Thursday, August 31, 2006

apparently i grew up in an episode of "Reno 911"

I swear to God, I kind of wish I made this up, or I could tell you that this was the result of my last drawing class of the semester (which was last night, which means my weeknight drinking habit? Back on! Summer camp has officially ended!) But I did not. Welcome to my hometown newspaper.

- - -

Totally related:

S: Loudoun is a sitcom. Complete with wacky politically charged teachers who end up on myspace; wannabe bikini models who's bestest years ever were high school and plan on reliving those years forever; and the people that watch and judge from far away. like looking into an ant farm. What if, in Sterling,
this all makes sense. How crazy would that be?

The G: Bwa hahahahaha. Omgz, we're in the cage looking out, not the other way around? META. Okay, not really, but still.

- - -

P.S. And S. chimes in some more: "What happened to robbing convenience stores? AND this dude is 5'4? He shouldn't be too hard to find. How many guys are that short? 'APB: pixie man-boy robs hobby town. news and stache classification at 11.'"

Somewhere in there there is a joke about robbing a hobby shop for a miniature house to live in, or perhaps tiny tiny fake monopoly money, (or a pony to ride away on!) but S. can't figure it out yet. She's promised to get back to me when the best joke surfaces.*

* UPDATE: Carjacking! Bada bing.

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

"i have no street cred, uhhhhhhh!"

Al Shipley reports: "...way better than anything by Lady Sovereign."

I can't help it, I'm laughing.

and richard hell of the neon boys

Do me a favor:

If you are going to reference the fact that you are very awesome, and hang out with music legends on a regular basis, that's fine. Sure, i'm jealous. However. When you reference said rock stars, please reference them correctly in the context of music history. A small thing, I know, but please... I beg of you.

It's like sending me an email saying "OMG you know who I did a keg stand with last night????? Thurston Moore! Yes, THAT Thurston Moore! Of the Dim Stars?????? I told him I was a huge fan of the Dim Stars."

The Paul McCartney/Wings thing was too easy.

Tuesday, August 29, 2006



Cowboyz n Poodles


Enough with the skulls already. Listen, I was hyped about it too at first, but now it's getting pretty fucking retarded *.

If we're going to go with a new fashion trend, let us all consider just, like, HEADS. But still with flesh. And oozing blood. Etc. All before being picked clean.

Same with pirates. Pirates, I am done with you. Shut up.

* * *

Also re: fashion, don't even get me started on a "vintage-style apron" website the D and I have been discussing this afternoon. I can't even link to it, because the language used is just that weird.

* (Full disclosure, I own this.)

"what's up, douchebag."

Oh, I forgot to tell you what we did last Friday:

We sat around and ate turkey burgers and cheese plates, and covered ourselves in bug spray that smelled just like S. Shortcake burps (plastic + synthetic fruit smell made in a lab), and then we gathered around the laptop and watched a Bragg's newest hilarious online-series-thing, The Defenders of Stan. I highly recommend. The N. would recommend also, but he's too busy being mopey about not getting a chance to wear tights and play with the other boys.

And if you have more time:

- 28 Day Slater
- Jesus Christ Supercop
- Channel 101's Yacht Rock (which I know I've linked to like, 8 times before, because I love it so.)

Actually, we never got to JC Supercop, so I've made up for that omission by watching it all morning. I could/should write something here about the anniversary of Hurricane Katrina, but have you seen the video yet of the kid who can solve a Rubik's Cube one-hand in 20.9 seconds?

I know.

I still like it better than that other Jefferson related school

Yesterday’s Wall Street Journal article on Thomas Jefferson High School for Science and Slide Rulers filed me with the kind of conflicted emotion that only long, compounded German words can accurately describe. The idea of those nerdlingers getting conked on the head with ceiling tiles is a tiny bit appealing to me, but at the same time the decrepit state of our area public(ish) schools is a disgrace.

Although I have never been inside the esteemed institution, I did drive around the outside of it once looking for an unguarded dumpster to toss our old demolished kitchen cabinets. The exterior did not have the sweeping glass and steel architecture I imagined the nations finest public school should have. Or the giant Smelloscope or detached generators to power the rebigulators. According to the article, (you need a password to read it online) they can’t even afford to fix the roof so water doesn’t destroy their super computer. Sounds like I could have dumped my old cabinets in the front lobby and nobody would have notice.

Truth be told, though, I have no ill beef with the current class of over-achievers who apparently “have had mice crawl up” their “leg and arm.” Back when I was a youngster, TJ was that jerk school who always had 1000 kids at the VJAS science expo and smoked us regular kids with our baking soda/vinegar volcanoes. They used words like “catalyst.”

And while their athletics teams didn’t excel as well their Mathletics teams, they did do well in the sports I played. I assume their crew team won because they were able to master the physics involved with rowing and were just more efficient. But the real irritability I have toward that school is based on a football game that was played over ten years ago.

On a sunny Saturday afternoon, two white bread schools faced off on a parched field in Northern Virginia. Being mostly slow, over-educated rich kids, the score remained nil-nil late into the fourth. With five minutes to go, a young DE you now know as the Nabob blocked a punt out of the back of the end zone resulting in a safety and a 2-0 lead. With time running out, TJ lined up for a long, game winning field goal. The stands erupted as it sailed wide. But luck was with those nerds that day. There on the brown grass was a yellow flag. Off-sides on the defense. The aim on the second, closer kick was true.

The final score of 3-2 was some sort of Virginia high school football record in futility but I can’t remember which one. I do remember the name of their place kicker, though, and whenever I meet someone who went to TJ I curse him.

So maybe I am a little glad that there is mold in the classrooms that gives everyone asthma. Maybe the next generation of student athletes will find their kicks fall just a bit short.

What is this I'm feeling? Is it pain? Panic? Hunger? Am I hungry? Who's hungry?

Here is where i use my blog to rant about the price of flea medication.

It is a good damn thing BD is too stupid to go to college, because we seriously couldn't afford it.

* * *

In a completely unrelated line of questioning: how smart do you think it is to have 20 people staying in a single house for a weekend, even if you love these people a lot? Will someone kill another someone? (yes/no) I kind of already have hives about it. New England: I apologize.

Oh and we didn't watch the bridge blow up last night, because we made waffles and fell asleep. WHOOPS.

Monday, August 28, 2006

The Governess: Voted most Likely in the Senior Class to Push Someone out a Window

- (Personal to work people: shut UP, PAT.)

- My mom went to her 40th high school reunion on Saturday. I went over to my folks house; sat and watched her and her friend from out of town (blousy, bawdy, boob job, kind of drunk, kept calling my dad "Jim") getting ready for the big night. It was as if I were 8 years old again and might then go try on her high heels when she left the house. They were, in a word--> cutediculous? The whole shebang has given my Ma this crazy high, occasionally seen after a few glasses of wine but something I hadn't really witnessed in a while. I'm pretty sure the high came from knowing she'd be the best looking one there, and still skinny; and my father chose to stay at home wand work on his football draft, therefore she could drink and dance with her 1965 prom date, who is a poet with great hair.

- (Seriously, Pat, eat a fat one. There is no need to get ALL CAPS EMAILS on me.)

- We are going to watch/witness the bridge meltdown/blow up tonight. Midnight! That is late for a curmudgeonly old bag like myself! But I don't think I could pass up watching metal melt into itself, and crumble in a big heap. I'm kind of disappointed it''s not the whole thing, just a part of it, and over land, too? Lame. I wanted some sort of giant sploosh. I'd assume you'd be able to watch all this from Jones Point park, even though the parking will be off limits? Time to conduct some internet research. (If you don't think some 15 year old has already set up a message board with instructions on how to sneak past security, then you have no faith in America's youth.)

robot brain/machine head

Somehow I've gotten deeply entangled with a little, evil problem I like to call "webhosting", which is just riding my ass.

When I was but I wee lassie, I dropped out of a class called "3-D Modeling", straight up computer science disguised as some sort of art (lies). I made enough of a stink that they A) let me substitue some other ridiculous class like papermaking or soemthing and B) dropped it from the program curriculum the following year - let's hear it for people who throw bitchfits in the department head's office! Admit it, world: you need people like us.

I have, however, enjoyed using the word "CHMOD" several times this morning, mostly in IM's to my smart friends, like "WHY THE BLOODY HELL CAN'T I EDIT THE CHMOD AND WHAT THE HELL IS A CHMOD ANYWAY?"

Computers 15; Gvrnss -4.

Friday, August 25, 2006

H2: electric boogaloo- learn how to fly, already

personal to LJG:

all the news that's fit to print.


pop quiz: How is it possible that one person can love Erasure and yet hate the Scissor Sisters with such an unbridled passion? And by "one person," I mean me?

I've been trying to force some love into my icy, coal-dust-encrusted musicial heart. I got onto Hype Machine, and started listening to the Sisters. More than 1 song, even. Start to finish. And this is what my brain conjured:

But in my head, the monkey is also smashing a synthesizer with a ball peen hammer.

Fuck it, I'm not apologizing. I TRIED. How can you listen to this, internet.

* * *

- If you thought i posted this entry just to use the Cowboy Dog-Riding Monkey, you are about 89% correct. the other 11% goes to my seething re: the Scissor Sisters.

- No, I'm not going to see Shellac, but if you run into SA as he's skulking out of the mens room or something, make sure you plant a wet sloppy one on him for me.

my very educated...cockpunch.

MJ on science:

"How long will it take for people to forget Pluto? Not as long as it's still a name walking around Disney World, waiting to get punched in the nuts, I guess."

Thursday, August 24, 2006

"Just like saying the word “dude,�? this impression went from being funny to being something that I just do unconsciously."

Wow, the royal we has kind of been crapping all over the place, Internets, haven't we? We're sorry. This page used to be so clean, so bright, so crisp and white.

You want to read something witty, no? I can tell.


John Roderick's (The Long Winters) blog re: Bonnaroo.

I can't recommend highly enough. "She sings out of the side of her mouth just like Eddie Money, and I can't even hate that."


I am currently experience the sleep deprivation situation that one often faced in college. The kind where you would look at a calendar and think “I might be able to get a good night’s sleep in 12 days but until then I should not operate heavy keg-a-rator machinery.” A recap at what has currently put me in this Z deficit.

Thursday: Linda Cropp and Rancid. You’ve heard SingSyl’s superior tale of his run in with Cropp but it was my time at the Black Cat that killed me. The past few years of Sigur Ros and Iron & Wine has withered all the pseudo-violent tendencies I once exhibited at college rock shows. But its good to see the kids still enjoy flailing themselves around.

Specifically the three identically dressed brothers who were equally aggressive in their pushing of people to the floor and helping them back up. And they also had a striking resemblance to Max Perlich. (Who I remember most from the Naked Eyes video.)

In bed at 2, up at 6:30.

Friday: Bachelor Party. We can’t talk about that beyond the guy who had no business staying in with his A-9 off suit. That guy sucks.

In bed at 2, up at 6:30.

Saturday: Drove to Richmond for some beer drinking and a fantasy football draft. While we, of course, stayed up to late, devoured horrible things, learned that one of our friend’s great-great-grandfather was court marshaled by the Confederates during the Civil War for “horse buggery,” and that others went to high school with that stripper who had the human hand at her house, it should not have been enough to cripple my weekend. While my friendship with these clowns is very dear, most of them are monstrous, muumuu wearing fat-asses and I wanted to shove their special dialing wands through their deviated septums to kill their unimaginably load snoring.

Now, my father has snored all my life and it never fazed me growing up. When these first brief snorts began, I laughed ‘em off. But within minutes, three of these tubs were roaring away at Oceanic 815/magnetic impulse levels. I tried escaping into another room and then another floor but it didn’t work. Richmond shook more that night than it did during the Petersburg seize and explosion. (See the beginning of Cold Mountain.) At times it seemed that they were recreating the Lincoln-Douglas debates through a series of snorts and grunts.

Take a listen yourself…

Asleep as 3:30, up 8.

Sunday: The plan was too drive home early and sleep the afternoon away. But the Virginia DOT, several caravans of returning vacationers and college kids on their way back to school kyboshed that plan. The 2 hour trip took 5, even with several attempts bypass on Route 1. Luckily, I had this kid to keep me company for at least an hour.

And to the cutie pie with the skeleton leg in the back of her car: call me.

When I finally made it home I was put to work in the salt mines and painted to 2am or something.

Monday: Okay, I did sleep until 1pm on Monday, but I paid for it later. My sleep pattern was so screwed up that I couldn’t fall asleep until 3am. That, and the discovery that my local library let’s you check out graphic novels. Nerd alert: high. They have all the Marvel Ultimate series so I did stay up too late reading about the new Colossus.

Asleep at 3, up at 7:30.

Tuesday: SNAKES! By myself. It's not a good sign for this flick when there were only 5 of us total in the theatre. And three of us were weirdos sitting solo. This movie’s got legs, I tells ya!

Last Night: Normal. Except for the humiliating 9-1 soccer loss.

However, I am still very sleepy. Current proof:
  • A sporadic tic near my eye.
  • My right thumb spasms like that clay guy in that one Tool video.
  • A sophisticated Zummi Gummi speak where either the first letter of words get reversed or entire words in the sentences.
  • In coherent mumbling
  • Inability to come up with blog ideas.
  • It took 4 days to write this one entry.
The mumbling has turned out to be the most fun because the G can’t understand what I’m saying and reply’s “HUH?!?” in a very Britney-like way. And then we fight and she tells me to stop complaining and that I should go to bed early tonight. But what if something good is on tonight? Or I start another comic book?

Nuts to that.

boys you won't

via goldenfiddle:

Video for She Sends Kisses.

Stop-motion creeps me way the hell out, but I love the Wrens. So.

the story of young lives

The Sprites: I Started a Blog

* * *

(The Sprites? Former Barcelona from DC? Can someone confirm?)

(oh yeah, and h/t catbirdseat)

family band tour

Recap of the last 16 hours, give or take:

- 6:30 pm - After work but before Summer Camp Arts-n-Crafts class, I stop at my neighborhood Rite Aid. In the parking lot, a Corvette (gold) pulls up. The driver, a very shiny man bedecked in a tight white polo shirt (to show off his ARMULAR MUSCLES!!!!) and maybe green Zubaz (?) and definitely a gold chain. He steps out of the car and goes inside a store. A few minutes later he exits, smiles at the passenger in his Vette, grabs his crotch, and gets back into the car and drives away. The license plates? "GO2GUY."

- 7:30 pm - Annoying Lady is back in class. She spends the entire two hours loud-talking to herself about how she's fluent in Dutch and how she just got back from vacation in Las Vegas. The N suggests bringing in a handful of tumbleweed, and throwing it in her face.

- 10:02 pm- I accidentally laugh at South Park, which isn't funny, but involves a pimp-and-ho beating each other up. See? Not funny.

- 2:00-3:00 AM, approx - I have a dream I am working at a famous resort as a Brooke Shields impersonator, but I am very bad at it, seeing as I look nothing like Brooke Shields. But I continue to try and scam my way through this resort, and make big stinks when I do not get my way. Eventually I need to leave, and I ask the valet to bring my car around front. Also, I think I am using a stolen credit card maybe? Anyways, the hotel staff plays along with me, but I can tell they are rolling their eyes, and then they tell me to STAND IN THE CAB LINE WITH THE COMMONERS while they go get my Bentley (borrowed). And I throw a fit, and tell the desk lady I'm going to call my PR people. The desk lady, Katherine Helmond, does not give a shit, and I spend the entire time standing in the cab line sulking because nobody will believe that I'm famous.

- 8:45 AM - As the N and I drive into work, I witness a relatively well-coiffed woman, probs in her mid 50s, vomit a stream of what appears to be Country Time P ink Lemonade into a tree bed. When the light turns green, she smiles and crosses the street.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

donuts, too

At the risk of this becoming some sort of sordid EXERCISE BLOG (risk level+ hovering at about .035%), I bring you S.'s latest internet treasure: the "Couch Potato to 5K" podcasts. Listening to it made me bleed from the ears, but just a little, so I think I'll be okay.

S: oh wow. there are podcasts that follow along with the couch to 5k running plan. weird

The G: really? dude, everything is podcast noawadays

S: yeah it's set to music and the guy tells you when to run and when to walk

The G: I've spent all morning listening to "this american life" streams. are they free?. i should download them. what kind of music?

S: not sure how crappy the music is though. the intro didn't give me many hints

The G: hmmmm. this is either genius, or a disaster. what's the link?




lots of GarageBand3.0 hot beats and/or CRYSTAL WATERS.

S: boooo

The G: i think it's crystal waters. actually, it's funny because it's overlaid with a serious WHITE DUDE VOICE telling you things like "okay, now it's time to run!"

S: hahahaha. rats. in theory it's a great idea

The G: totally. i need to record my own. it would have Jay Z & Beyonce and probably like, Mission UK, and me screaming over it all: "GET A MOVE ON FATASS, FREE POTATO CHIPS JUST AROUND THE CORNER."

paging dr. milan

Would someone care to explain to me why a certain dog, who, as far as we know, has NEVER BEEN IN A HOUSE WITH A DOORBELL, and therefore should not GRASP THE CONCEPT of a doorbell, continues to go apeshit and run to the front door in a panic every time the Old Spice Red Zone commercial comes on?

I am at a loss.

night, falling on the ground


Tuesday, August 22, 2006

leaders of women

1. About Dov's Empire (-Waist Sheer Rib Baby Tee). I don't have a fully-formed opinion on the article itself yet- I think I need to re-read it a few more times, but I will say A) Charney close-rhymes with smarmy (while his company's working conditions are, to be sure, better than other factories/offices around the globe - that still doesn't give him a the right to flash his wang /not provide reasonable health care/other problems, too many to be fully detailed here [hundreds round the internet have already detailed his megablunders] - ALL WHILE portraying himself as the savior of the modern American worker [ug!!!!!!]) and B) Clamor provides other clothing options that are Charney-free (in small print, sure, but at least they give alternatives):

Justice Clothing:
No Sweat:

Phew. That was a lot of worthless spew for that payoff, eh?

2. Background: A.) I am really, really lazy. I love naps, and snacks; I hate running, I have crackly knees, and they hurt, and I complain. I am highly allergic to mosquito bites. B.) It is very, very difficult for the N. and I to exercise together, because I turn into a petulant child that rebels at his every suggestion/criticism. Also, he is kind of an exercise fiend.

So S. and I have signed up for a 5k in October in Baltimore, mostly because we are BFF with a really freaky involved runner-type who will jet off to California on a whim to participate in half marathons, all like: whatever, they're fun! (She's wrong.) She is running the half marathon or maybe full marathon again, and she gets a fly Under Armor shirt for doing this, and also I am jealous of her athletic prowess and do not want to be stuck on the sidelines holding a sign like last year, although that was fun. I should mention the last time I ran over a mile was 1997, but given the next few weeks, I am confident that I SHOULD be able to do this, and will just have to follow a plan (already printed out) and seriously, it's just 3.125 miles. I ran track in HS. I do not have asthma. I do have shin splints, and run like a duck - but I will be fine, I just need to drag my increasingly flabby ass off my couch, which is the hardest part.

This is funny, it really is funny: I know. I never participate in things like... well... health concious things. But listen: when I call to tell you about it, don't actually laugh at me, okay? Because my patently obvious poor-exercise-esteem thing will crumble into a million choking-hazard pieces, and I will think to myself "oh, you are right, I could NEVER do something like this" and I will sit on the sidelines and cry and then take my Legos and Little Ponies and go home to pout because you are playing mean.

Anyhoodles, 5k. Hilarious.

3. Courtesy an email/post/reminder from Drew: SomethingIlearnedToday's early Joy Division collection. Even though I never had a copy of Warsaw, when I hear Failures especially, (which is SO GREAT BTW), I am automatically 18 again and making mixtape covers on my mom's Gateway Word Perfect, and they are black and white and have BRITISH FLAGS on the cover, okay, so they are tough. Yay for the internet, again.

Go listen to Walked in Line. And Failures, obv.

4. And finally, via ILB: the always-haunting Glenn vs. Henry question. So great.

Yo, whattup, I steal all my content from bloggers.

Monday, August 21, 2006

ugh on at least 7 levels


the only thing that makes Regis and Kelly Lee* bearable is the constant commercials for the Maryland Renaissance Festival.

* (I know there's no "Lee," but whatever.)

* * *

Also my friends went to a bachelorette party this weekend where there was an 18-year old "pizza delivery guy." (READ: WANG.) Barf.

Sunday, August 20, 2006

the painted lady : actually, a tattoo shop at my alma mater

I'm spending my day painting the kitchen (with several Internet breaks an hour to maintain sanity), one of the final steps to the Great Kitchen Remodeling Fucksaster '06. The N has been missing since Saturday morning, where in a string of curse words unheard since the days of Dice Clay, he finally got the sink attached and running. He then packed a duffel bag and told me he was heading for Richmond, and I SHIT YOU NOT, I have not seen him since. His phone is also turned off. Home remodeling? I'm gonna put $20 on that being Kate Hudson and Black Crows Guy's final straw.

So, I'm priming, a major pain in the ass but an unquestionable step in the painting process (see below). The dog is attempting to attack the Comcast guy through our heavy wooden front door. I have had coffee. It is Sunday, and all is right with the world, except for the fact that somewhere along 95, my spouse may be lying in a ditch.

Before this modernizing transformation, we had painted the cooking room in the soothing tones of bright white and turquoise, plenty obnoxious in a "We're a Bunch of White Kids Who Went to Belize and All We Brought Back Was Rum and Terrible Decorating Aesthetics" kind of way. But we were young, poor, sunburned, kind of drunk, in love newlyweds; and thusly I adored our dumb kitchen, in a hateful kind of way ("We're changing this as soon as we move in.") It was the first kitchen we owned, and even thought the stove was a relic I have never seen anywhere else but our neighborhood (named "The Debutante," it may have been upwards of 40 years old), I loved the room. Now, our kitchen is sleek and has pretty Dupont-created countertops, which will probably emit chemicals to give us and the dog brain tumors, instead of the yellowing formica stained with what I can only assume was a past owner's blood mixed with ballpoint ink. (Our dinner parties were AWESOME.)

So here I am, painting. I am pretty good at painting. I have painted a lot in my young life, and why I see the thought process that goes into hiring someone to paint your house, I don't think I'd ever do it. My father, a teacher, painted houses during the summers of my childhood when he wasn't terrorizing his children by throwing them in the pool and telling them they needed to "swim or drown." I worked for a construction company one sumer during college as a office manager, and one of my jobs turned out to be painting the office. Not your typical secretarial job, but I def. preferred it to paystub filing and answering phones, which renders me slightly retarded. ("um, yo, what you want?")

Listen now and listen hard, people, otherwise we might have to break up: you prime everything before painting. Everything. Yes, even the white walls. I just flipped past some godawful TLC program and they were PAINTING A WALL A DARK COLOR WITHOUT PRIMING and I almost flipped my shit. That is unacceptable.

Okay, that is all. I don't know how to end this entry on home remodeling. Perhaps I will paint a giant mural of a skull breathing fire next to the stove while I'm at it, or an airbrushed mural of like, Skynyrd.

Adios big green walls. I will miss you. But not you, Debutante. I hated your ass.

more on...

... Snakes and a Friday.

The company was hella enjoyable as usual, even though RFD is about confusing a place as I've ever been. It' s big. It's not really a bar, or a restaurant, it's a... barsteraunt? I dunno. Either way, I managed to consume at least 6 or 7 beers over the course of a long night, hang with good peoples, see a movie, etc. all with relative ease. The lines for the theatre weren't even that long. Everyone's a winner!

SOaP totally lived up to my expectations. It is truly terrible in only the finest sense of the word, and one of my favorite chracters turned out to the the guy SLJ's escorting - becuase dumb surfer dude bad actors like that guy? Are great. Nathan Phillips, allow me to provide a bit of advice, if you will: STAY AWAY FROM REAL MOVIES. You can make a full-fledged most awesome career out of bad film. Grab ahold of that rainbow, son! Don't stop believing! Use your talents for good, not evil! Never, ever, fall victim to the lure of "serious roles," I beg of you.

My small complaint (there always is one): why was there no snake victory at the very end? The last scene? They could have made an effort there- a snake coming out of the back pocket of SLJ's board shorts.... a snake wrapping itself round the surf board, or, as Tommy suggested, the shadow of a very large sea snake as the camera pulled back. And DCeiver suggested "a gang of snakes swearing blood-oaths or something. " You know- SEQUEL.

Occasionally you will be at a sold out movie and have shitty seatmates, luckily: I had bloggers. The ever-adorable-NM and Ezra Klein were exceedingly patient as I watched the entire film on the edge of my seat and cackled maniacally for 90 minutes straight, including the trailers. They were very kind to not choke me to death. Ezra also provided me with the second-most-hilarious part of my evening (second only to the actual film):
"Has anyone ever told you you look like the blonde* who is in 'The 40 Year Old Virgin?"
The answer, Ezra, is sadly no. And, upon further reflection, I kind of remember that character being some sort of psycho sex-kitten renegade, so... thanks? Uh, I think?

* In all honesty, I don't see the resemblance, but who am I to argue with EZRA KLEIN?? That same girl was the horny blonde in "Wet Hot American Summer," the one who Paul Judd refuses to make out with because she has barbeque sauce all over her face. That's only one of my favorites movies, ever. Also, she probably weighs 100 pounds and has dudes carrying her books all the time for her. So, yay. It's better than the Haley Mills thing I used to get at age 10, I guess.

Saturday, August 19, 2006

the cat was more IN the bag than ON the bag.

Now with pictures and pink fonts that remind me of signage the Hacienda would have used circa 1987, or maybe a Dee-Lite album!

THS: Chips Ahoy!

* * *

I feel obligated to write something about the movie event of my lifetime, but it's Saturday night and I'm on the internet, and so if I write about SOaP now my head will honestly explode in a fiery ball of geekitude. You'll have to wait.

Also, I had Taco Bell for lunch. That doesn't have anything to do with anything*, but I thought I'd share. I hate Taco Bell, except for their nachos. They are 89 cents! Who cares that the cheese product smells like feet. I sense your judgement. Bah. We all have our kryptonite, assholes.

* (Okay, it does kind of, because I had been thinking about Taco Bell since last night, when I was annoyingly informing anyone who would listen that Bluetooths reminded me of that "bad Sandra Bullock movie where she was a cop from the future? Where Taco Bells are the only restaurant? Something like 'DOOM DAY.' " Sommer insisted "Judge Dredd," Tom came to my rescue with a remarkably quick "Demolition Man." Thanks, Tom!

Friday, August 18, 2006

something on a something.

Just in case you had somehow forgotten, over the course of your workday or whatever. See you at RFD at 8:00.

(PS. If you have not yet seen the K. Clarkson/Metal Skool vid on YouTube, I highly suggest you look it up. Yellowcard, dude. Yellowcard.)


After wrestling mightily (and so far unsuccessfully) with the installation of our new sink, faucet and garbage disposal I found myself covered in caulk/nasty drain gunk and 30 minutes late to meet JW and the D at the Rancid show. As to yesterday’s question, I settled on dark jeans and generic grey as I hope to blend in with the folks crashing into each other in the swirly pit.

Driving up 14th I slowed to admire the wonderful advancements made to Thomas Circle since my last complaint. Even though I was still a few blocks form the Black Cat my mind went into parking spot mode and it’s why I was staring a one particular stretch of 14th when I saw something unexpected. Even though the cars behind me were honking their displeasure at my slow confirmation speed, don’t think I didn’t stop to answer my own question: “Is that Linda Cropp going into the Dakota* Cowgirl?”

I made up my own parking spot and approached the eatery on foot. But in the brief time my back was turned my mystery woman had disappeared. If you’ve never been, the Post describes it as “catering mostly to the local gay demographic, this hip burger joint pulls in crowd that seeks hearty fare.” They don’t mention a guard dog, though, so I guessed that Foxy here was barking in support for her favorite mayoral candidate.

I struck up a conversation with the dog’s very friendly owner (his name escapes me) who confirmed the he and some friends were escorting Cropp on a sober bar crawl throughout the neighborhood. They were targeting clientele similar to those who frequent the Cowgirl.

We spoke for a few more minutes before Cropp soon emerged with smiles and handshakes. My new friend introduced us and we spoke briefly about my disappointing voting ineligibility in the District. However, I did promise to point friends who reside in the city in her direction and having reached this acceptable agreement we parted ways. Cropp and her crew to Halo** (or some other such place I was underdressed for) and me to go bash skulls with kids wearing Avail t-shirts.

But more on that later.

*My mother’s family hails from South Dakota and the state feature prominently in my family’s history; names, decoration themes, an unhealthy buffalo fascination. Every time I pass the Dakota Cowgirl (nee Hamburger Mary’s) I think of suggesting it as a fine dinner destination for my ultra-conservative ex-FBI uncle. You know, for fun.

**I could listen to this site’s soundtrack all day!


According to my boss, "you don't want to rock the boat on a Friday!," which is code for "I'm so leaving the office by noon," so I've decided I just might not work at all today either. Won't you join us?

Stuff I've read so far this morning:

- Chicago refugees learn to be healthier than us moronic, fatty natives.

- Seriously, Maine? It's just a dog.

- I was really into looking at hi-speed photos of things exploding, until I stopped wondering so much about the shit being ruined (mostly eggs) and started wondering more about this chick's manicure. It is ridiculous. Do you think she's a professional hand model?

- math rock.

Stuff I've thought about so far this morning:

- Missing out on the Iowa State fair. Not exactly an equal substitute, but if they have a giant pumpkin or something, I could probably be convinced: hello, VA. The only problem is that I have already seen Travis Tritt, at the Clay County Fair of '03. I would like to round out my adult country music experience, if at all possible.

- Whether or not my friends are totally retarded or totally awesome by registering for a gumball machine for a weding gift (I got them Scenes from a Marriage and dishes instead. Yawn.)

- So, if you were Okkervil River you would def. add a DC date in between a Baltimore date (Oct 16) and a Durham date (Oct 18), right?

- Snakes.

Thursday, August 17, 2006

quick question

my husband is at the Rancid concert, trying to reclaim his youth. I had a volleyball game, and played like shit.

So to make myself feel better, i've been scanning high school photos. Internet, maybe you can answer this one: who the fresh hell invented shoe jewelry? For reals, tho.

you might not be able to see it, but there are rhinestone clip-on things on them pink dyed atrocities. No, really, I want names.

I hear it ticking but I don't know why

Any clue about what a late 20’s (the very latest of 20’s) adult male is s’posed to wear to a Rancid show? Black? Something ripped? A tight lace number? And what of my dry T-zone? Is moisturizing hourly to prevent suntan peeling not considered 90’s California punk revival-ish? Cuz people are asking what’s wrong with my forehead.

farking snakes

we have competition!!!!!

Friday at 7:30/10:10, RFD and Regal Cinemas presents: FARK READERS.


How many computer nerds can one building hold before it spotaneously combusts? Bloggers AND Fark-snarkers? Holy crap, am I gonna have to dig out some ASCII * -humored teeshirts and Jedi trivia cards or what, people.

(* I don't know what this means.)

who gets what they deserve? acrobats, that's who.

It would be really easy to sit back and type about the new kitchen countertops (installed yesterday, "Sandstone" by Corian), or maybe my weekend plans (movie, sanding-n-painting, listening to dog whines, rum) or maybe the fact that I spent my entire Tuesday making my dog a MySpace page ("Dr. Doompaws", which is kind of awesome, but making profiles for dogs is the 21st century version of putting sweaters and booties on animals. So congratulations to me, I'm one step closer to being Crazy Old Lady Governess, who hands out UNICEF pennies/packets of seeds to kids on Halloween and looks to soap operas for guidance on how to live more like Jesus), or maybe I could just sit back and conduct an operatic bitchfest of an unholy, screeching scale questioning the challenge of finding a rental home that sleep 20 in New England (answer: difficult to impossible!), but all of that is SIGNIFICANTLY BORING. I have not much else really to talk about. I am... blogged down.

Oh, well, I drew a wine glass in Arts N Crafts last night. And (D. STOP READING BECAUSE YOU WILL DISCOVER YOUR WEDDING GIFT) I found this website this morning.

* * *

Here, since you didn't ask:
"So, we met at a basement party, and everyone was drinking a lot, and this really hot girl is dancing with me. And I am like "I AM LUCKY" and keep dancing with her but also I am drunk. And then my bros start shooting me weird looks, but I don't really pay any attention. So this party gets busted up by the cops, and we decide to run, but it's raining. We're running down a muddy alley in the middle of downtown Des Moines and we slip and fall! into a giant mud puddle. Here is where I should have been paying more attention/clue number 1 - her arm goes LIKE A LAWN DART into the ground - pfffft - but she pulls it out and I help her up just thinking that she's lucky she didn't break her crazy arm. Later that night we go back to my dorm room and I'm on top of her and suddenly it's not just a fake arm, but like: a TERRIBLY fake arm. Not even close to realistic - it was like they tried to make it realistic but failed in a large large way. And I mean whatever, fine, but that's when she was like "This is getting kind of weird?" and I was like "yeah" so she put her shirt on and left. The weirdest part was the lawn dart thing. That was pretty incredible."

There you go.

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

It has to do with Sprite

There is an article of clothing that someone is selling in Washington that I want. I want it very much. I believe there to be only one person selling it and it is the last of its kind. I have seen it displayed in several ever changing areas across the city. Unfortunately, I am forever late and have not been able to stop and purchase it. I will not say what it is as I fear other people may attempt to purchase it and ruin my attempt to be 15 years out of date.

Last week from 7-9am I staked out the neighborhood where I last saw it, but its seller never appeared. I’ve also driven around the mall for an hour to no avail. Today I visited a few potential retailers but it became too hot so I cried and went home. All I saw was a giant dillhole crash his Segway into a White House security barricade and bust his expensive camera. And also a kid purposely pour his bright red drink on pigeon and I hope its feathers are now permanently stained a shocking pink. It’ll be the most beautiful pigeon hanging out on the William Tecumseh Sherman’s statue, perhaps perching on his head restoring the general’s once glorious red hair.

More to come on this article of clothing when, not if, I find it.

bye bruno

aww, man. Goodnight, Swifty.

thank you

Thanks for the calls and emails of concern. My mom is doing fine, coping really well, but it's certainly been kind of a shock to her system.

I don't know, during times like this, families just kind of learn to pull together and take strength from each other. She'll be okay - I'm sure her and my brother Steve have been talking, comforting one another and such.

We'll all be okay, internets.

* * *

In case you are wondering, I haven't been blogging much because I have been trying to event-plan the shit out of a Maine trip this fall. Finding housing for 18 people? Challenging. There' s been some lying involved.

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

and, it's already tuesday


Friday, Aug 18th

Don't feel strongly about this film, people. It's okay. You need to embrace the fact that it will, indeed, be horrible... terrible even, maybe. Don't feel too manipulated by the giant SOaP machine. Maybe we can catch a double-feature of SOaP and Step Up. That will make you feel better.*

This is where I'd talk about my weekend at the beach**, but since it was spent reading this, instead I thought I'd just let you know we're all going to die soon. You're welcome.

* (Also sure to make you feel better: Snake Bites: 3/4 Yukon Jack, 1/4 lime juice. Thanks, college!)

** (But if you want to know more, you can ask me about the story Iowa Cousin told on our ride home last night, about the time he drunkenly hooked up with a girl wih a fake arm. Also, we saw the "Snakes on a Plane" beach flag.)

Friday, August 11, 2006

So long suckers

It’s Friday and I was supposed to be on vacation. And I’m not!

But before we sign off for a few days, here are some photos we couldn’t attach to any entries.


I don’t buy sunglasses that cost more than $14.99. Sure they’re ugly as sin and probably increase the level of dangerous UVA and UVB reaching my cornea but they’ll be sat on or run over by a lawn mower in a few days anyway.

But these sunglasses let you see baby dinosaurs crossing the street!

Without magic glasses!

Holy crap!

This sun barfs nacho cheese!

This duck tried to drown his-self in the Reflecting Pool last week ‘cause it was so hot!

There is a long and ever growing list of things that are not allowed to be mentioned on this site. Last week it was wisely ruled that the Mel would be added. But that was after I already designed the graphics!

I’ve never seen any of the Fast/Furious* films. But that didn’t stop me from making a cake commemorating what I imagine happened in the movies. Well, I didn’t actually make it as we didn’t own a stove at the time. But we did decorate it. And by “we”, I mean the Governess did all the work. But I was the Executive Producer on the project and negotiated for the Happy Meal rights!

*There are 3 Romanian models in Hong Kong who think they partied with Paul Walker back in 2001. Ladies, I’m sorry to admit this, but that was actually me when I had longer, curlier hair. True story!

Down the Hatch

I’m not traveling through an airport anytime soon and I’m not going to buy a ticket just so I can pull this off. But if someone is, can you please do this? Please?

Fill a perfume/suntan lotion bottle with water/yogurt and try to bring it on a plane. And when they stop you, make a scene so everyone is watching and then yell “Fine!” Grab the bottle and chug it all.

That would be so awesome.

Thursday, August 10, 2006

DC SOaP: Friday, 10:10 PM

Rally Hiss!

Zuntae, us-Pyggies-minus-one (the better looking one, may I point out), This Guy, some other people, etc. have all purchased tickets to the 10:10 SOaP showing at DC's frightening malltastic Chinatown Regal theatre. You should too. Try Fandango or something.

We'll be meeting prior to movie time.

This is where I was supposed to have photoshopped something as some sort of "official invite" to the interwebz, but I am fucking lazy so here try this:

(A picture of my desktop)

Okay, fine, here:

(even worse.)

We take suggestions! Yes! Below! No one will take my suggestions of Hooters or Coyote Ugly seriously! For real tho.

made of wood, it rots

Random misc. crap before I leave this hellish Rainville for sand and outlet malls, again:

1. Life Shit, Subcategory: I'm Dumb - when I kind of forget to keep in touch with old friends for a few months, and then send them an email that basically says "Hi, I'm an asshole, let's get coffee*?" and they are like "okay, but let's do it before I move to Romania." Um, okay, Hoss - I love you AND I'm jealous and Romania, please to explain the fuck?

2. A comedy about bike messengering. (Oh, I dunno- isn't, like, every day kind of a comedy about bike messengering?) Also, I love the front page. "RECOMMENDED." "TOP PICK." Especially because the first time I read it, I read "'TOP PICK' - New YORK City," and I was like damn - the entire city got their collective junk together to proclaim this, of all things, TOP PICK? out of everything in the universe? Not funny probably? Whatever. Still laughing. Can't help it. Not apologizing.

3. MJ: Re: Lookalikes = God's outlet mall. Talk about the bottom of the feeding pool. Even reality show stars have more cachet than lookalikes. Maybe that's why that's not too big an industry here in the states. But what do these people do besides exude an air of desperation? People actually hire them to a party and everyone has a laugh? Do any of these people hold down normal jobs, like waiters, bankers, teachers? Or do they wait for the phone to ring? I'm suddenly sadly curious. All that being said, some of those people really look like famous people. As a tangent to the conversation, accquaintance won a local contest at a Faith Hill appearance last weekend. She won for looking the most like Faith Hill. She said people were whispering as she walked past, "is that really Faith Hill?" And therefore think people in NC must be obnoxiously stupid. Also, repeat: Faith Hill. I KNOW.

4. My computer, and the World Wide Web in gen., can totally pound fucking sand today. I am honestly not a terribly stupid person, desptie rumors/reports. However yr girl cannot figure out the most simpleton things this morning ("Car 51 D:/ Drive, Where Are You?"), and I am aggravated.

5. A Funny Blog I Sometimes Read also reminded me that Kim Gordon? FIFTY THREE years old. Black is white, up is down, left is right.

6. Is this, by the way, surprising at all? The headline probably should have read "Hey American Suckers: You Eat at a Subpar Tourist Cafe next to the Spanish Steps, You Pay for It. Also, You're Stupid."

7. Off to the beach tonight with the D and the midwest cousin by-marriage; an adorable young recent college grad who views the NC shoreline as a heavenly oasis built of dreams and unicorn poop and white-bikini'd virgins, flooded in rainbows and Natty Light and sunscreen and desparation. usually we sit at home watching Food Network and reading crappy 25-year old historical mystery novels, but something tells me this weekend mightbe different. Wanting to hardcore make out in the back of The Pit or wherever? We're the wingwomenz. I'm gonna try and make this trip memorable for the lad, maybe. Watch yr backside, 19 yr-old POA's all decked out in shorts that say "Juicy" on the ass and one-shouldered crop tops. You look retarded as all hell, and that's nothing short of perfection. I'm gunning for you.


* eh, not true. vodka?

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

It itches so much


Someone, after recently seeing my photo*, just referred to me as a “gaywad.” Adorable. I haven’t been called gaywad in 15 years. I remember a flurry of use around 3rd grade, especially in Cub Scouts. That was until the Den Leader stopped the proceedings after he heard the term fly and grilled us about how it was impolite to use. And my best friend, good old Ross A. who would go on to marry the model/lawyer/reality TV star, said “We thought it was a happy piece of chewing gum.” Our unmalicious faces did not give us away.

If memory serves “gaywad” falls toward the less severe on our list of known male insulting adjectives at the time. As determined at camp that year…
  1. Mother Fucker
  2. Cocksucker
  3. Asshole
  4. Dick
  5. Dipshit
  6. Douche bag
  7. Gaywad
  8. Retard
A year later, my elderly neighbor’s daughter and son-in-law took me and a friend to the Car Expo they have in town every year around Christmas. He asked about what kind slang (or “playground talk” as he called it repeatedly) the kids were using and we recited this list. He was so impressed with the thought two 12 year olds had put into this that he paid for pictures of us standing in front on the Keaton**-era Batmobile.


I wish I knew where that shitty polaroid was.

*I currently look nothing like that picture. A severe case of poison ivy has rendered me looking like those before and after meth addict photos the cops use to scare kids in the Midwest. How one gets this much on the BOTTOM of his feets, I don’t know.


strangeways, here we is

More Marr from PFork.

Related: do you think I still have Electronic somewhere buried in the trunk of my car, under former roommate's Tiffany live-mall-appearance tapes ("they are ironic!!!!"), NPG cassettes and Jason Falkner bootlegs? Signs point to no.

PS: Coolio is the only one on the soundtrack I recognize

he's my Eric Nies/dancin' on the Grind such a sweet surprise,
tastes so good makes a grown man cry/sweet Eric Nies.

Occasionally, I will play the role of Molly Good Spouse and pick up the N from work in the evening. Yesterday, he came bounding out of his office door with a look of maniacal glee in his eyes, something I haven't seen since the "Great Rotten Fruit from Kroger Baseball Game of '97" (more on that some other time.) He got into the car and immediately reached for his bag.

"I've got presents!!!!"

(The N comes from a long line of random crap collectors, his fathers attic bursting at the seams with countless broken computers and radios that he'll "fix, someday, they're still good!" and books that "he'll read someday, too" - usually, starting to read them right about the time the rest of the family realizes they're 20 minutes late for something. Fortunately/unfortunately, the N's little prizes are usually awesome- often collected from coworkers when they are cleaning out their desks. Which means our house constantly has ginormous, retarded amounts of junk laying around. Sphinx-shaped coin bank that eats quarters you flip into it's mouth? Scrolling LED belt buckle, never programmed? Three Hulk Hands [no idea where the fourth went?] All things of this sort: please, just ask. I'm sure we could provide.)

Some background:

1. I am exceptionally Scandinavian and high-strung (often, but not always, mutually exclusive)
2. I have no sense of rhythm
3. I can't dance
4. Refer to all of the above
5. No, really

The N, after years of cotillion training and complete lack of self-awareness/shame, thinks he can dance. The boy has more rhythm that me, true - but that's not saying a lot. My office chair has more rhythm than me. The N walks a thin, gossamer line between being a really, crazily, outrageously, creatively good dancer; and the worst dancer wyou have ever experienced in your young life. Most of his dance moves are a hybrid of the Rerun dance and Kid N Play. Sometimes excellent, sometimes awful, always.... breathtaking.

Anyblahs, some sort of spousal challenge was issued last night, and so please expect "Liveblogging: Eric Nies the Grind" to be coming to your Dell screens sometime in the very near future. I'm thinking one full week of "Grind" coverage - alternating days between the N and the G.

Some early predictions:

1. I will not make it five minutes into the workout without folding my arms defensively, emmitting a pitiful little "meh," and taking a seat on the giant exercise bal lin our basement to eat popsicles and watch "Law & Order."

2. The N will fully avoid all instruction from EN and his fancy dance headset, going off into some little Alternate Grind Universe, flailing about until the dog goes apeshit and something gets broken/shelves of CD's rain down upon him as if our basement turned into some sort of dance/rave/workout Sodom.

- - -

The Cosmetic Surgery book gets a separate blog entry all to itself, I just kind of felt the need to photograph the two together. Like newborn twins in ICU co-sleeping to grow stronger or whatever. Patience, children. Patience. Soon, you will also learn more than you ever wanted to know about flossing after chin implants (HINT: YOU MUST WAIT THREE WEEKS OR GOD WILL KILL YOUR PUPPY.) Also, can someone please confirm that Beth Morgan MD was the one who was in hiding for years with her daughter? I couldn't remember last night, and I a so way to lazy to google that. I've got snakes to think about.*

*The G: guess who already has her tickets to Snakes on A Plane?

Justin: The same member of the buying public that will contribute to the eventual downfall of any quality films being released by a major studio?

The G: I have a teeshirt that says all that, ironically. and as if any "quality films" have been released by a major studio lately, dreamer. Armegeddon's already been made.

Justin: consider me your teeshirt muse.

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

more on horror flicks


Which is more likely to make a person throw up:

Option A


Option B?

Leave an answer at the beep.

go snakes!

Things are progressing on the August 18 SOaP front, District of Columbia internets.

UPDATE! I already have tix to the Friday 10:10 show. Yes, I realize that the movie is actually opening THURSDAY night several places, but I have a conflict.

Thus far one genius idea involves me showing up somewhere dressed like a Boeing. Everyone's working the snake angle, maybe I'll take a different approach.

Just a thought.

There was also some female Todd McFarlane warrior character whose origins I never discovered. But she was enormous breasted.

The G received a worried phone call from her brother on Sunday because their mother left him a message saying something serious and tragic had happened to us. Not being a fool, he knew that her degrees of "seriousness" and "tragedy" fluctuate wildly and assumed that the situation hovered somewhere around "the dog caught and killed a squirrel and maybe smelled bad some."

Well, he was close as the does dog stink. But the real news is, I am sad to report, that this weekend saw the passing of our beloved fish Meshach. And what's ironic about the call is that my mother-in-law is a notorious fish-killer. Her description probably stems from the fact that Meshach could have won some sort of Westminster Fish Show and hers always looked like a sardine scrapped of an old pizza.

About 5 years ago there was flurry of fish buying in the G’s family and I fell in with the craze. But this was an uneducated purchase and Mordecai soon passed. While his death can be blamed on many things (toxic roommates and their desire to feed him 10+ times a day) I believe he died of boredom. His little bowl was too blah.

So before I bought another $2.99 pet, I went out spent ten times that on a new home for him. That included a fish tank bigger than our TV, colorful rocks and glass, a fake mountain range, an expensive filter and the most glorious underwater action figure battle that has ever been witnessed.

With character spanning just about every Sci-Fi movie of the past 30 years, it featured Ninja Turtles fighting The Predator, several G.U.T.S. attacking a medieval-armored Batman, Godzilla brawling Vader, hot Vulcan on Hobbit action, and a Comic-Con Dream Battle of the X-Men vs the Justice League. My roommate ever contributed a Buddha statue he bought in Asia. Stinkor never knew what hit him. And then one small fish was added into the mix.

This affront to God himself sat atop our equally garish TV console. Meshach swam happily around the carnage, interceding where he saw fit (the Gobot vs Construx Astronaut was particularly one-sided) and eating what turned out to be 3 times he daily recommended intake of pellets. His high calorie diet caused him to grow quite large and his fins were long et luxurious. He spent hours admiring his own reflection in the Silver Surfer’s back.

Unfortunately, Meshach’s wondrous life began a slow decline on March 15, 2003: Engagement Day. As the G and I began planning our lives together it became clear that his giant, gaudy home did not fit into her interior design schemes. Shortly before the wedding he was moved into a smaller, classier bowl. The bottom was filled with more tasteful polished stones. Out was Major Blood, in was a small wreath made of fake autumn leaves.

Then came the dog.

While BD left Meshach alone, he stole all attention. But Fish would exact revenge by daily faking his death. He sat motionless on his rocks or floated on his side on the top, not moving until you tapped on the glass. Then he glared and demanded his food.

A few months later, we think, he had a stroke. Or some other form of fishy paralysis which resulted in only one fin working. He had to swim in circles to move around. A trip to the top of the bowl took several revolutions and he would just let himself sink when he was done eating.

It was terrible to watch this once glorious specimen deteriorate but I could not bring myself the euthanize him. (Un)Fortunately, Meshach’s nemesis Brown Dog stepped up where I could not. On Friday, after deciding his breath was not wharf-like enough, he ate the whole can of fish food. By the time I got to the store to buy more on Sunday it was too late. His once beautiful blue scales were now grey and his eyes were dull.

There was a brief but touching ceremony in the bathroom, including an attempt by the dog to eat Meshach before the Flushing. His bowl now sits empty on the window sill, almost as empty as our hearts.

RIP Meshach. RIP.

and if I don't reply to all your mumbling in the dark

ONE: Aged 18 or 19 years, my roommate and I were watching Seinfeld (in all honesty, we caught the last few minutes - it was a re-run, and we were actually tuning in for the 2 am Fox affiliate Jenny Jones/STUDS hour). The episode's subplot revolves around Kramer sleeping for 20 minutes at a time - polyphasic sleep - throughout the day/night.

We had a free weekend. Julie was exceptionally bright, didn't really need to attend any of her classes except anatomy, and had a v. slight case of depression mixed with mild chronic fatigue and narcolepsy and baked in a preheated oven. I had already committed to skipping Friday classes for that semester (seriously, 8 AM math? Geology 101, where my lab partner was a dance major ayways? Recipes for Friday disaster.)

So, we had it a go. Obviously, shit like this never actually works, esp. if it interferes with Beast consumption and/or stalking the kid from my English class at the gym. The first 20 minute cycle? No problem. The second 20 minute cycle? Yeah, well. That kind of evolved into sleeping the entire day and missing out on daylight. We experienced "the crash". Da Vincis we weren't.

TWO: I hate mornings with a fiery passion and intensity usually reserved for jam band fans and/or Westboro Baptist assholes. (The two are not mutually exclusive.... or are they? Kidding.)

THREE: So, hating mornings, liking night, I am somewhat fascinated with the 28 hour day. And I already know people who practically work this schedule anyways, so I can't imagine it would be that big of a difference.

- Harvard: resetting the human clock.
- 28
- "More Life" Diary
- Chart it!
- Here is an idea that sounds great on paper, especially if you are a techno-geek and don't go out much. However, this schedule ignores biology and will KILL you.

* * *

In other news, after Excel'ing my life yesterday, I've decide to bright-side look: the remainder of 2006 is going to be exceptionally kickass, in all honesty. Baseball game roadtrip throughout the midwest! Cottage rental w/ friends on the Maine coastline! Other people's Italian uncles who can probably teach me how to dance since I have no sense of natural rhythm! And yes, still 80000 weddings, but that's always a nice free-alcohol happy time. So, I'm through being panicked, at least until lunch.

Monday, August 07, 2006

when nerds get OMG SO POPULAR N STUFF

For you.

* * *

Never really a good sign when one finds onself using Excel to plan out the remainder of their year.

We're totally gonna miss something. So, I dunno, if you are getting married this fall and we don't show when we said we would? I'm so, so, so sorry. Pre-emptively frazzled. And possibly drunk. Can you be drunk already from something that's happening in the future? Maybe!

Look at the bright side: My spreadsheet includes a column for "gifts," so you'll probably at least get something off your registry from us.

* * *

I do not exactly keep a laundry list of shit to make fun of re: my spouse, but there's a few doozies out there right now. Near the top of the list being the fact that he came close to burning our house down on Sunday. How's THAT weekend recap, for you.

time within reach

- via kottke: September 12th in Bethesda- DWR shows Eames movies.

- Another Pitchfork wrap-up.

- Actually, Al, I heard somewhere that the Strokes invented the innerwebs.

- Me, jumping on to this week's Sunday Source: Sub Pop turns green.

* * *

Did not see Shane West on Saturday, opted for a weekend of chain restaurants and movies instead- Little Miss Sunshine, Ricky Bobby NASCAR movie. (Best part, besides a wild animal named after my mother? I have EATEN at the closest Applebees to the Talladega Superspeedway. I could give you directions, should you be in the market.) Oh, and a really cute puppy took a nap on my lap. Puppies are awesome.

Also noted: I won't be in town, but if the man in the radio this morning was telling the truth, Morris Day and the Time are at DAR on Friday night. Graffiti Bridge plays occasionally on BET, and I am excited each and every time. According to Wikipedia, Tevin Campbell? Now on Broadway (love it.)

Friday, August 04, 2006


My Friday AM rowing partner is still involved with my old Boy Scout troop and keeps me updated on their goings-on and recent trips. This morning he mentioned that they’re planning their bi-annual caving trip in a few months and I was invited to come along. He said the boys had a great time last time I came and asked when I was coming back. I believe it was my revelation that the card game they were playing that night was not called “Kings” but was actually a PG version of “Asshole” and the new rules I introduced blew their young minds. Or it could have been that I told them I was a former NFL rookie of the year and now did voice-overs for the Grand Theft Auto games. Either way I made a good impression.

He also said the G was invited. If we hadn’t stopped to take a break from the heat (the humidity, even at 7am, was like rowing with a blanket over the boat) I would have caught a crab and fallen into the water with laughter. Ha! The G in a cave? How droll!

When I was on that last trip there was about 15 minutes where I was completely alone in the cave. Some of the guys had gotten tired and wanted to go back, while others wanted to go deeper underground. I took the crybaby quitters back to the mouth and then turned around to follow the winners. But when I got back to where I left them the cave split and I didn’t know which way to go. So I waited for them to come back. And to save battery life I turned off the lights. If you have never been in a cave, you can not imagine the darkness. It’s just all nothing, everywhere. There is no difference between having your eyes opened or closed.

So there I am, for ten or so minutes, in blackness and silence. I click my headlamp on every few minutes to see if crazy old Plato is right about the shadows when… Phudfudfudfudfudfudfudfud…


Light on: Nothing.
Light off: Phudfudfudfudfudfudfudfud…

Phudfudfudfudfudfudfudfud… Phudfudfudfudfudfudfudfud… Phudfudfudfudfudfudfudfud… Phudfudfudfudfudfudfudfud…

There only about 7 bats total but it still freaked me the fuck out. They were flying their crazy-erratic flapping for only about 5 seconds before the took off to eat mosquitoes or mice or snakes or whatever it is outdoorsy people say they’re good for.

The story also creeps the G out and she wasn’t even there. She hates the idea of caves. She views these abhorrent lesions under the Earth as proof that God does not exist. The field trip to Lurray Caverns as a child was the worst day of her life. She doesn’t even like it when I ape the Phudfudfudfudfudfudfudfud sound.

So that’s why we need to come up with a way to trick the Guv’ness into going to see The Descent. We’ll be like “Here’s your ticket to Little Miss Sunhine…why don’t you take the aisle…and here’s your popcorn and Diet Coke and… SUCKER! This is really The Descent and you’re not allowed to leave ‘cause you shoes are stuck to the floor with jujubes!”

I don’t really want to see it that much but every time the commercial comes on she hides under the bed. C’mon, who wants in on this ruse?

Snakes on a Cell Phone

Congratulations, DCeiver: officially the most awesome voicemail I've ever gotten, ESPECALLY since I checked it during a work meeting, and started laughing, and then couldn't explin why. So, so solid.

And if that wasn't you, then Jason Nolann from 6th grade math - why are you calling me impersonating Samuel L Jackon's voice?????

annnnnnnd, break!

(hey internet:

I'm looking for a messenger bag because my current one: A) sucks and has a terrrible strap and is planning on killing me one bad shoulder/neck at a time and isn't really a messenger bag per se, but is more of a "black bag I got on sale at the Gap that has served it's purpose but now must die" kind of bag and B) see A. I am not a biker, nor any sort of professional bike messenger, nor do I even own a bike these days. So although I find the Chrome citizen extremely cool, I am checking my poser potential at the door. Trust me, the potential is high. Through the roof.

So does anyone know anything about the Ground Shinumo Shoulder Bag? It looks like a possibility. Or have any other suggestions?)

oh captain my captain

My boss's son was here at Nerd HQ last night. Every imaginable surface, including my wipeboard on which I regularly write cryptic notes to myself that mean mostly nothing, is covered in photos of Star Trek characters.

Also, I have a new job title - according to my office nameplate, I am now a Lieutenant Captain Commander.

So, you know- update your cell phones posthaste.

Thursday, August 03, 2006

Jeez, it’s not like the Duchess’s car has been stolen twice in 2 months including from her company’s parking lot.

I tricked my Dad into driving to Lowe’s to pick up our new stove in his big Jeep. We had and argument about how to get there, got lost and then talked Ramblin’ Jack Elliott. Then, while dickin’ around in the flashlight section, my mom and the D called complaining that they couldn’t find any white wine in the house and they wanted to drink a bottle of WHITE WINE NOW! There may have been some crying.

Pops and I also tricked each other into thinking we could install the gas oven ourselves and the house still smells a little gassy. I turned the intake off so I can run another round of leak tests. But if you hear a giant explosion coming from Alexandria-way tonight then, yeah, that’s me. And cover your heads because I’m riding a new Maytag range like Slim Pickens and I’m coming through your roof.

pleasing to yr ears

For some reason Pitchfork isn't working today, so from Catbirdseat (Aug 1 entry):
"Hey, did you guys all see this on the 'Fork: Exploding Hearts Reissued, Compiled! Thank god. Dirt Nap is finally doing a re-release of Guitar Romantic on vinyl. I can't tell you how many times I've had to talk myself out of dropping a hundy on one of those copies that pop up on eBay every so often. I'm glad I held out. Anyway, in addition to the vinyl, they're also doing a compilation of singles, demos, and etc., called Shattered. Awesome."

That's exciting at least for me, and maybe Drew. I don't know about the rest of you.

Similar vein: (ie, exciting for me and maybe not you.... well, and not really me, either, seeing as I won't be in any of these places-) and via MySpace, no joke:
"Hello all. There are going to be some special, atypical Okkervil River shows this month in some small Southern towns and we'd like to let you know about them. Earlier in the month will see some Will Sheff solo shows in the South. At these shows, Will's going to be playing solo renditions of old favorites alongside rarer Okkervil River and Shearwater songs, and he'll also be unveiling brand-new material that may find its way onto the next Okkervil River full-length. Later in the month Okkervil will be playing two very special shows in Texas, both of which will see the full band playing long rock and roll sets full of rare, new, and unreleased tunes along with some one-time only covers. Dates for all this are below. Thanks for reading.

Will Sheff solo dates:

08/03/06 Wilmington, NC - The Soapbox Laundro Lounge
08/04/06 Greensboro, NC - Green Bean
08/05/06 Birmingham, AL - Bottletree

Okkervil River special shows:

08/18/06 Dallas, TX - Sons of Hermann Hall
08/20/06 Austin, TX - TBA"

Videos of the Day

You decide which is funnier:


A difficult choice for a variety of reasons, to be sure.

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

spew it real good

1. Potentially the dumbest dude in America, besides the guy who hit our car and has yet to be found, (because he isn't returning phone calls and when the insurance collectors go to his house, the blinds are drawn and he's under the bed or whatever: note to internet, if you ever want to not have your insurance rates rise after cluelessy backing into someone, simply DON'T SHOW YR FACE. Apparently, this way, you never have to worry about whatever accident you caused. Your insurace will just shrug their shoulders on your behalf when someone makes a claim against you, and be all "can't find him") and our dog, who is just fucking ridiculously dumb, is the guy who works in my parking garage. Every weekday morning for the past 7 months, I have driven in in one of two cars. There are only a few of us monthly people- it is a small garage. Some mornings, he waves and it is as if we are old friends and should go get a brew sometime. Some mornings, he panics, and frantically cranes his neck to see if my tag is hanging from the review mirror of one of two BUSTED ASS cars we drive.

It is easy to spot me, I am either in PIAB CAR A, w/ demolished wheel well courtesy man previously mentioned, or PIAB CAR B, missing half a side panel, and a vehicle you could probably smell from 2 blocks down because of the dog/BO/soccer cleats odor. Hi, it's me. Again. Remember?

Completely unrelated to his stupidity: The N. has taken to calling him "the Indian Jeffrey Tambor."

2. Keeping in theme: oh my god, the art class. There is... a woman. She is....

She is that woman.

It is hard to be in an adult education class full of skirts, mostly in their 30s or 40s, who are jocking on yr clueless, quiet young male teacher; a guy so nice and unassuming he wouldn't notice until a size 22 kitten-print granny undies hit him square betwixt his eyes. But you deal, and I only sometimes exchange mutual eye-rolls with my class secret-BFF, a high school goth girl in jelly bracelets (natch); and most of the time the natives are under control, and quiet, and drawing, and only making stupid remarks every hour or so. To most of us student's credit, besides the making of occasional doe-eyes at Teach, everyone really wants to learn something and are copasetic.

Save one.

Thus far, Wednesday nights with her goes a little something like this:

Instructor: "So, does anyone have any drawings they worked on this week they'd like to share with the class?"

Loud Lady: "Oh I JUST HAD NO TIME because MY HUSBAND AND I, you know my husband I'm MARRIED, just got a puppy and HE PEES ALL OVER THE PLACE ALL THE TIME and it's JUST SO MUCH WORK and I mean who has the time to DRAW YOU KNOW I MEAN GOD."

Instructor: "Um, okay."

Crickets chirp around the classroom.


Instructor: "Can everyone see the still life okay?"


and the constant, set-yr-swatch-to-it, comments after every SINGLE drawing (we're learning gesture right now, which means you create approx. 700 quick POS charcoal nightmares per class)

Loud Dramatic Sighing Loud Lady: "I REALLY HATE THIS ONE. I am just NOT TALENTED. REALLY, I mean look at it."

Love me! Verify my existence! Please someone for the love of god, pay attention to me!

3. Kind of Obsessed with. *

Here are the entries I'm planning on suggesting:

- Nick B's House
- Bleachers Where I Kissed a Guy Named Dave
- House I Grew Up In That My Parents Sold Pretty Much 24 Hours After I Got Engaged
- Site of Roller Rink Where My 8th Birthday Party Was Held (No Longer in Existence)
- Bill Allen Field Where Every Middle School Fight Involving the Murphy Brothers Took Place
- Baylor Drive **

* In the satellite photos used for Wikimapia, there is a red car parked in my neighbors driveway. Seeing as I lived in that house for 17 years and our next door neighbors never owned a red car, it is pretty safe to say that this is my dad's car. These particular neighbors only lived at their house after their retirement during the summer, in the spring/fall/winter they fled back to the wife's native France. And we treated their property as if it was our own, because my family is redneck. In short, there are no cars parked in our driveway if you zoom in close enough, but you can clearly see my father's midlife crisis parked next door. Thanks, crazy spy technology!

** Drumroll and bang - I deliver. (That joke's fr you, S. No fear is for the truly scurred.)

if BD were ever to guard stuffed animals of importance...

... the world now has an idea of what would probably go down.

The famous faceless-Elvis teddy bear and de-boweled squirrel.

PIAB: Your Much Happier Source of Dog News than Say, that Crafty G.p.

Update: We are not aware of the effect of this news on our neighbor, whose love of teddy bears borders on the unnatural. Directions to our house include: “We’re next to the one with the bear holding a solar-powered-lamp statue.” Before we were aware of the addiction her license plate proclaiming her adoration had us confused. We thought it translated to “Tuber Lover,” which we assumed meant she really liked potatoes.

hair bands


Remember a few days ago when i was all "i'm wearing my hair in a high-school Rave-hairspray era updo?" Well hold onto yr curling irons, ladies, because all that has changed. BEHOLD! Style of the Present! (AND MAYBE FUTURE>)

Also, has anyone heard anything about the Headlights? Jeremy Petersen, of the Internet, recommends, and since the only thing I know about music nowadays is that S-K is so balls-out they went AND SET THE NATION'S CAP ON FIRE (!!!!), I want a second opinion on my new music choices.

UPDATED: Self-depracation = hilarity! right? Right? Hello?????......>>..2.,ea,mfdxc

So what's more annoying:

- articles about blogging vs. traditional journalism


- a blogger* who simply posts a link to a blog, via another blog who probably got it from a completely separate third blog; and just says: READ THIS I AGREE DURRRRRRR?

I'll embrace my obnoxiousness.

* Clarification obvs. needed: "blogger" referring to myself. This may be the first time i have ever referenced myself as a "blogger," BTW, so prepare for a hole to swallow me up at any point. If I could have found a pic of Tony Goldwyn being dragged away by hell's minions in "Ghost," I probably would have posted it here, but alas. Image Google = fruitless.

Also, durr.

Link still via lindsayism.

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

H sweet H

Good news, internets. The PIAB Kitchen Remodel Disaster '06 is coming to a close. What takes some people weeks takes us almost a full goddamn year. And by "coming to a close," I really mean "The cabinets are installed, but we still have to paint/do some extra demolition/reload the cabinets/install a new countertop/install a stove."

Sure, Rasputin will hand you a wine glass, if you ask nicely.

In conclusion, I highly recommend home remodeling. The results are more than we could have ever dreamed of. If we were the type of people to dream about a new kitchen, instead of the type of people who are forced to redo the kitchen lest we fell through a gaping, termite-ridden hole into the basement.

actually, I don't even care much about them either.

So, it is hot today, in case you haven't heard, and I am uncharacteristically concerned about many people of this fine city:

1. Wig Man. Wig Man is always bumping around the Golden Triangle area, you know who I'm talking about ( smoking, usually sporting a black one-piece mechanics jumper, always sporting a light-brunette woman's wig, often leaning against corner trashcans, occasionally almost getting hit by cars when he crosses the street on a red.) Damn, Wig Man's head must be boiling, what with wearing a wig perched on top of his head like that.

2. The Guy in My Office who Drinks 8 Cups of Coffee Before Noon. Here in the penthouse, it is hot. Sure, the AC is on, but still. Warmer up here than anywhere else in the building. So maybe, guy, you should consider switching to OJ or soda or a nice cool water, because the last time I saw you refilling at the Flavia robot, you were sweating.


Okay, remember how I just said "I am uncharacteristically concerned about many people of this fine city?" I meant two. I am uncharacteristically concerned about two people people in this fine city