Tuesday, July 31, 2007

And then she makes my dad call to make sure I was listening

I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feeling so I won’t mention names, but have you ever had one of those boringly long phone conversations where the purpose of the call is completely necessary but after 30 seconds your ears do the equivalent of your eyes glassing over and then about ten minutes in you realized that you’ve absent-mindedly stacked 40 kernels of corn like a tiny Stonehenge?

I can’t remember anything I agreed to on the phone but I can tell you the date of the autumn equinox.

Monday, July 30, 2007

I am trying to explain to S. what has happened in the "news" the last two weeks she's been in Mexico.

Please note: As of this morning, www.notmypants.com does not appear to be registered. I CLAIM IT.

HEY! You NEVER throw books!

It’s pretty much agreed, by those who follow these sorts of things, that of all the movies featuring the American military taking up arms against a series of increasingly voracious dragons, Reign of Fire is the film that most squanders this potentially awesome idea. This fact was verified this past Saturday when it aired on Spike or TBS or USA or TNT or FX or whatever other channel shows dude movies over the weekends.

However, it should be noted that since the cast features Christian Bale, Matthew McConaughey, and Gerard Butler the film should be qualified not as an action/sci-fi disaster but more as the sexiest movie of all time, based on the secret equations formulated by the scientists at People Magazine.

doin whatever a spider pig does

This is the first weekend in since I can't remember that we were A) in town and B) had no official events to attend. Like the rest of the internet, the N and I saw TMLMTBGB on Sunday afternoon and crap, it's great. If it weren't already over, I'd tell you to go get tickets. Tom was right when he mentioned the serious parts didn't work as well (they were kind of.. obvious?) but still enjoyable. Just not as enjoyable as a piece entitled "Games, Damn!" during which I almost passed out from asphyxiation. Or however you spell it. I was doing that thing where I laugh so hard I start sobbbing.

Our show also got through 29.5 plays, and they didn't even start the timer late.

After all that Neo-Futurist culture we had to counteract with the Simpsons movie down the block.

Okay, what else. Friday was an internet party (although according to Becks there was a sex show going on? that we missed? Fuck), we had dinner with friends Saturday which ended in being kicked out of the restaurant, only to continue the conversation re: $5 Thai groin massages in the parking lot. Our neighbors just got a Viszla puppy with green eyes (HUMANY eyes) and I'm working on elaborate dognapping plans. I made potato salad last night and 4 of us planned our trip to England. Man, I am so glad we are prepared for this thing. Seeing as we leave Thursday and right now the "official" plans look something like this:

- Wedding
- London? Tate
- Um Bath
- England
- Also do we need hotels

Quite honestly, I'm amazed we've even figured out how to buy plane tickets.

Friday, July 27, 2007

The Truth Is Not Out There

The following passage from Stephen Hayes’s book on Cheney is pretty much what you’d expect from a biography of the VP, with the ### standing in for just about any political group outside of the Douglas Feith Institute for Bespectacled Youth or its spin-off, the Heritage Foundation.
The ### community seized on Cheney’s allusion to classified information, and its hope turned to bitterness. “He was like the secretive and calculating Cheney of old.”
Pretty normal excerpt, right? Well, that’s where you’d be wrong, my friend, because the ### stands for UFO! And that makes it AWESOME!!1! According to the book, the Roswell folks were totally backing Cheney until 2004 when he told them to go DIAF.

IN YOUR FACE, ART BELL! IN YOUR FACE, ALEX KRYCEK! Cheney’s got no time for you and I Want To Believe belly aching! Get back into the basement.

NEWS, World

AUGUST 21st!!!!!

Courtesy CatAn: All Y'All. Listen now. I'm a fan of Catch Up, which has been on myspace for a while I think, but here ye go again.

Thursday, July 26, 2007

Ms. Rice doesnt even own an umbrella as her hair is coated with Armor All

Sensing that the new State Department rules concerning international travel would clog the passport system to such a degree that they'd even force George Schultz to come in to help sort applications, I did the clever thing and applied for a renewal in 1999. It took 7 years of pining, but in 2006 I finally got my paperwork and was able to take that trip to Niagara Falls to visit my summer girlfriend from 7th grade. Love knows no torture like international Canadian love torture.

But if you weren’t smart like me, you now have to stand in line for hours in the July Fiendfyre and miss your honeymoon, if you want a valid passport. On the plus side, however, the security guards will give you an umbrella to block the blistering sun, which totally makes up for any inconvenience.* I hear Mr. Schultz, himself, made the donation.

*Apparently, though, you don’t get an umbrella if you look like Dale Earnhardt and wear jorts, like the guy on the right. You have to face the sun’s and Condi’s wrath out in the open.


Can i please remind you how important Aug. 7 is going to be? I already pre-ordered Stage Names, and "John Allyn Smith Sails"? For those of you who haven't heard it yet, it transitions into a "Sloop John B" cover. I think I'm in love. Here, Avent, gloat: so, so, so much better than "Stuck Between Stations."

the best sentence i've ever read

The new round of "Trapped" videos finds Kelly portraying an old man named Randolph, complete with a pot belly and a fake white beard that nearly falls off mid-scene, as well as a preacher in a gray Jheri-curl wig and garish orange suit.

News from The Baltimore outpost, D: Trapped in the Closet - 10 new episodes.

the lauren graham cover exclusive: "why we love the girl-next door types but not copy editors, etc."

The latest from poo-pile Capitol File is on my desk, and it's a yawn factory, even though this is the annual "Little Black Book" issue. Only MY FAVORITE ISSUE EVER!!1 Hot singles in DC (all of them, fascinatingly, are "VPs of Communication".... yes, I'm looking at yr sexy face, Mr Tripp Donnelly, on every. single. fucking. page) and not a single one of them is slightly crazy/interesting. No one's making a Zoolander face this year. I'm sad.

BUT, do not fear! There is something to make me grind my teeth into oblivs and break out in cold raging sweats. The required article re: charity polo matches starts off with this sentence: "Merrriam-Webster dictionary defines charity as "benevolent giving."

You've got to be joking. It reads like the speech of someone running for 8th grade class secretary, non?

- - - - - - - -

BTWallthingspublishing, I didn't realize its not just Washington CP who's been boughten (???? greatest sentence fragment ever???), but also Chicago Reader. Please note the last line - DC residents have yet another reason to hate the suburbs. Or I guess learn to love them, dep. on your view of The CP. Chantilly rep'sent.

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

yes it is, cathy!

so remember this? I finally got a new phone, and along with it comes the devestatingly awesome ability to have indian/wolf as my ringtone.

i am annoying.

how can a train be lost? it's on rails.

for those of you so inclined: the darjeeling limited trailer is up. And the last episode of clark and michael. TEARS.

Also, Spoon-n-bombs-n-such.

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

We'll put the shelves here

To answer your questions, this is how I see it: if you’re already in Hall of Fame, who cares if you don’t make the All Star game every season? What does Mickey Mantle care? He’s fucking Mickey Mantle.


It looks like that although Brown Dog likes Meredith Bragg he doesn’t much care for Meredith Bragg’s music. As soon as the “drums kick in,” the dog took off. G and I both enjoyed the show except I did so at a distance of 150 yards.

Another one to add to the list of things brown dog is terrified of.


While the average 39 year old Americans can not identify the game Tetris they can easily recognize the silhouetted shape of the Chinese Empire in 1872, at a glance. This is according to a poll conducted by PIAB/New York Times and assumes that my cousin is an average American.


seriously england, stop fucking around. i have to go to you next week and the thought of wading through excrement sounds less than awesome. although i guess this (floods not waste) would be a really great excuse to attend a wedding in wellies or fishing waders. Although i probably don't need an excuse come to think of it???

Completely unrelated, I find the Scott Baio VH1 show strangely touching.


- We spent all of Saturday race-reading HP on the beach, even though the N had a 200-page head start on me, I still annhilated him by bedtime. Yes, yes, one day, I can read exceptionally fast. It's a talent that has proved pretty much worthless in my life, except to finish essay-question test light years ahead of the other kids. As a grown-up, v. little rewards.

- Random third-n-fouth cousins from all over the Midwest stormed the sand like tiny blond locusts, they were afraid of the surf and used terms like "manorexic" with utter glee. They also made us mexican food. Also they bought boyfriends who were professional cover-band drummers.

- I drank 700 glasses of red-wine without a headache, which is an alcohol coup of some sorts.

- More hilarious probs than watching the YouTube debate: listening to the YouTube debate on the radio.

- I finally bought a Fort Reno teeshirt last night, it's blue and I'm gonna make it my Back-Git-Well shirt. Coolest old gal on the physical therapy block.

- (PS: Funniest word of the weekend: INELIGIBLE!)

Friday, July 20, 2007


Along with the cultural and national pride that a country feels after being selected by the IOC to host the Olympics comes the concession that some of the cultural and national norms are completely unacceptable. In London, it was the realization that their artistic tastes have not expanded since Kajagoogoo. In China, it’s that they can’t allow their citizens to swear publicly, ignore existing ticket queues and traffic laws, spit and defecate in the street and, most infamously, allow the notorious bare-chested masters to walk around Beijing.

China has also realized that they need to clean up the products they intend to sell to the throngs of international visitors next year, so they might as well start with most basic. When I was in China, the basic rule for wherever you go is “Don’t drink the water.” Don’t drink tapwater, ever. Don’t drink the water that vendors sell on the street. And only then drink bottled water if it’s from a western company. Everyone knew the water was bad and full of gross things that I will discuss in a second. But for the Chinese government to act surprised that the bottled water is fake is just like them acting surprised that they sell racist toothpaste or that there are already copies of Transformers 2 being sold on the streets of Shanghai. Spoiler Alert: Sideswipe dies.

Here’s how the scam works. Whenever you throw a bottle of water away in any trashcan in Beijing someone follows shortly behind and takes it out. They travel to the nearest faucet or spigot or puddle and refill the bottle. Employing a lighter, they carefully apply the flame to the cap and plastic rim and melt them together. Appearing to be sealed, unwitting Americans or uncaring Chinese purchase the water and chug it down because it’s hot.

I know this to be true because 1) Chinese people told me it happened so don’t drink the goram water, you stupid roundeye and 2) I didn’t listen and drank the water.

Having spent a very warm day touring the best of what Beijing could offer according to Lonely Planet, I was approached by a woman selling frozen bottles of water from a cooler. Believing that I could not be outsmarted by an elderly Chinese crone, I inspected the bottle and determined that it had never been opened. The seal also responded with the appropriate cracks when I twisted the cap. I paid my two bits and made my way.

Since it was mostly frozen, I took a few sips and waited for it to melt. Over the course of an hour I consumed most of it, relishing its hydration. But as I was taking the final sips I realized that something hit my tongue every time I tipped the bottle back. At first I assumed it was bits of ice. But now only water remained, I held it up to the sun and almost threw up.

Inside was a clear plastic straw. The bottom half looked normal. But the tip that entered my mouth with every sip was chewed to a mangled flatness and featured the gentle smudges of lip gloss.

You would have gagged too.


here is what i have wanted to say in the elevator every morning this week, or at least def. the past 2 mornings, but I don't have the cojones* or really know how to articulate said idea so early (9 am, not that early) in the morning:

Dear Weird Dude Who Works on my Floor,

Stop being so goddamn weird all the time.

The G

* Dear Me,
Stop using the term "cojones," you hate that, remember?

- - - - - - - - -

Here's a gift from Tom Lee to my inbox. Probably the entire internet has seen this but not I.

- - - - - - - - -

I forgot how good the song "Fire Island, AK" was. And Oh, Susquehenna!. Even if the N calls them a commie band.

- - - - - - - - -

I had weird dreams last night. One of them involved our dog driving a car. OH MY GOD I JUST MADE THIS A DREAM BLOG, IN THE SAME ENTRY WHERE I POSTED A UNICORN TATTOO. off to get coffee face the error of my blogging ways.

Thursday, July 19, 2007

do it all the ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-tiiiiiimmmmee!

DaNabob: yo, hollywood
Movietown128: whats up?
DaNabob: You know how I don’t really complain about most of your work
Movietown128: yeahyeah
Movietown128: btw never said thanks for seeing Dreamcatcher
DaNabob: sure, I liked the book
I have one
a complaint
Movietown128: hitme
DaNabob:if I were in movie editing 101 and my assignment were to male a movie trailer for a quirky hipster comedy
I would use the violent femmes as a soundtrack
because i am unoriginal and don't know any other songs with off beat syncopation
that would be easy to edit to
fucking enough already with "blister in the son"
Movietown128: hmmm
Movietown128: I hear ya
Movietown128: Its why we got rid of Jared Hess but I’ll also have a word with Ruffalo’s people
DaNabob: cool

Real as any place you've been/Get a life with the dreamer's dream

Although there’s probably an obvious answer for this question that someone can easily explain, I haven’t found a satisfying answer in any of the reports I’ve read in the NY papers:

Why, 7 years into the 21st century, is it still necessary to pipe large amounts of steam throughout a city?

Is it because somebody needs steam or is it that somebody doesn’t want steam? What has Con Ed doing down there for the last century? My best guess is secret, underground Boingboing wet dream Steampunk society.

tuxedo styled

I have totally reamed my IPod over the electronic coals in the past few months, and now my Work Mac won't accept it when I plug the damn thing in. Well, it will accept it kind of, but what it really really wants me to do is reset it to its factory default and make all my precious music go away. Well eat it, Work Mac, it ain't gonna happen. I'm am far too lazy to reload all this.

What I'm getting at: I can't play along with yr whole list-game. I can however, show you the Top 25 Songs Played at Work Itunes (culled from a list of only about 100 songs total, so the results are.... skewed. My options are kind of limited.)

Please note #s 2 (?), 6 ("folk") and ... 25. Who am I.

Not on here at all, but courtesy ILB: White Rabbits - The Plot. Good. Aug. 11 @ Black Cat. Which I don't think I can go to, so. Feh.

* * *

Unrelated/side note/haven't mentioned this yet: I still haven't read Gp's Onion article on Mingering Mike, or gone to Hemphill yet (stupid & I'm running out of time), but the website itself is sick awesome. I want to own a real copy of Sickle Cell Anemia. Or at least the book, for those of you making early-holiday present lists for loved ones (me) in yr mindgrapes.

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

gift dog in the mouth, creepy

Wherein i begin our new series entitled: Inexplicable Gifts from Vendors.

One particular company I order stuff from sends "gifts" with each order. I have seven fringed fleece scarves with pockets, several weird water bottles, a few keychains, and, during the winter months, they ususally package tins of those powdery mini-chocolate in three metric shit tons of protective bubble wrap.

I just got my order and inside was my free gift.

They are velcro'ed both together and to the strange wicker basket. Apparently, said vendor thinks I am a 64 year old secretary with a penchant for puffy painted sweatshirts.

seriously, ???

payoff/guilty friends

(Internet: before i spend a ridiculously large ITunes gift certificate: did you like Dinosaur Jr's Beyond?)

Lifeguards, Ski Patrol, and Other Recreational Protective Service Workers

This post assumes you have read the Workers Substance Use and Workplace Policies and Programs report that the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration released yesterday. It basically says that the person to your left is currently using drugs and the person on your right is drinking out of a fire hose and will not graduate with you.

Clocking in at a refreshingly scant 69 printed pages, any information contained in the report’s findings are easily eclipsed by the details in its marvelous appendices. You know what? Maybe the greatest part of living in DC is the amount of appendices we are exposed to. That and symposia. This city is fat ripe with symposia.

The drug report has 6 appendices featuring a overindulgent array of tables and graphs. But it’s Appendix D: Occupational and Industry Classifications that I find most fascinating. Essentially, it’s the governments system of categorizing every job in America.

  • Did you know that when the government lays down some statistic about how often or to which degree a person in managerial position does something that this not only includes your CEO boss but also farmers, casino operators, ranchers and funeral directors?
  • Did you know there is an official job called roustabout? While the government considers only those assembling or repairing oil field equipment using hand and power tools to fall in this category, I’d like to believe that the more Elvis-like definition also applies. Carnies are hard workers too.

The hard copy version in the report led me to this: The Department of Labor’s May 2006 National Occupational Employment and Wage Estimates. It not only gives the definitions of all the occupations in America but list the total number of people in that job and their average salary. And quite frankly, it is awesome.

For instance, only 1,470 people in our amazing country consider modeling to be their primary occupation. And they make, on average, $27,980 a year. By contrast, there 15,580 shampooers. They should not be confused with the more advanced hairstylists, of which there are 344,900.

Other tidbits:

  • There are there 16,340 people who consider themselves choreographers yet there only 16,010 dancers. That’s a ratio that any educator would envy and can’t even be matched by the students at Patrick Henry.
  • There are 900 private cooks.
  • There 485,120 bartenders or roughly one for every 452 adults of drinking age.
  • There are an astounding 6,770 broadcast news analysts. And that’s not people working in broadcast news as reporters or producers or whatever. That is the number of people that “analyze, interpret, and broadcast news received from various sources.” Yeah, pundits. There are 6,770 pundits.

Blogging is a tough one. There isn’t a professional blogger category so it’s either the Labor Department considers it an illegitimate career or it falls deep under some justifiably valid category. It probably fits under Writers and Authors but for now we’ll put you in with whatever group also has people who make chain mail out of paper clips in their step-dad’s basement for sale at medieval festivals.

my mindgrapes is blank

here, amuse yrself today.

I make the N listen to the Fall Out Boy version every morning during our commute because I am evil.

i had seen this a while back and can't remember noting it, and then Drew reminded me: Control trailer.

Also - in high school, I owned 7 out of 10 of these albums. Pretending to be from 1983 was my THING. That, and making mixtapes (Erasure) with british flags on the cover.

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

"i think its called 'flight of the commodore' or something? and it's awesome?"

i can't get any servers at my office to work, so i'm pretty much fucked for getting anything accomplished this morning. good thing it's July and the entire galaxy doesn't really care.

- what should have been the one hit

- issue #17

- voxtrot @ black cat, 10/6; new porn same month @ 930.

Quickly: the N and I took a trip to New Mexico a few years just because, it was hella good times and lots of fun climbing around holes in Bandelier and driving our rental Sonata to weird little places, including a tiny town called Madrid (3 blocks big) which I liked because it had a crazy theatre production about the mines there. According to the Radio Voices (NPR or whoeever, I'd assume) in my kitchen last night as we concocted some sort of disgusting/delicious meal (involving cheddar cheese and tuna fish, don't ask) NM is the new hotness for Hollywood because the state gives em all tax breaks and the Important Celebrities love to pretend to be ranch hands. FYI: Poor Madrid apparently had a fake diner built for the filming of "Wild Hogs." World, what have we done.

Monday, July 16, 2007

also music also

the sea and cake are touring and coming to b'more in september. i made a promise to myself today to look up songs from "everybody." So whether i make it up to charm city for a group I kind of forgot about remains to be seen. I've never been to Sonar.

CONTINUING.... so far I'm a fan. "Lightning" =/< Yo La Tengo's "The Summer?" Or Pinback.

I've had women/I've had germs *

you know in high school or middle school or whatever, there was always the Girl Who Was Always Hurt/Sick - on crutches/had mono/broken arm/cramps/potential brain lesions/skin rash/chronic fatigue syndrome/cancer scare?

Friday afternoon I burned the everliving shit out of my arm on a hot iron (I never iron. is this ... IRONic? oh my god I'm sorry I couldnt help it), and 30 seconds ago I slit my thumb open (not the one that's sprained [yes, sprained thumb, christ], the other one) on the lid of a... wait for it... yogurt container.

I am officially The Girl Who Is Always Hurt/Sick of grownup school. Related, I start PT for the back next week. If I'm still alive.

* PS: holy crapload!


Aforementioned wedding was totally totally lovely, the bride was teh hotness, I sweated a ton (in a good way), the DJ played New Order, and the grandma didn't even say a peep about the ceremony including the Beach Boys- so all is well on all wedding fronts. Apparently the afterpartying was choice enough that my very white friends someone got themselves adopted into an African-American family reunion at the Holiday Inn, where new "cousin T." exchanged both hugs AND business cards. Shirtless. Maybe.

Oh. And K. and I just bought tickets to Chicago in August on a whim, which is awesome, except I think as penance (or maybe not, the whole thing is just v. confusing?) I'm being forced to go see the Gipsy Kings. (is this okay? I know nothing about the Gipsy Kings other than they are Basque mebbe [?] and my mom listens to them and when I tried to tell TR about the concert he got all excited about going to see Gypsys and then I had to explain.) But my ol pal Eric just bought a new sweet grownup condo for free crashing, and is even nice enough to come get me at the airport even though I said I'd take the El.

I love you, summer.

Saturday, July 14, 2007

You can't leave first until you chug a beer.

The G saw I’d dusted off the cleats and softball uniform last night and asked if I was seriously considering playing this morning, since just three weeks ago I was hobbling around on crutches. Yes, dear. They’re called the playoffs.

But she was probably less worried about the current state of my ankle and more so about the possibility of me showing up to late her best friend’s wedding that starts in 90 minutes. And that’s actually a justified concern since I’ve pulled that stunt before.

Well, we were knocked out after two games and I’ve had plenty of time to get ready. Her real concern, though, should have been the line drive I took straight to the orbital bone. It’s not the worst black I’ve had but it’s pretty shiny. And this steak isn’t helping much.

I’m going to wear my glasses with the thickest frames and hope she doesn’t notice. Nobody say anything until Sunday.

Update: The black eye went undetected until the G's mom ran her big fat mouth. She's been employing this unwelcome habit recently to increasing degrees of disasterous-ness. Ours is more resembling your typical sitcom son-in-law/mother-in-law antagonistic relationship everyday.

Friday, July 13, 2007

and with that, Al-Qaeda has won. SuxxXorrrrrrrrrrrrr.

i was all set to start my Fri morning off right, with a nice steaming cup of coffee and some "frat douche" bashing, but it seems the City Paper's site is down. This is not good! I am pissed! Did some 22 year old drinking a gallon of milk, someone who was "legally savvy and with unlimited funds" hire a techie to burn their whole website to the ground? OH PLEASE LET'S HOPE SO!!!! Online war omg teh AwEsome pwnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd.

Thursday, July 12, 2007

"oh, we know each other through the internet"

so, hey. last night's scene was kind of a barrel of laughs, wasn't it? The two of us showed up with me already on the last train to Wrecksville and bragging about it, we got inside just before the deluge and then squeaked upstairs even though the show was sold out- I was stumbling up just as they launched into a Sophie B Hawkins cover, which was bad ASS, AMattos was dressed like a fashion model, I saw the D and K and oh yeah LJG for the first time in like 56 months, the DCeiver was charming as per usj, ANNNNDDDDDD even though I was given the opportunity, I did not lick Eric Axelson from toe to head. And by "opportunity" I mean just being nicely and formally introduced by the Avents, nothing more. Anyhoos, my husband was there and the licking would have been.... what's the word I'm looking for... uncouth? Sure. At least I didn't have to battle sexy single CatAn for face time or whatever, I crumble under competition.

Where was I?

OH. And if I were really really cruel, this is the time where I would also outline the completely hilarious and inappropriate voice mail my mother left me accidentally yesterday, thinking she was talking to someone else, which may or may not have contributed to me getting kind of smashed.

oh and music.

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

Also, my shoes are filled with blood

The day is certainly not starting well here at your friendly neighborhood PIAB. For the Nabob, the highlight has been the suggestion that if he behaves he may be allowed to watch a crash test video of a old-school Optimus Prime semi T-boning a school bus on a giant IMAX-like screen. For the G, its been the anticipation that at some point tonight she may be allowed the saccharine release of sleep and dream about garrotting 20 aged and elephantine men.

? We shall see. It depends on how well these cyanide pills work.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

Illusion, Michael, Illusion. Tricks are what hookers perform for money.... or candy.*

As an official tuxedoed participant in an upcoming August wedding, I was guilt-ed by the groom into driving to Baltimore last weekend so I could have some grownup face time with the new bride. She’s utterly delightful and charming. And to be honest, I’ll probably side with her in next Augusts’ divorce proceedings. Lose one friend, make another who’s a lawyer and a girl. Even Stephen.

B-more is a crazy, mixed-up town where Dale Jr’s and Izod’s can eat next to each other at a crab shack that sits comfortably between a liquor store and an American Apparel. It’s why I simultaneously love and hate the place but most of all I love it. And hate it. And it’s farther away than it should be.

We wandered Charm City for a bit, bribed our way to better O’s seats, played some GTA, avoided the Joint Strike Fighter destroying 695, drank some beers bigger than our faces and then limped home. But the walking distance between the stadium and our hovel was greatly miscalculated. Plus, our bellies were full of hotdogs and peanuts and cotton candy and our brows were moist with sweat. We began wilting fast.

Thankfully, someone had carefully and heroically constructed a large marquee declaring that their establishment was selling Magic Hat beers for $3. Also, they promised magic.

A couple of free-spirits in Baltimore have rolled the dice and sunk a bunch of their hard scammed three card monte money into Illusions, the city’s only bar/magic shop. Filled with dark stained woods, heavy drapes and Houdini lore, it attempts to link alcohol with your grandparent’s Carter Beats the Devil brand of magic instead of your nephew’s I’m a Huge Asshole kind.

After a few moments of lingering near the bar, we were asked the establishment’s proprietor to please have a seat since things were about to begin. He then locked the doors so no more bachelorette parties could get in. (I don’t know if it’s because I’m hanging at the right places when I’m in DC but whenever you got to Baltimore you will see a bachlorette party. And if you’re a guy with 51% of your teeth, you’ll be asked to suck a Lifesaver off some nasty shirt.) The lights went dimmer and then…

The idea of a magic store/bar almost works. For the price of one $3 Magic Hat, you get two card tricks and a straight-jacket escape routine performed by what I believe is the nation’s skinniest magician. He’s the son (perhaps co-owner) of the bar and maybe weighs 115 pounds. He wore the Baltimore-required Under Armor skin tight shirt yet it hung off him like that college sweatshirt you wear when you’re sick.

While I haven’t any clue about how the card tricks were executed, they seemed to be rather basic and were likely taught within the first few weeks of Professor Vexctor’s Arithmacy class. Sure, he made cards appear in crazy places (his pants) and used one of those giant impractical swords you can buy at store in the mall that sells travel alarm clocks, Swiss Army knives and giant impractical swords but I still feel like I was watching a free magic show. And even the though the straightjacket routine was performed upside-down, hanging from the ceiling, I think he got out just because he was skinny. Like, if you made me put on Benny McCrary pants but cinched the belt real tight I bet I could still get out of them.

Bottom line: Go to Baltimore and for the price of gas and $3 you can get a beer and a magic show. Whether it’s worth will be based on your reaction to shiny things.

*While writing this entry, I accidentally cut and pasted the headline into another serious, non-hooker related document. Some people received it by accident. By “some people”, I really mean “everyone.”

billy, benny

most exciting thing to discover today EVER:

My aunt and uncle are moving only 9 miles away from where the McCrary Twins are buried!!!!

so freaking pumped.

man vs. babynames

okay, Tom. You win. Bear Grylls? Kind of hot. But. The man has a child named Marmaduke? I mean, it's not naming your kid after budget champagne, but it's a close, close second.

Marmaduke. Marmaduke Grylls.

Sunday, July 08, 2007


- BIRTHDAY, bitches! Today, I play Ian McNabb in yr honor. If I can find any Ian McNabb.

If it were my blogbirthday, or my birthday, or Monday morning (which it will be soon) - I would want this. Oops, wait, I think I just bought a signed copy, and it's not even my birthday OR Monday yet.

- The N is smoking a giant chicken with a beer can up its ass in my backyard. The dog smells like Swamp Thing. I just bought unncecessary things at Ikea. Why is it impossible to get out of Ikea without buying a cuttin gboard? What is that all about? I have 15 of them.

- My back was too fucked up to go camping this weekend so I sat in a straight-backed chair all day yesterday with a soda bottle under my shoulder blade watching "ANTM" marathons. That show is confusing.

- By the way, the entire internet was at Black Cat on Friday night. I did the following: watched a porn-like interaction with a piece of machineary, talked about hippies and looms, and sent a few text messages that were kind of awesome ("I AM HERE WATCHING A CONCERT IT IS PACKED I AM DRUNK SHE IS CUTE COME TO DC OH ALSO DID THEY JUST COVER DYLAN???? Wait, No.") Oh yeah, and music. And beer. And The Icicle Works. If i could have turned my head, I would have said "hello" to more of you, internet, but I can't.

Friday, July 06, 2007

ironside was scariest

Transformers: worst movie ever made or sheer brilliance? I said "worst" and Mathis almost cut me over IM, if that's even possible. But then I reconsidered a little bit and sure, space robot automobile fight scenes? Sure, sure. Sign me up.

Pros: Dance Dance Revolution cameo, Bumblebee being retarded?, hot computer scientist chick (Dr. Christmas Jones) and oh yeah space robots that fight each other and are cars also sometimes.

Cons: Entire hole-filled plot that made no sense, me almost crying at Bumblebee, Jazz, Megatron not really being scary, the Nabob wearing the most obnoxious National Guard hat I've EVER SEEN and yelling "BOOOOOO" several times towards the end of the film. Also then when the D stole his hat and threatened to throw it away he threw a temper tantrum and stormed out of Gallery Place.

So, I don't know. given all that I guess one thumb up, one heartily down.

Thursday, July 05, 2007

You little puke

Like last year, I watched the Coney Island weiner-a-thon live. But this year I obviously did not live-blog it.* One non-American guy threw up and one American guy accurately demonstrated what is absolutely right and wrong about our gloriously, bloated nation in 12 quick minutes.

But of all the food gorging winners/waving parade queens/watermelon-spitting champions that were crowned yesterday, the grand champion has to be the AP’s (via the Post) coverage of the event. The article included several colorful scribbles like gut-busting and tube-steak tussle, but also this chestnut:

“Once the contest ended, the runner-up suffered a reversal -- competitive-eating-speak for barfing -- leading to a deduction from his final total. Kobayashi finished with 63 HDBs (hot dogs and buns eaten) in his best performance ever.”

I just did a quick Nexis-Lexis search. As far as I can tell, yesterday was the first time in the news agency’s 161 year old existence where an editor allowed the word “barfing” into a story. To note, it’s been printed when included as somebody else’s direct quote but never directly as a stand alone verb.


*I was too distracted by Hillary’s poor choice in pants – a pair she wore two days in a row. (Listen, I don’t know a lot about the fashions for 59year-old politicians, but I do know you shouldn’t wear tapered pants that make you look like a khaki-ed driedel. Also, Bill in all-black looks either like the recently divorced father of my friend who has recently been hitting on his daughter’s friends or a tubby Wes Clark or both.)

officiant: ben roethlisberger

oh my.


i just wanted to point out that the plunk biggio blog is still going strong.

shining some old glory on me

Oh hi. My spinal column is systematically trying to work its way through my right shoulder blade and out into this cruel cruel world for some fresh fucking air. I can't concentrate, nor can I turn my head. I love life.

My 4th was good. I spent all day lying on my back flipping between the Food Network (which sucks now?) and episodes of Sunset Tan (which... nevermind.) I tried to get the dog to leave the house and he wasn't buying it. I bought a Slurpee, Squishee, and some beer. Then I went to Cardozo and watched the youth of America try to blow each other up, but it wasn't all that thrilling, especially since the kid with the backpack full of explosives wasn't around this year. I assume he blew his head off NYE 06-07.

Oh yeah, and I made crabcakes this week and we set up a tent in our living room, and I called K. from the tent and said "I'M IN A TENT! IN MY HOUSE!"

Seriously, I am totally crippled and can barely type.

Oh here, something to keep you entertained: Remember Liz Phair? That was fun, wasn't it?

Tuesday, July 03, 2007

welcome to DC

Well, it's July 3rd in Capital City and we're all still alive. The streets aren't running red with the blood of ... whoever ... re: Scoots. No riots. Yet.

(Unrelated: I just drove into work. There are 8 or so vacant Russian party teens hanging by an airbrushed tour bus next to the Lincoln Mem. bumming smokes off each other. It's no Lily Allen, but maybe you could go practice yr pickup lines. )

Monday, July 02, 2007

pripyat photos, them big cat-fishes

I love this caption.

hound heaven dont exist

There's a big feature on our breed of idiot dog today in the WaPo. Oh holy crap are there some seriously insane amounts of hound dogs in this story. I love them. Please watch the video when all 20 dogs come racing in the door at one time. Yr heart will stop from teh doggy madness.

Also, the photo gallery's pretty rad, too. Photo #5 is a BD! Only well-behaved! Color me astounded.

. . .

actually, i take all the above back. just read the comments. man, do i love the internet.


Things you should on a weekend: nothing in particular. Try it sometime, its great.

I started my Fri. with beers at GHut, then moved onto beers in Old town (those particular beers involved stories about Harry Connick Jr's underpants and night terrors and the New Orleans mafia, god, it was so fantastic) and stayed up too late and then woke up the next morning and was driven out to the sticks by a guy named Tony and drank wine for 10 hours with hot chicks, and then fell asleep watching Saturday Night live reruns (but not before receiving this text message: "WE ARE WATCHING A MAGIC SHOW!"), and then the next day didn't shower til 3 and saw Die Hard and drank a few more beers and ate pasta salad and ice cream. All in all, totally. solid. weekend.