, transmitted hours before the finale aired, reported erroneously that Lynette's four children are all boys. Instead, she has three boys and one girl.

This Girl, That's Who

In re: to below, guess who just registered creepyabandonedchichis.blogspot.com?

Nancy Drew and the Spectral Santa Fe Grilled Chicken Sandwich

Does anyone know what is to become of the abandoned Chi-chi's that now stand as unvoiced sentinels, guarding this nation's finest mall parking lots? If there's a script floating around Hollywood about a chain of haunted family eateries that's looking for a setting, may I suggest the empty Chi-chi's near Landmark Mall. Beside it just plain looking creepy, I'm sure the kitchen still contain cans of green chilies that gave all those people the Hepatitis A. And I bet they're now swollen with botulistic goodness. Can the next Sunday Source please have a road trip featuring all the forlorn Chi-chi's in the Virginia/Maryland bi-state area?

And is there a bigger let down of a google search than the one that hit on a Chi-chi's Fan Fiction site?

Carly stood with her back to me, re-filling the salsa bowls and nacho baskets. I slowly approached, took of my sombrero and kissed her neck. She turned into me and let her Mexican-fried-ice-cream-stained apron fall to the floor...

Damn. The site's gone as cold as the restaurant. Chi-chi's, thy name is poison.

.......

Speaking of road trip and Google... Did you know if you type in "geographic center" and a state name Google will math it out for you? Is math a verb? I can see how you could do this for one of them square states like Wyoming or Pennsylvania, but come on. How do you figure out the center of Maryland? That's outrageous.

Settlement of Custer on the Yankee Fork River, Custer County, Idaho, here I come.

UPDATE: The Nabob has been reminded that in spite of attempts at humor, he has already been to the Settlement of Custer on the Yankee Fork River, Custer County, Idaho (for some reason) and that he has a very poor memory for "facts." However, he does have specific recollection of the poor quality of pizza he ate nearby.

the northern neighbor

This weekend we had several Brits (and a Canadian!) visit our house, and eat our food.

I’m convinced British people are suspicious of me. QUITE suspicious. Methinks it’s the way they roll their eyes at me so violently they accidentally throw themselves out of their chairs. That's convincing. I’ve been this bizarre 80s-John-Hughes-movie-ish Anglophile since about age 8; when other kids were all up in Kirk Cameron’s grill and plastered their walls with Charlie Sheen Tiger Beat fold-outs, yours truly had her very DARK N DEEP wedding to Martin Gore laid out. I am only one step ahead of staring longingly into my UK friends eyes and asking them to "say that again. HA HA! You called the shopping cart trolley! SAY IT AGAIN! You! Are! So! Much! Clever-er! Than! Us!"

Oh yeah, and a Canadian. On Friday night, the Brits and the Canadian and the USof Aers and etc. spent a long eve full of jolliness, gathered around the hearth discussing such topics of importance as the live-action Transformers movie, and when Vikings were going to get their due already. (Pirates were the new robots, which were the new monkeys, which were the new ninjas. It’s Viking time, already.) We should have had wassail, and a singalong; it was just that charming.

Speaking of Canadians (segues: not my bag):

Tim and I used to have this email thing that was called Canadian Death Match. I’m pretty sure we stole the idea from Fametracker or something. It involved us emailing back and forth about which Canadians we’d like to see fight. (Note: Tim, email me. I have a lot of good new ones. Sarah McLachlan vs. Mike Meyers!!!!)

His favorite was always Brandon Walsh (err, whatever his name was?) vs. Anne Murray. I fancied something involving Alanis Morrisette, only because she totally could have used her hair as a sort of evil Mortal-Kombat style weapon, choke her enemies and shit.

What’s yr favorite Canadian Death Match?

Also, Nabob: welcome, and uh, I love you. I’m sorry your soccer season was cancelled. But now you have time to MAN-BLOG. You are brave.

At least they’re returning our registration drachmae

Rejoice! No longer shall houses be divided over weekend soccer matches. The season is canceled and the league disbanded! Warriors now return to their farmsand families. The cleats shall be hammered into plows and pruning knives. Rejoice! Rejoice!

But one must ponder, how long will the peace stand before the emperor once again calls forth his army of the pure and shin-guarded?

Also, does anyone know where one may obtain a wooden club with a diameter smaller than 2 and five-eighth inches, as per new league regulation?

A bitey hobo named Sarcasm.

Idea!

"Mash-ups" seem to be all the rage on cutting, edgy radio. (Specifically: Clear Channel.)

Imagine if you will a parent-spawn mashup. Say, 9th grade-era Governess and the Governess' Dear Papa.

The sweet chords of Jodeci's "Come and Talk to Me" with Bob Seger's "Night Moves."

Flounder from DC101, call me.

this should about cover it

http://cryingwhileeating.com/

Happy Friday.

"Dancin' Pants Day" here at the pyggy blog

Come prepared with a 30-second routine or freestyle in ANY dance style.

Newsflash: Dance Fever Sweeps Nation! Check it out- It's almost as if "Dance TV*" mated with "Fame," and then had a one-night stand with Dick Clark**, and momma ran off and no one really knew who the father was, so the unholy spawn was turned over to the Fox Network accidentally by Social Services, despite their record.

It can't be any worse (better????) than ABC's "Dancing with the Stars."

* SJP; usually abominable? I know, I'm alone on this because she's Merika's Sweetheart and stuff.

** Why do I not know about this? Dick has RESTAURANTS. A D.C. franchise now comes in second or third on my list of theme restaurants I desire to visit. First on the list, holding in for a strong several years: the Dolly Parton Dixie Stampede Dinner Show in Orlando, Florida.

Sheer Brazilian jujitsu!!!!!

Has anyone seen this yet? I stumbled upon a commercial for it the other night, and a guy named Brian had mentioned it on his website. I'm either appalled or intrigued, but rest assured I'm something.

I know I went slumming for those few years, the Duchess and I roommatin’ sans cable (not to mention the house was technically condemned) but man – I was completely unprepared.

Sheer Dallas

My favorite is the character labeled STRAIGHT GUY:

A Brazilian jujitsu champion who works at the salon, Billy is known for his good looks and straightforward approach.

I have some Discovery connections. You know who you are. You are reading this. Can you please kidnap the production team of this monstrosity, and bring them over to my house? I have some ideas to pitch that would BLOW THEIR MINDS.

Connecting With Our Customers

UN.



Evolution? Revolution. An exotic, some even say SEXY, Squirrel Revolution. Just look at that come-hither stare. The WP finds it exotic.

DEUX.

- Were you on U St last night?
- Did you happen to take a few candid photos while prancing about?
- In said photos, is there a perplexing situation that seems to be perpetratin’ in the background, under a faux tiki-ish hut? And by "perplexing", I mean: girls with mad guns?

I’m currently dreaming up rewards for anyone that got a shot of me kicking the spaghetti-armed LJG’s ass in arm wrasslin’ at Local 16 last night. So check yer digitals, and thank you.

TROIS.

The best description I’ve heard this morning, in reference to W’burg (Brooklyn): "retard rodeo." Also, who wants to find me a copy of the new Mountain Goats CD? I am penniless.

ETC.

Governess Casablanca’s Gossip Fun Fair: I have it on good authority that SOMEONE had such a wicked Wednesday eve that she’s at work this morning (late, natch) dressed like her mom.


Happy Thursday, I hope the Siths didn't revenge on you too much last night, or whatever.

It's like shame ate too much stupidity

Dear Mom,

I love you.

Stop using Comic Sans font on your business postcards.

Trust me on this.

Love,
Your Daughter

An Aging, Corrupt Monarchy

Happy 213th birthday to the Duchess!



Even with/despite of your fetching liver spots, rapidly arching hunchback, advanced halitosis, and atrophied leg muscles; you don't look a day over 178.

For all those interested, some members of the League will be partaking of Morroccan food before roaming the streets of DC for virgins to sacrifice. And beer to sacrifice.

It's the only way we can keep our youth.

youth in asia

I'm opening this up to mad suggestions - I have a 13 year old Gangbanger-in-Training potentially visiting my house this summer for a few days. I know that being named the Governess and all, I should have a better handle on what pre-teen boys from the hard streets of LA ("not Hollywood!!!!!") want to do with their time, but if it's nice out there's only so many games of GTA I can play. Also, I've already scouted some potential bridges for tagging, and we're taking a crash course on Stealing Old Lady's Purses 101 at the local community center.

I reckon the Smithsonian's going to be a hard sell, and I don't think he's bringing his board.

Hook a sister up, I'll be indebted.

* * *

...Even worse than saying the word "precocious" to someone you’re trying to sleep with is affecting some tormented creative genius persona. You are only allowed to be tortured for your art if there’s a war or famine that has killed all your family and the only girl you’ve ever loved, you’re maimed and persecuted, and maybe the Spanish Inquisition is involved somehow. Not because oh, sometimes when you’re nineteen and live in a small town, it’s hard to get laid! I mean, find true love! It’s for this reason that I cannot stomach Bright Eyes for longer than one single song. Oh, you’re really upset because... remind me again? You have a big anime girl face and sing songs about how you can’t find love, which in turn has you knee-deep in moony-eyed, hoodie-clad trim all across America? Shut up, Conor Oberst. -- Sarah Brown

Same reason why I never made a proper art student. I wore too many polo shirts.

Maraudin' and Stealin' and Beat Maraudin' Some More

If you ever amble on down the street to your neighborhood bar one weekday summer evening, and you accidentally sit down (just for a minute! to rest your weary soul and stuff!), and mistakenly see a show (for free!) and it somehow turns into a slack-jawed-yet-pivotal moment in your life, I'm gonna assume he might have something to do with it.

I'm pretty sure it's the song "Brian" that was so damn funny when we saw this guy in 2002 or 2003. Until today, I was unaware that the Torch Marauder had a new album out. Actually, I was kind of unaware he was anything more than a figment of my overactive imagination. But you can't make this stuff up, I guess.

Glad to see he's still kickin it with the blue paint.

Uh, EDIT: Whoa.

Dear CPJL Members, and other friends and associates v2.0

One word: Neuticles.

dear everyone i know:

1. why i quit my last job, more eloquently written, by someone who doesn't know me.

2. I regularly use the Splenda in the kitchen, and never "contribute accordingly" to the yarn-covered tin can whose sign reads COFFEE FUND. I am unapologetic.

thirst for the good

1. On Saturday morning, after cheerfully announcing that I had not played a game of softball since I was 11, I deftly turned a double play. Maybe not deftly.

I accidentally turned a double play.

2. Regarding Saturday night, wherein a small surprise party occurred at my habitat, which can barely hold 5 people comfortably, let alone a small group of 30 or 40. Dear neighbors, I hope we’re still cool. I know that crowd of twenty n’ thirty n’ fifty-somethings bedecked in flat-front khakis invaded your row of townhomes, and that can be overwhelming. You may have noticed, however, I was thoughtful enough to ask them to park elsewhere and walk, in the rain, to save you your coveted parking spaces. Your home probably still smells like potato salad, since it’s still wafting in and out of our own living room, and I’m sorry people stayed until the wee hours blaring the Sci Fi channel in my basement. Giant magnums of champagne set strategically/anonymously on your doorstep will soon follow as an apology; for some reason, people take us for champagne drinkers. At last count, we have 14 bottles of champagne, accumulated since December. We may start putting them in random baby carriages, or setting them a-fire and floating them down the river. Life always looks cheerier after a Viking funeral.

Neighbors! Especially Neighbor Who is President Of the Housing Association! We were planning on being outside, and less noisy. I swear. But with the Zeus-ing and the thundering and the raining, it got mad complicated. The teacher-to-average-cubical-worker ratio was high, so there was a lot of yelling, since that’s what teachers tend to do really well. We know, the walls are thin and CSI re-runs were on and white people love CSI.

FYI, there were several lovely surprises that came from The Littlest Shindig:



- One: my friends can actually cook now, which borders on miraculous. The amount of food leftover at my house is epic, we spent all day yesterday eating and eating and eating and watching Simpsons DVDs and eating. I will have scrumptious lunches for the next 2 weeks, or until stuff starts rotting.
- Two: I discovered after years of thinking the opposite, I like people! For the most part, anyways. Well, at least people who know MY people. (The general public is still questionable.)
- Three: I wore a really funny necklace that kind of made me look like I was hosting a seventies swinger party.
- Four: The grill still worked despite the deluge, and so we made all-beef hotdogs, something most people in our Hot Dog Demographic haven’t ingested since the other Bush administration. No one eats meat anymore. They were tasty. (Commence jokes re: hot dog eating. C'mon. You know you want to.)

Congratulations Guest of Honor, on all those crazyass degrees you just earned. You make us proud all the time, and we actually love you tons, too. Even though originally we only kept you around to up our group IQ to an acceptable level. I like it when members of my little social family unit ACCOMPLISH.

3. Has anyone ever been to a store called Kohl’s? Why, exactly, does it exist? I have a now 3-year-old gift certificate (? ? ? [don’t question it] ? ? ?) there, and I’m curious.

EDIT: My only option appears to be Daisy Fuente's flipflops ??????? ?????????? ??????? ????????? ????

Biggol' HUH.

4. Hey you, Patrick Dempsey: When did you become a sex symbol? I’m curious, because it’s like I turned around and bam, you aren’t driving a riding lawn mower anymore, and girls are throwing undies at yr face. Congrats!

categorical imperative categorical imperative categorical imperablah categorical imperative categorical imperative

You want to know what's hilarious?

High school reunions.

I think my brain just imploded.

I gotta have more cowbell eyeball.

Thanks to Miles Raymer, who lives in Chicago and authors a pretty great blog, I have found my probable favorite new band.

EYEBALL SKELETON

I don't know whether to laugh or weep & pull at my hair with an unbridled rage that a bunch of ten year olds can be this cool. My future children are going to out-cool me by the time they reach 5 months, easily. Now that I know kids this young form rock bands, I'm toast.

"The twee surgeons at My Pal God unleash their One-Fourth Japanese, a pair of sugar-spazz brothers (ages 8 and 10) and their coffee-addled indie-rock pops.This ain't no cutesy Smoosh party though. These bros are strictly snakes, snails and puppydog tails - two walking bowls of Count Chocula talking about eyeballs, zombies, spooky mummies, cyclops girls, armpits and bad guy stew. While dad drops some Little Black drum machine pulses and grungy guitar chug, J.J. and Charlie Brown shout out playground Cramps-isms." - CMJ

Eyeball Skeleton, I salute ye.

Also, if anyone can score me an "Eyeball Skeleton" tee-shirt, I would be ever so thankful.

EDIT: Forget it. Rewrite on the whole "new favorite band" junk. Um, Kriston?
You are obscenely great.

PLEASEEASAUR

EDIT II: I still want a teeshirt though. The baseball one. Thanks.

next entry: phil collins

The Duchess: Let's go!

Oh, twist my arm, twist my arm. Twist my sore arm.

Flashback: I once saw Robert Earl Keen at a folk festival in Hailey, Idaho. We snuck in without paying. Earlier that same afternoon, I surreal-ly saw "Chicken Little" at Bruce Willis' movie theatre.

Ambulance LTD!

Hammer of the Gods

Forearm cramps, who knew?

We went to the batting cages last night. I am pleased to report that I swung slightly better than the 10-year old phenom in the cage next to me. Not that it's a competition or anything.

S.C.B.

Subtitled: One thousand, seven hundred and twenty four reasons, (give or take one thousand, seven hundred and twenty one or so) I am going to be janky broke-ass all summer long.

Reason #1: Listen: I realize how nice it is to get married in cool, far-off places. And, really, I love you all. Really. Fact remains: you are making me choose whether to spend your special day with you in the Rocky Mountains throwing wildflowers into the air as part of your hippie declaration of love, or rock out most of the summer. I have elected to do both: booking plane tickets to travel far and wide to see you bitches chain yourselves together, (a courtesy you also granted myself and mine, so I thank you and return said favor), AND also attend all the fabulous musical opportunities the nations’ capital is offering this season. Particularly the sweaty month of June. So, looks like one family will be subsisting on ramen and not getting their cars inspected this month.

Reason #2: Now let’s get down to what true blogging is all about: acting pretentious about music. (That or politics, I don’t know shit about politics, even though I pretend I do. It makes for loud, funny, nonsensical arguments with strangers in bars. I’m totally that girl.)



Should you so desire to meet a real-life DC blog heroine or two or three (yawn), certain members of the CPJL would like to announce their summer 2005 "Bask In Our Gracious Glowing Presence And By The Way We Love Puppies And Are Pretty" Tour (Hereafter referred to as the "BIOGGPABTWWLPAAPT"), at various concert venues near you. That’s right: near you, Washington DC. I know you read this site, Washington, DC. I see you late at night, my bloodshot eyes gallivanting aimlessly through our sitemeter.

I can’t even keep track of all these shows, it’s just that hot. I need a place to list, revamp, review; gather my thoughts and calendars. What better place to chew it all up and then grossly spew it all over than a blog, which with this entry, this site is officially baptized.

Kick me in the teeth, really: we have a blog.

I'm only even mentioning the following shows because I've already purchased tickets, so I'm not afraid I won’t get in myself now. A ha. A ha ha.

May! I missed Doughty at Black Cat, so that stinks. I'm also missing Monopoli this weekend, who I've never seen and always plan to and then miss every damn time. Alas. In other news: note to chumps spanning the greater Metro area that missed it, the Okkervil River and Earlimart show was sooooo choice. Really, it was just great. I was rubbing my eyes like a sleepy baby because it was a Sunday night past curfew, and then they played the song 'So Real' and Will Scheff stood on the drum kit and they magically cured my tired spirit and I fell hard in love with music again. The Duchess and I give two Bud’s up in a Z formation.

May 14: Friends of the CPJL Private Fundraiser: Scholarships for Poor Former Graduate Students to Attend Dino Gold Cup 2006. This has nothing to do with music, save for my sweetheart’s kickass mixes that will be, uh, kicking ass. Oh, and a keg. Recognize.

May 27: The Hold Steady is in Lancaster, PA on a Friday night. I could kill a few birds with this one, see some PA semi-relatives, and then hang at a Lancaster, PA bar to witness a good-time live show. I’m considering it, if just for the kitsch factor alone. I mean, Lancaster! I have a friend who grew up there who’s lone "Man, I LOATHE dolls made out of corn cob husks now" comment pretty much solidified one of the better friendships from my undergraduate years. (I love saying "undergraduate" as if I actually continued on to grad school.)

June 2: Travis Morrison and the Hellfighters. This is just a given. Travis has hips that could impregnate a woman from 200 yards away.

June 3: Spoon. Their new album is tres killa. Sidenote: The last time I saw them, I think they were at Black Cat with someone really random opening for them. MILEMARKER! Oh, holy shit, Milemarker. The world is such a small place. Milemarker had a song called 'Sex Jam Two: Insect Incest.' Unfortunately, Roby Newton of Milemarker did not set herself on fire that night. You’d think I’d be saying something like this because I dislike the band Milemarker, but in actuality it’s because Roby Newton USED TO SET HERSELF ON FIRE AS PART OF THE SHOW. I heard she’s doing performance installations involving puppets nowadays. Rock chicks. What will they do next? Anyways, Spoon. It’s on.

June 11: Old 97s. We’ll see about this, but I already have the tickets. Ever since Rhett Miller turned shiny pop star, my guard’s been up.

June 13: The Pixies & Bloc Party at Merriweather. I will be the one shouting at Frank Black drunkenly from the recesses to play 'Havalina' or 'Wave of Mutilation,' and then probably tripping on someone’s lawn blanket or something. The Duchess has yet to decide whether dealing with me is worth the money. If you are interested, look on Craigslist soon as she desperately (and unfortunately) tries to part with her ticket for too much bank.

June 23: Ted Leo and the Pharmacists. Super happy funtimes. The last show I saw I daresay left me giddy, and since that show was a full CPJL field trip, I bet the other two would agree with me. LJG will be the one standing on her tiptoes, staring rapturously into one man’s soul eyes hair as he performs to her. Then I’ll embarrassingly white-girl head-bob dance. It’ll be a good show, and I’m not talking about the band.

June 26: Wilco. Okay, actually, I’m skipping this one. Already sold my ticket and everything. I’ve seen them every single time they’ve come to DC, including solo Tweedy ventures and that DAR thing they did with Sonic Youth. I love Wilco, don’t get me wrong. But seeing even your favorite band this much waters down the effect. I appreciate them more when I skip a few. Besides, their crowds are beginning to make me turn Hulk angry.

Things the CPJL is not seeing:

Bright Eyes. Besides being sold out, if I really have to explain to you why this kid isn’t the "new Bob Dylan," or the second coming of Christ, then... I dunno. Something something.

Anyways, with all this music jabba, I’m LJG and the Duchess are close to forcing me out of the gang (because I’m not hardcore enough. And I ratted them out to the Feds.) Either that, or we’ll have to change our blog name and start being serious ‘n stuff; like Pitchfork. (I sherrrrrrrr hope someone gits mah joke!)

Reason #3: Let’s face it, I really want a dog. I think I’m now responsible enough. Barely. It can eat ramen with me.

My Little Hoodrat Friends

The CPJL likes to keep business and pleasure separate. Thus, a new creation.


Enjoy, I think.

Testicle

Volvo ponycorn