Ben Franklin and Ben Parker have always kinda been interchangeable in my imagination anyways.

My lifelong nerd dream of owning Amazing Fanatsy #15 looks like it has finally come true. Granted, I only own .0075% of it and have to share with 300 million other Americans, but I own it none the less.

And that’s better than being French and owning any part of crappy old The Adventures of Asterix #1.

I’m not so down with the part that involves calling a librarian and getting an appointment, though. Can’t they just make room at the National Archives? You really think the Articles of Confederation are that much of a draw? If memory serves, I think they both end with someone saying “With great power comes great responsibility,” so it’s not like anyone’s going to notice anyways.

update

Until May 10thish sometime in the near future, if Work doesn't track me down and murder me in my sleep as Work has been all wonting to do recently, I'm not reading blogs, or logging onto blogger again. Such is the glory of early spring.

Not much is up, other than the fact that my spouse took the day off yesterday to deal with a wrecked car (car wreck #3 in less than 2 years, and new record?) and shampoo the carpets, which apparently were "so disgusting the cleaning fluid instantly turned black." Let's hear it for housekeeping! My mom showed up at our house last weekend and was all "smells like dog and Oust." Nice. Anyway, so he's a saint.

Congrats to CatAn who actually ran the Nashville half-marathon, unlike my friends who registered and 1) never made it on the plane or 2) spent race time doing a reverse pub crawl looking for their ID's and credit cards so they could, I dunno, FLY HOME AGAIN, because those things were apparently spewed all over Nashville in some sort of drunken haze. ("Listen, I ran 10 miles later that day when I was feeling human, so at least it kind of counts, right?") Probably not.

You don't have to continue to read if you aren't into nerd things:

Last night we spent all night playing Smash Bros. sitting on the floor, since the furniture was still piled up all over the goddamn place because of the carpet shampooing. Hey, Tom Lee: questions. So, so far Meta Knight is my favorite because of his tornado abilities, but the N keeps beating the crap out of me anyway with like: Link. I'm pissed because we all know Link is a total pansy. I need help! and clues! Also, he beat me with the Ice Climbers, so now I'm humiliated.

yes, that actually just happened

Dear Mom:

One would think you would know better than to put your exceptionally crass offspring onto speaker phone without prior warning, and then inquire as to said offspring's opinion on the character of someone from offspring's past.

I would assume the cackling laughter I heard immediately after my delightful comment did not belong to you. So how'd ye spin that one?

Love,
Your Daughter

PS - S. would like to add "if she wanted a daughter with poise and tact she should have sent you to finishing school."

South Dakota really has it's own official dessert?

The giant picture of a Smith Island cake on the front page of the Food Section today sure makes it look good but how could the official dessert of Maryland be anything but the Lady Baltimore cake? Who cares if it’s named after someone who may or may not have existed? Or maybe a book? Who knows for sure?

Firsto of all, it references the state’s fake capital right there in the name. Secondly, the “Lady” part denotes nothing but class. And even though I’ve never had one, anything with figs and nuts and boiled frosting (for some reason) should be quite delicious.

Also, for some other reason, if you google image “lady Baltimore cake” you get pictures from our very own website. (Second and third ones.)

Governor O’Malley, don’t sign this bill. It will come to no good. The ill will flowing from Baltimore will surely poison the Chesapeake Bay even further and ruin any chance those Smith Island cats have at turning their island's economy around.

ice-t, he wants to interrogate you.

A break from bloggio silence to remind everyone that Robin Williams will be on SVU's 200th episode, I think next week, thereby making my life closer to complete.

If Becks and I can only puzzle out how to see Zombie Strippers this weekend, I am one step closer to God.

So

Do I really need to go see a doctor to take these stitches out? I’ve done all sorts of minor/elective/cosmetic self-surgery before with things like nail clippers and shish kabob skewers. How would this be different?

Update: Success! As far as I can tell.. Screw you co-pay.

crap

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It's the kind that throbs right behind my left eyeball and it sure feels unholy

Since unpleasant circumstances required that I be near the Pennsylvania Avenue around 11:30 anyway, I figured I’d stick around and watch Papa Benidicto roll by in his pop-o-matic bubble mobile. The group around me was under the impression that he was going to stop the motorcade and bless the masses in person. I just wanted a $10 Pope shirt that I could regret buying instantly and give to Salvation Army tomorrow.

No dice. He just rolled by at a good 30 mph, smiling and laughing like his bulletproof fishbowl was being pumped full of nitrous oxide. Seemed like a good guy, though.

This morning, however, I’m a little bit regretting not going to the Giant Holy Baseball Stadium. I’m not Catholic and I don’t exactly know what powers the Holy See actually possesses. But I figure if anyone can exorcise this hangover from my head, it’d be him.

Again, not Catholic, so if that sacrilege rises to Pope Bobblehead levels, I apologize.

And send the autos swerving into the loneliest morning

Like I assumed he wouldn’t, my father has obviously not done his taxes. Reason one is that he is lazy. Reason two is that I think my parents owe more than Leona Helmsley’s dog.

This is probably fine because there was a huge line outside both post offices near Dupont Circle filled with those folks trying to submit their returns before 5. And since my old man does not do lines, he’ll probably just take the hit and squander a few more dollars out of my inheritance with late fees and penalties.

Our refund has already been directly deposited and is earning a healthy .03% so I find all this rather comical. But what I found absolutely absurd was that there was a line at the corner mailbox near our house this morning. They recently downsized the neighborhood’s mailboxes from a hefty three to a paltry one in an effort to streamline the system and pay for that guy who draws those pictures in the commercials. But I never assumed it could have caused a pre-work logjam. In fact, there was almost an accident when one of our neighbors nearly rear-ended another when she stopped her car suddenly to let her 4-year-old put her return into the box. It’s the same kid who’s made a habit of hitting his wiffle ball into our yard and causes the dog to go nuts when he sneaks in to get it. So I wouldn’t be too upset if someone clipped him with their car. At least a little bit.





And speaking of the dog and the mailbox and the Pope – how many Hail Marys do you think the Pope would make me do if I confessed to putting the plastic bag I use to clean up after the dog into the mailbox? Not that I’ve done that. But there is a dearth of trashcans in our neighborhood and I won’t lie by saying I haven’t thought about it.

Do you realize how much a Faster Gun cover would have reduced the 930 Club to a rubble of bricks and steel?

From the beginning, I pretty much conceded that the 33 bones I forked over last night were more for Okkervil River and less for The New Pornographers. Budgeting the show out only confirms this: OR played $30 worth of rock ‘n roll and TNP played an uninspired $3.

I still don’t see what the big deal is with New Pornographers. Is the average American indie music fan that starved for prog-rock that they need to fool themselves into believing that THP are a good pop group? What this generation needs is a new Meatloaf, not more Robert Fripps. If I wanted that, I’d move back in with my old roommate so we could sit around and listen to Peter Gabriel-vintage-Genesis again. The only difference is that AC Newman doesn’t suffer from night terrors (I assume) or bust into my room at 3am and scream like Donald Sutherland in Invasion of the Body Snatchers.

And I’m not going to comment on Neko Case on bailing on the show. She’s sold the District out before, she’ll do it again.

Also, Charles Bissell’s inclusion into the Okkervil proceedings has made them more Wren-y than I though possible. I’m not sure if this is good or bad.

Where have all the Father Sarduccis gone?

I’m sure the Popemobile is some sort of high-performance, bullet-proof, multi-million Pope-dollar machine. But to me it looks like a mid-90s Suziki Sidekick with a Mercedes logo slapped on the grill. Or The Homer.

Also, what’s the deal with his voice? It’s too high pitched for my ecclesiastical tastes. I like my Popes all raspy-voiced like John Paul II or this guy. Trust me, Benedict XIII didn't smoke any filtered cigarettes.


And also, do you think I can get business cards that list my job as “antipope”?


And also also, the best papal-ly word is “schism.” Its fun to say.



I kid now. But you know in a week I’ll be suffering from post-papal depression.

uodate 2, electric booga.... i am so tired.

after attempting to (HAHHAHHAHAHHAHAHA HA) find my luggage and filing a claim at the LV airport, (during which I witnessed an almost girl fight between dueling bachelorete parties accusing each other of cutting in line??) and then catching a cab and then waiting in ANOTHER line to check into my hotel (wee early Friday night/Sat morning check-ins in LV hotels? Cream of the crop of humanity) I finally entered my hotel room (upgraded to a bitching party pad suite! Well, for one night. Which meant for a few hours that I would not enjoy) I finally opened the door to my phat suite at 2:00 AM LV time.

Which means I was 45 minutes shy of a 24-hour travel day.

I was able to take a shower this morning (+5) four hours after my arrival to the City of Sin (-1) and then had to put on clothes I had worn for 24 hours the day before (-50).

Oh, but internet, somehow by the grace of God my bags made it to my hotel 45 minutes ago. I DO NOT KNOW HOW. I WILL WEAR CLOTHES, CLEAN ONES, THAT I OWN, TOMORROW. I will not have to find a Vegas mall tonight. I will not have to show up to a seminar tomorrow in Fredericks of Hollywood and a sparkly halter top. Things are looking up.

ain't no place for a poor girl like me.

An update to below:

One, I am currently in Atlanta. It is 7 pm, and I left the house at 5:45 AM. I have actually gone BACKWARDS, seeing as at one point today, I was in Memphis.

Two, my baggage has been eaten by goats in Guam.

Three, in Memphis, I saw a group of French tourists about my parents age. There were 6 or 7 of them, and each of them was wearing a ten gallon hat, boots, new jeans, and sparkly western style cowboy shirts with fringe and sequins. Except for one guy, who was wearing a Johnny Walker Red teeshirt so new the creases were still in it. I think they were coming in from San Antonio. They were, and probably still are, awesome.

Three, there was massive turbulence on the tiny local jet from Memphis to ATL. The dad next to me (coming home from Cancun with his kids) grabbed my arm and then apologized. He doesn't like flying. His son gave his daughter $10 just not to "steal my window seat while I'm in the bathroom."

Four, once in Atlanta, I sat down at the laptop hub and the guy next to me immediately began screaming into his cell phone. After a few minutes, and using the context clues ("but you're MY FUCKING WIFE and we DID THIS FOR A REASON"), I determined he was fighting with his spouse. 2 minutes later, and she told him she was moving out and asked for a divorce. It was a loud enough conversation to hear both sides clearly, and he also repeated every word she said in disbelief, but I still can't figure out who's to blame.

Five, I cannot BELIEVE there are still dirty dishes all over the kitchen at home.

Six, a rowdy group of dude just let out the biggest cheers/chest bump fracas ever, upon finding out their flight to JFK was boarding. There was applause.

I don't leave here for another 2 or 3 hours. I hope to make it to Vegas by midnight, which will then technically be tomorrow. My coworkers called, they're drinking and although I like them, are assholes.

It’s Friday night/And I’m feeling white

No one look at the G right now. She’s been bounced off of seven flights and I’m not actually sure where she is. Other than a state of furious rage. I hope a fabulous week in Vegas is worth the decision to fly on the day the FAA finally decided to grow a pair and bites the hand that feeds them. And other mixed metaphors.

On the home front, it’s me, the dog, the fish and a foot full of stitches. My option are: suck it up and go see Pig Destroyer at the Black Cat and hope no one steps on my mutilated limb or ignore the huge pile of dishes in the kitchen and play Wii.

I the choice is obvious. Up, Down, Up, Down, Left, Right, Left, Right, Up, Down, + unlocks all the costumes.

Snkkt

If a bathroom mirror is going to fall and land on your foot while you’re shaving, may I suggest arranging for it happen around 8am on Wednesday. The hospital’s waiting room is empty and your only competition for the nurse’s attention is a woman going into labor because her husbands can’t find the delivery room. And while you wait for the doctor in the ER, you can be entertained by the haunting moans and terrified hallucinations of drunks and abusers of whatever drugs the Alexandria populace abuses. The only downside is that the addicts take all the good rooms and when they sew the top of your foot back together they have to do it in the hallway on a stretcher. It’s next to the supply room where all the candy-strippers go to make out. Or so TV has led me to believe.

That being said, I’d advise against letting a mirror fall on your foot as it causes a considerable amount of pain, blood and ruining of fancy linens you got as wedding gifts. It also limits your ability to walk. But if you like wearing flip-flops, it’s not a bad way to go out.

The dog also needed his rabies* shot yesterday and while he protested mightily I told him it was either the vet or we’d send him the National Harbor where he’d get norovirus and his ears eaten off by mice while he slept. He opted for the vet but he quivered himself to exhaustion. He actually ran away from me a few times after we got home but since all I was doing was lying around with my foot elevated, playing Wii and watching Battlestar Galactapus 3.0, I figured it wasn’t that bad of a day. To paraphrase a wise man, it was like going to the prom with Gabrielle Carteris after Kelly Taylor shot you down.


*to answer a question I posed earlier, rabies is indeed known as hydrophobia** but the described symptom is not an overwhelming fear of water in any amount, like I thought. Instead, sufferers panic at the idea of drinking water or liquid since you saliva glands get so mangled by the disease.

**to answer a question nobody posed, Fatty Arbuckle starred in a movie call Help! Help! Hydrophibia in 1913 but I can’t find anything about it. I’m not even sure if a copy still exists anywhere in the world. And that’s a shame.

okay: no seriously, this is it til Vegas, I mean it this time.

S. and I were just IM'ing, and I think I potentially stumbled upon the best math rock band name ever. There it was, just laying around in my mind.

Pi to the 30th Decibel.

If this or something like it has been taken already, please let me know. If not, it should have been.

also starring Ultimate Fighting Champion TITO ORTIZ

they'll dance for a fee, but devour you for free.

memphis vs. kansas. i lose. i totally totally so totally lose.

Good freaking sweet christ, the vitriol. I mean, I can't stand Duke (who can? no one. no one can stand them. like 3 people in the world, maybe), but let's all lay off the murderous rampages against 20 year old babies. Even if they did play like total ass and Kansas kicked the everliving shit out of them.

The only thing that is allowable to cause such unfiltered rage as this, IL, was William's tie. That I can understand, and hell - I was rooting for UNC. But no one can root for that tie. Some things cannot be forgiven.

Also, will someone please explain to me how Sommer is going to win my one particular bracket, even with UCLA going all the way? Worst. Picks. By an entire group of people. Ever.

Jack Nastyface versus Crusty Bob

An all three Lord of the Rings marathon is playing two channels away from an all six Star Wars marathon. I’m sure this says something about something but I just don’t care anymore.

I am upset, however, that the Rob Schneider movie where he’s a goat or dolphin or some such thing is on the channel in between. I’m all upset that the G insists that Liv Tyler is attractive when it’s clear that she is not.

Also, Scrabbulous would be better in Middle Earth. Even if you weren’t to double or triple your word, Nazguls would net you 67 points.

The end, you frakking nerd.

how may times can "ugh" be used as a blog title? i'm breakin' records here, people.

work is kicking my ass right now. this tends to happen every April, if you're bored enough to scroll through archives. Next time you'll hear from me is Vegas, where I apparently can vote now since I'm there so goddamn much. If anyone needs me, I'll be at the piano bar.

The Ting-Tings

Although it was a noble educated guess, someone just failed to win a player piano on the Price Is Right. I had the volume down so I don’t know exactly how much one runs for these days. I just know it is less than the $17,500 the guy guessed.

No Laughing Matter

First of all, watch this video. Actually, you only need to watch the first 12 seconds. It’s your typical obnoxious department store advertisement featuring attractive people doing fun things that you’re not invited to unless your dad is suddenly named Secretary of Commerce. And the Krauss/Plante song is nice.



For the first seven seconds it’s your standard JC Penny commercial. But suddenly… why is that girl standing on the table? What are those d-bags clapping for? WHAT THE FUCK?!!! WHAT IS SHE DOING TO THAT CAKE?!!?? THAT’S SOMEBODY’S BIRTHDAY CAKE!!! YOU THERE WITH THE ASSHOLE HAIRCUT, STOP APPLAUDING THIS OUTRAGEOUS BEHAVIOR AND STOP HER!! Oh no.

And cut.

I love cake more than 20-year-old European dudes love V-neck t-shirts. While I have since seen this ridiculous ad on TV, my first screening was before whatever terrible movie we saw last week that I can’t remember now. I was already indignant because our local theater has stopped carrying Reese’s Pieces and I’ll be damned if I’m bringing outside candy into a movie like a hobo. This put me over the edge. Never again will I buy a shower radio with built in flashlight as a last minute Xmas gift for my dad at JC Penny. My monies are going to Belk’s.

A quick search of the tubes when I got home showed that other people were just as concerned about this as I was. There were several ask.com or about.com pages proposing “What’s the deal with… girl and the cake?” but no one had posted an answer. This one issues exemplifies everything wrong with the internets. There is probably a very simple explanation for this but no one has bothered to find out. All some crazy internet crackpot needed to do was ask.

Wait! I’m a crazy internet crackpot!

Dear Mr. Penney,

I have been a fan of your stores since I was very young and would go there with my Mom to by back-to-school clothes each summer. Sadly, that store shut down a few years ago and I now have to drive a farther distance to enjoy your great deals on polo shirts and chinos.

But the reason for my inquiry concerns the latest batch of American Living commercials. I am a big fan of both Robert Plant and Allison Krauss and find the advertisement very touching. However, the quick scene where a young girl in boots steps on her birthday cake is bothersome to me. At first, I assumed this was a tradition from a culture I was unfamiliar with, but none of my friends of other races or religions knew anything about it. Even the ones whose parents are from Europe! I don’t know if I would let my little twin cousins watch it in fear that they might want to walk on their cake next month on their birthday.

In the commercial, the other people in the room appear so happy and proud of the child that it seems very natural and unrehearsed. I don’t want to appear intolerant, so I was hoping you could provide an explanation for the little girl’s action.

Thank you for your time,

X

Usually, these letters take a despicably long time to get answered. Sometimes never. JC Penny wrote back the same day and it caused me to question my previously mentioned shopping ban.

Hello

Thank you for contacting us online.

Thank you for taking the time to contact us with your comments about JCPenney's recent advertising. Very specifically, we attempt to avoid themes that would be considered offensive to JCPenney Customers. We sincerely regret that our ad has offended you. It was not our intent. In this case, the director took what we call creative license. It was not to make a statement, but just the cast and crew having fun.


Thank you for shopping with JCPenney.

JCP.com Customer Service
Every Day Matters

Oooohhh.

First of all, “The director took what we call creative license?” That’s your answer Penny? Creative license? Thanks for explaining that to us Clampetts in our cement ponds. Second of all, I don’t think there is anything in my letter that indicates that I’m at all offended by the little girl’s vicious, cold-blooded pastry mangling. I suspect that the employees of JC Penny’s were so offended themselves that they project those feelings onto my letter.

Honestly, though, I am very pleased with the response. It was returned quickly and, while a little demeaning, still answered the question. But I would have been more satisfied if they had told me what I assume actually happened: the director filmed the wrap party, things got out of control and a 4-year-old girl got a little drunk. I wouldn’t have told anybody, JC Penny, but at least assume that I am sophisticated enough to know what the term “creative license” means.

Posting you're friends cellphone number under a sign that reads "Bagpipe Lessons" at the supermarket is funny

I love practical jokes. I currently have two in the works, so look out. The public around me needs to be on constant vigil on their toes, ready for the unexpected. Leaving a sausage frozen in a 2x2 foot block of ice on someone’s doorstep is the modern version of being stalked by a sabretooth. It helps our species.

It’s also why dislike April Fool’s. The expectation that someone might try to pull a fast one on you ruins the possible experience. Yesterday, upon hearing that a friend had just announced they were having twins, I flat out didn’t believe it.

With the arrival of the internet, these tricks have become tiresome and mostly unoriginal. It’s why rickrolling someone works so well 364 days of the year. It’s why faking your friend’s death in a national newspaper does not. In fact, there were three articles in the Post today about pranks pulled yesterday and they were all lame and, for the most part, failures. And two of the cases were irresponsible abuses of power.