Friday, March 30, 2007

we grow em good lookin in meth city usa

Hey Cuz.

We're sorry. But things could be worse - at least your kept yr shirt on.


and with that, nielsen formally abandons us

what's worse:

constantly thinking that every single minor character in any given cop/crime drama on TV is played by That One Guy from "Wings", or being correct about it being That One Guy from "Wings"?

chocolate city in spring

- spending this fair morning searching for bloody mary recipes. the less brunch-y, the better. Think: the type of beverage appropriate to inappropriate people; early mornings in lawn chairs; "bad language." please leave yr best at the beep, the spicier the better. i like a kick.

- related, heading to richmond tonight, where my bro has promised "my roommates will take good care of you." I am fearful, kind of.

- my favorite email exchange in a while: "you do realize that that's the night of the full moon!!"

- allergy alert level red: i am seconds away from clawing my own eyeballs out.

Thursday, March 29, 2007

once more with hip-hopera

screw you hipsters and your BtVS singalongs. I know EXACTLY what we'll be doing at our house the next time we throw a party, which now that I think about it hasn't really happened in like 3 years because we hate cleaning the bathrooms but OH HELL YES.


Also, Mariska Hargitay's hotness will skew their findings, at least in our house

Just like the TL, the Pyggy’s have recently been harassed by a robotic phone harpy who relays that while we are in no sort of trouble it would be advised to call back or our fingers may be chopped off with a cigar cutter like in Darkman. Fortunately for our digits, the message is for someone who I think is named Pham Houng and if Benny were to show up he would hopefully realize he has the wrong group of deadbeats.

In a similar – and equally violent – vein, in the past few days our household has been seriously jocked by the Nielsen Media Research group. It seems we are a perfect enough TV watching family that they deemed it necessary to twice send someone to our house to woo us.

Here’s my understanding of it: our house is at the most south-western corner of our neighborhood and solely based on that fact we are somehow eligible to represent every other building on the block. Our race, sex, bacon eating habits*, would characterize everyone else’s race, sex, bacon eating habits in a 30 household area. We would be TV Family Alpha for all you chumps. If we watched Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader: Making the Team last week, then everyone watched it. If that one guy down the street who works for the government as a librarian and is also married to another librarian decides to watch PBS Presents: High Brow Programming, well then, that’s to bad American because I was watching Hollow Man 2 on Sci-Fi last night. Veronica Mars, Friday Night Lights, Rome? All those shows can go to hell. We are not watching them and therefore no one is watching them. Ha HA!

Other bonuses? First, they’d send us hard dollars. Or “periodic thank you checks” as their pamphlet indicated. Also, if our TV or VCR were to malfunction during our participation with the Media Research they would happily foot half the bill. Half the bill! That’s literally dozens of dollars!


Unfortunately, there is a short list of disqualifiers that Nielsen keeps hidden from the public and at the end of the day it was determined we are not eligible to participate. They didn’t tell us exactly what went wrong but I’m guessing it has something to do with the fact the Dick Wolf is my dad.

*as far as I know, I am the only person in our neighborhood that uses a smoker to make his own bacon.


sure, sure, Grindhouse talk. what the N really wants to know is: where's teh buzz for The Tripper? The mere existence of this movie is one of very few conversational topics in our house lately, coming in close second only to why neither of us sleep anymore.

Insomnia is killng me.

Wednesday, March 28, 2007

"gilmore girls is on, so suck it"

(DoS epsiode #6 is up now. Lots of cursing so naturally, I'm a fucking fan.)

Kind of related, I'm trying not to cuss so much. Spring resolution.

"also, there’s zombies getting killed by a helicopter"

Forget photoshopping my face onto Jordan's bod. I am now taking all submissions where I am photoshopped with a machine-gun leg. Get cracking, webz.

Tuesday, March 27, 2007


dear sweet christ.

bless the beasts & the children

Oh yeah - S. and I attended this years' Toddler Dance Recital on Saturday, starring a friend's 5 and 3 year old girls. 3 year old has now reached the mark on the "you must be this tall to pirouette" sign, so she was also participating in the animal-faerie-unicorn mindfuck, shenanigans you may recall from last year. Spouse of 2007 Award goes to me, for not forcing the N to join us.

I have nothing to report that isn't an exact repeat of Dance Report '06, except that five seconds after the loudspeaker announcement "no food or drink in the auditorium otherwise we'll get EVICTED and be forced to hold these recitals in the parking lot OMG!!!!1", S. threw an entire steaming cup of 7-11 coffee onto the floor.

Anyways. Oh my god kids, when did they get so freaking awesome? Is it just that this is a truly funny age to be around? Is my cold, black heart melting a little more with each passing year? WTF is going on here?

S. has this monster skill: an ability to simply shoot a child a look, half a second at most, and instantly transform said child into a raving lunatic. I don't really know how she does it. I think children and S. communicate on the same brain wavelengths or something. I walk into the kitchen to get a drink and everyone's calmly playing with toys, 30 seconds later I walk back in and the girls and their baby brother have hog-tied S. with Barbie clothes, she's laying on the floor shivering as they scream like banshees ("What time is it? IT's CRAZY TIME!!!!") and looks at me and whispers "Move slowly. They smell fear. It's like being in a room full of tiny pink velocoraptors."

A typical conversation from Sat. afternoon:

5 Year Old, holding pillow up to her ear: "RING RING. ANSWER YOUR PILLOW! It's ringing inside your head!"
Me: "Oh, sure, of course. How do I answer it again?"
5 Year Old: "By raising your EYEBROW!!!!!! (cue collapsing in fit of giggles until red-faced and sweaty)

It's like performance art, or that time with your college roommate during that LSD experience he had where all he wanted to do was read you his poetry while taking off all his clothes. Only, you know, if he had also been really, really short and missed naptime.

Monday, March 26, 2007

I opted for the orange juice and Oreo knock-offs afterwards

Through some under the table dealings and nefarious investments we enjoyed a fat refund check from the gubbyment last year. Not so much in 2007. We managed a couple bucks from donating to charity and then the $40 that everyone got because whenever we called our grandmother to thank her for the birthday card we ended up funding the Spanish-American War.

It was thus decided that 2007 will be the Year Of The Donation because we don’t like paying any taxes and donating seems to throw up some kind of smoke screen. So while the G was goofing off on Saturday, I started giving. It took about five hours longer than it should have and it cost a little bit of sweat and some serious amounts of blood. Thoughts:
  • Donating clothes to Goodwill on Saturdays = chaos.
  • Only nice, elderly women or incredibly weird people work in the Arlington Library system.
  • Traveling to Iraq does not disqualify you from donating blood. The same goes for Jordan, Estonia, or Thailand. Also, eating a hamburger during a layover in London is the most dangerous thing I’ve done in the last ten years. And that includes handling civets in China.
  • I do not know my blood type. The G thinks that this is disgraceful and on par with not knowing my SSN or skirt size. I say, whatever, I’ll just avoid getting whooped on by the cops during the next World Bank protest or standing in Freedom Plaza when Charles Ramsey is around. She has AB negative and thinks she’s God’s gift to the American Red Crescent because she’s a universal recipient. It also means that only other AB negatives can take her blood, which is about .000001% of the population. So when she donates her useless blood they usually just throw it away or do tests on it or feed it to mutated vampires, if Blade II is any sort of indicator.
  • When giving blood in today’s modern library conference room donation setting, you now have an option of dealing with a distinctly non-Katherine Heigl-looking intern or a strangely Ellen Pompeo-looking robot. The robot will draw the blood automatically, take only the needed red blood cells, and then pump back the liquids that are less desirable. It’s called Alyx and I assume was designed but someone who didn’t like the idea of not being permitted to smoke for one hour after donating. I did not venture anywhere near Alyx out of a severe mistrust of any sort machine that seems to be programmed solely to harvest humane blood. However, I believe that instead of a needle it uses an arrangement of quickly rotating and jabbing bicycle gears.
  • We should all agree the Christian Bale is pretty much the sexiest man alive in all creation and do away with any of People magazine’s attempts to argue otherwise.

project assway

Exiting the Walgreens, a young lady with a hair-down skaterbangs mohawk walked past me and smiled a huge giddy smile. She was wearing a super tight skirt with the tops of her stockings peaking out from underneath, her shirt read "I FUCKED YOUR BOYFRIEND" in old english lettering. She flounced like she'd taken walking lessons from Mr. Jay from Top Model. And I swear to gosh, it was the most disturbing thing I saw all day. Watching her tug down her skirt every couple steps, I felt like her mom. Then I just wanted to like, throw a burka over her like a Spidey net, and take her home and lecture her about how even though high school rebellion is a must, there is pletny of time coming up--her college years--in which to give it all away and dress like the dorm slut, and even be the dorm slut if she wants. I prayed that she is just in some Distillers style hardcore band and on her way to go play a show somewhere.

Cleaning yr closet when the windows are open and birds are chirping cutely, instead of psychotically, and neighbors are out grilling flank steaks and my dog is napping in cycles, following the sunbeam cast through the screen door around the living room carpet, all cute and snoozy and hot-eared? Difficult to the extreme, dude, but it needed to be done. Not only did it need to be done, but my MOMMY had to ride into town in her shiny black luxury sedan to help me. Because I am completely inept at this sort of thing. Keeping decade-old sundresses that my thighs and I will never donn again? Brilliant plan! Every single item I own that was once black and is now gray? I might need it, don't touch that teeeshirt. Old navy capri pants? Why, no, I couldn't tell you why I own these but NO NO NO DON'T THROW THEM OUT NOOOOOOOOO.

Also, I own aprox. 7,500 wire hangers from the dry cleaners. I horde them like an old spinster.

One time in 10th grade I had some sort of concert or awards ceremony or something and my mother realized she had raised a daughter who DID NOT OWN A DRESS, only converse and cutoffs even in February, so I had to borrow something appropriate, and Casey whats-his-name took one look at me as I walked into the auditorium and said "Wow. you are dressed just like your mom."


Be prepared for more of that, only this time it's probably okay, or at least better than what I've been dreaming up fashion-wise on my own. After the Great Closet Purge of March 25th, I own like twenty articles of clothings total. and I kind of like it. New, monastic clothing experience. My mom just downed the last of her ginger ale, gathered up a bunch of bridesmaids dresses for prom season donation, and was all "Go shopping, I beg of you. I don't want to see you showing up at one more baby shower I throw looking homeless."

Friday, March 23, 2007

in the warriors code - there's no surrender

1. Songs I forgot how much I loved:

Goldcard - Rabbit
The Coral - Skeleton Key

2. Songs apparently I cannot buy on ITunes, even if there is still love:

Simian - La Breeze

3. I joined Facebook and am consequently terrified. oh interwob.

4. "Lil' Flip"

5. Some of my peer group have decided to run a 10k here in the next few weeks (not me). There will be posters. Oh yes, there will be posters.


omgz Columbus Ohio, you should be glad I didn't take a 2 AM road trip to BURN YOU DOWN last night.

seriously wtf.

Thursday, March 22, 2007

They get drunk off the berries

The Devil’s mockingbird has returned from wherever asshole birds spend the winter and is doing his best hollering outside our house again. He begins at least around 3am and continues past 7am, pausing only out of respect for the barking Jack Russell terrier who hates everybody and the yellow Hummer’s car alarm that goes off when the wind blows. But only at night. It also sounds as if he’s attempting to mimic the car alarm but he hasn’t managed to get all the down yet chords yet - fmaj7 is a tough when you don’t have hands.

Think I’m exaggerating? Good thing I carry my camera around with me when I walk the pooch and look in people’s windows at 6:30 in the morning. This is outside our bedroom, every night.

You could chalk all this up to springtime. And you could say I should be happy that there is at least some form of nature in our neighborhood. But we already have dogs and cats, squirrels and crows that rip into our garbage cans and steal our Flipz, skunks, foxes, and an opossum family. Loud mockingbirds are not appreciated. And if you want spring, how about the 200 robins that showed up last week and went nuts and guano-ed our cars.

Don’t believe that?

I’ve spot-shadowed at least 60 in this shot and that’s only a small part of the tree. Welcome to Alexandria, VA – Home to Weirdo Avian Phenomenon and one dillhole mockingbird.

jets to brazil

For those of you who missed Writing Club last night, a quick recap. For the next exercise, you can apparently take your pick between two exercises:

1. Radiohead fan fic, starring Catherine.
2. Or, erotica.

* * *

If it hasn't been previously mentioned, my brother is a lucky SOB. He is the kind of guy who regularly finds money on the street, always wins raffle contests, gets coffee for being the 100th customer of the week, etc. In school, if he had a big test coming up he wasn't prepared for, it was a given that the fire alarm would sound, or a tornado would magically appear from the skies. He basically has the most kickass karma of anyone I'v ever met save my spouse, and it is fucking obnoxious. Lifelong lottery winner. He's in the paper for something or another once a year: saving kittens from trees, walking down the street with a smile on his face, whatever: the camera loves him. Recently with the whole VCU-bball-thing, Superfan was interviewed by the evening news, captured on film for the local paper, and somehow, said same pic ended up on a v. famous sports website. Par for the course. My entire family has taken this opportunity to flood my inbox full of messages like "someday your 15 minutes will come- don't be jealous", "don't worry about being a local celebrity," and my favorite: "someday your real family will come for you and take you home and then you will be wealthy!"

You know what never stops being funny? Adoption jokes. From your parents. That they started making before you could walk.

* * *

My friend Eric is currently IM'ing from Rio all about how how he got held up in the bathroom at a soccer game last night by four rather wiry dudes with knives.

Completely unrelated to getting mugged by Brazilians: if you have been to the Cotswolds within the past few years, or done a similar backpacking/etc trip in the UK in recent times, please to email yrs truly.

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

strong enough for a man, made for a woman

Have you heard of The Secret? Me neither, and I am the last chump on earth to not know about this crap. It's apparently some sort of world-wide phenomenon, if by "world-wide phenomenon" one means "recently n heavily pimped by Harpo Industries." It's also the biggest Fun with a capital F to take over the Pyggy household since Luche Libre masks.

I finally read the whole thing at Costco last weekend, it's about the size and shape of one of those "100 Great Things About being a Grandma!" or "50 Sisters Talk About Friendship" mini-books you can buy at Hallmark for stocking stuffers for people you hate, and within 20 seconds both finished reading it cover-to-cover, and determined it was terrifically mistitled. I have a lot of alternate titles in mind, I'll leave them to the collective imagination of the Interhive.

Thus far, after some serious discussions on the topic, the N. has decided all he really wants is vintage AirPump Reeboks. The Secret has insisted he visualize himself in Pump Reeboks, so he goes around fake-inflating the tongues of his Adidas which is not annoying at all.

I have wished hardcore for dishes to be done, so far, with only some luck. Until the dog starts doing housework, I consider The Secret a failure. But I'm willing to keep trying.

Basically, everything in our lives has been handed over to the power of The Secret, while we've decided to watch Futurama episodes on repeat and eat Jello snack packs without spoons.

The Secret also let me know I don't have to diet, which is a relief, even though I wasn't planning on dieting anytime soon because dieting is for (food) quitters. I just need to expunge all thoughts of FEELING like I need to diet in the first place, and then all my 300 pounds of excess flab will simply fall off. It also suggested I post photos of myself at my ideal weight around the house. Related, the N has decided he wants me to have giant comicals breasts, just for the giggle factor, and has begun Project Secret Boobs: posting photos of me with my head photoshopped onto Jordan's body around the house. According to the Secret, if he believes hard enough, I will have triple E's, and this will make him laugh.

My favorite Secret: Hal Sparks girlfriend wished to find true love and the universe came back with an answer - Hal Sparks. (Also, if Hal Sparks gave her the book, that leads me to believe they were already in a relationship of some sort, so I'm totally confused on how this book helped this poor girl land... Hal Sparks.)

Also, tv show!

Thus ends my glorious non-review of The Secret. Go pick up a copy today.

* * *


- - - -

The G: Wanna hear the two most frightening words in the English language?

k: Go.

The G: "rhinestone accents."

- - - -

k: so...i caught a larry king interview w/ heather mills while i was at the gym last night... does every shot of her dancing HAVE to zoom in on her leg. it freaks me out. and yes, i do realize that this makes me a bad person. and then she started talking about a move next week that they're going to do...and the leg might just come off.

The G: oh good lord. who cares if her leg falls off?

k: why would you do this to yourself?

The G: i am so UNCONCERNED about this

k: it's like an SNL skit waiting to happen

The G: please read the first entry, it encapsulates my feelings exactly

k: it's like her PR people realized that the divorce is almost finalized and then after that...there was no way to keep her in the spotlight

The G: i seriously know nothing about her. and kind of dont care at all. im so tired of celebrities. My new thing is instead of even thinking about tmz or perez hilton? i'm just reading about weird deaths and true crime storys online. Way more interesting.

god. i am sick

k: ha. ew?

the messengers

Man, is there anything funnier than "out of office" messages on email? They can just be so... unexpected... sometimes. I'll be intertwined in v. important e-conversations about Edward 40-hands or weekend plans or gossiping about dumb bitches I hate or who owes what for that brick of cocaine we all agreed to split (kidding) and then whammo, someone leaves their computer and it's last train to PROFESSIONALISM CITY. This is exactly why, unlike many of my friends and family, my work email is strictly off-limits.

My brother has the best out of office message ever; I've just discovered: "Hello, This is Brother Last Name!"

Really? A hello and a formal introduction, followed by an exclamation point? I don't know why I'm finding this so funny, but I am cracking up. Possibly because the rest of the message also involved the word "medical."

okay, i'm done.

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

PS - I have recently learned an amazing thing about Wonder Woman. More to come.

Granted, I did ask her to send me an IM reminder…

The G: Buy stamps.
The G: Don’t forget to buy stamps.
The G: Do you go near the post office when you go out for lunch?
The G: Are you going to have time to buy stamps?
The G: You could get stamps when you get coffee.
The G: Did you buy stamps today?
The G: Have you bought stamps yet?
The G: What time does the post office close?
The G: What’s the one thing you have to do today?
The G: Did you get stamps, btw?
The G: Do you need a ride home?
The G: Don’t forget to buy stamps.
The G: Could you bring the stamps home?
The G: Don’t forget: STAMPS.

I wish they had these when we sent out our wedding invitations. But the G gives them a rating of “Ooohh Bruuuuther!”


I kind of can't wait for the rest of this blog.

Oh boy oh boy oh boy

The guy who is not homeless and harasses women and who I’ve seen eating at Vidalia and who someone else has seen on the Delta shuttle to New York but still begs for money finally has a place to stash his cell phone and lunch when he panhandles.*

Welcome to Washington, The Onion. Let’s hope that your newspapers don’t get covered with the cilantro dressing from the Well Dressed Burrito. He likes to eat there too.

*If he actually used a real “panhandle” in his begging, I’d give him the benefit of the doubt. But his current practice of showing off his new Nike’s to some people and then asking for money from others does not sway me.

morning commute

Actual honest-to-God conversation this morning:

The N: Do you ever worry our future children will turn out not how you expected?

The G: Sure, all the time. Like, what if future non-existent child is just a natural mean asshole? Or cultivates a serious drug problem? (Ed Note: Or likes the Scissor Sisters? Or is a Duke fan? I could go on and on here, actually.)

The N: I was thinking more of like "What if I have a son who is on the cover of a muscle magazine?" That would be hard to explain to my friends.

The G: Yeah, no. I can honestly say: I have never, ever thought of that.

Monday, March 19, 2007

Bong Hits for Governess

Turbo Tax: Do you want $3 of your federal tax to go to the Presidential Election Campaign Fund? Check: Yes/No.

Me: Do you care? I think we did last year.
Governess: Ooh. Can we give the money to the people we want?
Me: No. It just goes into a general fund.
Governess: Fuck that. I’m not giving money to a bunch of rich assholes.

Update: Why does Blogger now take out the double spaces between sentences? It jams everything together and with our unsophisticated writing style makes our posts more difficult to read. It's not like we're drawing Limbaughesque numbers and need more space for ads about left-wing t-shirts and Stephen F. Hayes new book.

"I've been yelling, "Win, Butler!" so loud and so often that my neighbors probably think I'm getting boned by the lead singer of the Arcade Fire."

It was a rough weekend- Saturday saw the fall of both MD and VCU, sending family members into a cataclysmic spiral of depression, AND we did our taxes. Which frankly sucked my will to live, I think the Pyggy's are getting back nothing more than 65 cents in all nickels this year.

All these problems seemed to fade rather quickly in the face of my drinking problem, I took care of it Sunday AM with 12 bloody marys, some champagne, and a headache to be named later.

At least I beat everyone bowling Friday night. And even more bright-side news, i am still whooping serious bracket ass and taking names. Keep your fingers crossed. Ohio State nearly had me in tears, I'm convinced the only reason they pulled that victory off is because I was standing up in an office chair, throwing things at the television & shrieking like a banshee as the dog howled. Standing up on wheeled-furniture? Ill-advised, but also v. good luck for those of you who picked asshole teams who don't deserve to win the whole thing because they can barely beat a 9 seed to go all the way anyways.

I just re-read that sentence. I'm sorry, universe.

Addendeum all this terribly boring and uninformative and poorly-written blog spew, the best line of the Internet award re: hoops has already been handed out. The rest of you can give up now. Well thunk, D'ver, well thunk indeed.

* * *

I go to Vegas kindof shortly and therefore will take a break from blogging for a week, which I think is for the best, given recent attempts.

Except for when I'm at Quarks everyday for lunch. In which case I'll probably live-blog.*

* stream of conscious nerding: this reminds me, I started The Watchmen last night, finally.

Friday, March 16, 2007

sooooo emooooo; also: green beer

it's official: crotch-ety yrs truly is barricading herself this weekend. The mere shuddering thought of $2 lukewarm lime-colored Bud and slew of highlited heads and boobs-n-beads (wtf) and ironi-sarcastic teeshirts and vomit and Carbon Leaf and whatever has officially sent me to the bunker with a slew of Joan of Arc Mp3s and a bottle of whiskey and maybe a cyanide capsule or five . Best of luck homeslices. See you after the FauxIrish apocolypse or whatever.

Our lapels will be so numerous, as to blot out the sun.

Is that Xerxes from 300 over Valerie’s right shoulder or just some other giant tranny? I’m watching the Plame “hearing” through a storefront window on Main Street so I can’t hear what’s going on.

coherent, polite, thoughtful.

suck it, Duke.

Thursday, March 15, 2007

BAM! The future of....

The 1998 House Resolution 2281 included a provision called the Vessel Hull Design Protection Act. It was intended to fill a loophole in copyright law after a court decision struck down some the legal wording regarding the rights of boat and water craft designers. The Act basically extends sui generis protection for the designs by stating there is little difference between the function of a boat’s hull and its shape. The new provision have greatly influenced the canoe blueprints I’ve drafted and plan to build as soon as I get a large enough backyard, several felled birch trees and a dozen deer pelts.

The VHDPA was part of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, for some reason, which also includes some gobbledygook about digital copyright and music and web radio. I don’t pretend to understand that in the same way I appreciate boat hull legislation. But according to the WSJ, it means WOXY is about to go off the air. Again.
"Regular broadcasters pay royalties to composers and songwriters. But a DMCA rule calls for Web radio stations to also pay a fee to performers. The government set the fee for small radio stations at 10% to 12% of revenue or 7% of expenses, whichever was higher. Combined with other costs of streaming music over the Internet, that meant the cost of running WOXY began exceeding its revenue."
Everyone gets paid. Yeah. No one gets to listen. Boo.

College Parked

If we called the G’s mom right now and told her that X were in the hospital, would she leave her HDTV and Maryland vs. Davidson game to come see if they were okay?

If X were:

Brown dog - no
Son–in-law - no
Pope - no, even if summoned directly
Darryl Strawberry – yes, but only so she could deliver a inspirational message to his son
Daughter – toss up
Husband - yes
Son (in Richmond) – definitely no
Lonny Baxter - no
Len Bias’s reanimated corpse – no, as he is no longer college eligible

ass-sassination, vacation

- It's the Ides of March and you know what that means: flowers for me. Lots of young blushing American brides-in-waiting get proposed to on Valentines Day or Christmas or, I dunno, on a boat on the Nile; the N. instead picked this day oh so many moons ago. Nothing says romance like assasination. Thanks for the lilies, dude (lilies: my favorite, and also the flower of death! YAY GOTH COUPLES.)

- Yesterday was beautiful, I made sure to go out and drink at least one beer before I started yawning because I am 74 years old and had a pinochle tournament to attend and I needed to wake up at 4:30 AM. Okay not true, but I am tired and old. Perry's is probably the strangest bar-thing in all of DC. I forget it exists a lot, mostly because Ad-Mo makes me want to eat brains and so I avoid it at most costs, but it does have a great porch and the douchebag contingent was pretty low last night. Although I'd love someone to explain to me when it became acceptable to break out the MTV "The Grind" attire in March. Actually, nevermind. Whatever. Let yr ass flag fly, twenty two year olds! I have just now decided since everyone else derides you, I am going to fully support your love of tanning beds and weird mini skirts partnered with scarves (to keep your neck warm?) Own it!

- I may or may not have sprained my big toe. It is swollen and rather bruised. I don't know how it happened. One more thing I am asking for an explanation regarding. (Man. That there? Best sentence I ever typed. It makes absolutely no sense at all whatsoever)

- Basketball starts today, the air is filled with the hope-n-glory of it all and I found myself in a weird conversation with an elevator full of lawyers this morning concerning Creighton, of all things. Hope yr brackets are filled out. Mine have already been edited at least 12 times. Lots of scratches and such, I always do a few hard copies first. If you need me, internet, you can find me somewhere with a television.*


1. My mom just called crying because her office has firewalled ESPNdotcom.
2. My bro is totally freaking out re: his Rams tonight.
3. LJG: "my bracket is awesome. I have like, the san francisco 49s winning against the St. louis cards, 4 -1. aaanyway."

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

i guess you were right

figurines have been in heavy itune rotation for me recently. new video for "back in the day" up at stereogum. alien eyeball porn? um, okay.

Magic Carpet Ride

You know what this is?

Technically, it’s a vacuum cleaner motor. But it’s also my ticket out of here and away from you jokers. All I need is a piece of plywood, some PVC, glue, a 3 mile extension cord and a subscription to Boy’s Life magazine. I may also need to lose 100lbs.

Among other things, the Boy Scout’s can be blamed for leading an entire generation to believe that a vacuum cleaner motor is the most powerful force in the world of mechanics.

Tom, you hear what I’m screaming, right?

days of our tragic lives

i walked into Rite Aid this morning to buy Advil. By the front entrance, a snarly older gentlemen in a satin baseball jacket, demanding the lone cashier working this early in the morning follow him down the aisle so he could point something out. I don't know what exactly it was, but it was obviously displeasuring him and he wanted Cashier Guy to fix it, yesterday. There was arm waving involved and I believe some sort of terribly insensitive Rosie-O'Donnell-esque comment on the Asian language and how "here in America everyone should speak English" directed at the cashier. And then more arm waving.

So I quickly get my travel sized-bottle of Advil. I get in the one functioning line. I am, maybe, standing 2 feet from the counter, behind the customer finishing up his transaction. The line forms behind me, including Bitter Arm-Waving Semi-Racist Satin-Baseball-Jacket-Sporting Crotchety Man, Who is Old and Therefore Might Be Senile So Maybe I Shouldn't Judge. I feel a tap on my shoulder. All capital letters used in this exchange are perfectly un-exaggerated, btw.

Crotchety Ol' Maniac: "Are you WAITING for someone to cut in front of you?"

Me: "...... Um....." (looks in front of me at the very 2 or 3 feet of space I have left between myself and the customer at the counter, so as to not be UP SAID CUSTOMERS ASSHOLE.) "Shall I move up a little for YOU?"

Crotchety Ol' Maniac: "I THINK that would be MOST APPROPRIATE."

And then he let out the biggest half-sigh/half-"geeeez" I've heard since being around 13 years old. There may have also been an eye roll.

Oh sir. Please. You cannot one-up a champion preteen sigher/eye-roller such as myself. Especially when you are in yr seventies.

Anyways, this story isn't really that good so The End.

But what does one do here? He's obviously crazy and lonely and mean and likes to start shit with total strangers? Do I take the bait? Tell him, quite sweetly, I do not respond to Weirdo Crotchety Ol' Maniac-style rudeness? I think I was just thrown because this wasn't yr run-of-the-mill downtown drugstore craziness, which I find at every single CVS I go to during working hours (talking to you, Farragut N. Holla) but my friendly neighborhood minivan strip mall Rite Aid, next to the bagel bakery where the yuppie work-at-home dads from Old Town take their kids for breakfast every morning. I mean, there were no curse words or punches thrown, so???

I didn't really have time to react beyond our initial exchange unfortunately, seeing as it was my turn to approach the counter (which I did VERY SLOWLY, just to be a passive-aggressive little piece of work) and bought pharms and I was out of there. He sighed his weird old-man sigh the entire. time. i was buying. the. Advil. CHRIST. I have been thinking about comebacks ever since. So far the only thing I can think of that would have really been awesome is just to look him in the eye and say "YOUR MOM."

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

i hate blogging i think

1. Things I could read today: a) more on Jean Baudrillard being dead or b) paris hilton's amazing knockers thanks to new Bra Technology.

I'm taking votes. cast now.

2. Personal For R. Avent: "MSN has my review of the new Arcade Fire up, though sadly they eliminated my favorite line, here in full: "'Keep the Car Running' aims to prove that the Hold Steady aren’t the only indie-rock band who can rip off Bruce Springsteen, by fashioning an inert Goth variant on John Cafferty and the Beaver Brown Band’s 'On the Dark Side.'”

3. The "Chixx with Pixx/We're in Ova Ah Heads/Etc." March Madness Bracketology has commenced. JOIN TODAY IF YR AN XX. I think Im changing my screen name to PokeyC.

4. Other: My printer at work is broken. It is 70 degrees out. My dad has apparently been spending his entire morning breaking up 10-year-old girl cat fights. The N won an HD radio from a radio contest. I received in the mail the most phenomenal wedding invite ever in the history of wedding invites, it involves pink rose cutouts and gold foil and thai or maybe cambodian (?) lettering and maybe, maybe advrtising and also this statement "Also joining us at banquet is live Philadelphia fun band!" I previously was not going to attend, I am now reconsidering.


Sunday, March 11, 2007

Cheesy Fiesta Potat-OWNED!

I was born a serpent-handler and, God willing, I will die a serpent handler. So I had to track down several Catholics to get the story of what you are and are not permitted to consume during Lent. The answers were varied:
  • no restrictions at all
  • no meat of Fridays
  • no meat ever
  • not sure, but did you know that the whole Catholic thing about fish on Fridays was cooked up the Pope to subsidize the Italian fishing industry.
In conclusion, the Catholics I know have no idea what happens between the day you get that ash on your face and Easter, except they have to give up cursing and maybe chocolate or at least lay off the sauce for 40 days. Fortunately, my papalist friends have Taco Bell to aid them in their spiritual crusades.

Joe Ratzinger loves Hisself some Caramel Apple Empanadas.

only spartan women can wear that outfit.

More on 300: Charlton Heston meets Legend/Lord of the Rings/fantasy-something meets soft-core meets hott pre-teen video game violence meets Ru Paul meets WWF meets CGI meets strong-man competition meets comedy gold. Meets some seriously effing sexy incredible bods. And lots of 'em.

I actually laughed out loud at more than one scene. (Decapitation is hilarious at least twice, maybe more.)

Friday, March 09, 2007

Posters? They're gone too.

Here are my options

1. Check my watch, again for the third tine in twenty minutes. Shift weight uncomfortable from foot to foot, place empty Miller Lite bottle on the ground and slyly kick it away from me, look around balcony for someone I know. Why is this show on a Wednesday night? And this new Sky Blue Sky stuff? It sounds like the Best of AM Gold cassette - no different than the Steely Dan junk my dad listened to in his yellow hatchback when we drove to his softball games. And the song before sounded like Bread or, at best, America. I thought battling through a pain killer addiction and depression would make you a better artist. Are his migraines so bad that they can’t slide the organ levels past the funeral home setting? Man, all that Being There capital is officially bankrupt.

2. Not see Wilco ever again.

The $80 I just saved will be spent on Bubble Tape and a pair of new sunglasses.

best of the internet: friday, march 9, 2007

so i spend some pretty heavy time just on random chat forums looking for gems like this. i wish they came around more often.

"the postal service is gay and so is death cab. it's like the indie version of boyz II men."


"Much butchery, some lechery."

"it fills a much-needed gap between gay porn and recruitment film."

echoing Becks: don't think we probably won't be the first or second in line.

Update, from SB: "The movie 300 is rated R for "RAAAAAR!" and is about as inspirational as Field of Dreams multiplied by Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, plus infinity." Awesome.

peach plum pear

stream of conscious roundup: last night a Galludet team almost kicked our asses, but we pulled out a win thanks to my terrible serving (natch) and my awesome netplay (which sounds dirty) (natch). it was the quietest and most difficult game of the season thus far. you know what's funny? made up words, like "frocktails". Also funny: google images. go to the DCist thing tonight, i will be there, drinking something delightful and looking at pretty photos and wondering whre my life-talent lies. tell you where it doesnt: serving the effing volleyball consistently. BD is recently scared of taking a poop. Its annoying when his own butt scares him at 11:00 at night when you are out walking around your neighborhood in yr husband's construction boots begging your dog to please take a shit OH MY GOD already so I can go inside and watch Futurama. I have a long winded gripe The Secret I should really think about posting. Remind me later. Yes, I did get Friday night tickets to the Plan. My brother emailed me today asking if I was off suicide watch yet. But I've been replaced by my mother, who after watching the game yesterday forwarded me an email that read only "yr high school could have beaten them last night. Miami is the new Clemson." ALSO, according to the morning news shows/HS relatedish, high school girls gets expelled for saying the word "vagina." how come nicole whatshername on my track team got away with yelling "coochie!" every afternoon as she rubbed her lycra-ed crotch, and probably much more studious folk get their asses kicked right out. bullshit yo.okay, great, happy friday.

Thursday, March 08, 2007

run, don't walk.

new Capitol File is out, which means I won't be emerging from my bunker for a few days, after I'm finished ingesting that nastiness whole. What's a 50+ point word for someone who delights in the disgusting?

Also not good for you: their new Red Bull glaze

Before my current gig as a teacher at Robert Strange McNamara's School for Well Groomed Boys I worked in PR and PR work stunk. Not the free stuff or the fashion shows or trips to London or all the models that worked in my office, that was all really great. More it was the oozy, slimeball feeling of leaving the office everyday knowing you are trying to manipulate dumb people into buying things they don't need. But that was in the past. Now I instruct young men how to part their hair in the fashion of this nations 23rd finest Secretary of Defense, Robert Strange McNamara.

I also pride myself on avoiding the manipulations of these hucksters, having walked so far in their mucus-filled shoes. That's why I was doubly sickened after quickly eating 3 Krispy Kreme donuts, having fallen for their manipulative, whole wheat schemes.

I thought I'd try the new whole wheat donuts that KK started selling last week and am now ruing it. The claim of merely 180 calories per donut does not cut back on the nauseating feeling one realizes after sudden consumption. I bought a half-dozen at the Dupont Circle branch - two regular, two whole wheat and two of the (I'm assuming) St. Patrick's green sprinkled and chocolate ones - and then bunkered down in the lab for some scientific experimentation.

Actually, technically, I never made it to the lab and was double fisting donuts on the walk back. Right hand bite: regular - left hand bite: irregular. Right hand: regular - left hand: irregular. Right hand: regular - left hand: irregular. Then I chased both with a green St Paddy's sprinkle bomb, for good measure.

Conclusion? The whole wheat donut needs to be viewed not as a lo-cal version of the original glazed but as a whole new donut - like a warm Crystal Pepsi. It tastes different, kinda caramel-y (New name: Carmelos?) but the glaze is the same so it goes down just as smooth. And your gums turn spongy and purplish and your teeth fall out just like they would normally.

The radio and TV reports said I just saved 20 calories. The stories I heard last weak claimed that an original glazed carries 200 to your hips and neck versus the new one with only 180. But according to the Kreme's own website, there's a little sleight of hand going on there. First off, the serving size of the new one is four grams smaller - 52 vs 48 - so it isn't an exact comparison. Secondly, while there is a 20 calorie difference between the two (you'd burn about that many making your bed or vacuuming a living room) they have the same amount of sugar, cholesterol, and saturated fat. The whole wheat does have less total fat (1 gram) but has more sodium.

So where did I stand after my trip and little taste test?

640 calories or a Starbuck's Venti Tazo Chai Frappuccino Blended Créme
33 grams of fat or Arby's Bac 'n' Cheddar Deluxe Sandwich
79 grams of carbs or one of KFC's "Famous" Bowls
44 grams of sugar or 4 straight up tablespoons of sugar

Rumor has it that I'm running a 10k (or the farthest I've ever run at one time, ever) at the end of the month. I went running later in the day to "train" and glaze came out my pores. However, I'm really aiming for this next year. Behold, from the founder:

If I had ever been in a frat I would have had to kill myself bc I would be a giant douche.

this week on free speech

gross, gross, gross.

Wednesday, March 07, 2007

vampires want darkness, monsters want souls, spiders want corners

One, do you ever misattribute certain songs to the incorrect periods in your life? Like: "Everybody's Stalking." Synapses fire and suddenly I'm aurally transported back to the computer lab in which I took and promptly dropped a vicious little class called "3-D Modeling," which was designed for assholes* who wanted to make video games for a living. WHY?????? That album wasn't even out yet.

Two, I've gotten several different answers, so I'm taking a poll - how do you hyphenate the word "communication?" "Communi-cation," right?

Three, laziness. Wanna read some awesome internet? Echoing CS: this, echoing Charles: this.

Four, behold, and all things are new and stuff. In several short days, my friend KS leaves to visit a convent of sorts. I am more than massively intrigued re: her decision after seeing "the life."

Five, the jury I was on? Sentencing handed down on the same day as Scooters only not nearly as newsworthy, I suppose. Gave (the now 15 year old) 15 years in prison.

* not all of you video game designers are assholes. Just this particular coven i escaped thanks to a short yet dramatic spurt of tears in the dept. heads office. I am not above crying.


(designers/illustrators: any opinions on lineform? worth buying? email pls.)

Tuesday, March 06, 2007

working class hero

daaaayyyy offffff. for no particular reason. the best kinds of days off. i'm already showered, on my second bowl of mini-wheats, watching some no-name blonde chick report on CAA on ESPN. love it. internet will resume.... eh, whenever.

(to ponder: can my bro be any more excited about his Rams? can my mother legally adopt Ibekwe? can Hburg basketball... be any worse? )

Monday, March 05, 2007

Game Day

Scene, parental homestead. Maryland vs. NC State:

The G: Oh, ha ha. I get it. I never really got it before now.

Mom: What?

The G: The "Mike Jones" thing. How the stands yell "Who!" every time an announcer says his name.

Mom: Oh, come on. You didn't get that? You know, 'cause of the Mike Jones album "Who Is Mike Jones?" That why they yell "Who!"

The G: . . . .

Dad: (rolling on the floor, tears in his eyes, cannot breathe from the laughter)

The G: . . . .

Mom: What? I know things. You think I'm not cool. But I know things.

The G: If you start reviewing "American Dream", I swear to God I'm leaving this house and never coming back, because I want my mother back and you, Madame, are not the woman who raised me.

* * *

In other bball news, check out cuz's facebone. Perp ejected from teh game! Don't worry, we're not blood (well, we don't think), it's a marriage thing only, so all that red spillage you see 'tis no Pyg DNA. Whew. I know you're comforted.

how we know

I never attended a single Lollapalooza. I don't really know why, other than it seemed like a lot of work for bands I nver cared a ton about, and maybe because it was always held in West Virginia or someplace and I wouldn't ever make it back in time for curfew and then it wasn't worth spending my young teen years locked in my room reading backcopies of Sassy and Seventeen and wondering what the cool kids were doing. It was just never something that sucked me in. My hs boyfriend called me from a Lollapalooza payphone in 92, i had paged him (oh god, pagers. I love the idea of bringing back pagers) and he was mad because the loves of his young life had just taken stage. I could hear John Frusciante, or maybe I just thought I could, over the payphone. It sounded like I was listening to the Peppers while being at the bottom of a well, or maybe while wearing two funnel cakes taped to my ears.

Thermals show on Friday night. We missed Statehood, and therefore my opportunity to hold up a sign asking for DPlan tickets. I've only managed to see Statehood once, but I think I am a Statehood fan. We saw the Big Sleep, all droney-uplit-hair-rock. I have seen them before, and I cannot remember for the life of me who they opened for the last time. The Wrens?

Then the Thermals appeared. Immediately apparent - no sound adjustment between TBS and Thermals? The BIg Sleep sound needs (ref. above) does not = The Thermals sound needs (bright, poppy, the Ponys meets ... I dunno, the Cardigans?)

I had just had a this conversation with S., about how people complain about the sound at the Black Cat. I've never really had a problem there. Sure, the ceiling is low, the acoustics are going to be different than in a bigger venue, but I've never found it terrible. The shows there have always been mostly fine to my totally unexperienced non-sound tech ears.

But listening to the Thermals on Friday was like listening to them over a payphone. Or maybe with funnel cakes taped to my ears. They should have rocked out, and (I think) they tried. Besides one lone group of bouncy half-moshers, and a solitary dude who looked like he took a wrong turn at the last Fighting Gravity campus tour stop, all I could see was a see of faces looking kind of bored. It's a shame, really.

* * *

Also rented Brick this weekend. I approve.

Friday, March 02, 2007

KC: "the new plan is to....dismember."

Dear major league assholes* everywhere and most especially ticketmaster** & who I was logged into on 2 different computers and ON HOLD ON THE PHONE WITH FOREVA too like a crazy multitasking office octopus:

I hate you, a LOT.


PS: and i'm seeing statehood tonight and i feel like bringing a sign or something that sez: I HATE YOU GUYS NO REALLY I LOVE YOU BUT I HATE YOU BUT I LOVE YOU but not. But maybe.

* can be changed to Awesomest People in the Entire World upon receipt of ticket.

** Ticketmaster dude: "um, yeahhhh..... it took 11 minutes to sell out" The N: "dude, its 5:09 NOW."

But thanks for being nice to babies, everyone. Unless you are an ass like this genius who should go straight to hell.

I even tried using those cardboard glasses with red lenses that let you read the blue words on the back of Honeycomb cereal boxes.

Anybody want to go see the Thermals tonight? Someone without a fake press pass? Or at least a real press pass from a fake press? We'll see you at the door because I can't buy tickets through Ticketmaster.

I understand that Ticketmaster is a business venture owned by larger a business venture and their goal is to make monies for their stockholders. And I understand that to do this they need markup their tickets 25%. It's die amerikanische Weise. Just like it's the American way to be too lazy to drive to the venue's box office.

What I don't understand is why they would make their verification codes unreadable to the degree that the public gives up.

I don't know what the right answers are to the 5 entries I attempted above. I just know I got them wrong and I didn’t try anymore.

I was a moron/before this war

it's friday and my workload is exploding for some reason. DUMB.

Also dumb: me. When I bought TVOTR tickets, I neglected to check my brain. I'll be in Vegas that entire week. So, my musical options for the week seem to be limited to this, this, or Celine Dion.

So far, the only serious option is seeing GT by myself.

Thursday, March 01, 2007

i know everybody here would love to get down

purposefully not mentioning a certain reunion show by name because then i jinx myself getting tickets, i think.

but it's out there, those of you who know care.

EDIT: It occurred to me I'm kind of even more of an asshole if I don't AT LEAST say "benefit show."

august 3rd, i guess

A short poem about an exciting new film release:

Trailer for The Ten/courtesy the N.


i am way better at personal finances than i am at blogging

Laziest blogger ever? Schmaybe.

* * *

The G: we still have to do our taxes. i cry every year when we do our taxes

K: really?

The G: that's how much i love talking about money

K: but you own a house

The G: I DONT CARE. MONEY MAKES ME EMOTIONAL I dont understand it. I dont want to understand it

K: hahah...but you can get a lot back

The G: I dont like forms

K: i have to pay

The G: The government scares me. Every year I think we are missing something and the big bad IRS will FIND OUT and audit us because I'm sure they dont have anyone else to bother but us. and they'll take us for all we have... which is.... like. the dog? and they can have the dog... he's worth negative-$150 dollars.If i could, I'd live a cash-lifestyle only and store all my money in the freezer. or an envelope under my mattress

K: hey conspiracy theorist

The G: totally. also, you are also talking to a girl who kept 2 checking accts in college. that way i'd never have to balance either one, i'd just write checks from one til it got low and then swtich to the other, and by the time I needed to switch back again they would have "balanced themselves." So, a really responsible conspiracy theorist at that. Also also, I AM A FINANCIAL WIZARD.

K: i mean...who balances check books anymore when you can check your balance online?

The G: but back then you couldnt. i'd just have to wait it out for a few weeks/months and by then i figured everything had cleared and my ATM balance was right

K: hahaha

The G: i am my mothers pride and joy

K: i remember my roommate freshman year sitting around balancing her check book everytime her statement came. she would get PISSED when she was even off by a penny.

The G: God. ill never be like that ever.. here's my theory re: money: Do I have some? Yes? Oh, not a lot? Well, that's okay, I can still afford a 7 dollar teeshirt and gum at Target. THU END.