potassium benzo-hate

I am, shit ye not, working on my 3rd 20 oz. diet coca cola product for the day.

My gray matter feels like it might start leaking out of my ears at any second.

stayed drunk, found god

- So, was Let's French good? I am 102 years old come this winter, so I have to leave concerts early now. Societal rules and stuff. I can't believe I now go to bars for, at max, an hour and a half.

- Deleted Scenes had an off night, although I like their new song they closed with. The lead singer was dressed like Harry Potter-sans-specs, so that was nice.

- Mikal Evans has a very pleasant voice. Like if Bjork stopped sucking helium and was from Appalachia or something instead of Reykjavik.

- Guest appearances by the C. the bouncer I totally don't recognize anymore because he's so skinny, Middle Distance Runner, the bartender from GH who I want one of my friends to marry simply because he has that old Fort Reno teeshirt I want AND says "cheers" unironically when he gets your a beer AND just seems like a nice guy, and a blogger (unconfirmed spotting.)

Me n My MisShapes Twin, Volume I

So. Courtesy ILB, this story. Which is all fine and good, and I've already made my requisite and not-at-all creative "JT Leroy" joke nd then promptly forgot about reading the article thoroughly. But I started thinking. And thinking is dangerous.


I went to the MySpace page of Mr. Pollis? And I'll be goddamned, but HE AND I HAVE THE SAME EFFING STYLIST!!!! Seriously. For those of you who know where to find my Flickr photos? Where there exists a picture of me punching my friend T. in the face during a wedding? You know. You SO know. We are TWINS, except he is a skinny DJ in Williamsburg or whatever and I am a housefrau with a cube job who is wearing a stretched-out TJ Maxx sweater set! Or maybe I'm his mom, although you'd think I'd remember something like that.

I'm not usually one to sport coathangers and Mr. T bling, but screw it. If that gets me in with My Chemical Romance, then count me in. Swooooooooooooon.

If the internet can start convincing me to post photos of myself, it might just be worth it to chronicle my transformation into this kid. I am so close, I can taste it. I just need to learn to stomach the Scissor Sisters, and score me some skinny jeans. Smells like EXCITEMENT in here!!!!!

no seriously, i will fly myself to India to fix your goddamn servers which have been broken for 5 days

One of the greatest things ever in my young life just happened to me:

As I'm screaming on the phone to Computerland Customer Service in "Business Governess" voice (and people who know this voice RELISH THE EVERLIVING POO out of it, it is like the choicest vocal styling you can imagine), my boss overhears me say "I DON'T REALLY CARE to hear EXCUSES, Chris, I'm BLEEDING MONEY OVER HERE!" and starts giggling like a Harajuku pre-teen:

1. I don't work for a for-profit type deal, so I'm a liar

and

2. I totally sounded like a James Spader character in an 80's movie. I called a customer service rep by name! "Ghost?" "Sex Lies Videotape?" "Less Than Zero?" (was he even in that?) Anyways, one of them.

In the midst of anger-n-chaos: beauty. Who's up for coke later?

Network Solutions: Totally fucking incompetent.

my morning is going AWESOME, thanks for asking, Internet.

here comes the haaaccccckkkk

It's now been made pulic that the BRIDE, of all people, is the germ-infested cold pollutant that has affected 87% of New Jersey Wedding 2006 attendees. We're rill glad she's been able to shake it off in Hawaii, while the rest of us suffer all along the East Coast. Ass.

Emails from paradise: Uggg - I'm so sorry. I wonder if I infected all 200 guests! Robutussin and shots of Jameson most likely evoked my cousin's quote: "You were like Grace Kelly. Only brunette. And drunk."

Most apt description yet.


PS, is it Fall 2005 in here or what? I have not posted this much on this here blog since I was 12 years old.

you sound like the shins, go to prom with me?

My spouse is out of town and there is an all-ages Deleted Scenes show at Black Cat tomorrow night. Who wants to go flirt with some 15 year olds? Raise em high and proud, people, otherwise I'm bringing my poodle-owning exceptionally-Southern 65-year-old lesbian neighbor who rides a motorscooter down our street while wearing WWII fighter pilot goggles, and throws Doritos around her backyard like confetti "for the birds, so they don't starve."

Good times.

goats

I used to be okay with Gwen Stefani, but then she went batshit Sgt. Pepper Japanese Anime Slave girl on us all and we sort of fell out of young love. But hol' crap: her new song? With the Sound of Music lyrics? I do NOT see Beyonce out on the town singing about goatherds. That is a kind of dumb I can respect.

(When you google "high on the hills with a lonely goatherd" you get to Bulgaria. Um, yay?)

ask aunt fugly

so, lots of bloggals request fashion advice for like baby showers and weddings and shit. I would please like to know: what is in this season for court appearance/juvi sentencings?


leave message at ---> beep.

took a couple photographs, turned them into wood reliefs

When we were in 8th grade and I was 5 inches taller than everyone else AND weighed 90 pounds AND had bad skin, B. wrote in my yearbook that I was beautiful.

You need a guy like this around.

Although he lives in O-town and I only see him once a year when he comes back to mooch off his Ma for the holiday season, he remains one of the most genuine awesome guys in all the southland. Despite living in O-town. He could probably slaughter puppies and I'd still be all "awwwww." Have I ever mentioned how much I dislike Orlando? No reflection on the great people of that city, I just hate it there. Every time I have been to Orlando, which is approxmiately 8 million times, it smells like a giant fart. Okay, I don't hate everything about Orlando. I have been known to wax poetic about the Target near the Millenium Mall. It is the cleanest Target I have ever been to. It is the one thing Orlando has going for it. Oh, and also the Italian themed hotel at Universal. They have great bathrobes and Vespas bolted down at the entrance. Fake Portofino is kind of hilariously awesome, woot!

It's okay, Orlando, lots of people love you. You don't need me.

Where was I?

Oh! B! B's ladypal!

His girlfriend, (full disclosure: I've never met her but I'm sure she's like, a total hottie and smart as balls or whatever; B has impeccable taste), has just started up her own bananers fashion photography partnership business thing. Also, she is moving to NYC soon according to B's email. No elaboration on whether he follows in true superboyfriend style; I know he loves Florida.*

(Also, not to give any trade secrets away or anything, but this lady is like 11 years old, so now is the time where you should start feeling bad about your oldperson crusty untalented selves.)

If I owned a house with a game room, I'd request a giant print made of the oujia board girls for Yule.






* No, seriously. Loves Florida. Lots of people do! I'd love an explanation, I'm not even trying to be snarky or anything, I'd just really like to be in the know.

frog queens/controversial conversions

DCist beat me to it. Enigk at Rock & Roll Hotel this weekend.

In other things, Network Solutions? You make my life hell. I get yelled at because of you. Yr service makes me weep bitter computer tears.

Also, although my review of THS on Saturday was glowing only in the way that awesome High-School-Diary-me can make it, I will backtrack and say twice today I've said "they were better last time" on IM. Gawwd, suckiest fangirl evar.

I'LL DRINK TO THAT.

boys and girls in america

Saturday's Hold Steady show @ BC:

I spent my senior year in high school wearing black turtlenecks, dating a guy I didn't like very much but who was in a punK band who's style was a sunglasses-and-neckties combo, and writing "dangerous" missives about classmates I hated during study hall in a leatherette journal. And trying to learn to love MxPx. And copying Robert S's AP English vocab homework.

The very last day of school, I climbed into this kid Nick's red Escort, joining a handful of people I still talked to at that point. Just a chlorine-soaked summer away from leaving forever, or so I really believed in my sloppy teenage heart. (A few days earlier, I had been at my former BFF's house for some sort of team sports/school booster meeting [do these even still exist???], and her mom n her had started talking about how exciting College was going to be, what with the sororities and parties and boyz and no curfeeeeewwww and omg my little girl's growing-up-blahisms. And her mom turned to me and was all "AREN'T YOU SO EXCITED?!?!?!?" and I looked at her total stony-faced and said "I'm going to study hard and not waste my parents money." And the entire dining room of teens-n-parents fell silent, you could actually hear the accompanying soundtrack/album-needle screech, and they all went back to throwing handfuls of glitter into booster club packages and curling gift ribbon and shit. I've always felt kind of bad for that, esp. since it was hypocritical and I stayed up way past bedtime and I think failed math that first year, I was a liar; and also that particular mom was always nice to me and it was not necessary to be a total bitch to her, even if I was 17 and everyone is a total bitch when they're 17.)

So we were in the back of this hatchback and going nowhere in particular, I had picked up my paycheck the day before, and didn't have to work that day. So we went to the Party Bridge. Which, as recent high school grads (15 minutes prior) was totes lame and for Sophomores but whatever. We'd hit Taco Bell afterwards and pretend like all this never happened.

Has there ever been a lame-er name for a teenage hangout than "The Party Bridge?" It sounds like a Christian Youth Center (close - ours was actually called "the Cave" and featured earnest trying-to-be-cool twenty-something employees/pastors named Cliff, and afterschool concerts of x-edged bands, before we even knew what straightedge really was.) I tried googling "the Party Bridge" and all that came up was some MySpace memes and a Wikipedia entry on Wayne Crookes.

The Party Bridge* - a... bridge...out in rural-ish Loudoun. I'm sure it's long gone, or at least surrounded by townhomes at this point, so I don't feel like I'm breaking Teen Code and giving away a giant secret to Old Square Bloggers. You went to the Party Bridge to jump off the Party Bridge. That was about it - sometimes people brought their older sister's hidden stash of Beast, but for the most part, you went to jump into the creek below. The Bridge was just low enough to not get hurt, and just high enough to feel truly lawless. Also, the cops showed up every 20 minutes or so to bust up the entire Jump Op 3000, so - thrilling illicit anticipation! Potential neck-breaking death with every leap! Or at least a sprained ankle!

One much needed piece of information prior to jumping- if the cops came while you were still in the water, you grabbed onto one of the cement supports and held on like a water koala or something while you treaded, hiding behind it as the authorities gathered everyone up and took names and called frustrated parents at their desks trying to finish up client calls. You, the treader, escaped Scot free.

I think we were there all of .25 seconds before the cops showed up. We had just parked off the gravel road in the woods, and S. and I headed down the banks to see who had already jumped and was in the creek.

We sat on the banks and watched as this really nast kid Ben - who I remember because he was just BAD ASSNESS. He was my age, but certainly hadn't finished high school that day, nor ever. The fact that he was wasting time jumping off some pansy ass suburban bridge when he had more important things to do; like copious amounts of meth and knocking up 15 year olds and robbing his dad's business; just kind of floored me.

So the cops are up on the bridge bustin' chops and collarin' keedz, and us two girls are sitting on the bank watching Ben tread water and hide behind the pillar. A choice - do you walk up the bank and get busted? Do you wait under the bridge with the trolls and the dead fish and Ben? Do you risk having the cops come down and see Ben's reflection in the water, and then you become the girls who Got Ben Busted Again and rish having yr car keyed at Nick's house some summer night? Do you just sit there, paralyzed with unexplainable youth joy, waiting for your heart to explode from the ridiculously minor yet somehow breathtaking situation you have found yrself in?

In the few moments that followed: Nick & his Escort may or may not have abandoned us under the bridge when the cops told him to get out of there (I can't remember), and I think Ben winked at us, and my Chucks filled with mud seep, and once we found Nick again he drove us home, talking the entire time about his first sexual experience with another girl he had just offered a ride home, and my head nearly burst open with anticipation- that soon, I didn't have to be here anymore and I could maybe, MAYBE, go get arrested with pure abandon in some other town for a minimum of four years as long as I kept my grades up, and arrested not for jumping off some shit-ancient train trestle. At the very least, an open container charge. Something, anything.

I'm not from Minneapolis, but you catch my drift. Hearts exploding, heads bursting open.



* "Also covered with poison ivy." - S.

Let’s Go To the Mall. Today!

Is it still necessary for our nation’s consumer-ologist to mention that this year more people will be buying gifts online than last year? Shouldn’t this be a given 7 years after Bezos was named Person on the Year? Let’s come up with some new holiday merchandising trivia.

bleh

Aarrgggh, the food, Holy Mary Mother of Sweet Potato Casserole the food. Eating is addictive, you know. After a year of not cooking, in the past two days alone I have brought an amazing pear/belgian endive/sweet walnut/blue cheese/field green salad with mustard vinagrette to the already-overstuffed table, AND this morning have managed to put out two different kinds of muffins (citrus chocolate chip and cinnamon pear ginger.)

REVEL in it, folks. This may signal the coming of the Armegeddon or something.

Now, to waddle it all off. The dog and I may send smoke signals if our stomaches distend to the point that our joints no longer function. I'm predicting 200 yds from the front door.

In other news, I have a terrible cold and am losing my voice.

Once More, With Violence

Our three day absence to Stuckeyville last weekend meant, much to my frustration, missing three critical flag football games. Even worse were the two shut out losses that now handcuff our playoff hopes. And worst of all was the first game was called a few minutes into the second half because of a fight between all the linemen. There were choke holds and black eyes and everything.

The G is happy that I missed this. I’m upset because I should have been playing on the line and the guy who replaced me was unequipped for the situation. It’s not that I’m looking to fight someone; it’s more that I think I could have prevented the game getting called and a costly loss.

The retelling of the game’s account through emails, though, has left me itching to play again soon. But we don’t have a game again for weeks. So, to resolve this agitation, I am offering my skull knocking services to anyone looking for protection. For example, say you want to check out a SITCOM but your roommate makes you watch some ridiculous musical episode of a cult television fantasy show. I’ll gladly come by your townhouse and smack the remote out of his hand. And maybe knock off his glasses. But only if you want or he talks sass.

I know what's coming/i'm not working

Re: Newspapers:

- The Times mastheads

- Hirschorn on reinventing the newspaper

- Newspapers online. It seems like a good (and obvious) idea, but I've already not been able to find two or three newspapers I know are online in this site's database. So.

Re: Music:

- On Jay Z's newest: On the lyrical front, Jay hasn’t completely lost his ability to rap, but he does spend plenty of time spinning his wheels (“It’s a new era / So I’ve got a brand new hat”). This is stuff he could come up with in a doctor’s waiting room over a copy of People: Ben and J. Lo, “Angelina Joleezie,” MySpace, Steve Jobs, etc. Granted, this may be the circle Jay-Z runs in these days, but they make for tired punchlines. Exactly.

- My friend MJ's best songs of 2006. I don't agree with them all.

"Phantom Limbs" The Shins
"No Use Crying," Embrace
"Wolves," Josh Ritter
"But I Did Not," Howe Gelb
"Cruelty to Animals," the Pernice Brothers
"Ever Thought of Coming Back," Kelley Stoltz
"Song with a Mission," the Sounds
"Cocaine Man," Baxter Dury
"The Blues Are Still Blue," Belle & Sebastian
"Skip to the End," the Futureheads
"Crush in the Ghetto," Jolie Holland
"Shallow," South
"Hazelville," Captain
"My Secret is My Silence," Roddy Woomble
"Is It Any Wonder," Keane
"The Licensee," Channels
"Rise Up with Fists!!," Jenny Lewis with the Watson Twins
"Go Go Gadget Girl," the Motorettes

- +/- Review

- Ryan Adams: at least he's consistent

Re: Misc Stuff:

- "Why Comic Sans?" at Connare's website; Connare interview.

- White Castle stuffing

- Public Notice: If you are related to me and haven't updated your Amazon wish list in a year, just be prepared to not receive any gifts for the holidays/your upcoming birthday/etc. Also; I have drawn the name of a bank teller aunt from the rural midwest in the family gift-swap this year. She likes baking cakes and making jewelry. If you have any ideas beyond me going to a craft store and shipping her an assload of fake turquoise, hit me up.

this is our lives on holiday

To do list:

- Cut out of work early
- Holidays w. family; eat and drink
- Buy all sorts of unneeded crap for said family to prep for the celebration of the birth of the baby Jebus
- Drink heavily, *, but not as heavily as the rest of said family, who called me last night on my cell to read "poetry" over the phone.

(Listen! Your aunt has a poem she memorized that she wants to read to you! Yes, over the phone. No, it can't wait until Thursday when we see you. Okay, ready? It's a poem about WINTER!:

"Shit!
It's Cold!"

Ha hahahahha, wasn't that GREAT???!?!?!?) **

- Hold Steady
- Saturday Night Quinceanera
- Get over New Jersey-contracted cold, which has reared it's ugly head this morning
- Re-read NYT mag blurb on Katharine Jefferts Schori, who I find totally fascinating (former oceanographer!)


* speaking of which, I had not eaten anything all day yesterday, and after three Buds became semi-belligerent in a post-work Solly's Tavern conversational circle: "EVERYONE LISTEN TO ME RIGHT NOW AS I REMINISCE ABOUT RAX RESTAURANTS. I DON'T CARE IF YOU DON'T CARE. Also, I am going to interrupt you! A lot!" God, I am the worst.

** this over-the-phone poetry slam brough to you by my family and 8 bottles of wine.

Whatever and ever, eggmen

While the G was rehearsing her critical bridesmaid’s duties on Friday night, T-15 and I were exiled to the furthest pews with nothing to do except grumble and fidget with our hip electronics. However, seeing that this was a pre-ceremonial ceremony I grew concerned about the grey areas involved in using your phone and blackberry in church. As long as the officiating holy figure was in the room, making a call in the pew seemed wrong no matter how ordained the event. But what about sending a text message? Or responding to an email? Or checking blogs on your Blackberry?

I’ve since developed a loose moral code for my churchy-time electronics use. Everything during priestly directed prayer time is an automatic non-starter but the other situations are more limber. Reading messages during non-prayer time is allowed but responding will depend on pulpit maneuverings.

The time required to attempt your electronic ambitions must be taken into account as well. During some rehearsal down time, I was asked if I knew anything of the 1992 Lobster Boy murder in Gibsonton, FL. I was able to access the internets quickly enough but the priest caught me off guard by asking for a prayer during the specific download. I hope Blackberries operate on a different radio frequency than the one I was praying on or that signal were sure to have gotten crossed with Wikipedia.

The wedding seemed to go well enough but if anything didn’t go as blessed as it could have, well, I guess you can blame me. Also, Lobster Boy.

this is what i've been googling this morning

Dear Blog,

Remember in the 1970's and early 1980's when terrariums were popular? Me too! I distinctly recall knocking over a giant freestanding white plasticy orb-shaped terrarium at my babysitters house! It was a disaster!

People, we need to bring back terrariums.

Thanks.

it's thanksgiving week, and you know what that means!

clarendon makes me want to stab my eyes out.

the godfather's waltz

New Jersey, land of the Paramus mall and lawn statuettes and Roy Rogers. Turnpike rest stops, still your East Coast source for holsters of fries. I only got lost once on the way to the nearest Target, and escaped the Tappan Zee bridge, but it was close. Well played, Governess, well played.

The whole shebang was bonkers fun, kind of a given. The mother-o'-the-bride is my new favorite person on the face of the planet ("What do the kids call it these days???? GRASS? WEED? What?" "Ma, it is my wedding day. Please.") The wedding itself was executed to perfection, mostly - the exception being one comical ceremonial misstep made by the bride which she won't live down ever; or at least not for the next few years before our minds melt away into old age forgetfulness. The BM dresses made everyone look like a size 4 (score!) and there was more food than I have EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE, and I have been to Long Island nuptials, so I know food. I tried to tally it all up (crepe station/sushi station/food-with-crab station/wok station/salad station/cheese station/vodka-shot-ice-sculpture-luge station/full-headed roast pig station/martini table/passed fried stuff/and then - oh PS, DINNER) to no avail the next morning. After all that, attendees are lucky I didn't pull a Hulk and physically roar right out of my tafetta top in an appetizer explosion during the mandatory Bridesmaid Freaking of the Groom.

- Part of the meal was spent replacing the wrapped crystal wedding favor with a dinner roll, and then re-wrapping it, and then the elaborate dance of making sure K. received it. She was the lucky recipient of the Bridal Bread! She should have won a prize for that or something. Well, besides the bread.

- We only broke two glasses all night. Woot! The fact that the videographer had to help clean up one mess of gin did make me a little worried, but I think it worked out in the end. Here's to hoping that the bride and groom don't sit down to view this movie thing and get treated to 20 minutes of marble floor as they use the camera light to search for glass shards. I'm pretty sure the red light on his camera was off.

- Afterwards at the bar, I got in a fake fist fight with T. (why are my favorite photos from all my friend's weddings the ones where people are fake punching each other?) after he told a terribly unfunny joke about Ohio State; and everyone tried to play pool before farts suffocated us right out of the room.

All in all, a terribly successful wedding number 364. Upcoming: Thanksgiving weekend, then a bye weekend, and then it's off to another one of these things. Even thought I'm blood kin to the next bride, ain't no one make a prettier gal in white than the Jersey Princess.

* * *

I've covered the basics. One more quick thing:

My paired wedding partner in all this was Todd. Todd.... Todd likes to have a good time. For instance, reports regarding Toddhavior in Las Vegas a few weeks ago:

Just got a random phone call from Kevin and Todd from Vegas. Todd is destroyed and talking about how the hotel gives you some Asian dude for free to hang out with whenever you want, so he and Kevin drank 40 beers with the Asian dude and now they don't know where he is. That's all I have to report.

That above email is really the best description of Toddness. The art of being Todd.

So imagine if you will- the wedding party about to be introduced, walked into a room full of strangers. The blinding photographer's flash and videographer's light in our eyes, hundreds of faces standing and waiting expectantly.

Todd, my escort, took me by the arm, and looked me straight in the eye:

"Listen. You are about to be booed. It is me, it's not you. But you must accept that you are about to be booed loud and hard. YOU MUST POWER THROUGH."

And ladies and gentlemen, he was correct. I now have the distinction of walking into a room of 200 people, and being booed louder than any sporting even you have ever attended. At a wedding. It was kind of awesome.

The end.

* * *

Also, we saw Bond last night. Here is my Bond recap:

Daniel Craig has funny ears but a ridiculous body. The end, again.

Eye Black - Less effective in blue-eyed individuals and males

If, IF, you had to sit in your car, reading the paper*, waiting for your friend in a deadly rainstorm, idling at the feet of WRNR is not a bad place to park yourself. I'm getting the freshest alt-rock wavelengths hot outta the radio tower before anyone else. The signal so pure it's playing through my tie clip and Danish flag lapel pin. JJ Cale = alright. Plus, there's a fudge shop on the first floor of their building. Also, Navy junk. And a fancy hat store for all your fancy midshipping needs.

But that's just today. As of 10am Friday you can leave a message at the with the bleep as we are off to our 364th of 365 weddings this year. We're just like that lady who wrote a play everyday except we roll up with $50-150 worth of gifts, depending on what you forked over for our magical day. This weekends episode is brought to us by the state of New Jersey and it's ice sculpting industry. I've heard they're going to have chilled vodka served out of a frozen Priapus's wang, like that Tyco guy a few years back, only GIANT.

My only concern over this weekend’s rad-ness is that the guest list includes many of the same partiers as last months Maine wedding/wind revelry. It was the same wedding where my masculinity was called to the mat by strange family members in the bathroom.

Three of us were using the facilities and as a spouse of the bride's friend I was the unknown element. But basic loo etiquette did not prevent one far gone drunk asking the lesser drunk if I was cool. I announced to the room that I was very cool and Little Drunk seemed in agreement. If that's so, queried Big Drunk, then why did I need to unbuckle my belt to go to the little bloggers room?

Well, he got me. My first thought was it kept my pants dry but under further review I wondered if I’d been doing it wrong all my life. Similarly, subsequent retellings of this tale has generated mix responses from the lads and has left us wondering “seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?” It seems some of us are unbucklers + unzippers and some of us are just unzippers. On this particular wedding night I happened into a bathroom of mere unzippers.

So where does this leave me? No where, really, because my options are either check out other dudes in the john or blog about it. And if you want to know why this whole situation threatened my masculinity it’s because I forgot to mention I was wearing black lipstick** at the time. I’m not sure why this was less bothersome to my stall-mate than the way I take off my pants.


*In the seconds after this picture was taken the dogs broke free and mauled all the people standing in line for their PS3’s. Or I hope they did anyway.

**Technically, it was Eye Black, the stuff football players put on their faces to cut down on glare. But for unresolved reasons I was wearing it on my lips. And if you want to get in even deeper, later I let some girl put real lipstick on me and it turned out it was the Little Drunk’s girlfriend. Man, that was a crazy night.

"pick" yr poison

what do you want to hear about first? The crowd at last nights free Tenacious D: Pick of Destiny screening (like hanging out with my little bro circa 1993) Or the Tenacious D cover band before the movie started? OOORRR my new free TD schwag? (plastic demon pick on a leatherette necklace I am wearing at work today.)

this day cannot end soon enough. I probably have an STD on my neck now.

Have you ever tried to explain NIHM to someone who hasnt seen it? It's very hard.

I’ve petitioned Harris Teeter to look into building a new store in our neighborhood after they tear down TC Williams in a few months. First, I think a few of the Titans look like they could use some more fresh fruits and less entire jars of Jet Puffed Marshmallow Crème in their diets. And second, our friendly neighborhood Safeway has eliminated itself from possible shopping sites after I saw a giant rat scamper from the cookie aisle to underneath the greeting cards. It wasn’t cute and drunk like Paul Lynde or crafty like those NIHM convicts. It was gross.

The G, who did not see the greasy thing, defended the Safeway claiming any place with a warehouse of food will have rats. I argued that greeting cards are not food and even if they were this rat was in the store itself, not out back, letting its feces drop where it may. She was nonplussed and but I will only now buy verifiably rat-free food from now on. Like clothespins and kitchen sink stoppers and pipe cleaners and the other random junk they sell in that one section across from the cat food.

There are other grocery stores around but they are no longer options. The Giant is smaller than the dry cleaners and tanning salon occupying the store space next door and the Whole Foods is kinda far away. Just like a good Whole Foods should.

But I think I got my revenge last night while running in the woods when I stepped on a very soft rat or a very hard tomato. Either way, it was a squeaky, red mess.

I staggered back to the underground

my fall TV reviews, in haiku form:

HOUSE MD
House is an addict
And a total asshole, too
Ex-uncle flashback!

LOST
A jungle plane crash
Really exciting, at first
Now I hate you all

HOW I MET YOUR MOTHER
Ted, puppydog eyes
Now confirmed gay? Not Barney!
(That’s Sworley to you.)

THE OFFICE
John Krasinski's Jim
Achieves what most men dream of:
Melts panties off chicks

VERONICA MARS
Never watch this show.
Who is Logan? Wow, I’m an
Internet leper

CSI
Hot gal; stubborn boss
How many of these are there?
Who are you who who

you are cordially invited to the wedding of you and you

I have only been able to unearth one internet review of a Captured By Robots show:

"This whole show was really weird and great. It was pretty surreal because it was partially like seeing a combination of the following: the animatronic band at Chucky Cheese, GWAR, a Star Trek blooper real where they cuss a lot, and Tony Clifton. The main guy is obviously retardedly talented, because I think he conceptualized the whole thing AND built the robots. I was extremely impressed and afraid of him, so definitely an awesome show."

If anyone finds any more info out there, please let me know. It looks like the only 2006 touring Captured By Robots is participating in is a wedding circuit in the San Jose area, which leads me to want to post on the SF Craigslist and beg for wedding invites from strangers. Also it makes me complately rethink how I went about this wedding thing.

* * *

Speaking of marital bliss, I'm participating in one this weekend. The bride should be somewhere in Bergen County by now, stressing to the max about the limo arrangements, instead of reading blogs (GET OFF THE INTERNET/I SEE YOU). It will be a rad event, mostly because I just printed off our "handmaiden schedule" and she made sure to bold the Sean O'Casey Irish Pub's last call. Oh, and ice sculptures. Two of them.

update

Fine. I felt bad ("dude. that really looks like a store i might do some serious damage in" = LJG), and did some way-too-easy internets research. Click click. Right, Martin and Osa Johnson. Old clothes to charities. Check and check.

I stand by my curse-word-laden assertion that Osa Johnson, if one is to believe her wikibio, was a woman before her time and therefore is performing Cirque du Soleil in her grave right because of that website.

You lose, Eugene Robinson

The printed newspaper just lost an important battle for my heart and mind. I just checked the time by looking at the bottom right hand corner Op-ed page. There's no clock down there like there is on my internets.

mall rat

I don't like the mall. I don't like shopping, unless it is delivered in a neat little package to my front door. Shopping centers make my eyes itch and burn, they make me feel covered in germs and exhausted, they make me feel bad about myself and consumer culture. But sometimes a girl needs jeans, and then, hells. What you gonna do.

Somehow we ended up at Tysons on Sunday afternoon, more specifically wandering into this scene, which the more I think about it, the pissier I become. Martin + Osa is all clean light wood and wool sweaters; selling us suburbanites the idea of cross-country skiing and Danish nannies with braids.

I don't know if Martin + Osa are real people, but the chirpy salesgirl immediately assured us (we were the only ones in the store) that the store was bult around TWO ADVENTURERS NAMED MARTIN! AND OSA!

Full disclosure: I have worked retail. I felt for her. There was a pile of chunky scarves waiting for her, and something tells me those things are a total bitch to fold.

Martin + Osa staff would also like you to know there is some sort of John Mayer concert being held in their store during the grand opening. Martin + Osa want you to recycle yr clothes (errr. okay? Can you actually trademark the statement "Please dispose of your clothes properly?" Because it's trademarked. Which I find bizarre.) Martin + Osa love Angelique Kidjo and world music and adult contemporary, and their children only play with handcarved unpainted wooden horses from Sweden, and those bizarre Scandanavian candle-powered carosuel things. Martin + Osa regularly hire someone to oil their snowshoes.

Fine, whatever. Thanks for everything, Wintery Ab-Fitch for Adults. We shall be leaving the mall now.

But then- I start early Xmas shopping.

And then. And then. OH HOLY THEN.

Then I found the Martin + Osa website:

"Woman = Infuriates people who make 'to-do' lists"

"Woman = Understands what a man is saying, even when his lips aren't moving."

"Woman = Compliments him perfectly and compliments him often."

WHAT THE FEMINIST FUCK, MARTIN + OSA? I actually dig yr stripey sweater aesthetic, but I will never. Buy. Anything. From. You.

You, Martin + Osa, have potential to work your way up to Governess Consumer Level Red; (Level Red is mostly reserved for unholy rants on P. Buckley Moss, but I have room for more. It comes from a deep dark place in my soul. Man, I do NOT stand P. Buckley Moss.)

.

.

.

Interestingly, Martin + Osa are very chirpy and forthcoming in letting you know that they are owned by American Eagle.

boys will be boys racist and misogynist

Treading carefully, although I am unafraid to look ig'nant:

Assholes being sued for acting like assholes story.

Here's my question w/r/t this article:

"They were induced to agree to participate and were told the name of the fraternity and the name of their school wouldn't be used," said the plaintiffs' attorney, Olivier Taillieu. "They were put into an RV and were made to believe they were picking up Borat the hitchhiker."

After a bout of heavy drinking, the plaintiffs signed a release form they were told "had something to do with reliability issues with being in the RV," Taillieu said.

Isn't it liability? Or does that mean the same thing? Lawpersons, correct me if I'm wrong.

AND FURTHERMORE: Does anyone know the rules to the game Sworley was playing on "How I Met Your Mother" last night? Because it looked like fun. I am in hard love with that sitcom. It's highly embarrassing.

publine

IMs from Sommer:

Oh NO. Color me completely yawn-yawn-yawn at this, but what a dire prediction for my favoritest CapFile. I'm gonna have to find something to keep my rage intact. There's a few options out there. I'll share later.

Moran has lost a lot of weight recently, maybe we should give him a look

I threw a little tantrum on Saturday morning after arriving to my flag football game only to find white tents, jumbotrons and no opposing team or refs set up on the field. But I figured that I couldn’t be too angry at the Veterans, the assumed recipients of the staged attention, so I cursed the league officials for only announcing the cancellation on the weather line at 7:30am. Who would think to check the weather line on the most beautiful November Saturday ever announced by Howard Bernstein? Not this idiot, that's who not.

(This morning I found out that it wasn’t a Veteran’s Day event at all but the set up for the ground breaking of the MLK Memorial that caused the cancellation. This gives me absolutely zero reason to be upset with anyone but the league since the plan to build the Memorial has been around since about 1999. Actually, that’s totally not true since I donated money for the site awhile back and if I’d read any of the email updates they’ve sent me I probably would have read that the groundbreaking was Saturday. Still, the blame goes 98% league, 2% me and an extra 10% to Howard Bernstein.)

In other team news, we are currently on the lookout for new players. But before you raise your hands and strap on your girdle know that we are only in need linemen and quarterbacks. No more wideouts. Everyone wants to play receiver or safety but nobody ever wants to block. And most of you can’t throw worth a damn either. Also if you get hurt easily don’t bother coming. I’ve heard two Achilles tendons pop in 3 years and the police don’t like it when you drive my car on to the Mall just so I can cart people to the hospital. Both times I’ve tried this they’ve gotten out of their cars with their hand on their revolvers and that little leather holster strap unbuttoned.

This city’s political turnover rate is also a troubling factor in our in ability to field a consistent team. Thanks to Election Day, four of our players will soon not have jobs keeping them in town. (“Wow, you played D1 ball and you’re a high powered strategist for an unnamed political party?” We’ll, you may run like JC Watts but you strategize like shit. )

But fear not. Through connected channels we have the opportunity to extend an invitation to the projected number one flag football pick from the new Congress, Heath Shuler. Sure he’s 34 and has major mobility issues but he can probably still throw the ball for miles. A few years back I ran in a 5k with Steve Largent and he smoked me. He had to be at least 15 years older than Heath is now so I still got hope. My only concern would be the constant heckling by every soul who walked by the fields on Saturday morning.

We’re also looking to pick up a new lineman so I’ve got my eye on Senator-elect John Tester out of Montana. He looks like a pretty big boy but I’m a little worried about the footwork of a guy of his size. And the whole lost-three-finger-in-a-meat-grinder thing didn’t go over well in the pre-draft combine. We played a guy who was only missing two fingers last weekend and he dropped two easy passes.

With our last pick, we might take a gamble on Representative-elect Steve Kagen out of Wisconsin. I’m not sure about his speed or on-the-field skills but the fact that he’s a doctor is a definite plus. And Green Bay is in his district so maybe he’s got some connections with the Packers. Specifically, Mark Chmura because that guy knows how to party.

sexing the groove

- Luke Hayman; Time Mag redesign

- On Ellen Willis. Related: I recently added "Rock She Wrote" to my 'zon wishlist, it seems like something I should have taken care of a long time ago.

- Internet, we have something to confess: The PIAB matrimonial union? Actually a total hoax.

- Christmas 06 comes early.

- Potentially the terriblest thing ever? Okay, no, because there are so many other terrible things in the universe that need answers first. It's not terrible. But oh god. I went ahead and downloaded "Beach Chair" from HM just to make sure I wasn't just being an uppity cynical bastard for sheer personal pleasure, and sure enough: even after being open-minded, I still want Chris Martin to investigate a career in banking or corporate office cleaning or, I don't know, anything else. And frankly, Jay-Z, you too. "Life is just a dream/Life is but a beach chair." You are rapping about MYSPACE. Just... go on vacation for a while. Sit in a beach chair. Think about what you are doing here. Get back to me later.

- Favorite comment from last week courtesy Al Shipley: "Stylus commissioned me to pen the half-hearted dismissal of Lady Sovereign that ran yesterday, and I have to admit that I probably don't have enough fight in me to pull off a serious hatchet job of something I care so little about."

* * *

Friday brought much-needed culture (go see, it's approximately the same length of time as Borat and you won't hate yourself afterwards); Saturday a hike around Virginia woods with two dogs who delighted in torturing other, smaller dogs (read: dachsunds in sweater sets) and rolling in dead things. Also, pizza. Sunday we loafed around, the N. made chili, and then we went to a bar in a mall to watch football. I have now met my HS friend's new boyfriend, he is short and looks like her ex-husband, and is ladynapping her to go to California in 2 weeks because "seriously, celebrating stealing land by eating too much has always creeped me out. I almost always abandon my family to go drink in Napa every year instead." I dunno, I kind of like him.

Here's a question. Remember that eye fungus that waas going around thanks to the execs at Bausch n Lomb a few months ago? Is a latent case possible? Seriously, it's degenrative eye disease city over here or something. Eyeballs, scratchy.

pony kegs will roam the earth, seeking my mouth!

Okay, so techies: How do I make "OUR GOD IS AN INDIAN WHO TURNS INTO A WOLF" my cell phone ring?

morning rush hour

Malachi Ritscher suicide (news via)

More:

- One

- Two

- Three

apple face unicorn bong

things learned/thunk/the blathering:

1. WaPo, number one!

2. We are going to the theatre on Friday night. You should, too. fun to say: "oh no, we can't, sorry, we are going to the theatre."

3. AWESOME.

4. I am thoroughly underwhelmed by "Lost" after the last two weeks. I could barely pay attention at all, and kept hoping the dog would wake up and come downstairs and play with me. I have to watch it, and yet do I have to be bored? Do I have to care any less about Kate? Because frankly I don't give a caged bear's fish biscuit about her any longer. Go away, Freckles.

5. Has a Four Tet track! Go Go Ninja Dino.

6. Holy crapping nostalgia flashback: I read a particular webblahg fairly often, one that is mostly constructed of photos of some stranger's life of like, hanging out and being way cool with friends and photos and stuff, probably in NYC or San Francisco but not in DC. Lots of oversized sunglasses and maybe a Misshapes entry or two. But it makes me laugh and the pictures are usually feature people who just look like they'd be nice. Anyways, one entry features this photo:



This photo almost made me wet myself. So, I had one of these apple things as a baby, it was my favoritest toy ever, and my pops actually made up a song about it, appropriately titled "Happy Apple." I haven't seen one of these things since I stopped teething on it. I still know every word to "Happy Apple." I just emailed him acopy of this pic. It has totally made my entire day. Ten giddy points for strange unexpected childhood father/daughter flashbacks.

7. Other things in "subcategory: holy crapping crap": I recently purchased another item of clothing from Forever "Pushing-30-But-Inappropriately-Still- Shopping-at-Crappy-Teen-Stores" 21; and I'm probbably not returning it despite the following statement from my spouse: "Yeah, that style doesn't really look that good on you." I meant to go shopping for Halloween costume parts, and WHOOPS, here I am bying clothes to wear in real life. Bah humdress, I'm so gonna sport it to a wedding rehearsal dinner next week. Something is officially wrong with me.

8. Solidifying the above statement, I am considering going to church on Sunday morning. Strange but true.

birthday

Happy birthday, Mafia Princess!

In celebration of the big day, your home state has delivered Mayor McHottyPants as yr governor.

So in review: you are older, you are still exceptionally good-looking, and all is right with Charm City.

showing FANGS

Commie vampire media? So totally my Halloween costume for next year. But hey, Republicans: you forgot the WOLFMAN part of that.

And personal to the girl sitting next to PIAB Girl Reporter K. on her flight home this morning, a girl who yelled into her cell phone (which, by the way, should b TURNED OFF during flights or the terrorists? they win): "I just don't understand why they haven't found more fraud in Missouri. Missouri HAD to be riddled w/ voter fraud!!!"

My family posse resides in the Show-Me State. Every single one of them, save one crazy step-uncle, voted Dem.

Us'ns breed like rabbits, too. So look forward to this for a while.

I Want Some CD

Sure, sure. You fancypants jr. pundits have yr intimate relationships with Blitzer coverage, snarky blogging parties, and MOBILE INTERNET MACHINES; but what did I have last night, the most feared night in the country? Two farting dogs and oft-interrrupted naps; mostly asleep on my in-laws couch by 9:30 pm. Jealous?

I spent most of my election evening flickering between Spike TV's CSI Season 1 reruns (dude, Marg Helgenblahblah used to have a haircut just like my mom, what was that all about?) and News Channel 8, because i'm funny like that.

* * *

- Defenders of Stan Number 3, hilar as usual.

- Wired's Short Stories

- My new haircut? Think Dot Hamill, but longer. Bangs, kittens. Bangs.

- Also, if you didn't listen to "Pow! To the People" by the Make Up at least once last night, we're not talking anymore.

We must move forward, not backward, upward not forward

Look at me! Live blogging from the curb outside of CNN’s Tryst jerk factory party! Stealing wireless signals! Eating a slice of pizza bigger than my face! It’s our Election Day roundup!

-----

Unlike other Virginians, it seems, I can report that the Pyggy household experienced no voting irregularities Tuesday morning although there were some irregular voters. Hey-oh! We showed up at our voting hovel around 8am and were quickly informed by one of the sample ballot-pushers that things were going poorly inside. The machines were broken and they were turning people away and the lines were an hour long and that the FBI was on their way to arrest the lot of us and you had to be at least this tall to vote in this election. Woe!

Turned out that the only problem was a jammed printer on the random number generator machine and the election officials discovery of pen and paper meant that our Pygmalion-class action lawsuit against Diebold went un-filed. My personal hold up was the 50 year-old weirdo with the desultory facial hair who overheard my questions about the voting machine and then spent several minutes explaining how his expertise in Metal Gear Solid would translate to his besting any malfunction the voting machines may experience.

Look, dude, sometimes whiskers grow in higher than beard level. You need to shave your whole face. It’s not cool to have eyebrows growing below your eyes. Though, it does help sell your

Splinter Cell

conspiracy theories.

And your video game prattling also meant that the Donnie Darko song’s been in my head all day. Booo, Gears of War.

-----

The Brown Dog will be happy to hear that the robotic Webb and Allen phone messages will be ending because the beeping answering machine drove him crazier than usual. He was especially unimpressed when robotic Rudy Giuliani called because he used to love hisself a Times Square erotic all-night movie house. And the Mayor ruined that for everybody.

------

Early exit polling out of Fairfax has shown that my uncle is quite upset that he forgot to send in his absentee ballot. Meaning it’s one less vote against those [enter derogatory statement here] and their attempts to get married. Or so he says.

-----

Yesterday BoingBoing linked to a page of recently scanned images from old anatomy books. I’m a sucker for stuff like this so I looked at a whole mess of them in the hopes of finding a sketch of a skeleton man praying to his wicked skeleton gods.

And I lucked out.

But I also found something else.

Remember a few years back when that PIFFB worthy email was going around featuring pictures of monkeys next to photos of your President? High comedy, for sure. But who knew that email had it’s origins in the Inquisition-suppressed, 16th century work of an Italian anatomist?



And both of those drawings look like my absentee ballot forgetting uncle.

midterm care package/apples not far from trees

Mom-On-The-Street reports trickling in from the wasteland - apparently out in Loudoun, a woman appears at my folks polling place dressed in full bridal gown & veil, urging pople to vote yes on the Const. amendment re: gay unions.

"She even had the nerve to say she was non-partisan. And I think I told her not to touch me, and then when I left after voting she told me to have a nice day. And she was sickly-sweet about it. And you know how I hate that."

Moms Pyg also reports that "she stood behind my notoriously liberal pastor + wife in line this morning, so there are at least two more votes against the Dark Side."

My mommy, professional seether. She has sooooooo got yr back.

best i've ever had

1. The Gears of War commercial does not make me want to buy/play that game. It does, however, depress the everliving hell out of me, and motivate me in getting a scrip for Paxil. Well done, gaming industry!

2. I keep trying, and yet I still don't like the Decemberists. I feel like something might be wrong with me.




Man, I am a giant basket of rainbow fun lately.

hornets hornets etc.

I have exactly one extra ticket to the Hold Steady on Nov. 25th.

If you want it, email.

___ eat ___ world

my new favorite way the N. refers to both BD and Black Dog, inhabiting our house for the week while the in-laws take a Midwest vacation:

"a team of world-class idiots."

Seriously, you look at the both of them, and tell me if that description is wrong. God, these are some dumb-and-a-half animals.

In other news

1. I saw Borat, it wasn’t all that funny.

2. My high school reunion was Saturday. I’m not going to talk about that either.

Okay, that’s a total lie, I am so going to talk about that. It’s 6 mos. worth of material, in the v. least. Everyone looks: swollen.

But I have a week + worth of crap to catch up on, so I’ll just leave you with this particular gem from a fellow grad:

“One time I smoked such a bad joint I thought I had penny nails coming of out my fingertips, AND I was breathing potatoes!”

You’re welcome.

don't mean a thing/you get accustomed to the sound.

Hi. I am back.

I’m not going to write about it. Or talk about it anymore, for a while. I'm sorry.

one

two

three

four

five

fin

Hurry back, please

I bet you can’t wait until the other half of this site gets back from jury duty. This place balances out a little better with her around.

She can’t wait to get back either. Though I still know NO details of what’s going on, my female intuition is picking up that it’s not good. Ed Helms and Jim singing the Indigo Girls on The Office last night was her first smile in 3 days. And as soon as Michael tried to kiss Pam, it was gone.

Plus her reunion is on Saturday and she’s ready to knock the skulls of the other "adults" who are "helping" to "run" it. Here’s what I know about that:

1. My $75 dinner better be the best Chicken Kiev I’ve ever had.

2. T-15 is a huge baby for not coming and having my back. Have fun with your Manimal DVDs or whatever it is you do on Saturday nights while your fiancé and I suffer through stories of HS lameness, dude.

3. No matter what any of her old classmates do for a living, it will not top my reunion where one guy claimed he designed ice cream for a living. He even won an award for Best Tasting New Frozen Product Designed for Consumers Under 14 or some such radness. The best any of the G’s friends may do is be rich internets moguls. Stupid AOL.

4. She’s decided to get her hair highlighted hours before the reunion starts. In fact, I think she is leaving straight from the girl barber shop to go help set up the reunion and cook my Kiev. She didn't see the prospective danger of a hairstyling disaster until I pointed it out. This has the potential to be situational comedy GOLD! I think she should schedule dates with 2 different boys for that night too. Only then will we learn the true meaning of Christmas.

Better dead than one red cent

I had the pleasure of riding the Metro with my father Tuesday and our dash through Foggy Bottom was briefly delayed by three costumed, college-aged girls with plastic pumpkins chanting “Trick or Treat for UNICEF.”

“No time for communists,” I muttered to myself as we breezed by.

But it was loud enough for my dad to hear and when we got to the platform he wanted to know the source of this belief. I told him I knew UNICEF wasn’t really a communist group but I have somehow always related the two. He laughed at my childish opinions and claimed he was the reason.

It seems that when I was a young’un he took me to the grocery store during a UNICEF change drive. He let me put a few cents in the 5 gallon water jug at the end of the checkout line so I’d feel like a big boy. But on the way to the car he explained that when he was growing up his grandfather turned away door-to-door UNICEF collectors because the money may “end up in the hands of Bolsheviks” and especially “Russian babies.”

Communism: Uniting families against UNICEF for 4 generations.

Chewy on the inside, gross everywhere else

Our neighbors are all either young go-getters, lady spinsters or the creepy guy who sweeps only every third leaf off his sidewalk. In other words, no time for kids. So we have bunches of Halloween candy left over.

The house candy purge has begun!

Attempt #1: Milk Dud Cereal!



While the overall taste is quite appealing, the cold milk hardened the caramel making it almost impossible to chew. The mini-wheats were too mushy for my refined palate by the time I was finished gnawing through one mouthful of Duds. If I had dental fillings I surely would have lost them. Fortunately, my teeth are already rounded and worthless like little pearls. God bless my Dunst-Mouth.

Verdict: Failure. Perhaps this would work better with warm oatmeal.

Next: What to do with all these disgusting Mary Janes? Suggestions?

I do, do I?

It was recently brought to my attention that the little walk down the aisle the G and performed two odd years ago was merely a ceremonial sideshow to an actual legal contract of some sorts. And though partially enlightened to some details of this agreement, I’m still unaware of what my obligations are and how I can violate them.

One thing I assumed was in the document I signed was that a wife is legally required to tell her husband the details of the trial she is sitting in on as a juror. It appears that this is not the case. In fact, this “activist” judge, whoever he or she is (the G won’t say) specifically told her she could not discuss the details with her spouse.

It is maddening. Potentially three torturous days of zero information.

It’s even worse for my mother-in-law, though. While I desire nothing more than particulars, her goal in life is to sit on a jury for any case above a minor burglary. My appetite will be sated when the verdict is read and the G spills her secrets. But MIL lives in the fastest growing country in the Commonwealth. Good luck getting an interesting case with those demographics.