Friday, March 31, 2006

Slither?

Choices for Friday night:
A. Aid someone in moving to new apartment
B. Sit in bar alone while spouse aids someone in moving to new apartment.*
C. See movie alone
D. Discover fun new friends with fun new Friday night plans.**

Choices for Saturday:
None: Having used up all my “Get out of spousal obligation for free” cards I must attend a 4-year-old’s dance recital in Way The Faraway, Virginia. Unsure of what to really think about this ultimatum though I’ve been told there may be cookies afterwards. A backup Thin Mints sleeve will be spirited along, just in case.

*Options default to B if packing has not already occurred.
** Serious, if you are doing something fun tonight, let me come.

what you've been waiting for

Two completely indescribable things I found in my car last night:

1.

a cassette of "Upstairs at Erics"

2.




I bought this with allowance money at a neon-signed "surf shop" located in Fair Oaks Mall in the 80s and wee early 90s, I think it had "Sun" in the name. Nothing says surf like the DC suburbs.

I purchased this particular band because it had a flourescent CLEAR buckle, which got me an "in" to talk Contra codes with a dude named Ian in my class. Clear buckles - where it is/was at.

Anyways, I wore it to work today. It hasn't really aged well, under the seat of my car, but I'm mostly amazed at it's existence. If it fits my weakling wrists like this NOW, I can only imagine it must have looked like a bangle or something on 6th grade me.

My new style will be called "surf trend." White cords, puka shells, Op. Next reincarnation: slap bracelets, grannie boots, heavily appliqued & embroidered Notre Dame sweatshirts. We'll just start at a certain Governess Fashion Point In Time, and work from there.


* * *

You should really be watching these, by the way.

Thursday, March 30, 2006

At least they're paying for our new floors

The condo association has spoken!



At the monthly meeting I assume attended by the required board members, the crazy lady who drives her moped on the grass through the common area and the weirdo who washes his hubcaps every morning at 6:30, it was decided that we will support the LSU Tigers in this year’s Final Four. Or at least that’s what they are indicating with their choice of flowers.


Secret Condo Association Operative

I guess this is what we get for missing 24 straight condo association meetings, bringing our attendance total to zero. You’d think they’d want to support our invincible local basketball heroes, the James Monroe Patriots. Or at least explain some of the other mysteries of the neighborhood, like why we need earthquake insurance. Or why we are probably the only street in the entire world with square manhole covers.



Seriously, square?

Update: I’ve now been told that yellow and purple pansies were planted because they are the most common and cheapest. Lame. They could have splurged and gotten this UCLA hybrid. And I guess it doesn’t make much evolutionary since to have green blooming pansies, so Mason pansies are out. And Florida blue and orange flowers are too similar to another University and nobody wants that.

It would seem that today’s modern robotic horticulturist could mutate flowers to support any school’s color scheme. Planting Carolina Blue and White seeds all over Durham would make a good prank. And revenge would be easy as Duke already has a pansy called Bob Swenes.

Seriously, that dude sucks.

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

darling nikon



BD, fully recovered from cereal/implant incident.

reason #86929348238498 2006 is, thus far, better

so, last year around this time, I was working as a government contractor, bored out of my skull, and feeling generally - well - meanspirited towards the world at large. This was the result. Short-lived, incredibly stupid, and got me through a less-than-full-year of "employment" we'd all rather forget.

I was going somewhere with this. My boss just went out and, mostly because it was a nice day outside, bought me a new Nikon. Hello, job. Hello, world. I'm in love again.

Additionally, my volleyball skills last night were fucking unparalleled, and an old high school classmate who may or may not have threatend to beat me up once is on MySpace wearing satin leopard print pajamas.

Like I said: world, I love you.

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

good night, sweet coxswain

Some quick details on the kite festival before the week evaporates:



1. There is nothing easy about pirate ship kites. They are not easy to build, they are not easy to fly and they are not even easy to crash on the heads of annoying kids. A good majority of the kite day was taken up with construction of the accursed thing. Another good majority was spent holding it over our heads trying to get it to flight. If the wind isn’t blowing a constant Category 7 you needed to be in constant motion to keep it about 10 feet off the ground.

2. To the man who was upset by my constant motion. Sir, you were on the mall on mother fucking kite day and was I flying my mother fucking kite. Sorry to ruin you family’s vacation to the Nation’s Crapitol.

3. Never assume that when someone makes a vague nautical reference to your finally lofted pirate ship kite that you can answer in specific early 19th century nautical terms. A woman watching our erratic flying said she thought the crow’s nest was the problem with the erratic flight. I responded that it was probably more likely the poor design of the mizzen-mast and the staysail is too big. No need to get the bosun involved with the crow’s nest.

She responded the same way you probably just did. But you probably don’t have a kitty cat kite right now.

! ! !

stolen, shamelessly, from an old friend. Hi.

The Doctor is IN.

If only Dr. McN was a character on "Grey's Anatomy," I might remember to actually watch the show on Sunday nights.

You may resume whatever it is you were doing. For me, this means thoughtfully chewing on a pen until it explodes down the front of my shirt, and bitching about where my gmail chat went. Because now? I have to work.

really just a reason to get more traffic from perverts.

I witnessed such a huge misstep yesterday that I’ve since been able to use the term cock up at least five times in various written descriptions. And dozens of oral retellings.

Cock up. So great.

Monday, March 27, 2006

i've taken up praying on Sunday nights

does anyone want a mom? I'm considering selling mine. She's mostly in good condition. A little crazy, but nowadays, it's hard to find one that isn't.

She likes candles, shoes, gossip, and passive-aggressively picking fights with her children over the phone in the waning hours of the weekend. 5'9", short brown hair, career woman, pretty, makes great tortellini soup. Email w/ best offer.

* * *

In other news, I went to the kite festival Saturday. We flew a pirate kite. I made a delicious meal last night for old coworkers, like, a pot roast, people. Insanity. The dog ate an entire box of cereal, resulting in a trip to the vet because of dehydration, where they gave him fluid injections that looks like boob implants. The D. gave me a folder for work , on the front it says "WWAUD?" ("What Would A Unicorn Do?") Options include "Posing On A Windy Cliff," "Frolicking Through A Flowery Meadow," etc. So this is the stance I'm taking with my mother nowadays- WWAUD?

Did I mention my dog has breast implants? Okay, just checking.

Friday, March 24, 2006

poor thing

Some of you may have heard of the death of the poor, dear tortoise Adwaitya at the ripe young age of 255. What might not have known, though, is that the wonderful beast was my beloved pet. He was given to me many years ago by a scurvy group of sailors in honor of my many accomplishments. Though it’s been over a century since I donated him to the Kolkata zoo, I have cherished him afar for decades. And it’s been almost that long since my Christian name has appeared in any news article. I never would have suspected there to be a renewed interest in the Nabob's life.

shak attack

((High school reunion. Dude, blowing my mind.

All that being said, it's really only kick-started one repressed memory, and it's not even a memory from HS. Memories from high school smell like Obsession for Men, this particular memory smells like old feet and mildew.

There was this one girl, who, oh my god- she was just so great, in retrospect. I had 6th grade gym with her. She used to (I think) wear a hefty bag tied around her waist under her uniform. She used to have conversations with the holes in her Keds. One particular week, she decided not to talk, only meow and hiss at people, and pretend she had to sharpen hr claws. KS, please back me up on this.

Later on in life, someone saw her working at a Wendys drive-through.

GIRL. I do not know where you are now, but please listen up & listen hard: we all should have told you back then. You have intense potential. If you are not creating performance art on the street corners of NYC right this *very instant*, re-evaluate your life spirit. The universe is yours for the taking.))

Seriously, I would rather starve to death

I went entire weeks in college never wearing a shirt to lunch. From the incredibly helpful legal blog How Appealing.
If you don't eat yer meat, you can't have any pudding: A federal court jury awarded to a Wisconsin state prisoner $50,000 in compensatory damages and $1.2 million in punitive damages on the inmate's claim of cruel and unusual punishment based on the inmate's 45-pound weight loss due mainly to the inmate's refusal to comply with a prison policy that requires Supermax prisoners to be wearing pants before they will be served meals in their cells.

Brother, if the wickerish pattern of our antique dining room chairs didn't leave funny marks on me backside, I'd be right there with you.

skyrockets/flight

ham situation mostly resolved.

okay, so i had to learn from DC radio (terrible) that Taffy Danoff, wrote songs with/for MONOPOLI? and not only did I have to learn this from DC radio, but from what I assume was a rerun. Christola, people. remember when michael and maeby did the duet of "afternoon delight?" awww.

i am watching basketball tonight at a bar while my spouse plays poker. if you are interested in joining, say so. right now it appears that this is a ladies function, so if you are a female and have a significant other who is playing cards tonight, too, or whatever dudes do on friday nights, please join. or if you're a guy. whatever, i'm no sexist. uconn plays at 10, and you can get pitchers of Harp at Ramparts.

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

pork wednesday

I would write something today, but i can't quite get over the fact that somehow, $175 worth of honeybaked hams were ordered and delivered to an organization I work closely with. In my name. That's right, ham.

It's a hamergency. I'll be back to blogging when I can gather my wits about me, which may or may not be: never.

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

Blogs = CB Radios

Time to drop a little history knowledge on you.

The Navy Construction Battalion or “SeaBees” were created in 1941 to help with the sudden need for naval facilities after the Pearl Harbor bombing, especially after the use of civilian construction team became too dangerous and unrealistic. For more than 60 years, they have been a vital part of our military’s ability to create footholds throughout the world. While specializing in naval related construction like ports and airstrips, they also operate similar to the Army Corps of Engineers and have aided in the reconstruction of other countries hit by war or natural disasters. Although the Seabees do not operate solely on the main, they are especially capable at underwater and amphibious engineering.

Tens of thousands of Seabees have served in every major American conflict since WWII. They’ve helped with the construction of roads, buildings and hospitals for the military and civilian programs alike. Check this out for a whole history.

Also, in 1942 the film The Fighting Seabees was released and featured, I am told, one of the few scenes of John Wayne dancing.

Now, all that being said, the Seabee statue between the Memorial Bridge and the entrance of Arlington cemetery is one of the creepiest things I’ve ever seen.



I’ve been ostensibly aware of the memorial since a new driving routine brought me near it a few month back. But it doesn’t have a dedicated parking lot so you really need to go out of your way to see it. Since I was walking the dog on Roosevelt Island last week, I figured why not go check it out?* The copper relief behind the statue is very well done and features some of the more historic feats by the battalion. And there are powerfully moving inscriptions in the marble base-work along the sides. But the statue…



You won’t believe me when I say the thing that bothers me most about this thing is the scale of the child. Everyone knows kid’s heads are huge. I mean, who hasn’t gotten their noggins stuck in their grandparent’s banister in a comical fashion. This kid wouldn’t. His melon is tiny.

(The truth be told, I don’t like any statues of children. Especially their tiny, pebbled teeth. So pronounced and so gross. There’s one on L near the Potbelly of a man holding a small girl. Thank you, but I’ll walk on the other side of the street. And the worst thing about V for Vendetta? Not the tacked on ending with all the dead character taking their Fawkes masks off, but the brief scene with Agent Smith around a statue of dancing girls.)

Of course my other problem with the Seabees statue is the giant, bare-chested man. Strong, muscular, friendly and generous, I got no problem with those adjectives. But shirtless seems unnecessary. I want to be the bigger man and steer clear from any possible pedophilic undertones but, well, for starters the guy looks like he’s about to take of his belt.

You know what, let’s just leave at that. The US Seabees = brave, honorable and noble. Their statue = creepy.


*Also on this walk - the dog was sniffing around the bushes near the GW parkway and when I pulled him out he was chewing a deer’s forearm. Hoof, bones, muscles and all. Later, when I was taking the pictures of the statues I saw he was eating something new. I forced open his muzzle only to grab and handful of shat. Anyone want a dog? Slightly used, horrible breath.

i'll show you a "spazz showcase", alright.

Somewhat related, WaPo's "Reliable Source" says that Richard Dreyfuss got hitched in the Rockingham County courthouse this weekend. S. and I had bets that the reception was held in a half-inch of dirty Natty Lite in the Sigma Chi basement, the Nabob claims Melrose. (Of course! Duh.)

If you need me, I'll be at the Face Down in Shit show.

Friday:
Rock
The Walkmen
Man Man
Medications
Pattern is Movement
Hail Social
VCR
Sinaloa
Tiger Bear Wolf
Body Electric
Red Anthem

Mellow Rock Showcase
Saxon Shore
Voxtrot
Irving
Ris Paul Ric
Black Moth Super Rainbow
Page France
Sparrows Swarm & Sing
Staristdeous
The Cedars
A New Dawn Fades

Metal Showcase
Spitfire
Autumn Offering
All Else Failed
Hell Within
Forensics
Face Down in Shit
Ankou
Human Abstract
Withered
Site of Suffering

Spazz Showcase
Call Me Lightning
The Number 12 Looks Like You
Ahleuchatistas
Snack Truck
Ultra Dolphins
Dawn Treader
Mass Movement of the Moth
Pyramids
Dance Danse el Capitain!
Daniel Striped Tiger
El Cid
Aggrocrag

Hip Hop Showcase
Masta Ace
Gym Class Heroes
Wordsworth
more to be added later..

Saturday:
Rock- Day Showcase
I Am the Avalanche
Up Up Down Down Left Right Left Right B A Start
Gospel
Disappearer
We Vs The Shark
Dear and Glorious Physician
Len Bias
Jena Berlin
Worn in Red

Rock Showcase
The Wrens
Aloha
Fin Fang Foom
Rah Bras
Haram
Your Highness Electric
Damezumari
Comrade
Widows
Shapiro

Mellow Rock Showcase
Owen
William Elliott Whitmore
Jonah Matranga
The Snake The Cross The Crown
Bright
Gregor Samsa
The Extraordinaires
Southerly
Meredith Bragg and the Terminals
The Gunshy

Metal Showcase
Municipal Waste
Baroness
Unearthly Trance
Earth Ride
Valkyrie
Rosetta
Herod
Immortal Avenger
Backstabbers
The Dream is Dead
Triac
Bloodquest
Battlemaster

Hardcore Showcase
Blacklisted
Down to Nothing
Cold World
Lions of Judah
Fucked Up
Direct Control
The Spark
Government Warning
The Frontline
Fight Amputation
Cloak Dagger

Monday, March 20, 2006

like a kid again, feel

One of the more dorkish things I will discuss at great, great lengths is children's literature. In another life, I was a librarian at your elementary school. Not the quiet mousy one who wore glasses and cardigans covered in cat hair and knew German, more likely the fat one who talked two octaves too loud, even though it was a library, and liked to rant about censorship. And ate Hostess products out of kids Snorks lunchboxes when their heads were turned. I'd be that one.

Recently, I have become lazy what with the rampant test-bunny procreating, and I found myself GIVING A TOY (farm animals on a hay ride, it rolled) to a one-year old on Saturday. This will not do. This is not my stee. I give READS, it is my THING. It's my boring baby shower-thing and my birthday gift-thing and my Look, I've Come Visitin-thing, until you fat little babies reach your high school years, where I will then give you money and not tell on you when you sneak out n break curfew with the kid with the weird haircut and acne. We've got years, though, because the oldest out of all kid-ness in my life is only 5. We've got a decade at least.

Childrens book council
Newbery winners
Caldecott info
Australian blog must-reads

(specific suggestions: I always buy this one, because it's pretty, and this one, because it's fun to read. Anything that involves sound effects, I'm in.) S. mentions this, her favorite, which I have yet to read but is now a must-buy, title alone.

* * *

from the littlest tall little bro:

I’m not quite sure why I did it, but I picked up Ricky Nelson’s greatest hits. Travelin’ Man is certainly one of my faves. You can’t forget Mary Lou though. It’s so catchy. It’s hard to get “Hello Mary Lou, goodbye heart” out of my head... I know.

* * *

Feeling old, what with the Ricky talk and the kids talk and the fact that I had a beer last night for the first time in weeks, so there is no PIAB drunken shenans to report? Me too. May i suggest a cure in the form of "trains to brazil," and half-price cow meat at Cowboy Cafe tonight. Always works for me. Happy spring; happy Tuesday.

things crash together

Coupland finds Moz- in Sunday's Observer.

"His head (this is really weird, and I hope it doesn't go outside the boundaries of taste) is enormous. It's like a huge Charlie Brown parade float head. I walked into the bar to meet him and I saw this guy across the room with this massive head and I thought to myself, 'Man, that's one massive head', and it was Morrissey."

"dudes have decided they are hooking a breathalyzer up to my phone next time"

BAD:

Brunch is a spectacular invention. Starchville, cheese, sweet things, waking up late, carb-loading, societal-approved drinking in the AM even tho masked by fruit juices - all things I can mostly get behind. Brunch in 2006. That is my new political bumper sticker.

So, I may have mentioned 700+ times before- 2005 was, personally, a terrible, terrible year. The worst year in a long time. A horrible job, a tragic family, etc. The aftershocks are still being felt, and probably will be for a long time.

2006 has shaped up to be pretty good for me so far. I can't complain. Well, I do, but I shouldn't. I have a new job. I like people, for the most part. But, I haven't been to brunch in 2006 yet.

So it's not much fun, going out for your favorite meal for the first time in months and months, just to awkwardly discuss a friend's divorce. The coffee seems a little bitter, it gets cold faster, and there aren't enough mimosas in the world to make things different- favorite restaurant or not. Toddler-size omelette or not. Beverage refills or not.

Everyone's been through breakups before. They are ass. But it was just what- a little over 2 years ago? that my hair was plastered to my head and I was wearing an ungodly silver getup (rhinestone shoes, people, I shit not), so this all seems esp. unfair.

Bracket Update: officially, I am a joke. I am holding in at a "C" grade in my pool, totes average, but only because everyone else's picks were so far off as well. UNC got their asses handed to them. Nice to see the hometown kids do well, but a little bittersweet for the baby boy who looks like my little brother. Eh, they're young. Next year, TH. Stay and get an education, otherwise you end up like the rest of the clan, and nobody wants that.

GOOD:

I got a new shirt. I saw "V for Vendetta". I saw old friends and old friend's offspring, chubby and shiny-haired and well-behaved and covered in blue icing. Brown Dog was especially cute all weekend. Another friend, friend circa 1998, kept messaging me from Vegas, completely out of his head in a way only Vegas drinking makes you, and he seems to have lived through the weekend. Also, I have in my possession photographic proof he spent QT gambling time with a fully clothed Brigette Neilsen. (clothed! I know!) Our taxes are done. The bathroom is clean.

I haven't seen MPPA since Eve Miller left. If you went to the show this weekend, how's the new Dana?

Saturday, March 18, 2006

deadly

1. friends with kids never purchase diet-lo-cal-no-fat anything. I've been eating all morning, probably the mac and cheese casserole (WITH RITZ CRACKER TOPPING) was constructe dout of cheddar and pasta and half-n-half and dreams.

2. KANSAS. YOU CAN CUT IN LINE BEFORE SYRACUSE. THANKS.

3. The individual who is family who I will not mention by name because I don't want to be associated via google? When he plays basketball, he falls down a lot. At least they beat the lower seed team. UNLIKE SOMEONE (that's you, Kansas.)

4. I have a new favorite bar. It is filled with people over the age of 45 and the food sucks. But there were very little Irish tunes being played, just terrible tunes like that 80s song "Kiss Me Deadly" or whatever. We walked in and promptly got a table with no wait, in a small room filled with big screens. Also, I drank lots of Harp. Pitchers full, even, and not a single drop was food coloring'd. I am determined to become a regular. I am in love.

5. Hair? Gone. I am like if Sienna Miller got fat, and her legging smet some horrible kind of farm equipment accident, and like - I don't know. Her face got asymmetrical, too.

Friday, March 17, 2006

Speaking of Patricks

Dicking around on the other sites the G’s linked on the side there, I came across this entry on Fug. It seems a woman named Tera Patrick had attended the Grammy’s wearing an outfit that the site’s proprietors deemed ridiculous enough to mock. Perhaps justifiably so, for I know nothing of fashion. (I peg my jeans.) I’ve been a little musically out of touch since my iPod fizzled and I incorrectly assumed that the young Ms. Patrick was some new busty pop star I hadn’t heard of.

But Allmusic returned nothing. Hmmm.

So I tried Wikipedia.

Turns out I am woefully benighted when it comes to identifying the actresses of the pornographic arts. Not only did the G. have some inkling about who this woman was, she also knew that Tera Patrick was coincidentally Carmen Electra’s birth name. Let’s see… I know Jenna Jameson because she was at my bachelor party. Then there was the one that ran for Governor in Cali. And now there is Tera Patrick. I've doubled the number of female porn stars I know by name to two.

Wikipedia spared me from having to read the entire article by providing a convenient sidebar with Ms. Patrick’s vitals. Measurements – Hair Color – Sexual Orientation – Etc. Very helpful. But are these sidebars standard in Wikipedia? Would, say, Former Vice President Thomas Riley Marshall’s entry indicated whether he has a Natural Bust? Sadly, no.


Two oversized grapics in one day? Bad form.

Riley’s only has boring old junk like “Political Party.” Snooze. No doubt Tera’s page gets thousands of more hits than the VP’s for the sole reason that history is boring. Just looking at his picture alone we could spice things up…

Collar Type – Round Tip 1½” point or "Club Collar"
Mustache – Modified Walrus
Eyes – Smoldering

So where am I going with this? Turns out that Patrick was at the Grammy’s because she’s married to Biohazard bassist Evan Seinfeld. Why he warranted an invite is another question. But Biohazard teamed with Onyx on the title track of the Judgment Night soundtrack*. And Slam is an awesome song. That’s where I’m going with all this.

*The De La Soul/Teenage Fanclub Fallin' song on that album is awesome too.

soap stars

trailer

oh, and this is great.

UPDATE: more on the holiday.

Happy Irish New Year

My disgracefully lazy friend is taking the day off so he can celebrate Green Day in all its majesty. And he asked me to go out of my way this morning to check the lines at Kegs and Eggs at Lulu’s. But since his phone dials straight to voice mail, he’s no doubt still asleep. So here you go, you bum…


Look, I know the picture is too long. Chill.

The line stretches from the front door to past the apartment where Chandra Levy used to live. There you go dude. Now go back to bed.

I also saw someone in line I used to respect. But I didn’t say hi. He doesn’t need me to add to his embarrassment of queuing up to see The Reflex at 7am.

Update: The last two entries have made us sound distinctly anti-St. Patrick’s Day. We are not. We just dislike our drunk friends insisting we go to overheated bars and asking that we entertain that troll-looking girl while you talk to her traffic cone-shaped friend.

UpdateII: Alright. I'm sorry; the girl did not look like a troll.

But I’m pretty sure she said she lived under a bridge. And I think she mentioned that if given the opportunity she would grind my bones to make her bread.

AGUY GYGDhsa&^FRHEKJAK NMF c nm,

1. basically, syracuse can kiss my ass.

2. anyone stumbling around downtown, fresh from a certain radio event, and who may or may not have consumed miller lite this morning (GREEN, NATCH*), and maybe then somewhow, oh, invades my personal bubble with their pinchy fingers? because I am wearing black? yeah, you can kiss my ass too. Line forms to the right, directly behind Syracuse. I'm not saying this has happened, I just like being proactive. I'm a Capricorn. we do not take risks.

3. Soundtrack for being mad, but not really mad, about things: Fuck Off Machete's What's the Signal? crtsy Fluxblog.



* (Hi again. I'm not Irish. At all. Somehow, I was named after a George Thorogood song + a nice Irish middle name, which can be confusing for a nice Danish Pole from teh suburbs such as myself. Let's just blame my parents, previously described as hippie/somewhat clueless (but now doing just fine in life, thank you very much.) But listen - I have talked to Irish people. These people, they have not given their approval of your consumption of green anything, okay? Just so you know, these rules aren't made by me. Sincerely, yrs truly.)

Thursday, March 16, 2006

paperwork says so.

official results are back: not only am i NEG for HIV, but also, I am NEG for cocaine. Not even the tiniest trace. not even the ends of my hair, or anything. totally insurable, indeed.

Meet the Krankies

Sticking with the recent upcoming movies theme, let’s knock some out...

This Little Man absurdity sounds suspiciously like The Krankies, my favorite sitcom from the early 80’s in my native Scotland. My 2 brothers and I would roll around on our cottage floor outside of Aberdeen, laughing at the antics of a grown man and his 4’5” wife while she poses as a naughty school boy. B-A-N-A-N-A-S! Fortunately, you Americans can a get a wee taste this summer. LITTLE MAN!

----------

My demands of last May have gone ignored. There was a moratorium on any cute use of the word “panda” in relation to the in utero Butterstick. Never mind the fact that I got zero credit for calling his existence in the first place. Zero.

It’s time for a new demand. Dressing as the new Jack Black character Nacho Libre is strictly prohibited for this upcoming or any following Halloween. Though we are still 79 days away from the film’s scheduled release, I am preemptively declaring it to be already “played out.” Anyone wearing a Mexican wrestling mask, no shirt , tights and a cape will be labeled “unoriginal” or “lame” and will be asked to leave the part immediately.


Nacho Libre sez: Please Halloween adults, think for yourselves.

This demand is in no way an indictment against the film, which I’m sure will be very hilarious or its makers, who I’m sure are very creative. It’s directed at the unimaginative fat guys who are already planning the ruin of my favorite day of the year.

---------

In January, I ran down a long missing college friend who now pays the bills by running a chain of movie theaters in central West Virginia. While chatting in the theater’s manager’s office about the Passion of the Christ* he tossed off a one-liner about a Larry the Cable Guy movie. I naturally thought he was making it up. But, I’ll be damned. My Git-R-Dun blue knit cap will need to be retired. Ironic on any level? Sorry, but no.

*The reference was that the town’s expected excitement between the films would be similar. He also claimed that one patron walked out of the Passion and took a swing at him. The man felt he had been tricked into seeing the movie and that the R rating was inadequate in representing its level of violence. The film's brutality did not accurately portray the message of peace in the Bible. My friend offered to return the man’s money, at which point he threw the punch. Message of peace, indeed.

inbox/me, thinking

more/me=annoying/no,really:

Ambulette: Matt C, BF of JH, is guitarist. Ambulette also stars Maura Davis, former Denali. Keeley Davis, bro of Maura, is a part of Engine Down. Denali/Engine Down - bands formed at the PIABs alma mater. Ambulette also toured with ED; ED also of Cornbread Compton fame. I took classes with CC, also known as Matt (i think). Painting, specifically, where we had a TA named John who looked just like Jesus and smoked a lot of pot, more than one would even think from a painting TA. Also, there was some other messy stuff in there involving a guy named Aaron, who sucked, and who now lives in Brooklyn (i think part II), but who needs to dredge terrible memories such as that.

I just like having 3-8 degrees separation or whatever, and gloating a little about it.

Also, returning from my 10:00 (!!!) vball game*, I listened to "Demure" for the first time in a long time. Who schedules games for 10:00 at night? WHY do I have another 10 pm game tonight? WHY am I going to kick so much ass at my NCAA pool, and yet I can barely summon my online trash-talking skills?

Also also/In other news, a family baby named Oliver made his debut last night. Oliver! All babies should be named Oliver, I think (part III).


* I set for a 5-1-style game last night, for those of you not skilled in the finer points, means I ran my ass ragged against a team made of old people. I have not set before, for serious, and so this is difficult for a space cadet like me to pull off successfully. Also, volleyball is weird in that old people are often good, much like softball. So I was setting and blocking against powerful old guys with gray crew cuts, sporting their volunteer fire-fighting gear, and it was fucking intense. These guys mean the business, oh yes. However, you'll be happy to know I blocked one dudes outside hit so hard in went right back into his moustache, and maybe it won't grow right for weeks.

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

do the ostrich/namedropping for nerds

1. I was at that show when that live recording was made. Prior to playing, NP had invited the D and I to a party on Euclid & 13th, the invitation written on the back of a Bookslut postcard or something like that. It still lives to this very day, crammed in a Case Logic under my drivers seat, sandwiched between Belly and Lloyd Cole and the Commotions.

Also, that was the show where Ben Brown, who I recognized from reading Uber, tried to get a local friend of his, a chubby guy from Maryland Institute of Art, to flirt with me. I remmeber pointing out that I was engaged* at that point, if not already married (I can't remember), and that dude was a total failure at flirting anyways.

Yay, Austin.


2. Other, from fittedsweats blog:

The Hook: During your time at UVA, you used to play around these parts under the name Ectoslavia. Who were your favorite local musicians back then?

David Berman: Even back in the '80s Charlottesville was the carrier of a jazz-rock pathogen that killed entire rock scenes in the cradle and prevented post-adolescent expression of any kind in local venues. Noodling prevailed on every stage. Strangely enough, it was all forced on the town by selfish fusion guys and King Crimson fans who had been too hippy for the urban markets. With no invitation that I could see from the young people who needed rock at the time, [those fusion guys] turned C'ville into an expert's paradise, where decade-long explorations into fretting technique, into false frontiers, yielded zero-- nothing important to add to what we already knew about the Barney Miller theme, yet rendered the whole area, nay era, unfit for rock and roll or sexual pleasure.








(* speaking of which, today is the Ides, a very appropriate day to ask someone to marry you. Several years ago today, after being pulled over for speeding, some guy asked me to marry him. I still can't really figure out what was in it for him, but thanks dude. I liked being asked.)

little big man

Now, usn's here in internetland, we all know how much i look forward to the release of SOAP.

Enter Little Man.

At first I thought the N. was fibbing, just making stuff up has he rambled along, and while I was distracted by picking up dog poo. The one-way conversation, verbatim:

"So, did you hear that Tracy Morgan and a Wayans brother, I can't remember which one but I think it's the one that smoked all the pot in the scary movie? Okay, so they are making a movie, and it's about Tracy Morgan being a bank robber. And his partner is a little person, but.... wait for it, this is where it starts to get good...it's really just like, either a child or a midget or something with the WAYAN'S HEAD superimposed on their body. And they mess up a robbery (unintelligible unintelligible) DIAMOND, and to get the diamond back the Wayans has to pose as a BABY, and he gets adopted by the couple who has the diamond that him and Tracy Morgan are trying to steal. So there's obviously shots of the Wayan's head in a baby carriage. Oh, and I think there's several jokes about diapers being changed and maybe the fake-baby-little- person-CGI-Wayan's sexually satisfying his new mother. Maybe breastfeeding, although that doesn't make any sense. I don't know. Anyways, most ill-conceived movie of all time."


It's kind of like "White Chicks," only somehow worse. I'm still waiting for the day a Brian Fellows movie comes out. Until then, I don't want to hear a peep out of you, Tracy Morgan.

(UPDATE: Official site!!!!)


(Unrelated/additionally: what do you think a spam message with the subject HUMAN TEXTILE is trying to sell? Because, um, hold me. I'm frightened.)

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

termitic

things going down:

- sam roberts album from oh-three

- this, over and over again.

- MC Love

- via lindsayism: Stuffed Se7en.

- we've finally caved and hired a dogwalker. she leaves a journal by the front door, detailing BD's urine habits.

- have you ever been to Home Depot at 9 PM, with two people with unmedicated adult ADD? Yr so lucky. We went to get keys copied, that's all. This took several minutes more than should be required for such a simple task- three or four wandering away episodes, several times dropping keys in the dark parking lot, one throwing of a key at the other individual's face, only to have the key slide under a magazine display rack full of "cottage living" and "how to tile your home in under 8 days." Sigh.

- after the house has been decontaminated, project Short Hair will resume. I'm going to look beautiful, like Tenille or something.

Monday, March 13, 2006

cleverland

Movies watched over the weekend:

-chumscrubber (had so much potential, and failed)
-lolita (pretty awesome. j. irons version)
-wallace and gromit (it had rabbits, so i liked it.)
-elizabethtown (SUCKED)

TV watched over the weekend:

-the half-ton man (stupid)
-what not to wear, 75 times (stupid)
-some sort of PBS special on mayan food (kind of stupid)

I am very, very hard to please.

After an urgent care facility visit at 9 pm Thursday (sweet), I was diagnosed with some sort of asskicking strep Beta ("we're not really sure if the amoxicillan will knock this out, but fill this prescription and take it anyways") PLUS a viral throat infection of some sort. Yesterday was the first day since last Wednesday I haven't had a fever, and although my throat is still several different colors, I'm at work today because I am bored out of my skullbone. You know what's really, really fun? Lying in bed all weekend when it's 70 degrees outside, listening to KIDS PLAYING. I didn't even think we HAD kids in our neighborhood. It was like chicken pox '83 all over again. ass. ass ass ass. bright side: i have been living on popsicles, and so I'm looking pretty cute.

I know there are people out there with real problems and real illnesses that last a lot longer than some whiny-ass crybaby's throat problems, so I'll stop here.

In other news, I realized something: I might be in love with Ice T. You know the MTV "cribs" where they go to his house? That might be my favorite television episode ver, only because of the part where he goes out to the balcony and scream "I'M A RAPPER. KISS MY ASS."


i have nothing else to give you. that, in it's entirety, was my weekend.

Friday, March 10, 2006

hidy ho

Admit it. You think it's funny, too.

other updates: still sick! on the first 70 degree day of the year! Nothing I like better than a hateful God, what with only TLC and soaps on all day. Seriously, how do people stand it.

let the poison spill from your throat

When I was 5 or 6, my mother worked evening hours at a pediatric ear, nose and throat doctor. Because of this part-time job, we got exams w/no insurance copay from the doctor, a gentlemen who was a dead ringer for Doc Brown.

No copay is key, because my parents were flat broke.

I had a thing with ear infections, and I'm pretty down with the strep, too. My brother, however, is truly the strep throat king. We should have had our tonsils out years ago, but my parents were poor hippies who dug free medical care and the lifetime supply of stolen Dimetapp.

I am old, and I get strep ALL THE FREAKING TIME. I cannot explain it. The Nabob, who is never ill ever ever ever, has no concept of feverish twirling and throat glands the size of tangerines.

I once got strep throat in the middle of the Idaho desert, when I had no insurance. I paid off collections claims from the rural hospital for at least a year. I had strep when my best friend had her second child, and so I waved through her hospital room window like a leper. I had strep throat at the 4th grade spelling bee (and still came in SECOND, bitches.)

Anyways, I have strep. AGAIN. With the floor, the car, and the throat; that should sum up my "bads-come-in-threes" for the week, so I'm actually feeling much better. Three day weekend!

Thursday, March 09, 2006

Kids Don't Follow

Damn. The radiator’s busted, the floor’s rotted and GP’s shit got stolen. What happened? At least we have out health.

Or least I do. The G’s just a sweaty, feverish, covers-stealing turbine.

Let’s get back to what makes this site so damn average.

-------------

See that dead horse over there? Here’s a blackjack. Let’s go beat it.

Where: office. When: this morning.

50 year old female acquaintance: You’re young. What’s that jeans commercial where the girl dances and there is junk in the trunk?
Nabob: Jesus. I think it’s actually a phone commercial. The song is called “My Humps.” It’s horrible.
Biddy: Whatever it’s for, I can’t get it out of my head. I’m having my kitchen redone so it’s all dusty and a mess. I’ve asked the dog several times “What are we going to do with all this junk in our trunk?”
N: That’s awful.
Biddy: It’s not that bad. It’s better than that “Pimp” song I kept singing on Monday from the Oscars.
N: Not really, no. It’s awful.

(After showing her the lyrics)

Biddy: Oh, those are bad. Do they play that on the radio?
N: You bet. And I’m sure a Texas cheerleading squad is working it into their routine as we speak.

---------------

You know you’ve gone too far when Hal Sparks turns his back on you.

Yeeeaah! VH1 loves something new this week! Toys! I like toys too! But Frisbee is only #45? That’s rubbish. Top 3 at least. Nothing else on the list has either given me a broken nose, knocked out two teeth or given me a concussion. Only Frisbee can claim that. It’s not a “fun” toy unless someone gets triaged. And where’s the Nerf crotch bat?

And speaking of toys.



Beth Littleford, that's some super-plunging neckline you got going on. I’ve got no problem letting the world know that you are a very attractive and hilarious woman. Cause you are. But you just had a kid 7 months ago, right? Showing the ladies off in all their utilitarian glory makes me a tad uncomfortable. The line between sexy and mommy is blurry and I'm a small, puerile man. Leave me be.

--------------

Beating the G. to the Hold Steady punch – You can almost hear the Craig Finn in the intro. Oh, that is Craig Finn. Just like Soul Asylum and the Replacements, those MN cats have gotta stick together.

i have arrived too late to play the bleeding heart show

i'm currently suffering the kind of ill I contract most springtimes: where your skin is tingly, your back hurts, and although you-yourself are freezing, your ears are burning. I went to bed at 6 pm last night, and that's exactly where you will find me again tonight. Old Gal Grumpus; that's me, sick and moany, watching 800 episodes of "Miami Ink" because the remote is buried under sweaty piles of down comforter, crying into my pillow.

Also, the sedan's radiator cost an ASSLOAD and a BUTTCHEEK, our kitchen foor has been devoured by termites (confirmed this morning by repairmen, who were an hour late), and like: 17 work projects came to a head today, all things I thought wouldn't be issues until nxt week. AND. AND AND AND AND AND AND. Dreamweaver can suck it.

Okay, I'm done. I promise to only resume blogging when I have funny things to say, or can remember song lyrics again. At least I am still me, although, note to self: take SS card out of backpack.

Here. Go read this. I think about disabling comments all the time. Like I said, OLD LADY GRUMPUS. *




(* i minorly enjoy how ina garten's pic comes up.)

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

try again at the music shack

Update: BWA HA.



i heard hawthorne heights 7 times this morning on XM. i thought we already had a fall out boy, mugs, no need to duplicate.

This entry will appeal to exactly 0% of you

Ladies and gentleman, this is your basic trap play.


You need at least a 7 on your Wonderlich test to understand this. In other words, it's too complicated for Vince Young.


For those unfamiliar with football schematics or EA Sports, the trap is one of the least complicated but surprisingly effective blocking maneuvers. As you can see, all of the offensive players engage in the same direction, minus one pulling guard who blocks a lone defensive player in the opposite tack. If realized correctly, the scheme should open a lane for the ball carrier that wouldn't face an unblocked opponent until he reaches the secondary. The trap play is especially effective against an undisciplined or overly aggressive lineman who'd likely have advance too far into the backfield.

(It was a trap play similar to the one above that ended my football career in college.* While locked up with an offensive lineman, my cleat caught on the Astro-turf and all 500lbs of us rolled over my ankle. The bone's snap was audible on the video shot from the press box of the stadium. )

The trap is the base play for many a high school's running offense. In fact, it was so successful for my team that in a game against our rivals (Tom) we probably called it for 70% of our plays. On one drive we ran it five times in a row, constantly trapping the same dumb defensive guard too far up-field, capping it with a 3 yard touchdown dive right at him. He couldn’t seem to figure out that if he wasn’t immediately engaged off the snap, then a trap was coming his way. He yelped a surprised curse every time I came across his shoulder and drove him off the ball.

I would have felt a bad for this kid if he hadn’t been such an ass in a previous life. Legend has it we first met at a pre-school party, where he was a 4 year old ass, and we followed cross-town parallel educational paths through high school. We played opposite each other on offense and defense all four years and I always looked forward to blowing by his slow first step. We had a silent rivalry that never extended beyond the field and knowing glances at the Cowboy CafĂ© on Tuesdays. He was an all purpose ass and he plain stunk at football.

Which is why I was surprised that he is now the head coach at my HS’s other rival. A head coach in his mid-twenties? Outrageous. Perhaps he’s turned it around. Maybe he hunkered down with his Sega Genesis Bill Walsh and figured out what "Student Body Right" means. Or rented The Program and is having his freshmen lay down in the middle of 66 to toughen ‘em up.

Nope.

1-23 in the first two seasons.

So for all you Warriors out there, study the play above because your coach probably doesn’t understand how it works. 2 and 10 next year is a reasonable expectation.

*My flag football career almost ended this weekend. I hit my head so hard during a tackle that I couldn’t remember where my car was parked after the game and most of the landmarks during the drive home were unrecognizable. But a good nap cleared all that up. Break.

public enemy lyrics goes *here*

Hi world. I have nothing to say.

I am wearing gray pants today.

About an hour ago, I talked on the phone to an old HS classmate who still reminds me of Reese Withersplah in the movie "Election," to this very day.

I am getting my haircut soon, in an ongoing effort to channel Domino Harvey/Watts/Tenille/Sienna "Leggins" Miller/ '77-era Tina Weymouth. I am kind of like Samson, so soon, my blog-powers? Poof, gone.

My car exploded on Constitution Aves at 6:15 PM last night. If you saw billowing white smoke, well: you should have waved. I now own a brand-new radiator.

Tuesday, March 07, 2006

Pr0n; shiny and new

Right here is where I'd talk about New Pornographers and B&S last night, but everything I was going to type has already but outlined here. So, I'll save myself the trouble, as only the laziest blogger should and would. I thought they did as best they probably could, what with sore throats and bleeding hands and Neko-less-ness; and their banter wasn't tooooooo annoying (I hate banter), but it wasn't exactly - stellar. I think Carl would admit they were not at their best. It was a valiant effort at "Bleeding Heart Show," btw. Valiant, but I think they lost.

Nothing to repor ton B&S.

Okay, that's all I really have to say. Oh, excet for the fact that I stood next to a girl who looked EXACTLY like Sarah Chalke from "Scrubs" (she was wearing a suede jacket with fringe, also) and I think I passed Matthew Yglesias near the merch booth. I recognized his sweater.


EDIT: Oh, wait, I'm not done. Newman also made some sort of crack about All American Rejects and Hawthorne Heights and etc. I can't remember exactly what. Want to know more about Hawthorne Heights? (I didn't know who they were until this week.) Read all about them through their most awesome label-to-street team messages. The kids these days, they is the CLASS.

Monday, March 06, 2006

showing yr face all over town

Here be what I've been reading this morning, while waiting on a giant influx of work-related email to come storm my inbox. Why is it you are always not busy right as you know you should be getting busy? I will be complaining of being swamped by sometime Wednesday, I guar-un-tee. Workers of the world, unite and explain.

1. this.

2. this and this and this.

No reason for number 1. Number 2 isn't explained any more easily; actually, it's v. totes complicated. Someone last night exclaimed we look alike (which is maybe their nice way of saying I look like a dude? Maybe.) I had a mouth full of eclair, so I was quiet for a half-second, and then rambled into a series of explanations as to why we're not really BLOOD, so if we do than it's coincidental, and then having to think about it and backtrack some more and realize that well - hells, knowing a certain town, we probs ARE bloodkins and whatnot. And how my gpa should have left his gma years before it came to all this. Probably. Anyways. Good job beating Duke, babyface.

Between this and the N's Midwest dirt-track bloodlines, my offspring are bound to have some sort of shoe deal. Them brats can spring for LEISURE WORLD, even.*



(secret: i really kind of want to live at Leisure World someday.)

type nerd, heavy

on ESPN

Corrosion: of conformity, of my kitchen floor

Hello bloggernets.

1. The Great Kitchen Re-Kinda-Modeling Project has hit Skid #1, with a rotten subfloor. After a few puzzled looks as to what the landlord’s number was, we realized time #1,456 in the past several years we have no bleepity landlord.

This is where an image will go sometime soon. It is a picture of a gaping hole in front of my sink, stuffed with old tile and then laid over with a carpet sample so we don't step on nails and need tetanus shots. I hate the current vinyl tile, in all it's fake-maple-parquet glory, but I love something about it, too. It’s 70s-housewife-easy-maintenance-awesomeness, the kind of kitchen floor you saw in Mop-n-Glo ads around the time of your 5th birthday, where the mom wore polyester slacks as she happily cleaned. The tiles are gapping now because the floor underneath it is ROTTING. I may have mentioned that. The gaps get coffee grounds embedded in them, and dirt that falls from dog paws. Grody. Anyways, we need a new floor. We are doing kitchen renovations bottom-up.

2. I still am unclear as to why you don't own the last HIOQI issue yet- I have had it for many weeks, and I know I have read it cover to cover, but each time I pick it up, I find something new. Xmas year rounds. For example, last night I learned that at Tejas Chaos at Emos/Austin; some random band member was wearing a teeshirt that read "D-LIST WIGGER."

3. There are very few people in the universe that look good in that shade of chiffon sunshine, Ms. Michelle Williams Ledger Whatever. Well played.

4. I was cold Friday night, and so I wore seven layers of clothes that all got stinky in mere seconds (Galaxy, you are the stinkiest.) We went to meet Fun Group #1, who split cheese fries with us, and as a bonus ran into Fun Group #2 - massively entertaining people we haven't seen in a long time. Conversations revolved around evolutionary mathematics ("he can prove god doesn't exist. no, really. he's got a THEROM") and certain people's doobie-and-bass-laced Canadian college past. Additionally, I learned more about the band Tathos ("LIVE to DIE.") If anyone has a Tathos recording (DC/late 90s/there's probably only a few floating around), please hit up.

5. What happens to implants when you die? Not to be too-too graphic, but it came up after discussing my grandmother (think Cher in "Mermaids"), who passed away many years ago, but I really want to know. I'll get into this more later.

6. NEW PRON & BS tonight. If you saw them last night, hush up. I want a surprise. "I saw them in Seattle after filming a military exercise in the Yakama desert. It's the kind of show where you really want to know every lyric so you can sing along. Sadly, I didn't then, but I've been studying up for Sunday night."

Friday, March 03, 2006

carry on, wayward son

Having blood drained out of you by a paramedic, while you are sitting at your desk, discussing sea kayaking with said paramedic: kind of awesome.

Walking through the halls of a law office holding a urine sample: pretty awesome.

Summer camp-style lanyards: transcending even the most basic of awesome.


Anyways, hi. You'll all be happy to know I am HIV-free, and insurable! Happy Lent.

Thursday, March 02, 2006

conditional receipt

Mission of Burma have just been confirmed as support for Broken Social Scene's show on May 22nd at KOKO in Camden, London. Not that this means anything, unless you are in London and near KOKO.

I learned this little tidbit on Myspace, (? ? ?) while researching the girl I threatened to beat up in front of S's locker in 11th grade. She seems to be doing well, and has named her children things that will get earn them many repeat clients at a gentlemen's club of the future.

Okay, my eyes are bleeding, so I'm turning the computer off now. Computers make you a bad person.

Without an old-man cane, I fall and hit the ground

I made a return trip to TC Williams to check out the fire damage and came across this sign at the front of the construction entrance.


Pantalones Largos. Awesome.

Nothing really out of the ordinary. Here's a short little guy enlightening the common rambler of the dangers of wearing a cutoff T-shirt into the construction area. All above the board, I'm sure. What caught my attention, though, was the fact that the drawing is a dead ringer for a kid I went to school with. The guy wasn't popular or unpopular, just quiet and nebbish, often seen standing on the social sidelines, carrying himself in a manner very similar to the guy on the sign. And he liked to draw. A lot. Especially in the margins of homework. And in other stereotypically nerdy places to draw. I think I remember hearing he went off to graphic design in college.

I wondered out loud (to the dog) if this kid got a job working for some art firm designing safety posters and was in the practice of drawing himself into his work. Hmmm, interesting theory. But the dog told me it was “crazy talk” and he is right about a great many things.

But I then I recalled another safety sign I had seen at a construction site in between the D’s and the GP’s place downtown. At the time, I was enough of a dipsomaniac (new fave word) to think it was HI-larious and took a picture.



NERDS!

This icon is clearly of a nerd wearing safety goggles. Hell, those could be his regular big old nerd glasses and they just look like safety goggles when reduced to pictographic simplicity. And look at that haircut. Nerd, nerd, nerd.

It’s obvious to me that all those kids who spent their lunch breaks in the art room have found employment in the construction safety sign industry. I can see them now, sitting at their drafting benches, listening to Pinkerton on their Ipods and drawing Rivers Cuomo into their work. Nerds, I applaud you. Finally getting your sweet revenge against us Pat McGee idiots.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

bombing atomically v. 2.0

I am attempting an undercover research thing, kind of like Jane Goodall and her monkeys except in my case I might be willing to dress like the monkey, too.

I need your help. Specifically, if you are between the ages of 21 and 30, and know a lot of people from, like, your college that now live in DC and intern on the Hill, or coworkers that shop at Burberry, or whatever. I will explain more if you think you might know these people, and maybe can hook me up with a friend of a friend of a friend who is down with letting me infiltrate a social group here in the nation's capital. Just for a night. You can tell them I'm a reporter, or it's for a sociology paper for school. I know, I'm being v. cryptic, and it's annoying.

Leave a message at the beep.

i bomb atomically

- I've watched the "Touch the Sky" video trailer probably 6 times already this morning. That means I've watched the "Touch the Sky" video 2x more than the Hold Steady video I posted yesterday. The Pamela, her giant hair, glinty sunglasses and nurse-in-hotpants-stee: I proclaim intoxicating. That being said, the girl in yellow? I love her.

- HEY. What do you do when you have a tick in yr upper leg? Like when you get a tick in your eyelid, except not in your eyelid, and your ENTIRE QUAD is jumping for no reason. Seriously, I have not been doing anything even vaguely resembling athletics, there is no reason for muscles to be flipping on me for no reason.

- Apparently the closest The Books are getting is Cville.

- Other shit: It's becoming disheartingly clear that summer is not soon. My skin will be see-through for six more weeks/whatever P. Phil claims + a few for good measure. My hair is dull and dry and dark. My only hopes for a nice brown skin tinge are through chemicals or fake light that bring hrd spots and eye wrinkles, I am not down with that; or maybe by accidentally smearing this * all over my mug (word on the street/from K.: it's sticky, and smells funny, and is ORANGE. GLOW-orange.) Come soon, summer. I miss you. eating popsicles while wearing wool socks is not right. I am tired of being an eskimo.

- Via Sommer via someone else: only the best thing ever.

- For all those interested, the porn hits for PIAB are still going strong. Hello, my brothers and sisters, on your never-ending quest for cock. Yr welcomed here, without judgement, arms wide open.

Speaking of arms wide open. SCOTT STAPP REVIEWS FROM LAST NIGHT AREN'T UP YET! It's 10:00, people. We demand reviews.




* SQUEEE-EWWW!!! Spousal turn-on via baked goods! I've tried several other facial moisturizers, and I keep coming back to this one. It's the only one that softens and moistens my face, without causing acne. And the smell -- it's just like carrot cake. I have to be careful when I use this when my husband's home.