Tuesday, December 30, 2008

They also play that Army CSI show sometimes too


We don’t go out anymore. Or do things. If you want to see us you have to come look through the basement window because we’re down there with the geckos and poison mold spores watching TV with the volume off and the vacuum turned on. But we aren’t vacuuming. It’s just running.

So all we know anything about is television shows and things that happen between television shows. And then we complain about them to each other.

For instance, American Express is a fine company that screws small businesses but their rewards program has resulted in free airline tickets to London and a new camera. But their recent batch of commercials is especially deceitful. In one, Tina Turner talks about her successes, her talent and her Amex card. Specifically, “Everything was there, I just needed my freedom. And I got it.” Then a graphic hardens over concert video indicating that Tina’s been a member since 1977.

The implication here is that Tina’s ability to postpone paying for goods and services by procuring a short term loans that can be paid off monthly with varying degrees of interest set her free. Specifically, in 1977. I assume the part of the interview where she discussed fleeing from a highly physically and emotionally abusive husband in 1976 before going into hiding for several months ended up getting cut from the ad. Fortunately, she received her card in the mail and it finally gained her freedom.

More importantly, though, is the part of the commercial that features Dave Matthews. One of the rewards/punishments of being trapped in the basement is the constant airing of House on USA. Have you seen the one where DM plays and idiot savant piano player and CIA Director Kurtwood Smith is his dad? I’ve seen in twice in 3 days because my life has reached its apex. In the end, House forces Dave to get the brain surgery that takes away his Shiney McShine piano abilities but he can now button shirt like a real live boy. It’s the classic feel good story of 2008 and proves once again that everything relating to Charlottesville is mentally retarded.

Saturday, December 27, 2008

We drove into the drive-in and she didn't have to pay because we dressed her up to look just like a Chevrolet

Recent testing has determined that two out of the three members of the Pyggy household find "Your Mama So Fat..." jokes incredibly funny. One member likes telling them. One smiles and giggles hysterically at hearing them.

The third member, however, does not see the humor. The others feel she is too sensitive.

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

I Got The Teeth of Teh Hydra Upon Me

(Usually, when I ask someone if they’ve seen an article in from the Post they ask to be sent the URL address. A “hyperlink” if you will. This makes me curse because I’m 900 years old and still read the analogue newspaper. Plus, the Post’s search page has been complete rubbish as of late and I couldn’t even find the page if I wanted to. It will tell that your query has resulted in X number of hits but it won’t show what they are. It’s pretty worthless. It’s also why this post is almost two weeks old.)

The paper’s Kid’s Post section often pits their intended readers with the parents of those readers. That leaves me somewhere in the middle, since I don’t play Lego based video games and my 401k is doing pretty well considering I’m too young to really have that much money in it, anyways. The article form December 10th was no different.

In it, the authors attempt to mediate the daily car-trip argument between the front and back seats about what to listen to on the radio. This came as a surprise for I assumed that today’s child travled with entertainment systems built into the back of their parent’s seats and heads. But this article was aimed at those poor hobo children who are forced to listen to cassettes of Alabama’s greatest hits. Like me. Also, who the fuck is Paramore?

Check out the crappy picture I had to take because the Post is garbage and doesn’t put their most obviously internet friendly section online.

See. A good Kids Post section would have links to the songs. Hell, a good Kids Post section would even have the article online.
  1. Miley Cyrus’ “See you Again” versus The Pretenders’ “Message of Love”
  2. Maroon 5, “Make Me Wonder” versus Steve Miller, ”Abracadabra”
  3. Kate Perry, “I Kissed a Girl” versus Blondie “One Way or Another”
  4. Jonas Brothers, “Burnin’ Up” versus T. Rex, “Bang a Gong”
  5. Paramore, “Misery Business” versus The Clash, “Should I Stay or Should I Go”
  6. Fall Out Boy, “This Ain’t No Arms Race…” versus The Ramones “Rockaway Beach”

Before I heard any of these new songs, I would have assumed this whole list was blasphemous. But I listened to the Miley song. You know what? It does a little sound like “Message of Love.” A little. We can give it a pass. And I can accept the idea that crappy old Maroon 5 is a younger generation’s version of crappy old Steve Miller from my babysitter’s generation. But then my senses returned.


You probably know what I’m trying to say here better than I can ever say it.

Outside a few similar chord progressions, all the comparisons are terribly off base. And other than Steve Miller, the older bands aren’t the mainstream pop of Wham or Toto or the like. The Pretenders, the Clash, Blondie and the Ramones all broke new ground. And T. Rex just plain rocked. The fact that something like this couldn’t even exist if it were trying to compare the grown-up’s music with their parent’s favorite tunes just shows how many RPMs recording industry has wasted spinning its wheels over the last 30 years.

*full disclosure - the g's favorite band and song is Steve Miller's Abracadabra. Also, I kinda sorta like Fall Out Boy.

Sunday, December 21, 2008

red-crowned crane: straight con

All I do anymore is read "Fuck You, Penguin" while eating popsicles and listening to my husband cuss out Mario Kart. Seriously, it took me 15 minutes to remember this stupid blog's password.

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

and becks, too

happy birthday, ancient husband.

Monday, December 15, 2008

“A cucumber should be well sliced, and dressed with pepper and vinegar, and then thrown out, as good for nothing” - Samuel Johnson

The most telling thing about this article is not the picture about that shows how pissed off that one dog is or that animals can demonstrate an emotion that can be interrupted as envy. It’s this…
When asked to return rocks to their keepers in exchange for a treat, for example, monkeys that got cucumbers essentially went on strike and started throwing the rocks and cucumbers at researchers if they saw other animals getting grapes instead.
See, even in the animal kingdom, cucumbers are considered punishment. They cause riots.

Cucumbers are gross. They are the brussel sprouts of the vegetable world.

Friday, December 12, 2008

Crooked Fingers

My fingers nails grow at an above average rate. I know, it’s gross. And fascinating. It’s also about the only thing I do that’s above average.

Ever since I hurt my hand, though, the nail on that finger has been growing absurdly fast. I’ve had to trim it every two days. Prior to the damage, I would have assumed the opposite.

I did a little ‘tubes research and it turns out the rehab for my finger is also great for nail growth stimulation. Anything that encourages blood the fingers stimulates thicker, stronger and more luxurious claws. Ironically, it’s why people who chew their nails have faster growing ones.

So if you have weak and brittle fingernails and fall below gypsum on the mohs scale, I have a simple solution. Violently dislocate each knuckle from its joint, have a medical professional painfully wrench it back into place and then grimace through several weeks of painful rehab. Instant talons. Horrible disfigured talons.

Tuesday, December 09, 2008

You can tell by the way I roll shorty that I’m a ladies man

Although I wasn’t in a fraternity, I somehow managed to get myself invited to many, many sorority formals. And semi-formals. And sorority keggers, hootenannies, mixers and sorority box socials. It was a secret shame since I generally I disliked everything about the sorority girls at the clown college I attended except for their loose moral standards and access to free liquor.

Around the same time, Wyclef Jean felt it necessary to remake/cover the song
Stayin' Alive. This song became a favorite at those ridiculous dances because the melody and beat were familiar enough to dry hump to yet the lyrics referenced such modern themes as dry humping. As it happens, one particular line from that song became extremely popular at these to-dos and was yelled in unison at the highest volume – “So mista funkmaster pump the bee-gees, And all you college students bring your Ouijas.” It’s 0:54 into the song.

Like all trickster women, sorority girls keep evil secrets designed to control men. I first assumed the passion for this line was limited to an individual sorority and I wasn’t in on the reference. But it turned out to be a Greek-wide phenomenon. All it takes for a song to endear itself to an “academic” audience is a mention of college and a vague allusion to the occult. And it helps if Ouijas rhymes with BeeGees.

I kept this knowledge secret from my friends from the radio station, ultimate Frisbee team, and such. They didn’t need to know about the soft spot in my heart and my head for dancing and wearing off-the-rack suits and my dad’s old ties. Strangely, however, this same song started to creep into my life via these avenues as well. Mostly it was because at the time we all enjoyed the irony of anything disco related and, let’s be real, the song's catchy as hell. But like the other Grecian-half of the school, they too became infatuated with one set of lyrics.

It’s at 1:20 into the video…

In case you misheard that, it was, “Every step tangoed, your beat don’t concern me, I’m eatin mangos in Trinidad with attorneys.” I’m not exactly how it came to pass, but we became fascinated with that mangos/Trinidad/attorneys bit. It became a catch all for any situation.

  • “What are we doing Thursday night?” - “ Man, we’ll be eating mangos in Trinidad with attorneys.”
  • “You worried about that Asian history mid-term?” - “Naw, that’ll be easy like eating mangos in Trinidad…“
  • “Uh, your roommate said you went to a sorority formal on Saturday. What’s that about?” - “Say what!?! That dude is straight up eating mangos…”
See, it fits any and all situations.

Unfortunately, John Forte, the rapper/producer who uttered those genius lines, was arrested 2000 on what I can only assume were trumped cocaine possession charges. As a music listening public, we were suddenly denied his brilliance. Who knows what would have happened to Wyclef, Pras and Lauryn Hill if they had been guided back to the studio by the steady hand of Forte? Certainly Hill wouldn’t have had to eat her children after I bought her solo album. Like everything else good from college, it faded from my memory. There's nothing left other than the liver cirrhosis.

Anyway, I’m not sure how this slipped my attention, but John Forte’s sentence was commuted a few days before Thanksgiving, for some reason.
And it wasn’t like the conviction was thrown out on a technicality. Nor was he pardoned by a corrupt Illinois governor looking for an ambassadorship to Trinidad. The sentence was commuted by a guy named the President of the United States of America George Bush.

Carly Simon was involved somehow too. And Orrin Hatch also.

Congratulations , John Forte, for having a strange group of supporters and getting out of the clink.
I don’t really understand how you manage to pull something like that off. But enjoy your freedom mangos, nonetheless. They taste so much better on the outside

Monday, December 08, 2008

Help Me Scrape the Mucus off My Brain

The G: yr spawn was just not-bounced to sleep for his morning nap
there was screaming. said screamfest lasted much shorter than last night's, but he was not happy and voiced his opinion. i told him his concerns were noted

The N: he went to sleep as soon as I stood up last night
I think he just needs some movement. it may be easier to ween him

The G: wean. not Ween

The N: no. ween

The G: japanese cowboy him

The N: like a japanese cowboy

The G: oh

The N: snap

The G: hive mind

Wednesday, December 03, 2008

No, I do not know why I went to Tysons Corner mall with a 3 month old this morning. Good question.

Hey, did you know that the ice of the 9th circle of hell is kept frozen by Lucifer's six flapping wings?

Wednesday, November 26, 2008


As predicted, we haven’t seen a movie as a couple since the blessed event. The G took advantage of my boundless generosity to escape to the district Monday night and partake in some sexy teen vampire time for girls and their moms and their weird neighbors. The G played the role of weird neighbor.

Relief is on the way. Grandmas are going to be aplenty this weekend and the question is not which movies to we want to see but how many? Actually, that’s not right, since my bride only wanted to see Twilight and that itch has been scratched. I’ve been watching commercial extra closely to see what are options are. They seem limited. And I don’t even know if these are even in the theaters anymore. Or if they’ve even opened. As far as I can tell, these are our choices:

1. The one where Paul Rudd beats children

2. James Bond. I’ve read one review and it said it was good. But when I tried to argue another point of the reviewer’s blog post it was rejected. In other words, TOM LEE IS A CENSOR.

3. Keanu Reeves remakes one of my favorite movies and probably ruins it. I was intrigued by the ads but they raise a question: when did it become standard science fiction policy that aliens/robots are incapable of using contractions? Data couldn’t do it. It appears that Keanu can’t do it in this movie. Why would an off-worlder bother to learn only 99% of our language?

4. This. There’s no way. Unless…

Looks like we're seeing Twilight again. What a waste of a grandma.

Friday, November 21, 2008

Ruiner of weddings: part II

I was an actual member of an actual wedding party last weekend although my only responsibility was to escort old ladies to their seats. I pwned those grandmas too and not a single one wandered off or sat in the wrong seat. And when one casually teased my sister, I put her in her place with the gentle ease of a down comforter.

OK. It wasn’t really an insult. The D walked by in heals and grandma said -

“You sure couldn’t eat soup off that girls head.”

You sure can’t, grandma. Because I’m not really sure what you’re talking about.

But before any of that went down, we in the groom’s party did our damndest to force the wedding planner into a psychotic meltdown. We arrived two hours early for several rounds of photos but only managed to get in the way of the caterers, staff and other hangers-on. We were ushered from room to room in an effort to keep form being under foot and ended up in the library of the mansion where the wedding was being staged. It was also where the beer was being hidden.

So we started to get drunk.

The library was of high shelves made of dark wood. The room was very dark. One of groomsmen turned to me and asked “What does the room remind you of?” I spent a few seconds scrolling through my memory banks, looking for an instance when we’d been in a similar library. Coming up blank, he bellowed “Atonement!” Without warning he pushed another groomsman up against the wall and began dry humping him furiously.

The windows started shaking. Books began to fall off the shelves. The molested groomsman (unfamiliar with the movie) rolled with it. The wedding planner walked in and all hell broke loose. I’ve never seen an angrier woman.

They took our beer away and banished us to the basement until moments before the wedding started. But the jokes on her, because she was so angry she didn’t cue the groom to approach the alter until the bride had already gotten down the aisle. I almost ruined the whole day!

Anyway, Charles from the City Veins was there also.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

My New Sunshine Policy

The list of places I’ll never go keeps getting longer…

- Wedding on the Pakistan/Afghanistan border
- Overcrowded Indonesian/Philippine ferry
- Hindu pilgrimage near steep cliffs
- Haitian elementary schools
- Hot Topics

I’m actively going out of my way to know and learn nothing about the Twilight. I refuse to participate in any public discussion on the matter. There are probably reasons to like it. There are probably more reasons to mock it. It seems that most people like to hate on it. I know that the G read one of the books. And she told me some of the basics about it.

She’s like “So there’s this pale girl and some more pale vampire and a werewolf maybe and they have some forbidden love. And then one the vampires…” But I stopped her before she could add further details.

I must remind the world that I was aggressively mocked for taking the day off to see both Underworld and Underworld 2: The Werewolf KooKajoo. In fact, the abuse was so intense the G had to use up a sick day from her job as a Sotheby’s auctioneer because her voice was raspy and dry. And yet, the plots between these two films (and the Kate Beckinsale-less Underworld prequel coming out soon) and Twilight sound exactly the same.

You can all go to hell.

Anyway, the commercials make the movie look like a huge sack of crap. And I ought to know since my exposure to huge sacks of crap has increased 100 fold over the last 2 months. And I don’t also don’t understand how NPR allowed it to be the underwriter of some of their segments. But I'm not paying attention to any of that.

So have fun this weekend, jerks, seeing your teenage vampire movie that I don't know anything about except Kate Beckinsale is not having sex in it.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

hello world.

reasons you haven't heard from me lately:

- our internet has been massively fucked and was finally fixed yesterday by, I swear to god, Rodney King. Rodney King now works for Comcast, fyi.

- I'm not at work nor do I leave the house often/at all. Seriously, can we briefly touch on mommyblogging, which is a bigger mystery to me now than ever ever ever before? As much as I love my offspring with all my soul, shit be boring. I am fairly certain you do not want to hear about TLC's daytime television programming (mind-numbingly terrible) or trips to Target (brief) or on average what time the mailman shows up at my house (later than you'd imagine!) or who the Spawn takes after (me, most definitely. He is blond, pretty curmudgeonly, has already outgrown clothing meant for humans months and months older than him, and only my husband can make him smile. It's like a goddamn mirror.) Also: I have rewatched all seasons of Veronica Mars. Man, those first two were good. Oh but look, I just told you all about that stuff anyway!


- food! FOOD!!!!

- happy birthday to the 5-8 friends birthdays I have forgotten about in the past week.

- we're going to a wedding this weekend. drinking.

- so hey, did you hear Obama won?

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

This post is "not safe for lunch"

Do you ever stop and consider how much you have in common with Henry Paulson? For instance, the Treasury Secretary and I are both Eagle Scouts. We attended Ivy League colleges as undergrads, were both members of Phi Beta Kappa and got our Master’s degree at Harvard business school. I’m also rich, completely bald and became the CEO of an international bank holding company in my 40s. And I put my signature on every dollar bill in my wallet.

But we are also very different. He’s a Christian Scientist. I’m Presbyterian. When he dislocates a finger he doesn’t go to the hospital to have it put back.

I do.

Amazingly, I should be back playing in a week.

Tuesday, November 04, 2008

This post = lame

We are not really comfortable touching on politics around here. We both get annoyed when the robots call during dinner and we both voted toady. But I seemed to be the only one who got upset when they let that pregnant lady cut in line at the polls. Bah! I waited an hour and 20 minutes! It’s not like she’s voting for two.

But we are comfortable talking about sci-fi around here, though. And there’ve been some intersections of late.


I won’t embed someone else’s video but I did watch the “Vote Lando for President” bit on Funny or Die. Verdict: meh. But who knew Calrissian loved himself so much turquoise jewelery and giant rings? And I understand why these fake campaign ads would place him outside Cloud City or that one planet from the first one. But why is he in the Metro for the second one?

I guess Federal Triangle does have that lived-in retrofuturism look that Lucas craves. And the thought of a giant fireball shooting down the tunnel isn’t that hard to imagine. Especially if there are wet leaves on the tracks, which is apparently the most deadly thing that can befall the entire Metro system.


Whenever someone is questioned about the effect race will have on the election they will either a) tell the truth or b) cover up their anxiety by giving a gradually absurd list of skin colors that don’t bother them. It usually goes “I don’t care if they are black, white, yellow, purple, whatever. I’m not racist.”

I have a problem with this. Purple skinned people are the worst. And Purple Man was just about the most awful President we’ll ever have. He had Peter Parker and Matt Murdoch executed. Then he shot Captain America in the head before sending him 400 years into the past. And then he did worse things.

Bottom line – purples are the only group it’s okay to be racist against.


Oh, Liddy. What did you do your face in fours years since we last heard from you?

What did I do to your face? Someone's seriously needs to take photoshop off this computer.

Monday, November 03, 2008


Last week, Amanda dreamt that a hundred internet weirdoes descended on a small turkey farm in rural Maryland and wreaked havoc with impractical shoes and fruit cannons.

A sign indicated there were 15,000 turkeys in there. 15,000 filthy, disgusting turkeys.

On Saturday, we tried to make her hallucination a reality. Unfortunately for her, our car showed up an hour early, didn’t get lost and made all the farmers sigh with our adorableness. The people who did end up making to Thurmont showed up hours later and missed all my inspiring feats. It wasn’t what she had in mind, exactly, but it did sate her appetite for mayhem for at least a week or two.

Winter Brook Farm has two things going for it. First, there’s the corn maze. Corn mazes are cloyingly sentimental holdovers from a bygone time when the thought of getting lost in a field was terrifying for your parents. And I have to admit that when you’re a few hundred yards in and there’s nothing but silence and cornstalk rustling it can be a bit spooky. But then you remember you can just Kool-Aid Man your way out of there because it’s only a field of corn. Sort fun, I guess.

The real draws to Winter Brook Farm are the two modified tractor/bulldozer/howitzers that shoot pumpkins and apples hundreds of yards with unpredictably explosive results. I’ve shot belt fed M60s at old Jeep carcasses doused in gasoline that caused giant scorching fire balls after a single round. This was better.

The double barreled apple cannon blew stuff up real good, especially if knocking over bleach bottles is your thing. But for my money, I wanted to inflict more damage than your average middle school bully with a sack of rotten produce.

You could actually feel the pumpkins impact when they exploded on the boat or car or lawnmower. It was even impressive when Amanda missed the target 20 feet high and her pumpkin came to rest a quarter mile later. I think she got and extra 30 yards off a cart bounce but it was a remarkable shot none the less.

I’m not saying that I’m the greatest pumpkin cannon shot ever but I did take out 55 gallon drum from 75 yards away. If only there was a way to use these powers for good.

Friday, October 31, 2008

He's really showing us what a man with a cannon in his chest can do!

One costume down, two to go.

If your costume is going to have a message, it might as well be to the point. Especially if your only 23 inches tall.

Thursday, October 30, 2008

Peter Peter Pumpkin Destroyer

Certain members our quiet Alexandria parish go out of their way each year to destroy Halloween. Some are well-intentioned busy bodies who leave sacks of candy on your doorsteps weeks before the 31st with notes that instruct you to pay it forward forward until everyone in the neighborhood has sacks of candy. (We did not comply because we are shallow and hate forced social interaction) Others are ill-intentioned adult grifters who carry their own adult-sized pillowcases and demand their own candy after their poorly-costumed child have gotten theirs. (An Insane Clown Posse t-shirt is not a costume.)

And then there are the squirrels.

Last year, I mentioned that I was unaware that squirrels craved pumpkin flesh the way Bunnicula craves carrot juice. For a week now, out entire neighborhood has been ruined by the carcasses of jack-o-lanterns. They rot on the sidewalk and are later run over by lawn mowers leaving an orange, pulpy mess on everything. It’s gross.

But it’s also the way things are. Squirrels are going to eat pumpkins because squirrels like tasty things and pumpkins are tasty as shit.* We don’t leave other food stuffs on our front steps and then expect them not to get eaten. In fact, our insane neighbor message board is rife with people complaining about rats and crows and, I swear to God, buzzards getting into peoples trashcans. Why is everyone surprised that our delicious gourds are slowly being gnawed to death after leaving them outside for 3 weeks?

Not me.

Once I came to accept this fact, I realized there is no reason why someone couldn’t exploit this situation. Why couldn’t man and squirrel work together to create Halloween excitement instead of destroying it? Accordingly, this year I have decided to embrace our furry demolitionist friends. Halloween should be about interspecies teamwork.**

So, without further ado, I present Project Squirrel-o-lantern.

Start with a standard $4.99 Safeway pumpkin.

My contribution was very simple. All we need is your basic eyes, nose, and mouth. I stuck with rectangles because it’s well documented that squirrels hate right angles. My fuzzy associate will do all he can to remedy the sharpness of my design.

Then I just re-introduced the pumpkin into the wild. (I tossed in a few bread crumbs to tempt my partner away from the dozens of other cucurbitaceous temptations around the neighborhood.)

Sure enough, I awoke the next morning to find my Squirrel-o-lantern collaborator hard at work.

Well done squirrel! But I was a little concerned about the oral fixation. The eyes and mouth needed some work too. So I stuffed a gag into the Squirrel-o-lanterns mouth in an effort to encourage other parts of the project to be explored.

Again, success!

Humans find symmetry attractive. They find asymmetry disconcerting. With the obvious effort extended toward making the eyes uneven and unnaturally large, it’s clear that the squirrels in our neighborhood have at least a basic understanding of human psychology. The layering is a nice touch too.

But the real test is to see how it looks when illuminated.

Honestly, I don’t think this could have worked out any better. I think I can safely say that this is the best looking Squirrel-o-lantern ever presented to the trick-or-treating public.

In conclusion, I want to thank my squirrel friend for helping out this year. I know we’ve had a strained relationship in the past. And if the dog ever does manage to catch you or one of your relatives, I will still allow him to violently shake your body until your neck snaps. But until then, know that I respect your talents and look forward to working with you again next year.

*Why is the idea of homemade roasted pumpkin seeds so much better than the reality of homemade roasted pumpkin seeds?

**You ring the doorbell, I’ll light the bag of poo on fire.

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

It's kinda like when I fell asleep driving and almost crashed into one of those stores at the beach that sells towels and and shot glasses and fudge

The driving unpleasantness from Saturday was the result of a trip to see the G’s parents in Faraway, VA. But it wasn’t the most uncomfortable thing that happened that night.

Narcoleptic is how I’d best describe our functioning condition. And we haven’t had much time to ourselves. So when I came of from her parent’s basement after a beer or two and saw her standing with her back to me, I thought I’d be cute and flirtatious.

Remember, we are both very sleepy.

But that’s still no excuse FOR PINCHING MY MOTHER-IN-LAW’S ASS!!!!!


Tuesday, October 28, 2008

Driving Under Teh Influence

My favorite X-Files episode is the one about the 3 inbred Peacock brothers who keep a limbless Mother Peacock alive under a bed to ensure their incestuous Peacock line. It was so terrifying that Fox only aired it twice and the second time featured major parental warnings due to frakked-up content.

My second favorite is Drive, the one where Malcolm in the Middle’s dad has to keep moving in a westerly direction in a paneled station wagon or his brains will blow out his ear. Or:

"Police arrest a man driving dangerously, moments before his wife's ear explodes. Leaving the police station, he kidnaps Mulder and forces him to drive West, whilst
(really?) Scully attempts to prevent him from suffering the same fate."
  • “Driving dangerously”
  • “Wife’s ear explodes”
  • “Suffering”
Yeah. That pretty much sums up our Saturday night.

We now live in a world where sanity is only maintained if our car is in constant motion. Red lights will be run, lanes will be changed unexpectedly, and the longer route will be mapped to make sure we’re traveling at least 40mph at all times.

Seriously, get the fuck out of our way. Our ears are about to explode here and we're going either to crash our car into yours or drive off a bridge. It's in your hands.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008


two nuggets of wisdom imparted upon me by my father this afternoon:

1. "That guy Jeff from the flipping houses reality show on Bravo? What an asshole."

2. "The hot lady on the cooking show? Padma Hot Whats-her-name-shi? She is really, really hot."

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

Tot Trot

I’ve been to enough weddings by now to know that no mater how bad the lone water serving waiter stinks, I shouldn’t just drink wine when I’m thirsty. Even when the reception is at a winery and the waiter is especially stank. I also shouldn’t wear H&M slim fitting European-style shirts when I dance because they will split down the back like I had just pushed a teenager out of the way of a gamma radiation explosion.

Obviously, I still did both of those things on Saturday night. My punishment was not limited to stumbling around the Shenandoah Valley looking for a store willing to sell a man wearing a suit and no shirt some hangover-curing aspirin. I was also forced to eat breakfast at a place that served pork chops as a side dish.

But I discovered two things:

- Dry heaves are good for exercising your core.
- This.

Big Number 753 is really haulin’ tail. The caption is just vague enough to imply that this kid just run 10 miles. But it's specific enough to say that he’s only two years old. Is that what we’re doing now with toddlers? Making them wear tank tops and racing? I'm not really the competitive type but if I ever have a son this means he's going to have to hit the track the day after he can lift that giant melon of his off the ground. Do they make baby treadmills?

Also, Jesus and Big George will sell your house in 90 days.

Monday, October 20, 2008


So, this? Kind of totally disgusting, right? I mean, just... gross. I hadn't even heard of the term until someone mentioned it a few months ago and just.... a thousand shivers up my spine. Nast.

Here's an idea. Don't buy me anything. Save that money for the imminent demise of our savings and social expenditures (hello, daycare. field trips. braces. tuxedo rental for prom. college tuition. junior year abroad. wedding. paying for my early retirement. yacht. helicopter pad. etc.) Instead of gaudy jewelry or $300 designer jeans two sizes bigger than what I used to wear or a diaper bag made from the skin of an exotic and/or mythical creature, I requested that please, for the love of god, don't get me anything. Get me: three hours of sleep when I am a sobbing mess. A glorious present such as that cannot be bought.

The N. complied. Kind of.

He did gift me something so awesome I find it difficult to describe my delight. The unfortunate part of said gift is that it doesn't fit.

For the first time in months, it is not girth, it is length. I am too tall for the youth size large glow-in-the-dark tan and green dinosaur print fleece footie pajamas.

That's right. I said youth size large glow-in-the-dark tan and green dinosaur print fleece footie pajamas.

However, they would definitely fit a slim-ish female or male under, say, 5'8".

The tag is off (doh) but I swear - brand new. Never worn. And now, up for grabs! I suppose I should make this some sort of contest or something, really make you work for these wonders of apparel, but I hate it when blogspot blogs pull that shit. First come, first serve. It may take a while for me to package them up and ship them to you, but the wait will be worth it. Imagine a cold winter cuddled up in this beauty. GLOW IN THE DARK. IMAGINE A CAMPING TRIP IN THIS!

i HATE dolls made from corn husks.

technology has decided to make us it's bitch lately. the cordless phone is busted, the modem on the computer is working only sporadically, my cellphone is (finally) working again, kind of, after battling Verizon for the right to buy anew battery, and i spent last night/this morning watching 3 am tv programming on rabbit ears. soon, you will be able to visit the entire pyggie family on a compound somewhere in appalachia where we churn butter to sell to tourists and weave our own clothes on a loom made from gathered twigs. also, no buttons.

Thursday, October 16, 2008

This seems like a marketing goldmine.

You know what else Under Armor wicks away?

Regurgitated milk.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

And could I get one that handcuffs to my wrist?

You know how when you buy expensive medical equipment or exotic African fruits or a handgun with attachable laser targeting and a modified clip allowing for 22 rounds, they come in Pelican cases with custom foam inserts? Or maybe you don’t know.

Either way, do you think they could modify a large foam insert to fit a human snuggly into a small compartment? Not even a large human. Say a human the size of a Boston Terrier. And the compartment would be roughly the size of a crib. And while the case would need to be soundproof it would allow a free flow of air. Because seriously, enough of the crying already.

Friday, October 10, 2008


Mattos brings up the NPR piece on "Jolene", not my favorite Parton song*, but a good one. Timely because today I was IM-discussing the fact that what I really want to be is the cast of "9 to 5" for Halloween. I would play Doralee, naturally. Given my haircolor and sweet as pie southern disposition and whatnot.

In the market for a Dabney type, I highly doubt the N will be willing.

* ("Silver Dagger," in case you were wondering.)

Wednesday, October 08, 2008

Unless, of course, we could get our oven up to 4000 degrees Kelvin?

Minister of Finance Hank Paulson gave some speech today that I didn’t understand. But he did use my favorite new word of the past week, which I also don’t totally understand: illiquidity.

As in “Boy, I would sure like to drink this inanimate carbon block. To bad carbon’s illiquid, for all intents and purposes, or I’d guzzle it down”

Tuesday, October 07, 2008

It involves thousands and thousands of feathers

All the grandma-generated traffic has inspired me to go back and look at all those ridiculous Flickr photos from our adorable youth. Like 2007. Who goes to weddings anymore? No one, that’s who! Stylish haircuts? Are you kidding me? No time!!

The average number of views break down like this –

Pictures of me – 4
Picture of food -7
Pictures of scenic vacations - 8
Pictures of my beautiful wife – 11
Pictures of the dog – 35
Pictures from weddings where girls show cleavage - 57
Pictures of the potato sack – 94

I’d assume that’s pretty normal. But there are 4 shots that lap the rest several times over. Naturally, the all have to do with sex fetishes. I’m hesitant to mention them directly since only one is a picture of me and its relatively common turn-on. The other three are of people who read this site. Two are a little kinky but wouldn’t raise any eyebrows in a Savage Love column. But the fourth one is absolutely absurd and I’ve been asked several times to allow it be grouped with some other weird-assed shit. So far, I’ve said no.

So far.

Have fun trying to figure it out, ladies.

Monday, October 06, 2008

It's official

We officially have a gecko problem. Unlike some of the other pests we have recently discovered in the neighborhood, these bloodsuckers* are actively trying to get into the house. Now anytime I open the back door they just sprint in like little Usain Bolts.

*hopefully not.

Friday, October 03, 2008


I’m not sure what the big deal is with this new requirement. I just discovered that it’s already been implemented by the company that makes my favorite brand of gummy worms.

The FDA now has an incredibly powerful tool the next time they need to track down the origin of the latest Sour Patch Kids/salmonella outbreak. (Hint: It’s probably that nasty Lee Highway Multiplex)

Wednesday, October 01, 2008


Of all the expensive furniture (Ikea) we’ve bought since moving in 4.5 years ago, the most valuable of all has turned out to be that stupid exercise ball that previously did nothing but get in the way. It has suddenly become invaluable and if I could turn all the sofa’s and chairs into inflatable, ab-maxing rubber balls, I would. Somebody sure loves that bouncy nonsense.

I was trying to bounce and read a magazine with one handed in the basement last night when something small and dart-y caught my eye. It was small and skirted along the baseboard, pausing for 3 or 4 seconds before moving on. Damnit. With all the rain we’ve been having and all the blogs I’ve been reading I’m not surprised that we have insects in the basement. But I’m certainly not happy about it.

The occasional spider in the bathtub is fine. But I hate bugs that only come out when they think no one’s looking. A cricket that jumped on my face one night at the G’s old apartment was one of the reasons I didn’t like spending the night there. That and she lived in a part of Virginia that had a 540 area code.

We were very quiet and un-fussy bouncing on our little rubber ball so my instinct to spring up and squish it were suppressed. We just sat there and I tried to kill it with my laser eye vision. But as I stared, I started to question my snap assumption that this was, in fact, an insect. It wasn’t at all blattoid in its movements and seemed to have a confidence that that wasn’t betrayed by frantic, kitchen light-fearing scurrying.

I’ll be damned.

When my hands were finally free, I got up and discovered we do not a have roach or silverfish problem. No we don’t.


But geckos aren’t native to Virginia, you say. Neither are snakehead fish. But that won’t stop them from nom-nomming on you pets when you take them down to play in the Potomac. In fact, according to the internets, your common house gecko immigrated from Asia and are quite common throughout the southern United States and Philadelphia, for some reason. Now Alexandria, Virginia too.

I mentioned to the G a few weeks back that I saw what I thought was a salamander near a storm drain at the end of the block. Salamanders make sense, seeing that they are native to the area. But geckos? In our basement? Come on. I caught the little feller under a glass (which triggered his defense mechanism and caused his tail to fall off) and tossed him outside. It’ll probably mate with that thing I saw in the storm drain and then we’ll have an Arachnophobia-style problem on our hands.

But at least they aren’t roaches. And they eat probably eat roaches.

I went out and bought some Chinese needle snakes, anyway, since they love eating geckos. And in a few more days, I’m gonna get me some of those gorillas that thrive on snake meat. And come winter, the gorillas will just freeze to death.

Problem solved.

Tuesday, September 30, 2008

a step in time, duh duh duh duhh

Sequestered in the house, tuesday edition:

This ad is on every single daytime tv commercial break, and I am confused by it EVERY TIME it airs. It's the "apply directly to the forehead" of late 08. The chimney dude looks vaguely International Male.

Also, Clue!

hey spud

I can’t bend my pinkie for some reason. And my thigh feels like it was subject to some sort of Endorian-style attack with a log or rocks. But it’s that satisfying good kind of pain, the sort that’s the result of playing full contact football or being hit with rocks.

My back, however, is a different story. The entire area south my shoulder blades and north of my waist has been incredibly tight and achy for the last week. Lying down, stretching, yoga and massage all do nothing. You’d think I’d been carrying a 10lbs sack of potatoes around every night for the last two weeks. A SACK OF POTATOES THAT WON’T SHUT UP AND GO TO SLEEP LIKE A GOOD SACK OF POTATOES!!

And speaking of potatoes, imagine you had one that grew a little an eye on it. Not a real eyeball like an 80’s horror movie but one of those potato eyes that sprout when they hang out on the shelf too long. Now say you took care of that potato and made sure it was clean and warm and didn’t fall into buckets left in the back yard since potatoes can drown in less than one inch of water.

But then, two weeks after you brought the potato home from the store, the eye fell off in a perfectly normal and expected fashion. All the books on potato care say you can just throw the eye away or flush it down the toilet.

My question is: can I feed the eye to the dog? Just throwing it away seems unceremonious. And it’s no worse than the other junk he eats during his dog life – like some sort of potato jerky – and its not like his breath could get any worse. I feel like the potato and the dog would have a life long bond.

My only concern is that the dog develops a taste for potato. That wouldn’t be good.

Thursday, September 25, 2008

Someday, when you’re older… – Part 1

…I’ll explain why this is funny (so not the reason you think) and how you got mixed up in the whole crazy thing.

Saturday, September 20, 2008

ERROR: low battery

There is a family we CANNOT figure out that camps with us in the hospital day room. A grandfather figure who is youngish- he wears a lot of madras and boat shoes and is reading "Last of the Mohicans." The grandmother-person is exceedingly rich-person thin, has a haircut that probably cost more than my annual salary (or as much as a week's worth of NICU bills.... zing! Take note, internet, on how I have retained my impeccable sense of humor, even after the miracle of childbirth and week's worth of total health panic re: my new pet), and wears a lot of white.

The mom-person is younger than us, is of a indeterminable/impossible relation to either grandparent, is ususally staring blankly at a wall while the elderpeople hold her kid. I've seen her in sweatpants and "Family Guy" teeshirts. She has made three comments in two days, one of which is about the weather in the mountains in winter. ("windy I bet.)

The dad appears to be 15, and has worn the same Army recruitment teeshirt all week. He was very excited yesterday about buying a tuna fish sandwich.

The socio-economic differences are pretty apparent, sure, but I am mostly just confused about how these people even know each other, let alone are related. Can I ask? Is that weird?

Other questions:

- will the dog ever stop being a total moron?

- if i take out a Verizon store with my car, can I blame it on hormones instead of the simple facct that the phone I own is the biggest piece of shit I have ever held in my life, and that includes PIECES OF ACTUAL SHIT i now have on my hands on a daily basis? Motorola, you make me so furious.

- "Always Sunny in Philadelphia" premiere: funniest television program ever in the history of the universe?

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

the best the city has to offer, apparently

I’ve never seen that program called the Leguna Beach. Or the show with the girl with the fake rack who dates the albino dude (who unfortunately looks a little like me sometimes) with the scraggly beard made out of corn silk. However, when they do appear in the society pages, I’ve noticed that at least they look relatively well-dressed. Not fashion-forward or anything, but they don’t shop at the Dress Barn and the male-equivalent of the Dress Barn. (Syms?)

The same cannot be said for the two ridiculously dressed girls I just saw get out of an SUV at 21st and M. If beclowned is a word, then it’s the one that best applies here. Their wardrobes would not have caused a second glance, however, until I noticed the third woman trailing behind with wireless microphones and a walkie-talkie.

It appears that Lifetime has started shooting their LNS-themed, unintentional parody of faux celebrity realism here in the most northwestern parts of north-west DC. My first instinct says it’ll never even make on the air. But if I’m wrong and in 8 months the network decides to air it, they will soon regret any amount of money they have clearly wasted. Lifetime would be better off leaving the restaurant right now and filming any garbage blowing down M Street. It already looks to be of better quality.

Monday, September 08, 2008

it tastes like lead, too

We asked Target to send us 60lbs of wood and an Allen wrench in July. In return they took our money and spent the next 3 months dicking around not mailing it. But the internets say it’ll be sitting on our front porch when we get home for either the dog to mangle or the neighbors to steal. The G’s been tracking the order every 15 minutes, which so far has only led to an irate 36 hour period where she stomped around the house demanding to know why the package was sent Ontario, Canada after already spending a day in California. (Hint: there’s an Ontario, California.)

She’s also convinced that it was her series of nasty letters that goosed Target into finally getting off its lazy Mossimoed ass and putting this pile of lumber into the mail. She is wrong. Unlike my crazy rants about frivolous things to faceless companies that go unanswered, she expects satisfaction. I understand that any communication will expediently get the disgruntled customers nowhere.

The real problem, and I am convinced this is true, was that our delivery originated in a certain Asian nation that held the Super Bowl-sized sporting event known as the Olympics. Between July and the closing ceremonies we received only two halfhearted emails from Target – one thanking us for the order and one that effectively said they had no idea when it would be shipped but thanks for the check and, uh we’re also canceling your free shipping so you owe us an additional $49.99. But as soon as Jimmy Page stumbled off that bus and the torch was sent to its shame in London –WANG! – emails aplenty. “Sorry about that $49.99 thing. Also, do you like merino?”

I don’t know if ours was a factory that was shut down to allow those baby athletes stop complaining but if I was Target, that’s the excuse I would have given. It would have been a much better customer service ploy than the electronic shrug of the shoulders or months of silence they ended up feeding us.

watching tennis on the radio

On sports currently…

Andy Murray has the least exotic sounding name of anyone playing in a grand slam final since Art Larsen beat Herb Flam in 1950. Sorry Andy, but you have a dog’s name and I will not root for you tonight. Good luck at being the latest addition in the long line of Scottish sports failures.

On sports previously…

The parabolic microphones weren’t picking up what he was saying but watching this, all I heard was this. (The crying part, not the ferret part)

what i know about football!

- i'd like to send a shout-out to drew brees for scoring me a lot of points in fantasy. also marion barber. also tom brady for getting hurt.

- mattos would like to send a shout-out to chad johnson for changing his name to something throughly awesome.

- i still know nothing about football.

carry on!

Thursday, September 04, 2008

Well worth the $6.98

Of late, I’ve had a two 2 gig flash drives “walk off” and one 1 gig stop working. The latter was being recognized by fewer computers so I’d recently taken most of the valuable info (a list of Scrablulous bingoes) off. But the first two had some important quality stuff (a work-in-progress lite erotica novel about a group of time-traveling teenage wolfmen/women who solve crimes in a parallel dimension where Howie Mandell was never born) on them and I was not happy with their casual disappearance. Something had to be done. Something that would insure there’s no confusion over the drive’s owner and any future vanishing would quickly escalate from a misdemeanor concerning property to a tragic felony of the heart.

This entire issue would have been solved with one of those chains banks use to chain pens to desks. But they don’t sell these at CVS or Walgreens. And for some reason I couldn’t manage to steal one from my bank. Fortunately though, Walgreens has just started stocking WWE action figures. It seemed the next best thing.

So with a pair of pliers and snips, a metal file, a little bit of glue and electrical tape and some Alaskan ingenuity, I am the proud owner of a brand new The Miz flashdrive.

A few things to note:

There was a brief time in the last five years when I was irrationally obsessed with one of the Real World/Road Rules Challenges. I am refusing to look up an actual tick-tock of what has happened between then in now, so I can only assume that the guy who called himself The Miz on that show has somehow managed to become a pro wrestler.

His gimmick seems to be having Cameron Diaz’s hair from Something About Mary and Tim Kaine’s eyebrows from every day ever.

If you exclude the giant pecs but include the absurd delts, he looks like my brother-in-law.

An added bonus is that the plastic torso is of such a cheap quality, the original orange light from the flash drive can be seen glowing in his chest like E.T. Even better, when the drive is thinking about stuff, it pulsates slowly like a heartburn sufferer in a Pepcid AC commercial.

I’ve already been entranced several times today by its hypnotic throbbing glow.

Finally, at 2 gigs, my calculations show that my The Miz half-toy has a greater memory capacity than The Miz himself.


like a pitbull! wearing lipstick!

So, what a hot mess all that was, eh? I kept expecting her to roll out her tater tot hot dish recipe. And then the fam looked so uncomfortable on stage with scary Grandpa John. Poor Levi. You know one wrong move, and he was a goner- a giant hooked cane operated by a low-level McC staffer would have vaudeville'd his ass right off. (Also, was he chewing gum??????)

K: i feel like this is a plot to a bad fish-out-of-water sandra bullock movie, the kind that i would be embarrassed to admit that i watched, but secretly enjoy.

Maybe it's just too... familiar. This entire disaster is comparable to the highest functioning member of my family deciding to run for office. And if you'd ever like to reach my uncle and encourage him to do so, his email address is wo/lfho/llowbow/hunter@[redacted]. Not kidding. Yes, bow hunting. Us'ns not rich enough to git a plane.

I have totally forgotten how to write on a blog, if it isn't apparent.

Wednesday, September 03, 2008

The first person I see dressed as Rorschach for Halloween is geeting an Andrewsian-level fist straight to the cock

At a party, the D’s boy friend let it be known that our local Borders has gone overboard with its Watchmen hype preparations. There are at 30 copies for sale in the basement (banished) comics section, 20 on a separate shelf and a few more upstairs filled under top sellers.

I don’t find this that interesting. Everyone’s got to make their duckets and even if Moore won’t see the movie, he can still reap some rewards from its release. What I do find interesting is that I noted the very same thing and took a picture of it earlier that day.

But I was going to pull him aside and show it off in private. There were girls at this party.


Friday, August 29, 2008

hey look, a blog

Okay, fine. That last entry was really painfully obvious.

here: sarahpalin.typepad.com

palin, veep

i'm sure that tina fey is aware she needs to get her ass back to SNL, stat.

I also almost didn't make my flight because I was goofing off at Newbury Comics

Hello post I wrote on Wednesday but forgot to hit publish on so it sat on the bench while I was in Boston self tanning and giving advice to a man who has 150 million platinum reasons not to listen to it...

It was a game of firsts at last night's Nationals-Dodgers “pitchers duel.”

Foremost, it was my ninth game at the new stadium but the first win I’ve witnessed this season.

Secondly, we opted to drive and it was a terrible mistake. Metro is the superior means of ballgame delivery even if your parking pass allows you to pull up directly into the opposing team’s dugout, which ours did.

As we sat in traffic:

Me: It looks like Ryan Avent was right about this one.
The G: Bite your tongue. Avent is not allowed to be right about anything, ever.

Thirdly, we got real gentleman-like seats so we had to be real gentlemen-like. So no yelling at Manny when he half-assed it from second on a play that would have tied the game if he hadn’t jogged to third.

Speaking of which, sportscasters, just because a game is low scoring (2-1) it shouldn’t automatically get assigned the label of “pitching duel” like I heard on the radio. The Nats used 5 different pitchers. The starter hit two batters, walked two batters, struck out none and committed an error. They team walked two opposing pitchers. And the Dodgers left 10 players on base. The Nats were lucky that their one run lead held up. It wasn’t a pitching duel.

The Lizard gives the G the ol' Slimy Eyeball. Then he licked it.

Finally, I’ve complained about this before but they really need to send Screech’s head to the dry cleaners. From a distance it looks white-ish, like one of those paint chips that’s not really pure white but still not in the same paint card as the grays. Up close, however, you can tell it’s been hugged by so many sticky children and sweaty drunks that its gotten exceedingly filthy.

Unless he’s going for whatever they call the hair style that number 8 has sporting there. Blond on top, decidedly not blond underneath.

Thursday, August 28, 2008

he's got thousands! in different sizes!

it's a long story as to why I was googling "where to purchase berets in bulk," but here, in case you were in the market. ("This quality made beret is an acid stone washed denim material. Comes with a draw string tie and looks stylish.") Yay!

Wednesday, August 27, 2008


(update: "WhoDis?" guy has a name. It's Julio, and if he calls me one more time, I'm gonna find ItsJulioWhoDis? and kick him in the teeth.)

data, form

Linking this even though it includes a Radiohead video.


- infosthetics.com

- Kottke's infoviz collection

- information design

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Failsafe Automated Exclamation Point Generator

It was funny for the 4 minutes before this.

It was sad when it went on for another three.

Seven whole minutes of horn blowing.

Monday, August 25, 2008

yes, but you didn't KNOW the people violently killed

A 10 minute car ride with my father-in-law:

The N: So, heard whats going on in the news today? (referring, I assume, to the convention)
FIL: Japanese scientists can clone stem cells from wisdom teeth!

* * *

The N: We only know one family that lives on that street, trust me. The Jones & the Does were not next door neighbors
FIL: Yes they were! I swear they were neighbors
The N: No. The Jones lived on XXX Street, and the Does lived on YYY street. Trust me. The only people we know who EVER lived on XXX street ever were the Jones.
FIL: Well, other people lived on that street too.
The N: Like who?
FIL: There was a murder on that street once.

There were more, but these were my favorites.

Next week, we'll practice by jumping over bike racks

While our tour of DC schools was somewhat limited to small part of the city, CA and I can report that at least McKinley Tech High School was 100% ready to open this morning. The new turf football field was a beautifully unnatural green, the grounds were liter free, and the parking lot was level and without cracks.

We’d also like the thanks the grounds keeping crew for their advice on staying in shape. Your suggestion of how our cores would be better served by bending at the waist was greatly appreciated. The tips about the medicine balls and footwork were spot on and obliques certainly paid the price. I don’t care what anyone says, it’s always nice to have an audience when lifting weights in a high school parking lot.

And they took great pains not to blow leaves and grass clippings on us. McKinley Tech High School janitors: You guys are the best.


H/T to kottke:

Hands on a Hard Body is now on Google video, in it's entirety. This doesn't really effect you if you are a member of my immediate family/related to me in any way, since we've been passing around bootleg dvd's of this thing for years as Christmas gifts. My brother can recite the entire documentary from memory, and my mom talks it up to complete strangers.

It's a fine, fine little film.

Friday, August 22, 2008

also, i'm watching soaps on mute at work.

- Hey, universe? No more abandoned-helpless animal stories, alrighty? euthanized whales nursing on boats? turtles who stumble into italian restaurants after making a few wrong turns? dogs who stay by their owners corpses for weeks at a time hoping they will wake up? I'm DONE. okay? thanks.

- Recently, my cell phone number has been accquired by the gentlemen henceforth* known as "Whodis? Guy." He calls every day around 3 or 330 pm, and in the mornings on weekends. I have answered the phone probably 8 times and told him every time he has the wrong number. Now I simply ignore it. Whodis? Guy never leaves a message. Here is a typical interaction:

Me: Hello?
Me: No, who is this?
Me: You have the wrong number sir. Again.
WDG: (untelligible) wrong number? (untelligellible) WHODIS?
WDG: (kind of sad "whodiiis?" heard before I hang up)

The calls are from a landline in Alexandria - should I call back and hope someone else answers, maybe at a different time of day, and explain to them that I no longer want Whodis? Guy interrupting my very vry strenuous workday of playing Bookworm online? Advice.

- Pizza Hut is now selling something called "Bacon Mac n Cheese Pizza."

- Sexy Teen Party tonight! I'm going as a VERY sexy teen with loose morals and a bleak future.

-JL on JBel

* i feel as if I just used "henceforth" incorrectly but I'm too lazy to find out.

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

Seriously, Des Moinoids?

Attention the entire state of Iowa: if you announce that your state’s most attractive Olympic athlete’s likeness is going to be sculpted in ice at your state fair, don’t make that effigy impossible to locate. The best I could find was this tiny out-of-focus thing. I can’t see ice abs in that picture. I want a Snoopy sno-cone made from Lolo Jones and I want it now.

(Whatever you do, don’t go look up Lolo Jones website because it’ll make you crazy. The song Whatever Lola Wants plays constantly and you can’t turn it off. And it’s designed in a way that only evokes frustration from creepy dudes looking for Lolo Jones pictures. (Not me))

The lack of real news photos of the ice sculptures meant I spent the day looking at other peoples’ flickr pictures from the state fair. Was it the fried awesome on a stick?


- The name of my new band? IPT. But my “I” will probably stand for International so it can be more ironically un-ironic.

- Is “kebab” too foreign sounding? The government should really shut down those restaurants like Moby Dick and their "terrorist salads."

- Make room for Beer Dog. Or as the G sez, “This is that commercial with the beer horse and the get-you-n-shape dog that comes and gets horses in shape with Rocky music.”

You mean a trainer?

“No. A get-in-shape coach.”

- Granted Lolo Jones is the second most famous Olympic Des Moinians*, but pictures of this stupid Shawn Jones butter statue are everywhere. Again, I want to break off pieces of ice Lolo Jones and make mojitos. And I refuse to be part of any innuendo involving Shawn Johnson and butter.

*There was some debate over the correct term to describe someone from Des Moines. My native Iowan father said Des Moiner. My numbskull cousin (who lives in Des Moines) said Des Moinoid. So I called the Des Moines Chamber of Commerce and the Bureau of Tourism. They both said the correct term was Des Moinian

They also added that they city is planning to build statues of Lolo Jones and Shawn Johnson for their Iowa Hall of Pride. But neither will be made of ice.

So I still can’t feed chips of frozen Lolo to women in labor?

Dang it.

Monday, August 18, 2008


I’ve got one of those headaches that are so bad that I’ve started looking into whether the Red Cross is holding a blood drive nearby. Every possible remedy has been attempted. But my surgeon/barber has been saying some good things about blood-letting.

not about james carville, still about sports

Olympics/Nike marketing geniuses: If I hear the Killers one more time, I'm gonna put my foot through a wall.

Also, everyone is getting hurt on the hurdles this morning. They are NOT soldiers. Soldiers dont keep fucking up their hamstrings in this way, I don't think.

In other crap no one cares about, I am learning about fantasy football!(?)! It is comedy gold, but so far I have it down. I'm being tutored every evening for 10-15 minutes so I don't completely humiliate my spouse on draft day by using my first round pick to go for "a hottie who throws the ball.... that's called a quarterback, right?"

The biggest issue I see with this experiment is the potential for me to get really, really, really, into this lame sport I know nothing about.

Friday, August 15, 2008

Artificial Horizon

The G and I have a friend who we credit/blam for introducing us crazy kids about 240 years ago in college. Judging by the size of things, though, we haven’t seen him in at least 8.25 months. We thought it’d be nice to rekindle this friendship but it’s proven rather difficult to track him down. His cell phone service has been canceled and the emails that the system administrator doesn’t kick back just go unanswered.

But we got a tip last week. Apparently, he and his “band” play acoustic cover version of 90’s alternative songs at the Front Page Arlington on Wednesday night. SEX TYPE THING!??! REEL BIG FISH!?! OFF TO BALLSTON!

Except not. Although we found a great parking spot, there was a line to get into the bar. The Front Page. A line. And we were older than anyone else there by 15 years. We couldn’t figure out who was lamer. But it probably wasn’t the two 30+ year olds who refused to wait to get their ID’s checked at a Arlington mall bar. And it looks like our friend won’t have the honor of seeing us in out latest versions and re-imagined Ultimate costumes.

But that’s only part of what this post is about. On the way there, the G claimed to have never heard the song that we discussed last week. You know, the one about fake lesbians? And since AM has admitted to loving the song and listening to it on the radio all the time and wanting to marry it, I knew it was often played on 99.5. So we tuned in.

We heard one Coldplay song before the DJ came back on. But before we got a chance to hear anything else, he said something that justifies my refusal to listen to anything other than Paul Harvey.

The young man, who I may remind you is music DJ in Washington DC, asked his listeners if they knew if the Black Cat was a different venue than DC9. He wasn’t sure. He’d been to the Black Cat before but it’d been awhile. Is it still around, he wondered? Did DC9 replace it? It had to be the same place because there couldn’t be that many places where bands could play in DC. I mean, after the MCI Center what else is there? Please to be texting him with the answer.

I’ve seen the G irate before. Crazy irrational angry with knives shooting out of her eyes and squiggly furious lines coming off her like Pigpen’s stank. But it’s been a long time since I’ve seen her this wolf-faced enraged. Especially over a stupid radio top 40 show.

I mean, I’m not a radio DJ or anything but I still know that they tore down the Black Cat in 2006 and built The Bayou in its place. It’s where Lungfish plays.

Thursday, August 14, 2008


I’m all for an Aventopian future where no one drives cars and everyone has adorable dogs. But if you want me to pay money to share a bike with some tourist, don’t park them near hospitals that leave biohazard specimen bags lying around the sidewalk.

Tuesday, August 12, 2008


I enjoyed watching the G and CA enjoy the Arlington County Fair since they were so bright-eyed about all its offerings. There was fried dough to cram down their maws, baby/genetically miniaturized animals to pet, other less cute animals to race, wilted produce to judge and giant stalks of corn to be amazed by. (An impressive 8 feet).

But the D and I are much more experienced fairgoers. We’ve been to several real Midwest county fairs. We’ve seen 4 generations of pigs in one pen. I’ve been amazed by truly gigantic stalks of corn. (19 feet 7 inches) I’ve watched baby/genetically miniaturized animals drag their captors around on sleds. I’ve seen Grand Funk Railroad.

Since the county fair season is at its midpoint and some may still be making the trek to faraway places with names like Prince Williams, I thought I’d offer a few insider hints about things to keep a an eye out for.

#1 – Actors in giant costumes or giant actors in appropriately sized costumes.

Called “Strolling Characters” in the county fair business, these towering body puppets main jobs are to terrorize children and not crush people. I believe Rock-it the Robot to be the most famous in this class of entertainment but he and I had an unpleasant encounter at a fair a few years ago. Naturally, I challenged him to a dance-off and even awarded him the advantage by mandating that "The Robot" be the only allowable dance. Things became unpleasant when he refused to participate.

The Arlington County fair had a “green” theme to it this year so in addition to encouraging everyone to move closer to their jobs and lose their cars, they brought in Treebeard to amaze the locals.

Judging by the man in the FBI hat, he was unsuccessful.

#2 – Works of art by local amateurs judged by less amateurish amateurs

Most of the entries are photographs. Some are pretty good and could possibly make it into a calendar of generic landscapes or a Windows desktop theme. Most were terrible. One was of an old woman in a wingback chair eating a Pop-tart on Christmas morning a half second before a leaping black cat landed on her head. Another was one of those pictures King’s Dominion will sell you after riding the Grizzly. I’m not really sure how that qualified under the rules.

The other categories were sewing (a Christmas stocking featuring a rabbit in the snow that read TRACY), doll design (a stuffed bear made from an old fur coat dressed like a fairy princess) and sculpting (a five-legged clay crab with Snoopy painted on its shell).

Also, painting.

This here is the winner. Subtlety titled Car With Explosion, it won all the best ribbons. My initial reaction was to chuckle disbelieving but I bet painting a BMW fleeing a giant explosion at what appears to be a church (based on the flying steeple) is probably tough for a high school student. I know we didn’t attempt gasoline fireballs until my second year of Studio Art in college.

#3 – No matter how far north or progressive or urban you think your county is, at some point a carnie will try to separate you from your money with the promise of cheap yet surprisingly disordered Confederate paraphernalia.

This example features a ring toss game in which the victor qualifies to win one of three non-sanctioned CSA flags. The first shows the Stars and Bars over what I believe is the mock explosion used on a 1970s-era box of Tide laundry detergent. The second flag shows a skull with faintly glowing eyes, sporting a Crocodile Dundee hat, guarding a second Confederate flag with two sabers and a rattlesnake.

The final is the most Daedalian. From what I can figure, it uses your basic Confederate flag as a background with the words Rebel “Til” I Die superimposed in the center. (Not sure why the Til is in quotes.) Under the motto appears to be the blue, translucent head of a seal or possibly a chupacabre with two motorcycles coming out the side.

It just screams “Welcome to Arlington. We hope you enjoy your stay.”

I hope these three tidbits enhance you fair-going experience. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go win this giant, stuffed Sebastian the Crab.

Monday, August 11, 2008

oh volleyball you are so awesome

Dalhausser is the beach's answer to you-know-who, non?

Oh, and if a case ever needed to be made for HDTV: hello Olympics. Even if Dalhausser and Foster choked (choked!) against Latvia early on, I still super enjoy seeing every bead of their sweat in high def.

Friday, August 08, 2008

Carlos the Dwarf: The Movie

The plan is too see Pineapple Express tonight.

With the exception of September’s Coen Brothers pic, it looks like the next few weeks are going to be pretty barren at the old multiplex. That’s why the Pineapple Express better be the best fucking movie I’ve ever seen with my 127-year-old cataract-filled mole eyes.

This will most likely be the last movie the Pyggies will see in a theater for at least 5 years. When we make it back, it’ll be for some delightful animated romp that a Pixar executive just thought up yesterday. Children will love it for the bright colors and silly voices. Adults will barely tolerate the thinly veiled jokes about President Tim Pawlenty. I’ll abide the recycled Star Wars sound effects slipped in by animation nerds.

And it’ll be a matinee.

Or maybe I’ll sneak out by myself and watch a midnight showing of The Dark Knight Returns after everyone else has gone to bed.

Either way, I’ve ruined my life.

Come on Pineapple Express. Make the next 18 years worth while.

Thursday, August 07, 2008

halloween 2008 costume idea, #45

Sometimes, you're having a bad day. You trip and fall, your car gets towed, someone puts mustard on your BLT. All tragic and weird.

But then you read something like this and life becomes magical again.

Makes a rainbow about as colorful as a lead pipe.

The longest thing I've read in the last few weeks that could even resemble a book is a graphic novel checked out from the library. I wouldn't be surprised if I've completely forgotten how to read if the text isn't in word balloon form. But when I decided to actually read a book, the library only had one copy of the one I was looking for and it was in audio form. And that book was about comic books. Bonjour, Monsieur Cercle Vicieux.

Fortunately, the book(CD) is incredibly good. The Ten-Cent Plague narrates the controversy-plagued history of comic books between when Captain America punched Hitler to Stan Lee taking credit for inventing every superhero in the 60's. Caped heroes comics weren't selling too well back then so the publishers relied on true crime stories, fake crime stories, stories about reanimated corpses and other things coming from swamps, high school romance, cowboys, jungle queens and all of the above on the moon or somewhere else in space.

The problems arose in the late 40's after some community do-gooders started to notice the severed heads, rotting flesh and general misogyny on the covers of the crime and horror books. Comic book burnings became all the rage in some small rural towns and even some of the larger cities drafted legislation concerning their distribution and sales. Senate subcommittee investigations were held. It all came to a head in the mid-50s and the negative attention forced the most popular books (in terms of sales) out of production.

While important to the comic book industry, this culture skirmish gets lost behind the other major battles being fought around the same time. The Congressionally led communism, juvenile delinquency and organized crime investigations all occurred within two years of the comics scare and draw more attention in the history books. But it did lead directly to the Comics Code Authority and caused the immediate scrubbing and near destruction of the industry. For example: Scenes dealing with, or instruments associated with walking dead, torture, vampires and vampirism, ghouls, cannibalism, and werewolfism are prohibited. (Yeah! All but the walking dead comics are kinda lame) or Females shall be drawn realistically without exaggeration of any physical qualities. (Booo! Where are young boys going to develop their unrealistic expectations of the female form?)

The CCA’s restrictions were so stringent that they pretty drove the industry’s top publisher out of business. And there was little wiggle room for other editors to maneuver. Either they eliminated “all scenes of horror, excessive bloodshed, gory or gruesome crimes, depravity, lust, sadism, masochism” or the books went unpublished. That was pretty much everything popular outside of Archie and talking animals.

The book touches on how the Comics Code Authority differed from the other self-regulating organizations established by the entertainment industry around the same time. For instance, the movie industry’s Hays Code had the same restrictions but the Hollywood writers were deft enough to get the message past the censors. In fact, it forced a whole generation of scriptwriters to develop a visual medium based on allusion and imagery. In the mid-50’s, writers and artists in the comic horror and crime industry could not achieve that sort of finesse. The industry collapsed.

I “read” most of this book at the beach last week during a reunion of the Iowan side of the family. Early one evening, I was treated to a concert by my cousin’s four-year old daughter. (That’s my other cousin on guitar playing an unrelated song by 311 or whatever other shitty band he’s into right now.) It went a little something like this…

I was casually aware that there was a song floating around the Top 40 about a barsexual kiss between two girls. I did not know it was the #1 song for some 1000 straight weeks. Huh.

Creating a CCA-like censorship board that would cleans the lyrics of Clear Channel pop songs is probably a bad idea. But, man, I wish there was some way to force some subtlety into the songs available to our nations four year olds.

Tuesday, August 05, 2008

Plug in my M.C.I

Pulled this quote of a an article about the Police’s last show

"People don't really change," guitarist Andy Summers told The Associated Press. "We're the same three (jerks) we always were. I'm actually quite proud of the fact that it's gone on as long as it has."

What’s the word that “jerk” replaced? I’m guessing “wanker”, for the sake of American audiences. But I’m hoping it’s “miserable, cocksucking twats,” for the sake of descriptive accuracy.

The G hopes its “dillhole.”

goats, part IV

Goats grazing on National Park Service land at Staten Island's Fort Wadsworth managed to do what terrorists wished they could: They sneaked under a fence onto a restricted area near the base of the Verrazano Bridge - without triggering alarms, sources said.

Monday, August 04, 2008

please someone tell me they had the same love of Units as I did in 1988. Please. Someone.

i need help, internet weirdos. The first person who can please find me a photo of anything to do with the 1980's "modular clothing" phenomenon store UNITS will be my new best friend.

I cannot find jack shit out there as far as photos, just a few measly mentions of the store on "remember the 80s"- type websites and a brief bio on designer Sandra Garratt. NOT GOOD ENOUGH.

UPDATE: Nevermind.

(it's a belt! it's a tube top! it's a micro mini! it's a headdress! it can be used to smuggle snacks into the $.50 movie theatre! it's been corrupted by the skeletal chicks with fake boobs on "Survivor" and re-named a "buff!" I myself paired this modern fashion miracle with coordinating slouch socks, skorts, and vests. yes, all at the same time.)

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

more breaking news about... animals!

The dog had a cat actually run into his mouth last night while we were on a walk, but he was too surprised to close his jaws, and the lucky cat got away.

The N has been at the beach for four days, this is the most I can muster right now.

Here, nerd things! I call dibs on LOLChipDefects dot com.

Friday, July 25, 2008

In Your Talons

Last night I was again accused of making things up by AM, even though I have proven time and time again that my tales are non-fiction. But today something incredible happened that even I wouldn’t believe unless I was shown the photographic proof. Fortunately, I carry a camera in my purse with my tissues and butterscotch candies.

Around 11:30 I was sitting in my car waiting for my turn in the car wash. Suddenly, a cute little sparrow landed on the hood and initiated an avian staring contest. But when it became clear that I was not going to be the first blinker, it got all huffy and started pecking the fuck out of the paint.

“Uhhh bird? What are you doing!!??!

I revved the engine but it did not flinch. I honked the horn. It looked up, bounced two baby bird steps toward the windshield and went back to pecking.

“Seriously!!! Bird, what’s the deal?”

I laid on the horn. It looked up again, gave me with of those quick birdlike head turns and gave me the stink eye. That’s when I died a little bit today. My insides turned black from a cocktail of pity, terror and the Five Guys I had for lunch.

Click along if you want to be majorly groaded out. And only if you are willing to sign a pledge that you will never walk around Falls Church without a Marine issued zombie neutralizing weapon.

I'm ready.

"Rhymes with 'Rites of Spring.' This is driving me crazy, seriously."

- travel.
- jello.
- ewwwwwwwww. EWWWWWWW.

* * *

Also, for anyone who was at Fort Reno last night and was witness to my incoherent rambling ("Arrrrgh! Who AM i thinking of? Dammit. Just google "emo brain tumor" on yr blackberry already. Arrrggh"):

I meant the Promise Ring; was referring to Davey von Bohlen; all this has something to do with Maritime; and not much to do with Statehood.

Okay, so that should now be cleared up.

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

One LOTR and one decades-old NFL reference in the same post. ZING!!!

It’s been more than a month since the gutter was ripped off our place by heavy rain, tearing away part of the roof and cleaving several chunks of masonry. While it looked terrible from the outside, who could argue that an indoor waterfall, cracks in wall, bubbling paint and a basement full of muddy stinkwater doesn’t raise the resale value.

Well, the G does. So after several professional phone calls from me and some blistering emails from her, we are finally getting someone from the condo association to fix it. Not that I couldn’t fix it myself but we do pay condo fees for something other than shitty flower arrangements and access to no pool.

The work will require patching up a crack that runs the height of the entire wall and allows us to see into the neighbor’s kitchen and seeps blood maybe. All we need to do is kick back and supply the same color paint so they can match the walls. Too bad that bucket was sitting in the same water that flooded the basement in the first place and got rusted to hell. I have since poured it directly into the storm drain with in the hopes of killing every blue crab in the Chesapeake Bay.

So it was off to the Home Despot to try to match the wall paint with their magic paint matching machine. And since we couldn’t bring the wall itself it’s a good thing that the water damaged has enabled us to tear huge sheets of paint directly from the surface all the way down to the base plaster. Tastes good too.

The G got tasked with standing in line since she is the expert on colors. (She experienced “red” when someone cut in front of her and then acted like they didn’t see the huge line) I got tasked with goofing off in the tools section. And it’s there that I found the most unnecessary piece of hardware ever cast from the minds of NFL Players Inc.

I can’t say I’m a particular fan of Ray Lewis but given the option there is no other player I’d want on my house key. And I wasn’t given an option because it was the only player they had, for some reason. While there were other “sports” (re: NASCAR) themed keys, Ray-Ray was the only athlete making a personal appearance.

If this were 800 years ago, this key would obviously be magical. Either Ray Lewis’s spirit is now protecting our house or it allows him to enter unmolested and slay us like hobbit-shaped pillows at the Prancing Pony. Its only power today is to break off in the lock and ruin your day.

*********In this space, I have attempted to make four closing jokes about football and sharp, dangerous tools and murder. Although none of them have been particularly funny or satisfying the punch line to all of them is Ray Carruth. Ray Carruth, ladies and gentlemen, Ray Carruth. *********

The end.

"no seriously, you have the worst taste in hip hop EVER." - The N.

So, Rock the Bells. Who's going? Anyone? Weather dot com is saying 89 degrees w/ scattered t-storms. Obviously I will be wearing a white teeshirt if my most lovely ticket wench (K.) comes through for me.

Friday, July 18, 2008


I don’t go in for musicals for the same reason I don’t go to hockey games or the condo association board meetings. I’m sure they’re fun and people dance in the aisles and many parking issues get resolved but they are not my thing. I’m not against them and certainly wouldn’t bust anyone’s chops after his girlfriend makes him go see the Man From La Mancha with his probable future mother-in-law.

As a result, I know nothing about staged musicals. If the category on Jeopardy is "Broadway Musicals" I’ll guess Jean Valjean for every question because it’s always the answer to one of them. (The same goes for Trivia Pursuit. David Mamet is the answer to any question about playwrights.)

For example, I know Rent takes place in New York. And I know that I look like one of the guys from the movie version. And I think someone has or gets AIDS. (Probbaly my character.) But beyond that my only frame of reference is from a brief Simpson’s spoof and the commercials that were on WTOP the last time it came to town. Based on the song that played repeatedly for several weeks, I’m guessing the play is about math. Or at least counting how many minutes make up some longer amount of time.

The same with Sweeney Todd. I didn’t see the movie. But I know it’s bloody and yesterday’s NY Times crossword puzzle* has a clue about a song from the play and the answer is “The Worst Pies in London.” The worst pie I ever had in London was made out of eels. Eel pie. Now that's a play I'm willing to see.

Mama Mia is another one. I assumed it was about ABBA and ABBA only. The drama amongst the group’s members didn’t reach Fleetwood Mac levels but I’m sure in the hands of a clever writer and a catalogue of dance hits you could draw together a pretty fun show. But the reviews in the papers today shatter that illusion. It’s about a woman who’s so promiscuous, with so many sexy English sex partners that she doesn’t know who the father of her daughter is. And it’s in Greece.

Now I’m all for loose woman with looser morals. But it gets dangerously close to the poor standards set by Grease, for my tastes. The moral of Grease is that if you want to be popular you should change who you are and put out. And then you get to fly away in a magic car. Even as a child I knew that the ending of that movie was setting a bad example. I don’t want to have to someday explain to my potential daughter that to be popular you need to sleep with Colin Firth. Although she will have my permission to eff
Stellan SkarsgÄrd.

Did you see him catch that coffee mug in Ronin? Dude’s the shit.

*In today’s puzzle -

Clue: Inclusive, as in some resorts
Answer: gay friendly

Inclusive = Gay friendly?