Tuesday, February 28, 2006

Cork Screwed

Confession time. Again.

There is a very nice couple who live in rural VA that I would like to be friends with. They live an adorable house, on a great piece of property (next to a haunted cabin) and have the sweetest dog. However, every time I have been in their acquaintance I have royally screwed up, thus preventing our relationship from extending beyond “You were invited because we knew your spouse in college.” I have apologized on this site for mucking up their parties, weekends and other fĂȘtes in the past. Never anything disastrous, yet always highly annoying/inconvenient.

My most recent trespass against them was the accidental removal of their only corkscrew. I absentmindedly slipped it into my pocket after opening a bottle of wine and didn’t realize I had filched the thing until I washed those pants several days later. Blast. I had behaved so well while I was there. (Except for showing up muddy and covered with paintball welts asking for a shower, but I considered that endearing) And the next weekend, it turned out, they had family in town with several bottles of wine and no way to free the drinks. They were forced to borrow an opener from a neighbor. Double blast.

I was terribly embarrassed by my theft and was not willing to admit it to anyone past the G and K. But several weeks later I realized a return car trip would bring me a few miles from their house. I brought the corkscrew with me and late one night I left the devilish thing on their doorstep. I didn’t bother to knock as it was late and the house was dark.

Oh, how I ran away. On tiptoes, to my headlamp-dimmed, idling car parked half a block away. I know, far from brave or honorable. I mentioned the haunted cabin, right?

But I double backed for proof.

I have lived in shame for weeks. But some beans were spilled this past weekend and there may be some unwarranted focus from this spoliation directed at an innocent person. It’s time to come clean. So apologies to J. and T. and A. and their little cats too. You have your corkscrew back, plus a few scribbles. I’d be surprised if I am ever invited back to your wonderful home but if I am, god bless, I promise not to ruin anything more.


I have never seen a more extensive Wikipedia entry than this one, I don't think. It even has a "fiction" subset! And I like nothing better than a good sword novel.

(rise again)

Hi. Anyones interested in some v. low-key-post-work imbibing this eve, hit up.

V. exclusive. Currently, i believe only 3 of us are fully committed to this Tuesday night lifestyle choice. Invitations are extended to/not limited to:

- people I don't know v. well.
- people I am related to.

No one is allowed to talk about blogs, or specific other subjects I will let you in on via Pony Express or email, whichever is more convenient. However, acceptable discussion material includes the musical stylings of LL Cool J, John Waters movies, how construction cranes are built, tours by Rusty Carter, etc. I'll be talking a lot about Rusty Carter.

Carry on.


Remember this?

Well, the video is now up. If you weren't in love with head-bopping kids from Chicago before this, you prob. should be now.

JH sez:

Thats me in the hat and the white pants. Robin, Ian, Miles and Eric Z are all in it too. Chris Thompson's directorial debut, in case you been wondering what came of him post-Monorchid/Circus Lupus.

Monday, February 27, 2006

off your silver spurs & help me pass the time/ i'll hook you up w. my summer wine

worst best idea ever.

hydra teeth

I'd describe my weekend here, but it's been really difficult to remain conscious recently. Let's just say that my favorite bar at age 21 has been reconfigured into a sports-themed monstrosity, renamed after a piece of meat, and feng-shuied into an architectural abomination. At 2 AM, the inside resembled rats in a maze, but for beer, and the rats are wearing fascinating blazer/sports jersey combos.

Anyways, I'm feeling elderly.

Rapid Viz:

- Lee Siegel has an Edvard Munch essay up at Slate.

- Blogging Chris Ware.

- Note to self: cancel Majorca vacation.

Adult onset ADD:

- In other news closely related to feeling elderly: if anyone has any advice on kitchen renovation, please hit up. I mean, anything besides just randomly pulling up floor tiles because you're curious about what's under them. That approach has already been attempted, and it's led to nothing more than vacant wanderings around the Ikea cabinet n countertop section, and half-hearted catalog page-corner-folding of "shit we like." Righty then.

- In other news closely related to stupid people: Premiering Feb. 28 on MTV at whatever time. 9pm maybe. Real World: Key West. I will probably catch at least one terrifying episode on a hungover Sunday morning. I only mention this because someone I wasted a year of my life with wrote for it. What, you didn't know reality TV had writers? Awwws, you is a cute possum.

J: We pick out what you see and, more im­port­antly, what you don't see.
The G: gross
J: Here's a hint - what you don't see isn't very good.
The G: darling, the show isn't very good. I'm not really hip with voyeuring other people's STD testing.
J: The real world. Where people stop being polite, and start being infected.
J: on this season, we actually have a close up of a herp. It oozes.
The G: Real World: Free Clinic
J: by the way, you coming to the wedding?
The G: oh hells yes
J: you better, since we're going to be divorced by 2010 and then you'll never see me walk down an aisle again. At least not with someone this close to my age.

Saturday, February 25, 2006

No Title

I couldn’t choose between variations on "The Roof is On Fire, Let the Mother Fucker Burn" or "Remember the Titans" when I came home from a nauseatingly large Fuddruckers/soccer lunch to find the roof of TC Williams High School on fire.

Actually, it was the roof of the new expansion they’ve been building for the last several months, so sorry l’il pyro, you still have class on Monday. I have no reason to believe that the fire was anything more than an unfortunate accident, perhaps an errant blowtorch, but whenever I hear of (or see) a school on fire I assume someone wasted their weekend not studying and there is a test on Monday. Probably a French test. Those are impossible to fake your way through.

From what I could tell, it looked like there were stacks of building materials ablaze. They’d been covered by a blue tarp (that was rendered into vapor in a matter of seconds) and the stuff burned pretty intensely until the fire department and local TV crews showed up. It was quickly brought under control but it was still smoldering a 3 hours later when I drove by again.

I do have some concerns, though, about the fire itself. I’m assuming that the stacks on the roof would have eventually gone into the building. It seemed that the blaze moved awfully fast through material that was intended to surround the students of Alexandria’s only high school. I’m sure everything is safe, but it’s just something that several of the other gawkers also distressingly mentioned as the flames spread quickly around the roof.

Now, this would have been a pretty impressive and singular event if our neighbor’s house hadn’t burned all up just a few hours before.

Screaming fire trucks woke us the night previous, even though I couldn’t be bothered enough to go figure out what the hell was going on. I actually remember thinking to myself, “I’m sure whatever it is, they’ll take care of it,” then rolling over, stealing all the covers from the G, and returning to my dreams were I was able to perform a successful spin move on the football field. It wasn’t until daybreak, and the realization that the fire trucks were still there, that I laggardly understood that something really unfortunate had happened.

I haven’t had much exposure to large fires (especially since both the G and the D smacked a matchbook out my hand when I tried to light the entire thing on fire at the Cue Bar of Friday) so it was rather odd seeing two of them on the same day within a few hundred yards of each other. The AlexFD* earned their paychecks today.

Update: Neglected to mention the giant car accident that happened right in front of me too. I allowed a guy who was nosing his way out of the service road to go before me into the intersection and a white car barreled through the red light and t-boned him going at least 40. All in all, it was quite a disastrous weekend. I wish I could say I uttered something more eloquent than, “Damn, that could have been me,” as I motored away but…

“Damn, that could have been something something…”

So all in all, it was quite a disastrous weekend.

*George Washington was an early member of our fire department. In your face, Arlington.

Friday, February 24, 2006

Man in Part

His talk is going to be about the "human beast?"

I read "Charlotte Simmons." A more terrible burden to finish the damn thing has never before been placed on a reader.

look like a newlywed


- Weirdo French Parker Lewis Dream Sequence (?) Clip

- File Under: Sedaris, Family, Mall Art, Cats Playing Musical Instruments


- Meet The Dumpster.

* * *

- Last night, volleyball. We handily beat a team of powerful Greek immigrants.

- Tonight! No plans! Suggestions, www?

- Tomorrow I leave town for a day or two, hanging with a passel of womenfolk in hotel rooms, renowned worldwide for their mirror hogging and LL Cool J mixtapes. I think I already metioned the Snow. Wow.

Thursday, February 23, 2006

sweet blgs r made of these

8:00 PM Superfantastic Update:

The "I BLOG" lady totally lives in my neighborhood, I just passed her as I pulled in front of the house. Either that, or she's good friends with a local. Excellent. More BLOG LADY sightings to come, for sure.

BLOG LADY!!!! Tell me your secrets.


1. Oh, HELL yes.



For the past two mornings, I have almost annhilated the same guy with rHonda, (who, incidentally, is rolling exceptionally diry these days, and still has a NVCC parking sticked on the back windsheild to the embarrassment of a certain snob I know.) He rides a bicycle in the vicnity of 18 and H, and keeps one pantleg rolled up. Also, he looks like a blonde Wolverine.

When I was 21, I met a Swedish guy named Martin. It was hot July, in foreign mountains. Not only had I eagerly consumed Chinese food (????) and an entire bottle of red (tragic, rookie, mistake #1) I was wearing a miniskirt from Benetton (see previously, #2.) Anyways, Martin had dark hair that snaked down his face in crazy sideburns. Someone told him they liked his muttonchops, Martin screamed "Muttonchops? MARTINCHOPS!!!!!!" and giggled maniacally and actually, swear to god, got up a danced a jig not unsimilar to the Lucky Charms lepruchan. If the LC Lep was Swedish.

So now anytime I see someone with intense facial hair of a certain formation, I feel flashback-drunk, and need to control myself from screaming out "MARTINCHOPS!" And purchasing 2-sizes too small European clothing.

Wolverine guy on 18&H, I like your martinchops. I am sorry I almost keep killing you.

3. Things I Did Not Know Until Right Now:

Andrew Birds' entire album, The Mysterious Production of Eggs, is streaming at Righteous Babe records, complete with twee illustrations.

I've said it before, but: "Fake Palindromes." Who doesn't like long walks and sci-fi movies, dude.

4. Impaaaaaa-la.

S. just IM'd with information: apparently, we're all going on a roadtrip this weekend, to be soundtracked exclusively by Snow.


Quickly: if someone is hardcore jocking on The Killers (no more, Eric Roberts haunts my dreams), then recommending Constantine's Shine A Light album would be a successful next musical purchase?

I'm curious. Back in a few.

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Regiment von Donop and Regiment von Knyphausen (Hessian)

My attempt to inject history et sophistication into the household on Sunday was not met excitedly by those who were fortunate enough to be asked. I’m sorry, but I don’t care how cold it is or how high your Russian hat is, we are still going to a Revolutionary War reenactment and you’re going to have a good time. The black powder burning your nostrils, be damned, you’re going to covet those giant gold Pope hats and like it.

So meine kleine Wurst, what do you find more impressive, mein hat or mein mustache?

The Civil War fort behind our house apparently serves as a superior reenactment field as well as a place for old ladies to power walk at 7am on Saturdays. We rolled up just as the 1st Virginia regiment was going through their fake(?) promotional ceremony. What I am unsure of in all of these shenanigans is how much of this is just for fun and how much these reenactors just wait around for someone to die or get married or whatever happens to allow positions open up above you. There were huzzahs all around and we were able to successfully determine that colonial advancement ceremonies were just as boring as today’s modern robotic army advancement ceremonies.

Fortunately, the fake fighting began quickly and I have to say it was some of the finest fake fighting I have every witnessed. The Brits took out the whole of the drum corps in a single volley, unheard of considering the historically unreliability of their muskets. Perhaps their riflemen, the G. argued twice during the event and then several more times that night, might have been capable of such decimation but not from the muskets. There was enough fake writhing and invisible blood to entertain an entire group of Tiger Cubs in front of us, who later reenacted the entire reenactment, using sticks to their maximum gun-like-ness.

In the end, though, the Americans won the day, routing the cowardly Brits and what seemed to be the invincible Hessians. The leased Germans were the most convincing of the actors, singing their Krautrock marches and thrusting their pikes in a most diligent and economical fashion. One thrust, one kill. As mentioned, their shiny gold pope hats were the envy of all of the lesser tri-cornered head piece wearers and perhaps it was out of respect that the Americans were never able to draw an accurate bead upon them. But it was probably more likely that the hats cost a few bucks more at Sunny’s Hessian Surplus and they didn’t want to get them crimped.

This guy was so jealous of the pope hats that smoke came out of his ears. Or he was smoking a corn cob pipe. I couldn't tell.

All in all, the entire day was a success. The only real problem I heard was the colonial PA system could not handle the combination of canon fire and accompanying Prius car alarm, as it kept blowing out the speakers. But the Tiger Cubs didn’t seem to care. They had stick guns to muster.


The G was smart enough to ban me from bringing the dog to the canon and musket Olympics on Sunday but this was overruled on Monday for the Old Town Parade. Mistake, you ask? Indeed.

A breed renown for their legendary bravery.

Those horses are damn scary.

Oh, did I say horses? I meant Jim Moran.

It's a Badgley Mischka, actually.

Jim Moran is damn scary. He makes little brown dogs cower behind nice ladies. Moran seemed to ignore our side of the street during his entire waving routine. It wasn’t until I yelled out, “Jimmy, hey Jimmy! Look over here! Jimmy, Jimmy, who are you wearing? Is that Carolina Herrera? Elie Saab?” that he looked over.

Of note at the parade:
  • Apparently there is and Alexandria Archeological society. And they have their own theme song about how awesome digging up George Washington’s narwhal tusk spatula truly is. The trained Girl Scouts who sang it did so with the utmost conviction.
  • Shiners in tiny cars will always be cool.
  • The MCI Center sells beers during Disney on Ice.
I ran into my cousin on Saturday, when she was on her way to take her little kids to the Princess Classic. When we saw them at the parade on Monday, I asked how things went. Because the TC Williams band was playing Funky Town really loud and poorly, I couldn’t tell if she said “terrible” or “torture.” Either way, she was just happy that they sold $8 beers. They were the best beers she has ever had.

And if any of this has peaked an interest, April 22 is a recruiting day for "all men, women and children desiring to learn about the hobby of reenacting" according to the pamphlet thrust in my hand on the way out. I'm %1000 there.

Alright, back to the salt mines. See you in a week.

his girlfriend got it from a tractor seat

Quickly, in prep for your Wednesday eve viewing pleasure:

Last night, the N. and I watched one of my all time favorite Seinfeld episodes, I guess they are running them at 11:00 pm on TBS nowadays. Any time, any place, all over the globe, any language, you are assured of one thing: Jerry Seinfeld.

It was the one where Elaine finds that her boyfriend Putty has programmed all the radio stations in his car to Christian music, and has a Jesus fish on the back, and also thinks Elaine is going to hell.

Also, it's the episode where Kramer fine-tunes his acting skills by portraying disease symptoms for med students. Just as the N exclaims who the actor is, I realize too: the man who yells out "GONORRHEA!" is Lost's Jin. Turns out he knows English after all, or at least the really important words.

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

gem be thy name

i had totally forgotten about leslie hall and hr sweaterlove until an IM message from LJG, but check it: girl has a flickr pool!

PS, oh yes, there's a video. Thanks for asking.

3 o'clock High

"Deface Destroyer" Contest: you have until the 1st. I myself am noodling out a few ideas involving images of crepe paper flowers, the kind I used to make in girl scouts; Zima; and maybe Freddy the magic flute from HR Pufnstuf. Like I said: noodling it out.

* * *

The word is out - after all this ridic internal headgame drama concerning reuniting with people I don't remember much about, turns I will be out of town the weekend of Ye Olde HS Alumni Get-Together. I mean, waaayyyyyy out of town - out of town like, scarfing lobster tails seaside in some quaint resorty place in Maine, listening to people play guitars, lukewarm coffee and prob excessive drinking, wearing flipflops in the coldest of October morns. And maybe gaucho pants.

What does this mean? Besides the world folding in on itself because of my absence? Besides your extreme disappointment at my no-show, fellow grads? Um, not much. My mom will have to search for her gossip elsewhere (may I suggest the Safeway produce aisle. It used to treat you so well, Moms, in bringing home both Romaine aannnnd the latest in teen pregnancies on the track team.) S. responded to the news of her and I's certain absence with a hearty "see youn's in 20!!!!!!" but I guess I'm still willing to, I dunno, call caterers about Heineken prices if fellow members of the reunion oligarchy need help. Maybe.

Anyways, I won't be there, suckers. Sorry, you will not have the chance to bitchsap me for whatever I did to you in Walker's 4th period PE class this time, okay? I'm pointedly referring to you, JL, who signed my yearbook "we sure had some fun times even though you were a bitch to me all year." Oh, muffin, we never had fun.

This does mean abandoning one or two people I would have liked to thank for helping me graduate (Robert! Kid who was alphabetically locker-tied to me 6th grade and up, and let me copy every single homework assignment EVER, with only partial eyerolls! Holla! I miss you. You are a genius, and I have some more work stuff I'd like to have you around for right now, actually.) Anyways, all the rest of my now-adult-chubby sophomore era BBBBFFs will just have to recreate without me those precious moments in NB's basement, gnawing on Taco Bell, listening to Pearl Jam, piled up together on broke down bunkbeds, drinking Beast, watching whats-his-name pierce his own lip. And I'll probably miss the goodtime talks about "having to get day jobs" with other dudes, now approaching 30 and still in a Sublime cover band.

* * *

Question: how does one cure dry eyes? And what are the signs of eye cancer? I'd like to make sure my office manager does not think I'm doing bonghits in my car before showing up for work every day, and thus far, well... I think I'm cool, but dude. The redness, the bloodshotty-ness? It's computer usage, I'm convinced, but no earthly Visine has helped. And, Visine stings.

Saturday, February 18, 2006

phobiatown/a pack of jackals

HIOQI Interview with Mountain Goats:

- You have been doing "Last Plane to Jakarta" for years and years, since before it was called "a blog," back when we called things "webpages". Do you call it a blog now?

- No, but only because "my blog" sounds like "my Sergio Valentes," if you follow me.

* * *

I have things to say.

Friday, I got to eat crab pretzels, and hang out with stupendous people including one in a white faux fur (rabbit?) vest that was just TIGHT. Baltimore. I miss you!


Saturday afternoon/evening, upstairs pondering an actual shower after an afternoon of reigning in mini-breakdowns at Costco, just to accquire the 8 lbs of hummus our household requires to function weekly (I have a crowd "thing.")

I'm a clean girl but down with skipping the daily hairwashing, 1950's "getting it set" style, like my gramma who only washed her hair once a month or something. Probably more, but you know what I speak of. So of a certain age and you know the talcum powder trick in which you shake a handful of white powder on the crown of the head. I have long hair that can get dry, but I'm a blonde and while that greasy celebrity thing looks good on waifs with perfect skin and smokey Wet n Wild eyes from sexing male models all night and excessive tobacco usage, yrs truly doesn't do well with that look. I do freshscrubbed. Blushy-cheeked. Midwestern. Danish masseuse. French braids. Etc.

Where was I going with this?

Oh. So I as I shook some talcum powder out last night, I realized where and how I learned that trick. I was 10, and I learned that in ICU, you don't get to take showers. No, I wasn't the one in ICU, but that's how I learned the talcum powder trick.

Then I went and saw "Freedomland" and ate a Cobb salad at a chain restaurant. It was salty.


Sunday, we went and saw a Revolutionary war reenactment. I was sleeping in VA history apparently (sorry fourth grade teacher who's name I do not recall), and did not realize that in the Rev War that the 1st VA infantry fought not only the British, but the Brits friends, German Hessians who WERE AWESOME AND WORE GOLD POPE HATS. Also, we saw lots of Cub Scouts and the D. wore a crazy furry Russian hat, to which I suggested she go offer her help to the Brits, too; we could insert a Russian since the Hessians were already around and change history.

Although the Nabob says he's "taking a break" (he wants to stay friends, Blog. It's not you, it's him. You're a great blog, and someday you'll find someone to appreciate you as much as you deserve. He's young, Blog, and he just can't continue this level of committment because he's scared and fragile and a jerk and he's just really, really sorry), he's a liar, he'll be back for ex loving, and will have more on this most excellent adventure later.


The thing with the Jenny Lewis album: RCR loves it. I have listened thoroughly now. Here's my take: If I wanted to listen to this, I would break out the Alison K or hell, the KT Oslin crowing about how her momma was a dancer or the Hem, the most of likelies, the Emmylou. I may not be the best judge, because I do not usually listen on regular basis to lady country/alt-country/etc description (bc I am sexist?????? Maybe?????) But I turned to Nabob last night and said: "I just can't help feeling like I've heard this album before, by someone else, and I liked it better then."

You can leave comments below about how wrong I am on this. It's cool, I can take it.

two of hearts

- "I cannot live with that guy. He is SO annoying, SO frightening, and he doesn't wear a shirt.

- You make our house bleed right now."

There has GOT to be somewhere I can wear this shirt on a regular basis. I'd say work, but I think it's not quite right. Maybe if I paired it with a nice cardigan and string of pearls. And it just seems wrong to relegate it to weekends/laundry days only.

* * *

Completely unrelated, VH1 just referred to Shannon Hoon as the "gold medalist of partying." I think we can safely say the winter Olympics references are going too far.

Friday, February 17, 2006

this prob goes without saying

(re: entry below - our Sitemeter just exploded.)

I am severely grossed out by you people.

Thursday, February 16, 2006

A really futile and stupid gesture...

So I may be going away for a while. Too busy to post at day, too tired to post nights. Blog it was good to know you. But before I go, world, I give you this gift. It will no doubt dramatically alter the way people discover this site.

Plus, my computer's busted so this thing needs a place to live.

According to some fancy software I have, it will take almost ten minutes to read this list out loud. Be careful not to leave it up long if you're at work, you don't want anyone questioning your manhood. It's probably NSFW in general. A first for this site.

It's been several years in the making. I didn't ask for them, they just started showing up one day. At first it was easy, just cut and paste. Then the filters started to clamp down and it became harder to decipher the messages. Finally I just gave up. But I've had them ever since. And now, so do you.

Are you ready?

I'm ready.


Working late, since everyone in my galaxy is on CA time. While I wait for emails to shoot my way via online magik, go take a look at this. I love it when I google and find video of the randomest of songs I still love, from an album no one has really thought of since summer 03.

Also, I promise to never write about my neighbors/pre-teen angst again, since that scored "O" on the SiteInterestOMeter for the day.

I have the day off tomorrow! I am sleeping late, and then eating pretzels and beer! In Baltimore! By 11 AM, latest!

being the we of me

The girl next door, B., one of the few people under the age of 28 in our neighborhood, has recently turned a violent shade of 13ish. Although the N. certainly recognizes the fact that there's a pre-teen in our midst (mostly because we can both hear her parents yelling for her to get out of bed every morning, shouting with a sudden edge that wasn't there when we moved in a few years back. We live in post-war townhomes made mostly of soundproof brick and plaster miles thick, impossible to hang pictures, so bearing witness to the morning yell-heard-round-the-block is a feat within itself), this is a very special age in a young girl that is fully recognized only by the same sex. We smell your stee coming, ladies, and shudders run down our spine. We know you, because we once were you.

The new job hasn't let me coordinate well with bus-stop time, where I would witness her eyes get a little...slitty... as her dad waved goodbye & closed their front door, directly across the street from where her and 2 other kids stand in the morning. The practical heavy jacket would immediately come off, and the jeans would be pulled down an inch or two lower.

I don't have a ton of one-on-one run-ins with B., the few conversations I have had have occurred last summer or maybe the year before, when she was planting wilty flowers in the dirt in front of her house. I once watched her as she ran around the park area that borders our backyards, holding a giant appliance box behind her as she ran, as if she was trying to fly. She also once asked the N. when we were planning on getting a dog.

I've always considered her a little girl, a tomboy at that, nice enough and quiet and kind of forgettable, a little girl who probably read a lot of books like Where the Red Fern Grows. An only child, being raised by the nicest, nerdiest Democrats I've ever met. Oh but Internets, things are changing- our little hoodrat is growing up. I can see it in her eyes, I can smell the sullen on the morning wind, I can almost taste a growing tension - methinks she's becoming a pain in the ass, and quickly. I spied lipgloss (FROSTED, NATCH) last week, and she's on the computer every night - the laptop setup in front of their bay window, shades up. I'm sure her parents don't have a clue about MySpace. I kind of want to just buy her a pink dress* and tell her she's got 6 months to get it all out before we pack her up with our dog and send them both to the circus. This would save her very bookish parents a lot of heartbreak - call it a hunch.

In conclusion, if I ever find myself all with child**, and it's a girl, that mountaintop/China tradition sounds kind of quaint. In a fabulous sort of way.

All this teen angst nicely coordinates with the fact that I offered to type some shit up for a friend, and suddenly I find myself on my HS reunion planning committee. The FUCK. This is the last we'll speak of this.

(* Nowhere did I use the term bildungsroman in this entire post, and I'm smacking myself for it. I just had to fit it in somewhere, thus a footnote. BILDUNGSROMAN! Use it today! It's such a great word.)

(** I'm trying to break myself of "knocked up," only because I may have used that term 2 or 3 times by mistake in front of a very religious friend and her very religious in-laws re: her very saintly pregnancies, all of which I'm sure the in-laws believe were totes Immac Conception. This was after my sterling decision to tell their grandson that "grandpa doesn't go into the woods to hunt elk, he actually hunts liberals." A HA HA. Please, invite me to your next cocktail party/Dora themed birthday party for your 3 year old. I am a hit.)

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

By the time I get things figured out, I've changed the whole damn plan

Last night, I was flipping through XM and accidentally landed on "Ocean Breathes Salty," courtesy Mr. Kozelek/Sun Kil Moon's foray into cover albumry + XMU. I am mostly nonplussed. It neither a bad nor a good cover, it just is what it is: Red House Painters does Gap commercial again, this time using Isaac Brock music. I'm just really happy he stayed away from "All Nite Diner." An adult contemporary version of that might be too much to bear.

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

love gang

Happy V-Night.

"I love you more than robots love killing humans."

chompity chomp/human love

When I was 19, a mere 7 months before I was to be asked out on a first date by Future Spouse (TM), someone sent me a valentine. It arrived in my campus post office box, cut and paste from a newspaper and scotch taped onto a sheet of stationary watermarked with an image of bamboo stalks. The return address was cryptic, but I knew who it was- he drew the tattoo he had on his shoulder, our secret code. This valentine was, to me, at the time, something I thought superfine- adult, smart, political, funny, unusual.

But I was 19. And now I'm not, and now the best ever valentines come in the form of other things: a day of IMing with friends about bed and breakfasts, and books, and gently mocking other friends who use Fugees lyrics in emails unironically; meaningful press releases that I actually enjoy writing; an email from an old coworker that they, too, have finally told The Man to shove it; a vase full of lilys*; a delicious homemade meal by a cute dude in a tight plaid shirt (shared, see above)**; and very, very soft dog ears.

Right now, I'm watching the Westminster Dog Show: my happy place. Hounds are currently competing. Tomorrow, I'm wearing a sweater vest.

I'd say the week could get better, but I'd probs be lying.

* (the lily signifies death, unless you are hanging at my house, and then all it signifies is a flower I really like.)

** (P.S. I'm sorry you couldn't marry my husband, Internets. It was selfish of me, but I don't care. I gloat. You are missing out and how.)

VeeDee/Johann Love

Secret Shame #45,324:

I laugh at CBS programming, specifically, How I Met Your Mother. AND. I watched it instead of the Olympics last night. While eating cheese. And ice cream sandwiches. For dinner. And sacrificing fuzzy ducklings. On my basement altar.

Okay, I didn't really eat ice cream for dinner. I had popsicles instead.

Want to read about better people? At this point, you really should. Go here instead.

* * *

Happy Luv Day. We are celebrating by making dinner at home. Which is v. sweet, and involved the purchase of a $8.00 package of pine nuts last night. The fuck, peeps. I would have gathered my unholy army of squirrels to gather pine nuts if needed. That's it! I'm quitting my job and becoming a pine nut gatherer.

(PS. I wrote this on my Mac! For the first time in over a year, I have a Mac back! By celebrating my return to my roots, I bought a real coffee this morning on the way to work. Damn you, Flavia.)

Monday, February 13, 2006

blue monday/what ry cooder said

It's 4:00, and I have read three internet sites today, over a rushed Flavia (TOM. PIAB FEMALE EDITION REPORTS: FLAVIA STILL +++ NAST, EVEN IF MADE BY ROBOT.*)

I had totally forgotten what it feels like to be gainfully employed. BUSY, even.

Reminder: it feels kind of good.

* The N. used to have an ionizer/air desanitizing machine that took nasty cleat & abandoned tupperware smells out of his '85 Wagoneer, but replaced said smells with another smell: the smell of metal. the smell of what pennies taste like.** The smell, the smell I quickly dubbed: "robot funeral." This has nothing to do with nasty ol' Flavia, but think of the robots. Robots, people.

** I knew a guy who tried that penny-in-the-mouth thing to beat a breathalizer, and accidentally spit a mouth full of pennies into a cops face. Covered in saliva. He went to my HS, natch.

Sunday, February 12, 2006



I spent a part of the afternoon organizing imp. grown-up paperwork things, like insurance and marriage cert. copies and banking receipts and home warranties and etc. Taxes are coming up soon, the one day of the year you can count on me to cry. I hate doing taxes. It intimidates me.

Then I ventured out in the new snow to have dinner and beers with old friends and their new wives and talk about everything and nothing, and now one of said friends head back to Chicago. They are older and wiser and better-looking then the beer-bloated 23-year-old thems I remember, and I love them and they are good people.


Stars and Magnet have sold out for the 24th @ BC. I was all ready to be uppity and pissed off that MAGNET (wtf?) sold out, and then I realized they were playing with Stars, and well: people seem to like Stars. So I am less mad-mad now, and more just slightly grumpus instead. Magnet's "Lay Lady Lay" cover w/ Gemma Hayes was one of my most favorite songs my very knowledgable friend Mike from NC sent me in 04. (This is what you do: stay friends with dudes who love music, and love sharing music, and their love will return unto you threefold or whatever. Mike sends excellent, thoughtful mix CDs via the USPS.)

Anyways, instead, go listen to this. 1950's window shopper/pocketbook/crinoline/shoop-shoopity-shoop indeed. On tour with Magnolia Electric Co. March/soonish.


I am doing laundry, cleaning the bathroom, re-watching the last episode of Arrested Development ("don't be such a Judge Reinhold.") My mother invited herself over for chili later, since we are bad kids and do not visit or call or provide these older folks with enough love/attention/devotion in their advanced and degrading age. My father's coming too, but he does not seem to be as concerned with why we don't love him anymore.

Friday, February 10, 2006

note to self: call life insurance dude

Listen to me now and listen to me hard: if someone like this un had come to my school's career day when I was jaded and 17, my professional life would have turned out v. v. v. different. As it was, I followed a boring lawyer around who took me to circuit court for a medical malpractice hearing, where I ended up knowing the the plaintiff and had to sit and listen to her describe how the hospital killed her newborn. Totes for real.

Except for a very brief and failed attempt as a 7th grader to write about my adoration of Roy Roger's mashed potatoes and the Housemartins (big into Sassy then???), I never published my own zine. All I was missing, apparently, was guidance. Shocker.


1. ADVICE: worth investigating/purchase?

2. This weekend, an old drinking pal is coming in from Chicagonoise. I have not seen him in at least a year, where we ran into each other at a mutual friends wedding. Before that, I couldn't remember the last time I had seen said dog. He's now divorced, and floats perpetually in my noggin age 22, although no one is that way anymore. What with the wintery squalls of death loominating for Sat Nite here in the District, what do I do with such a peep? Good news: I am not wholly responsible for his funtiming. Bad news: I can't tell yet, but I'm sure there's bad newss associated. I feel it looming.

3. Last night I was upstairs, and I heard a thumping sound. I came downstairs, and Brown Dog was standing on top of my dining room table, like a kittycat.

4. Isaac Mizrahi, shut up. SHUT UP. SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP. I hate the fact that you perpetuate these ATROCIOUS ass stereotypes, you make me want to pull your hair and kick you in the teeth for no other reason that you are RUDE and INNAPROPRIATELY GROPEY and INTERRUPT YOUR GUESTS CONSTANTLY. I accidentally watched 5 minutes of your lame show on the talky box yesterday and now I want to organize a rescue operation for all the poor souls who work under you and probably when the cameras are off are WHIPPED 1000 LASHES WITH BEDAZZLED RHINESTONE BELTS OF HORROR. You had potential for my respect, until you decided to go on TV. Then, not even your polka-dotty Target fashion line could save you. Also, I think I saw you peddling Bermuda shorts in said line, with HEELS/ESPADRILLES, so. yes. Fuck off.

Thursday, February 09, 2006

pyromania sessions


Yr in a Pontiac, darkish bluish. Yr license plate is VA's "DOT COM"-theme beauty in half moons of blue and yeller. It reads "I BLOG." Kerry sticker, peeling, natch.

Oh, Pontiac Lady, you had the general public at DOT COM LICENSE. No need to bring blogs into this.

* * *

I have worn a button down shirt two days in a row for the first time in 3 years. pray tell how you and yrs keep these tucked in? I am unclear.

* * *

"Ben and I think you should listen to Mutt Lange, because Mutt is always right. If he makes you play your guitar part fifty-three times and it is so boring and difficult that you must cry, this pain will be eased later when your album sells eleven million copies. You will want to go to his castle and thank him, but you will not be able to. You will be OK with this. You could always settle for this if you need to touch the hem of his garment, or just stay home and mull being a South African katrillionaire." -- Sasha Frere-Jones

You know how to make fire don't you? Just put your sticks together...and blow.

Lalalala. A few things…

Surprisingly, an extensive search of our Pyggy archives has revealed that we didn’t write word one about the Folk Life Festival last year. And we actually went! We learned how to make fire from rubbing sticks, took pictures, ran away from bees and ate 4 different kinds of rice. 4 kinds! But I guess we had something better towrite about that Monday morning. Probably something dumb and unoriginal about independent music or Lost. But I remember being a bit let down in two ways.

1. There was no free food.
2. The G. wouldn’t let me use the giant Forest Service lumberjack saw that got so hot you had to pour water over it to keep the Mall from burning down.

But that may change this year. Well the free food thing probably won’t, but the lumberjack thing certainly will because the Folk Life folks just announced that the subject of their festival will be Alberta. Yeah, Alberta! Yeah! I don’t know the first damn thing about Providence A but I’m sure there’ll be lumberjacks. You can’t do Canada without them. And fur trappers. I hope they have fur trappers.

There’ll also be a large exhibit on the music of Chicago: Latino style! And for some reason, a whole thing on baskets. Perhaps they will accept the donation of the small basket I made in Boy Scout Camp to get my merit badge. And perhaps they won’t even know they are accepting it as I stealthily place it among the real ones. Oh, we’ll laugh heartily when we drive home wearing our sashes that say Basketeer of the Year - 2006.

Suckers. Basketeer of the Year – 1987 is more like.


Dear Jennifer,

If you ever need a break from TinyHouse you can come stay at my place, rent free. Jeremy, even though I’m sure is a great guy, is not invited. And I promise not to throw away your make-up.

Love always,


Actually, it's not, but I just read this. So, ahem.

Because it's all sorts of suburban-sprawl here in the Commonwealth, there's roadkill all the time, like raccoons and deer and people and etc. Esp. in Loudoun and Ffx. But one time I was driving near the Reston Petting Zoo, a scary-ass circa 1972 place where my dad used to take us on summer days when he had the day off and no freaking clue what do to with 2 kids, although we wouldn't actually go in, we'd just sit at the fence and push each others little meaty hands through the chain links and make calling noises to the ostrich to see if he would come bite fingers, while the other sibling freaked out and probably started crying.

Anyways, when I was briefly living out yonder there again as an adult, I was driving to work one morning and there was roadkill in the street and it was A PEACOCK. A peacock had escaped from the zoo and was hit and turned into peacock roadkill, giant feathers and everything. In the suburbs.

The end.

That is not supposed to make you feel sad, just to give you something to read and me something to type, as I wait for miagical pixies to alight on my desk with the ability to hook up my TV so I can watch Days Of Our Lives, which apparently is featuring a Rolling Stones song on the show today, (not the ACTUAL Keith/Mick/Etc guest starring, just a song), which then gives NBC the right to put a Rolling Stones mouth logo on the DOOL website. I don't know how this works, having never had access to Daytime TV, but I feel somewhat misled.

Sigh. So, how seriously surprising was it to see a dead fucking peacock in the road? Really, really surprising. Those things are enormous.

Wednesday, February 08, 2006

i believe you can get me through the night

things I learned today/first day on the job:

- some people don't know how to organize dreamweaver files effectively, or so anyone can fucking find them

- "chom" is Klingon for "bartender."

So Money

I don’t know if this holds true for the rest of the country, but the toll booths along the Dulles toll road are the largest distributors of random coinage in the area. Anything that does not fit the nickel, dime, quarter standard is spit back into the return slot under the collection basket. It’s a little bit hidden and kind of out of reach if you drive an SUV (unless you open the door and hold up traffic for people dying to get to, I don’t know, the Zany Brainy at the Reston Town Center*) but it’s down there. Usually it’s filled with slugs, unpopular American coins, less popular foreign coins and whatever random pieces of metal toll jumpers throw in. And often times there are also normal quarters that just didn’t register with coin reader. On most trips to the far most regions of NOVA you could net more than the 75¢** Chuck Robb forces you to throw in.

Example: Last week’s trip to see the G’s mom’s coronation in Faraway, Va scored us this set of randomness…

  1. A United Arab Emirates piece honoring a coffee pot
  2. Canada’s tribute to their Elkin forefathers
  3. A US Fiddy cent piece***
  4. A Metro Bus Token
  5. Belgium? Sentinelese quarter?
  6. A French 20 cent Euro featuring Lady Liberté on one side and the map of Europe on the other. The one that makes Scandanavia look all wangy.

We also won a handful of moldy pennies and dimes so old that their ridges had worn off. And all I had to do was sit through one church service about the Elephant Man. Lutherans rock!

* Awwww. I saw Pulp Fiction on a first date with what turned out to be a cute super-Christian girl at the RTC. Turns out Pulp Fiction with a cute super-Christian girl is not a good idea for a first date.

** I learned to “type” on my mom’s old typewriter and just spent 5 minutes looking for the “¢” symbol on this here modern cent-free keyboard. Little ¢, I miss you.

*** I never knew John Kennedy, John Kennedy wasn’t a friend of mine, and you, senator, could never have John Kennedy’s awesome faux-hawk. It never occurred to me that coins not only commemorate our dead Presidents but also their fantastic haircuts. Thing’s so tall it blocks the E and R in “liberty.” Sweetness.

red dawn


Tuesday, February 07, 2006

fripp! fripp!

I was going to post about Cowboy Mountain, but I'm still too absorbed/laughing at the N's show report below.

So we'll leave it at this: Jake Gyllenblahblah, weaselly. Heath Ledger, looks like the way cowboys should, and yes, attractive, but still does not appear to be a 1963-era hottie. Plotline, yawn. Michelle Williams, still great, but not "Me Without You" great mostly because she just walks around sulky and hurt throughout the entire movie. The only "Dawsons Creek" episode I ever saw was the one where she kicked the bucket dramatically, and I was alone in a Florida hotel room and kind of over-emotional, so I can only mabes blame my Michelle Williams fixation on that single show. Anyways, I was the only person in the theatre besides several old lunching retirees who obviously were not prepped adaquately; and the pre-feature soundtrack was CAPTAIN AND TENILLE (!) who I think have must a "best of" out. Also, it was a C&T Christmas song.

People, I start a new career tomorrow. It is a whole new me.

In A Cave

Stupid broken computer.

I rolled to the French Toast show alone on Friday ‘cause the G was girling it up and comparing diamond clarity and I wanted to shoot myself. Luckily, I recognized a guy or two so I could pretend that I wasn’t totally there by myself. Only partially there by myself and if anyone asked they were in the bathroom or getting drinks. And it’s always fun to pretend you’re hanging out with the cool kids as you spot various members of the DC rock n roll scene and pretend that after the show you’re all going to go hang out at the Dischord House.

The French Toast get better each time I see them.

They’ve added a third member who handles whatever instruments are being unused when the original guys move around between guitar, drums and bass. I always cringe a little when I see a band do this, especially because I think James Canty is a great drummer. But so is Jerry, so I guess it’s not fair to make one guy sit behind the skins for a whole set. I don’t know if the new guy (Ben, maybe?) will have any influence when it comes to any new recordings but there is a difference between what I gathered were their newer songs and the stuff from their last album. They were less complex musically but more rock and roll. And if I have one fault, it’s that I don’t like complexity and love rock and roll. Robert Fripp can bite it.

The second band, (Th’ Sounds of) Kaleidoscope gets a thumbs down from me, nothing personal. As one person complained, “they’re too high-endy,” as if the guy working the board had the treble pot turned to Xtra-brassy. Not really my scene. But apparently it was this girl’s scene.

I’m not sure how she got tricked into going to the show because she wasn’t rocking out, sported a belligerent thong and was a drinking an aggressively red drink. I didn’t even think you could get something that color at the Black Cat. Maybe her date (a largish gentleman who never met a lat pulldown machine he didn’t like) knew someone in the Kaleidoscopes.

Turns out I was in the minority in not loving these guys cuz they packed the house and when they finished their set, the place cleared out. Just as the headliners went on! Yeah Lily’s! Except the Lily’s weren’t that good either. And Dimes Make Dollars is such a great song. I actually wasn’t even sure I had the right band, fearing that maybe there was another group called the Lily’s who’d I seen back in college. But it turns out they just suffer from the Cracker Effect: one lead singer, several raggedy assed back up musicians. Evident in this wince-worthy live version of my favorite song. Guh.

And a last thing. The poster used to advertise the show features an image of a boy moments away from smashing a piano with a large rock. I was going to scold the artist of ripping off Guster’s Lost and Gone Forever album cover but figured I should research the image before making any accusations.

But I can’t find shit about the picture anywhere. So who knows? The image could be in the public domain. It’s probably just as famous as that film of the old man absorbing a canon ball to the stomach and I've just never seen it anywhere. I’m going to make a guess and say that it’s from the 70’s and Ireland. It’s got an Angela’s Ashes murmur to it. Or Graham Greene's The Destructors. If you know anything about it, leave a comment. Or if you have the liner notes from the Guster album and it says who has a copyright to it. I’m interested to know who this kid is.

Only because the look on his face is the same as I imagine everyone at my funeral will be, when they lower my piano sized body into the ground, using cranes donated by the Baltimore Aquarium.

sex in the mountains

I have the day off today, the last Day Off for very long times. I have not showered. Tell me: would it be weird to go see a movie about Cowboyz in Luv by myself?

must go. Brown Dog is crying. He is a giant baby, and it is obnoxious.

Monday, February 06, 2006


I have 3 hours til my exit interview, where they will make me promise to not steal company secrets. I am perfectly down with that. Post-it notes, on the other hand.... come to me, my pretties. We shall make extensive art projects with you, paper the walls of my upstairs bathroom, etc.

- - -

Sidenote to everyone in the known world: my phone is acting v. v. screwy. It is impatient and unkind. I have not responded to your 75000000 text messages because of this recent massive phone tantrum/freakout. Yes, yes, I know. Bomb in the chest cavity/Christina Pumpkinhead Ricci freaking out. Confirmed. Enough already.

jewel and the nile, take II

Somehow, being a total dolt, I deleted an entry from Saturday morning about my Fri. night: how Science Club is small, and the bathrooms are on the third floor, which is Bad Idea Jeans, but has chalkboards for patrons to write "Happy Birthday" messages and draw big penises or whatever, if that's your thing. I also made a joke about calling someone for a good time, but I forget exactly what that was all about. Anyways, the Science Club is not nearly scientific enough for me, and that is disappointing.

Also disappointing were reports that the Lilys apparently weren't very good. Disappointing #3 is that their poster for that show ripped off a Guster album, which is 700 different ways of wrong.

Also, we ate an entire box of jalepeno poppers later that night, and I asked readers to vote as to whether leftover jalepeno poppers would be a good idea for breakfast. Results are inconclusive, though I'm gonna go out on a limb and say you all pressed 2 for "no."

Most importantly was the bigass news that my BBBBBBBBF (as opposed to previously stated "BFFFFFFFF") got all proposed to, on the NILE RIVER, which is not something I can make up. So congrats and I love you lots and lots.

Seriously, Nile motherfucking River, people. Intense.

Sunday, February 05, 2006


Superbowl is almost always boring, esp. when watched in a room full of people you don't know very well. That being said, there was lots and lots (and lots) of food, weirdly underage kids who were cute but wearing flipflops (?), and, of course, Mick gyrating in a crop top at halftime.

The only really, truly awesome thing of the night came courtesy the ramblings of an approx. 19-23 year old named Dylan, who had huge sideburns and sported an Urban Outfitters ironitee. I had never met Dylan, but Dylan: I expect great things from Dylan. Dylan had had two bottles of Jaeger by 2:08 minutes left in the 3rd quarter. Other things I learned about Dylan: he's a substitute PE teacher, and has to teach tomorrow, and is wearing "a teeshirt with a tie, which will be FUCKING ON POINT, ANNNNNND I'm getting a whistle."

We told him to make the kids run suicides, and then play TV tag. There's just no way you're getting to this job on time tomorrow, Dylan.

Friday, February 03, 2006


Two opportunities:

1. The Lilys and French Toast tonight at Black Cat. 10 bucks; I'm hoping it's a great show, Black Cat continuing on their fabulous Week of Rock. The N. may/may not attend. I am kind of jealous to be missing this one. However, I will be at......

2. The Science Club? Drinking heavily? With peeps from Baltimore? Pray tell, what is this place like? Do I wear jeans and indie sneakers, or do I need to go all out and wear a lot of eye makeup? Can I still drink beer? You can be honest with me.

Thursday, February 02, 2006

uniformed girl

With only a few days left at my little gray cubicle before entering the Big Bad Chocolate City and at least, once again, being reigning queen of my own personal space, yr girl reflects. (I will not miss this building, nor my job, but I will miss my officemate. He is 24, and employs the word "DUDE" as a noun/verb/adjective/whatever more than even *I* thought possible, which is pretty incomprehensible. I like him a lot though, and find his obsessing over Suzuki motorcycles charming. We make a cozy little pair, he and I: Me in the corner, blogging on the dime; him searching for housing options online, asking opinions every few minutes about mortgage payments and condo fees. As of yesterday, the new plan is to make his Persian nana sign up for a new senior independent living space in Ballston, and then he would move in instead. "Dude. You get 30 meals a week, and the rent is cheap!")

This certainly has not been my favorite job, but I've had worse. That being said- I've had jobs I've loved, too. For many a stuffy VA summer, I lifeguarded with friends, getting tan and eating free pizza; duct-taping younger workers to hot dog carts and then pushing them down the handicap ramp into the pool. I worked at a construction company; I had to be at work V. V. early and the owner insisted on playing Mix 107.3/adult contemporary radio all day, but he had a cat named Alex who would sit on my lap as I typed up invoices and played Solitaire. I've travelled extensively to Vegas on a company payroll, sharing a moment with Britney Spears at the MGM Starbucks during the American Music awards. But the following? Oh mama.

1. Frame Designs

My very first job was in a frame shop. I filed things, and shrink wrapped those Magic Eye posters, which were all the rage and really the only reason that shop stayed in business as long as it did. I almost died there after being electrocuted by the stupid shrink wrapping machine, which had a wire that wasn't grounded. It touched a bracelet I was wearing, and I think my heart stopped briefly. I sported a cool looking burn on my wrist for a few weeks. Other things I remember about that job: I was taking drivers ed when I worked there. Also, my boyfriend would come by and sulkily wait outside for me, and then he'd take me to a convenience store to let me get lunch: a Diet Rite, a bag of cheddar cheese and sour cream potato chips, and a Weekly World News (Bat Boy, aliens, etc.) that I would read aloud to my coworkers as we listened to Don & Mike. Anyways, FD: where lives go to end via electricity.

2. JR's Festival Lakes

JR's is a "corporate picnic site," a giant swath of land that, back when I was a wee lass, was located approximately in the middle of nowhere and accessible by only a gravel road. At least twice the summer I worked there, I witnessed massive DUI/DWI vehicular accidents on that road, as VP's of "Fill In Corporation Name Here" started drinking at their annual company summer picnics at noon and then peeled out around 6, sweaty and red faced in golf shirts, with their kids and wife piled in the passenger seats. Now, it's sandwiched between several townhome communities and a shopping center with outlets and a Home Depot. The theory with JR's is to hire high school kids for minimum wage to wear khaki shorts and purple polos. Employees do everything from haul kegs from picnic site to picnic site on golf carts, serve hundreds of people sterno-warmed barbeque and fly covered potato salad, while wearing hair nets, babysit kids on moon bounces, and, my favorite, MANUALLY PICK UP GOLF BALLS AT THE DRIVING RANGE. Those state-mandated breaks were a joke, and never happened. The only reason I lasted an entire summer there was 1. I really only worked weekends, waitressing (see below) during the week; and 2. I worked mostly with Loudoun County's juvi program, kids on parole, who would abandon their moonbounce duties and sneak off to smoke. They told terrible stories of robbing their moms and underage sexcapades, which fascinated and scared me. 3. I once saw a guy named Bill flip a golf cart into the lake while high, and then run off into the woods. When supervisors breathlessly arrived on scene to ask where he was and exactly what happened, I shrugged, and made a friend for life in Bill. At least until he got fired two days later.

3. Sommerset

I waitressed tables during the week in the dining area/restaurant attached to a retirement home. I made minimum wage, and no tips, but this place would hire ANYONE, and back in the day, there was no mall, and no jobs for people ages 14-17. Imagine waitressing in a place where cockroaches were the size of possums, the still-on-parole "chef" sold weed out on the loading dock in between serving up lima bean casserole, your customers always stole the silverware and Sweet-n-Low packets and made constant racist remarks, and at least twice during your shift, an Alzheimer's patient would start to cry because she would think you were her mother/daughter/sister. It was the hardest job I ever had, but luckily my best friend worked there with me, otherwise there probably would have been blood. Also, I once went throught the "out" door, and knocked the everliving shit out of a girl I didn't really like, who dumped her tray of food all over herself and then started screaming at me. It was satisfying.

I have not yet learned at my new job, which starts next week, if I have to work with hot food items, or Magic Eye posters. My guess is no, but I'm not holding my breath just yet.

no one really goes there

Quickly, regarding teh Hold Steady:

1. The night started with a Christian Guzman joke, which my brother helpfully pointed out "no one's really following the Nationals, so like, maybe one person got that reference."

2. Craig Finn is really less of a singer, and more of storyteller. Or so I said, until the N. corrected me. "He's a statement maker. Not like, a statement maker; when he sings things, he really just STATES them"

3. CF emoting "She said we partied; so I guess we partied" over the strains of OMD's "If You Leave." I think.

4. 2 new songs, maybe more! But def. two.

5. Obligatory DC hardcore reference.

6. I don't care what band it is, it's universal - any city, any time, anywhere, any band leader who uses the term "get high" in their song lyrics will elicit a mandatory cheer. It's in the rulebook.

7. As they ended the night with "Certain Songs," CF gesturing, beer in hand; a too-loud lovers quarrel in the back corner of the Black Cat commenced. During a rare silent-ish pause in sound, a dude's explosive "JESUS CHRIST" wafteed across the room of kids with pumpkin-shaped-ironichaircuts, clad in hoodies of all colors of the rainbow.

8. Ain't no party like a critically-eared blogger party.

9. Did Tad Kubler hold back? You can tell me if he did, it' sokay. Car-ride home consensus was that he did.

10. Somewhere exists photographic of me, on the 4th of July, 2004; which was spent on the rooftop of a Baltimore rowhouse, drinking Molson. I am sporting the exact same hairstyle as Dave D. of Swearing at Motorists.

All this initial spew might come across vaguely negative, but it's not. The Hold Steady are just a fun band. Craig Finn reminds me of this guy named Chris in my middle school lunch period, who would always laugh at me/with me, even when I was trying hard, but not being funny at all. THS are fun. And you know what? They seem nice. I like them. The end. This is not even me being sarcastic at all.

All is right with the world, and DC can peacefully sleep. My calves are tight, that means I shook my ass a little. According to popular belief/comments, I have reached my indie-rock-quota-writing for the week, if not the month. If not the millenia. The galaxy weeps!

* * *


EDIT II: (It's an unspoken rule i don't post pics of myself on PIAB, although i'm pretty sure it's not exactly difficult to find them on the internet in general. I am notoriously unphotogenic. So if your name is Dave and you were my high school boyfriend, then hi. How you been? I look better in reality, and my life is fabulous, and I am rich. REALLY rich. Seriously.

Anyhoos, if you are have fifteen seconds to kill before a Friday morning staff meeting or something, and you scour the links to the right ( --------->) you'll find an extremely funny photo of me at the HS show. Saying I look surprised is an understatement; and I'm really curious as to what I was looking at. I look almost appalled, or maybe Victorian/wistful (?), and none of those are really looks that cross my face too often. As for the rest of those folks? Well, it goes without saying - later on, we did some sexy things. Took these couple photographs, and carved them into wood reliefs.)

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

And to think, when we adopted him, he was living under a porch in WV

During a brief dip into a communications major at University, I took a required class in public speaking. Aside from a childhood lisp that comes back when I get nervous or tired, the course didn’t require too much effort. For an assignment on persuasive arguments, I chose to attack the War of Drugs and label it a failure.

As part of the presentation, I used an oft forwarded email about an American family who had their child kidnapped during a trip into Mexico. The child was killed, gutted, filled with cocaine and then brought back across the border. The story, of course I found out later, was an urban myth.

But today I came across this, from a DEA press release.

New York, NY) - The Drug Enforcement Administration's (DEA) New York Field Division, Special Agent-in-Charge, JOHN P. GILBRIDE announced the arrests of 22 Colombian nationals who were responsible for smuggling over 20 kilograms of heroin into the United States. The Colombian organization used varied and unique concealment methods.

Human couriers, termed "swallowers", ingested the heroin packets for transporting. Animal couriers were pure-bred puppies that had heroin packets surgically implanted in them. In one instance, six puppies were found impregnated with a total of three kilograms of liquid heroin packets.


And to prove this ain't no urban myth...

The press release doesn't actually say anything about the current condition of the dogs but it seems that they're alright. In fact, since the brown one there is happily chewing on the chair leg he's a least as healthy as our dumb mutt.

I showed the story to our dog, who does nothing but sleep all day and destroy our furniture, and explained to him that some dogs actually have jobs. I told him there are the good drug-sniffing dogs and there were bad drug-smuggling dogs, but either way they went to work each day and earned their keep. He couldn’t freeload all day long and play PSP and eat giant bowls of Science Diet dinner.

But at the mention of the word “dinner” the whole conversation fell apart and he wouldn’t stop barking until I filled his bowl. We never should have let him move back home after college.

cliff dive

Remember when your dad brought home a rescued Commodore that he found next to a parking lot dumpster, and you were going to type your book report on it, but the spool-feed printer kept jamming, so you gave up entirely and spent the rest of the evening playing "Lemmings?" I give you the Raconteurs website.


I have an extra ticket for tonight. Someone needs to jump on it. Email if you are interested.

nevermind, i think.