Call me Royce Gracie

J. Shepherd asks: When was the last time you punched someone?

I have something to admit: I have never punched someone. I also have never slapped someone. The Nabob recently offered to let me slap him, since I had never done so. I have never been in a girl fight. I have thrown a bottle at a dude. I have thrown a bicycle tire at a dude. I have yelled at a dude. I have been in crying, yelling fights with girlfriends. I have given hundreds of silent treatments.

But I have never punched someone.

So I will have to give you my closest story:

When I was in sixth grade, I walked in Ms. McCoy’s reading class (6th period. I can’t remember my fucking wallet in the morning, but I can remember I had sixth grade reading 6th period, right after lunch.) I was wearing a very super cool pre-Units-but-Units-type outfit, complete with stripey skirt and matching stripey cardigan thingy. Also, glasses. Very sixth grade geek couture. In retrospect, probably looked more like a malnourished this than a runway model. You'd never guess it today, but at one short point in my life I was 5’8" and 88 pounds soaking wet. (You never know it’s good when you got it. Damn, Gina. Is there anytime more awkward than age 12? And age 19? And age 23?)

Stephen Fletcher was in my class. I’m sure he’s a very smart, attractive, interesting kind man now, but at the time he was a Napoleonic sixth grader with a reddish bowl cut and a penchant for rugby shirts. I can’t remember exactly what was said that day, pre-class, but it must have been something very harsh indeed. I don’t recall being really heavy into man-battery those days, but it was also West Nerdville Township for me when I was 13 so WUT TO DO but defend myself. Story continuing, I found myself in a sitch, holding onto SF's prized rugby shirt. He was almost-but-not-quite holding me up against the bulletin board wall by my cardigan and a piece of my training bra. Somehow, in my supremely awesome state of 6th grade anger, I ripped his rugby shirt. Then the teacher walked in, and everyone sat down at their desks and pretended nothing ever happened. The end.

Well, kind of. The whole school knew by the end of the day. I ripped Stephen Fletcher’s rugby shirt. I spent the rest of the week terrified, because Stephen Fletcher said he was going to get his dad to call my parents AND PAY FOR A NEW RUGBY SHIRT.

Luckily by Friday, Stephen Fletcher forgot I existed. Then Stephen Fletcher moved away and that was really the end, forever. Some of my closest friends now remember Stephen Fletcher as the boy who’s name they used to pen on their PeeChees or green puppy Trappers or whatever because he WUZ CUTE. I remember him as the boy who I almost killed in a violent, bloody battle for feminine equality and all womankind, maybe.*

hey, it’s MY memories.

I wanted more rude boys too.

Am I the only one that was a little disappointed in the concert last night? Obviously, Ted Leo's songs are great and all, but he just seemed a bit off. The mixing started off like they hadn't done a sound check and the levels seemed screwy all night. Also his interaction with the crowd reminded me when that really funny kid gave his science project presentation in high school; you watch him with this expectation that he's about do something awesome or outrageous, but it never happens. Both Leo and the audience seemed to want to feed off each other but the night ended in an unsatisfying stalemate.

On the plus side, there was a group of kids next to us who were adorable in their naiveté. They asked each other about Ted's accent and concluded he was English but was trying to talk American to impress the audience. In fact, I actually heard later that he was trying to impress you in the white halter-top specifically.

On the down side, they also tried several times to push their way past us to get a better view. And they were, uh... not small.

No, it's not porn: trust me

I thought long and hard before posting this, because frankly: now everyone in my social circle knows what they're getting for birthday/holiday/christening gifts in 2005:

Sugar Bush Squirrel Portraits.

Excellent.

Coming Soon: The Up-Armored Prius

In a move that has shocked most who know him, a friend of the Pygmalion recently joined the armed services. It was done for convoluted reasons and under no pretense of civic duty. One assumes he was recruited out of the Army's need for another adorably blonde, wise-ass Private Benjamin-like soldier in an effort to boost morale. Instead they got a short, Simpson-quoting, wise-ass Jew. What happens when Montgomery County's most cynical native son joins the army? Through the magic of Instant Messaging we can find out. Remember, this is a wild violation of our friendship, so let's keep it quiet. The Nabob's comments are in brick.

*********************

Today I got a haircut by the army barber that was very short. I went for weigh in and the drill sergeant told me to go back and get it shorter. It's short.

***************************

5:18 AM We're firing weapons today. I'm looking to survive without hurting anyone. Although it is alarming how well i can assemble and disassemble a pistol and rifle. What're your plans for the 4th of July?

What are you doing up at 5:18am? I would have assumed you AWOL by now. July 4^th is pretty far away. I’m not even sure if I have it off.

indeed, 5:18 a.m. I was able to sleep in. But no time for love Dr. Jones, this part of basic training ends June 24 so after that I will have some weekends off before I leave for real. Let me know if you're going to the beach on the 4th. Rifle's got quite a kickback.

No dice on the beach because of work. Maybe just the Nats game and fireworks.

No Beach? Come on! Does - SUPPORT OUR TROOPS! - mean anything to you?

it's good to see you’re already abusing that. The beach is a no go.

I know. I was busting your balls. That’s what we do in the army. alright - i'm going to ocean city with the GF. That OC got some good funnel cake. And maybe taffy.

You can even make your own maryland OC CD like the California OC CDs.

Yeah, only less Dandy Warhols and more Steve Miller Abracadabra.

If the Orioles are any indication, you could also use Thank God I'm a Country Boy and Toby Keith.

John Denver's as much a part of O's games as skanky whores with mullets.

************************

I had to wake up at 3:45am for a piss test. Where's Onterio Smith when you need him?

I could have lent you my synthetic dried urine. You just add water. Now with realistic, race-specific man-groin!

I ate at Applebee's and Outback on successive nights. Think that will show up in the sample?

Not unless fried onion is an opiate.

I believe it is. I think next week we start training for combating the vast Bloomin’ Onion economy that’s sprung up in Afghanistan.

Right. Say what you will about the tenets of the Taliban but at least they kept the onion fields in check. By the way, I assume your uniform looks like this…

Jesus, is that jackee? how the mighty have tubbied. we had a dress inspection today where they took out mini-rulers to see how well our uniforms lined up. it was a fine way to end the day after our pre-dawn urine sample test.

It’s not Jackee but someone who’s basing her career on the resemblance.

Why cast Jackee when you can get her non-union, low-budget counterpart? Oh Marla Gibbs, a tearful nation turns to face the dawn and awaits your return.

**************************

We're doing combat training overnight - blanks in out rifles. Simulate invading a country. You’d love it. It’s the only thing I’ve been looking forward to. Now all i have left this summer is Stealth - great actors, great plot, great movie.

Is that the remake of D.A.R.Y.L?

The Data Analyzing Robot Youth Lifeform? That baseball playing, ATM robbing, airplane stealing android was the only warm memory in my cold childhood.

********************

war simulation this weekend pretty much sucked.

Why, thought you wanted to do it? Did you get killed in the first ten minutes and have to sit the rest out?

It pretty much consisted of me digging a hole and lying in it in the prone position for 18 straight hours. in hindsight, it would have been much better to have been KIA within the first couple of minutes. at least then i could lie on my back.

Since I'm barred from the Amazing Race...

Governess, what do you think? Actually, it's too late as I've already signed us up. Do you think our house is "tony" enough?

From today's Post. Second story.

Alexandria is known for a lot of things: George Washington, the tony homes that fill Old Town and the city's historic waterfront, to name a few. But it seems the city could soon be adding another line to its distinguished résumé: Host of the television show "Fear Factor Home Invasion."

Producers say the show is coming to town -- specifically, the home of a chosen contestant -- and to 22 other cities across the country to film shows for its fall TV lineup.

And yes, you guessed it, they're looking for applicants, or rather "the single most energetic and fearless household in Alexandria," to perform those scary stunts that sometimes involve eating putrid creepy-crawlies.

Of course, I'll have to get my boobs done first.

Infinite Heft

David Foster Wallace's Kenyon commencement address:

I bet he considers it a supposedly fun thing he'll never do again.

Do with this information as you see fit.

* * *

EDIT: Unrelated, but I think I am the only person in the world excited for this. I can't help it. I need to get out of the house more. I caught myself watching an MTV special on Prom 2005 the other day.

novocaine for my soul: part II

Sorry Governess, but this deserves a new post instead of a comment.

The best part of that CD is not the missing "goddamns" but the fact that they(?) changed the title of track 7 from It's a Mother Fucker to It's a Monster Trucker.

It's a GODDAMN MONSTER TRUCKER!

And I believe you stole to the CD from the Duchess, who did buy it at a North Carolina mountain-top Walmart.

novocaine for my soul

The funniest CD I own is a copy of the Eels "Daisies of the Galaxy." More confusing than even why I own "Daisies of the Galaxy", is why I own a censored copy.

During one particular song, all the "goddamns" are bleeped out. However, the "shit" a few verses down is totally neglected.

Walmart?* Why censor one bad word just to blatantly ignore the rest? Your QC peeps are taking long lusty naps on the job.

* I know, for a fact, I didn't buy this at Walmart, and yet I can't figure out where I got it. No one else seems like they would do this sort of thing, and such a shoddy job at that.

one on one

The Nabob and I went out to dinner with my parents recently.

Most of the talk revolved around my mother requesting a monocle for her birthday because it "would be funny."

Moms. Moms are awesome.

I Fought the Law and the Law Made Me Play 3 Doors Down

If I am ever convicted of another crime, one that involves community service instead of jail time, I wonder if I could volunteer to be a DJ at a church or community center dance party. That would be a good punishment for everyone involved, especially for the guy that sold me those fireworks.

I'd call myself DJ Time Served.

The only survivors of Zombie Land

I have a soft spot in my heart for Patton Oswalt. We have our childhoods in common, and therefore I feel his comedic pain.

And as we all know, children (say it with me:) all successful comedians have pain.

Anyhoooish- the prodigal son returns to NoVa on July 1st at The State Theatre. Git your tix now.

It's Never Too Early

Idea #1 for Halloween Party costume that will lead to less drinking and more explaining.

File under: Couples/Music

Eurythmics, vintage Whos' That Girl?



Pros: Awesome
Cons: None

I Fear Change

Those new nickels are confusing the everliving shit out of me. I start to panic just trying to buy a bottle of water, because I'm in line and I keep thinking they're Canadian or something.

Third "Baby..." post in a row

Read this here website first.

From Lindsayism: It's been a while. I wonder if Dave Eggers is still maniacally trying to micro-micro-micromanage every tiny facet of his image? Let's check... Yep!

I'm not just posting this because "Never Mind the Pollacks" is one of my favorite books of the past several years. And, like a lot of people, I loved "AHWOSG." I'm sure Dave Eggers is a great guy, and I'm sure I'd be even more anally paranoid if sudden celebrity came knocking on my door. But c'mon.

EDIT: Update, if you have a NY Times account.

Baby don't you go and krump your hair

Internets,

How excited* is this woman about David LaChapelle's "Rize"? Outrageously excited. I am hoping it's not too preachy. I have not seen "Clowns in the Hood," but I think I might have to find it. I cannot comprehend the speed at which these people move. It is astounding.

Love,
Me

P.S. "Stiff" was a great book, I highly recommend it. I've let my loved ones know that I'd like to donate my body to science. I don't really care what you use me for. I figure this: in my life, I have no skills that make me useful to medical advancements or weapons testing or plane crash research; basically, anything having to do with a laboratory environment. In death, I'd really like to be a mad scientist. So: blow me up, slice me apart, compost me. Leave me in a field. I'm all yours.

*I was back in the day also this excited in re: to "Drumline." I talked about Drumline for weeks on end, only to be disappointed when I finally secluded myself in my hotel room in Las Vegas (yes, I said Vegas) one night to watch it. I blame Orlando Jones.

Baby to Homer, Baby to Homer: "Wah."

It's 9:15 on a Friday night, and I ain't got shit to do. While most other females in my age demographic are probably well into their first Mega WhattaMelon-tinis by now, talking about how had "their highlights done today by Jean-Luc just because it's Friday and I deserve it", and scoring digits from wealthy entrepreneurs, who they will no doubt go on to conduct lurid, steamy affairs with (at least that's how I imagine it), I am sitting at home, wearing a soccer teeshirt from a thrift store. And flipflops.

Blogging.

*suicide*

Kidding. I've got crafting and shit to do, people, and a case of Heifeweisen with my name on it. (No, seriously, I wrote my name on it. Those keychain Sharpies are for sure my quickest way to a costly fine for "tagging.") Where was I?

Oh- I'm at home. Here's the scene - I have a LYLAS BFFFFF who is a prolific procreater, starting her uterus all young and strong and thus far, not letting up. It's slightly puzzling, especially given that her female friends that have known her the longest (her friends are, obviously, separated into 2 distinct groups: The BC's and AD's. "Before Children" and "After Diapers." The BC's are still around because we're practically blood kin, and she has no right getting rid of us, no matter what assy antics we pull. The AC's she met at church, or puppet shows, or whatever those people do) don't have children. Anyways, I love her little beasts, and I currently owe the latest a gift because, uh, he was born. (?) They are brilliant for short, half-formed people that have troll-doll hair and drool a lot. They remind me of a group of rugby players who lived in my sophomore dorm, BADA BING. I've recently decided that the reason she's having so many kids is because the rest of us are refusing on the grounds that we're too young and have alcohol problems, so she now feels she's the only one that will safely re-populate the world.

Whatever. The baby present still isn't getting done (thus the reason I keep repeating to myself for staying in tonight. FINISH GIFT! FINISH & WRAP GIFT BEFORE IT IS PERMANENTLY WATER DAMAGED!) The baby, may I add, is several months old.

Friday nights at the homestead, yo! The Nabob is currently losing our measly savings in a poker game, other people have some sort of creepy illness, there are no movies that I want to see, the bars I could frequent alone in my youth have been taken over by strange, unknown bartenders and just that - uh, youth, and the rest of my friends have fled the city screaming for the past 3 weekends, all "beach! um, wedding! err, funeral! uh, I just have to get out of here." They fear the intern swarm more than the cicadas. My street, the street where I often have to carjack my neighbors and force them to park a few blocks away just so my lazy ass can have a parking spot in front of my house, is DESERTED. There is not another car in sight. It's creeping me out. Maybe there are neighborhood meetings, or parties (!) that I am unaware of. Maybe they hate me because of all the carjacking, and therefore I am not invited.

Sigh. I'm not wrapping the gift. Instead, I'm going to watch "Child Stars" on VH1, and start reading my new book, which is about cadavers. A beer and a book about cadavers!

I've changed my mind, I'm now actually looking forward to my night.



PS 1: I may very well delete this entry to save any sort of minute cred I still have. I just blogged about baby gifts, and how I don't have a date tonight. Christ.

PS 2: At the risk of coming off like some sort of nepotistic pimp or something, just go listen already. I promise you nothing but wonder and light, in the form of good rock.

Respect

There was just another Borat sighting in DC. A co-worker reports seeing him outside near the Mehwai Restaurant on M Street. He was apparently riding in a decrepit ice-cream truck like vehicle with fake/real police escort with 2 videotape crews. (This, of course, was the same co-worker that claimed to see Angelina Jolie walking from National Geographic toward the Ritz on Wednesday. Best week eva?)

In another Borat related story...happenstance found me in NYC last August, drunk with an old chum, discussing our favorite Ali G bits. On the way out of the bar we passed CNN's Candy Crowley who was in town for the RNC. My buddy walked up to her and said, "Candy, respect," and held out his fist. Although a little confused at his up-front-ness, after a moment she returned the fist bump and muttered "respect." We disappeared happily into the hot, Gotham night.

The Weekend Comes, the Weekend Comes.

I had two messages on the answering machine yesterday. One, thankfully, was from the guy who I hope can fix the gallons of water that seem to be sweating through the walls of my basement by the shop-vac-ful. (By the way, to whoever built my home: I can live with not having a single straight wall length or right angle in the corners, but why was the drain in the basement floor put in at the highest point? I'd like to see the blueprints that specify that water runs away from the drain and into my computer.)

The second call was from a Marine recruiter. He was polite and kindly asked me to ring him back to discuss the opportunities available to today's modern non-robotic soldier. Examples being money for college (Natty Light, X) and money for a home (one without a surprise! basement pool). Although the message was pleasant, it caused a panicky flashback to the last time I was recruited in HS. But back then it was a combination of veiled attacks at my masculinity (fortunately, no worse than from what I received from the soccer team) and his claim that I was a pathetic, greedy consumer of freedom with little else to contribute to society. (He had me better pegged than my guidance counselor.) If he had used the language "suckling at the teat of Lady Liberty," he would have had me at, well . . . "teat."

(Secret Shame: That civic responsibility bit stuck with me through college and when approached about ROTC, I quickly joined. Luckily, they had a trial program where you could get a single credit with no obligation. We were basically grunts for the people doing officer training for real. Class involved uniforms, marching through campus with rubber M-16 and the occasional Code Red. On one march we all wore light blue arm bands and when a local asked what was going on, I said we were the United Nations. This caused a panic in our insanely conservative college town when the redneck called the Limbaugh/Liddy/Hannity radio station and claimed the UN was prepping for invasion. I wasn't in ROTC much longer after that. Who says the all-volunteer fake-college-army doesn't work?)

Anyway, this was all a coincidence because happenstance found me today talking to an Army officer about the difficulties of reaching their recruitment goals. But he used the term Millenials when describing the kids younger than Generation X. Has anyone else heard this term? It got some 10,000 google hits but is this the official name for kids born after 1978? This Army fellow said they were prized for their ability to multitask electronically. I guess this is true, though I don't know what the Army could do with kids with the skill set of "talk on cell phone/crash parent's car," "play PSP/receive oral sex," or "Instant Message/date Wilmer Valderrama."

I really wish you didn't have to pay for that "sex" link as it's a Washington Post classic. I guess it was the first in Laura Sessions Stepp's years-long series on the lives of rich, North Arlington teenagers.

Reoccurring Feature: Liner Notes, Issue #1

Barry: I wanna date a musician.
Rob Gordon: I wanna live with a musician. She'd write songs at home and ask me what I though of them, and maybe even include one of our little private jokes in the liner notes.
Barry: Maybe a little picture of me in the liner notes.
Dick: Just in the background somewhere.

Celebs are thanked, sometimes seemingly without reason, in liner notes all the time. I know there's this big Hollywood connection in the music industry and all, I'm just unwilling to admit it. I like to pretend that all the musicians I enjoy really are struggling, corn-fed kids from middle Ohio, and that the liner notes in their albums will thanks their childhood sweethearts back home, instead of Nicole Kidman.

I do, however, find it kind of fun to discover inter-connections I wouldn't have known about otherwise, because I'm stupid. (Isaac Brock helped with the Helio Sequence album? Dur, why didn't I figure that out on my own?) This is why mp3s and downloading still don't beat the real thing for me - I need tangible. I need the artwork. I need the glossy booklet.

I need the liner notes.

Today's entry:

Pete Yorn's "Music for the Morning After" thanks Benicio Del Toro.

Cash is gonna flow down by the old mainstream

Attention Heads of State:

Stop making fantastic posters that require purchase. The Governess demands expensive, shiny things instead.



And cue the "good kerning" comment by the Governess . . . . . . . now.

Secret Shame #5: Apparently, it's Scandinavian Day

There was a certain period of time, approx. 2000-2001, where I included Lucas the Danish rap star's "Lucas with the Lid Off", on every mix tape I made.

I made a lot of mixtapes (tapes, not CDs. TAPES) at that point in my life, probably because I was depressed. (That may/may not have had something to do with the fact that I was living in a basement way out in the sticks, with an unemployed landscaper roommate with a penchant for the song "Proud to Be An American.")

To anyone who had to drive in a car with me during those years: my apologies. But admit it, you secretly loved Lucas. Maybe even as much as I did.

Everybody Gets a Second Chance in This Town

It's good to hear Frank Herzog on the radio again, I guess he's doing the post-drive-time on WTOP. It was shame he got bounced out of the Redskin's gig for Larry Michaels. Especially now since Synder hired Michaels to run the team's website. If you watch any of the old NFL films of the 'Skins it's always Herzog's who's calling the games and I still say his signature "Touchdown, Washington Redskins" whenever the team (or I) score. But the days when the whole city would turn down the TV volume and listening to Sam, Sonny and Frank are long gone. I know they put announcers in the football Hall of Fame and if there is any justice Herzog will wind up there in a few years. Hell, he's the only person associated with the team in the last ten years who's got a chance anyways. Unless there's a Hall of Fame for people who punch Stephen Davis in the face.

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

Look, I'm certainly no expert on lighting or how TV works, but Channel 9 sure made Jessica Cutler look like crap last night in their Washingtonienne story.



Say what you will about what or who Cutler did, but she at least deserves to presented in non-Nosferatu lighting. It looks like they sat her down in someone's empty office, turned off the lights and shined a police Mag-Light on her. Granted, she didn't do her self any favors with that hair, dress and lack of makeup but they make her forehead look as it's at its maximum reflect setting. And it sounds as is her day just kept getting better.

Another thing about the story. It seems a little rough to show pictures of generic Northwest DCers when the narration says "Washington is Hollywood for ugly people." At least when they do stories about fat people they usually shoot the video so all you see is guts and butts.

Man, I'm linking to Pitchfork a lot lately

I have my usual Bloggy-blog complaints about Pitchfork (BITCHFORK! CREATIVE RENAMING!) like everyone else, but this article was pretty damn funny. The "Roskilde" and the "Fuji Rock" reviews are the best.

Roskilde
Roskilde, Denmark
June 26-July 3
170 Euros or free, depending on your scruples

... The music doesn't even begin until the fifth day of the festival, though, the first four dedicated to some seriously ridiculous hijinks. I'll try to relay this information fully knowing that it sounds insane. Within the camping village are these things called agoras, which serve as activity centers during the "Warm-Up" period. Events and programs include: a singles service that posts pictures and cell numbers of the desperately horny, a bookmobile, dance classes, juggling lessons, a 20-foot living matchstick man, "The Wunderbaumgirls", and a trio of performance groups (the Buffoons, Dunkelfolket, and Scarecrows) that look like medieval murder squads. Scandinavians are so much weirder than you can even conceive.


I so want to go to Denmark this summer, visit some relatives, get a juggling lesson or two.

It's not just a clever nickname, you know

You know who I find awesome, most of the time?



10 year olds. If you are ever looking for someone who will entirely agree with you on every bad idea you have, like spending the water bill money on Star Wars toys, and having soda-drinking races at 10:30 PM on a school night, then a ten year old is totally your man.

I'm no MJ; but I might not be the best babysitter, either. Either that, or I'm the best childwatcher EVAR.

Sing it with Me...

..."Let's all go the the movies, et's all go to the movies, let's all go to moooovies, and grab ouselves a treeaaattt NNOOOOOOOOO!!!! ALEXXXXIIIISSSSSSS........." (I'm pretty sure that's not how the song goes, but eh.)

In conclusion:

Christians mostly love Batman Begins, mostly hate Mr. and Mrs. Smith, and think Shark Boy and Lava Girl is radical because it emphasizes "believing in your dreams because they may come true, kind of like Joseph."

Fair enough.

Where your real trouble may lie, people, is in a little film called The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. Those slutty teens are out to steal your children's souls, and something tells me the reviewers have NO CLUE as to what Alexis Bledel has really been up to this year.

You Probably Did Not Hear it Here, First

Billy Corgan interview

BC: How old are you?

Pitchfork: I'm 29.

BC: Oh, that's the tough one. Twenty-eight to 31 is the tough period.

Pitchfork: Really? Great.

BC: You have to be really careful because it's so cataclysmic, so life-altering. People do really dramatic things like get married, or they'll get divorced. Your chances of committing suicide go way up. It's basically psychic death. You see the signs of it around 27, and you're still on the out-end of it around 31. Everyone I've talked to who's gone through that and come out the other side walks out of it like, "MY LIFE IS GREAT."

Shit, dude. I am bummed. I am in the smack middle of the worst part of my life? Things seem to be going relatively well for me, all things considered- especially since the last time you and I had a tete-a-tete, William.

Julianne Shepherd blogs 'bout Baldy elsewhere, also: "my high school world was partly defined by his music. Siamese Dream was totally the soundtrack of J.B., the pro BMX biker of the summer of '93."

Oh Shep; me too. Except not being nearly as MTV-MADE cool as you, my memories are a tad different. Scooby-Doo Flashback montage! Recognize:

- - -

Yearbook committee room. I am clad in cutoffs and a Gap pullover anorak and jewelry made of hemp woven with big glass beads. Also, Birkenstock-knock-offs. Also, my hair is a bun, with chopsticks to hold it in place? Like a librarian or something? A cultured, Pier I-shoppin', tabbouleh-eating librarian? (I went through a phase in my teens that inexplicably mixed dating troubled jocks, modeling my tastes after characters in "Singles," and bedecking myself in an early-90s-World Music wardrobe. I don't know, you tell me.) Anyways, I'm doing a paste-up for the varsity softball team layout by hand (soooo pre-Pagemaker.) I have Tears for Fears concert tickets for the following Tuesday, and my boyfriend and I get in a fight about how early my curfew is that night, and that's stupid, and I also it tread into jealousy-territory by bringing up how Travis Schetzler gave me his phone number so I could discuss yearbook meeting times with him? And what the hell was that all about, because he's a POSER?

- - -

The point of the above flashback is two-fold, Billy:

1. I'm pretty sure "Disarm" was playing in the background on the yearbook room tape deck.

2. That wasn't the worst part of my life as a functioning human being, and now is? Well, holy balls.

20 million bloggers can be wrong

Ruh-roh.

They're on to us.

bright lights, big publishing

ha. ha ha ha ha ha.

ha.

ha ha.

Its about bloody time

I predict that it will rain every Monday and Thursday for the rest of the summer.

television ruined my life

1. There was only a 5% turnout of registered voters for the Virginia primary yesterday.

2. CBS aired it's enticing new program, "Fire Me, Please!" last night.


COINCIDENCE? I think not.

* * *

Culturrre rrreport: If you are looking for something to do this weekend, Lez Zeppelin, an all-female Led Zeppelin tribute band, is playing in Baltimore.


* * *

Question:

Okay, seriously internets, ye social miscreants, ye lovely misfits: who is Natalie Glebova? Porn star? Tennis player? Scientist?

Dear Miss Manners

A college chum of the Duchess' mother is in town today and her job prompts a difficult social situation. In a city where the 1st favorite question is "What do you do?" and much of one's status is associated with their career, what is the proper protocol for dealing with a woman who is one of the nation's leading experts on this?

Vlad Cuk

HBO had this horrible movie on last week and the Nabob was shocked to see an old acquaintance.

Goold old Vlad Cuk. As a 7 foot plus Serbian he was hard to miss, but that didn't stop him from disappearing one day. Rumor had it he was fed up with basketball so he packed it up and went to LA to become an actor. Looks like he made it. Playing a 7 foot plus Serbian basketball player.

My assumption would have been that he had a monopoly on all giant Eastern European roles. But his IMDB page suggests that there is someone else out there, snaking the jobs out from under him. Muresan, maybe? But I doubt Georgie can handle a gun like Vlad can. Or perhaps it's his limited range, halting English and that his 7'3" frame fits better prone than upright in the 16:9 ratio. Either way, if your a Hollywood exec look at this resume. I gotta think Vlad would be perfect in your latest straight to Cinemax feature.

mundane, embraced.

Man, Patrick Hughes is funny.

"In an analog world, you're still digital:" it's a DIARY, man, not a blog.

link to Q and Not U's first ever interview, co-starring J. Hopper

she also once THREATENED to KILL Steve ALBINI, you know. Pass it on.

this monkey is hiding in a radiator song

PIXIES AND BLOC PARTY AT MERRIWEATHER:

1. Kim Deal is a total beast. She's all, "I'm gonna smile through every song!" "I am adorable!" "I don't care if it's 98 degrees and 99% humidity, fucker, I'm gonna wear a wool sweater if I feel like it!"

2. Yes, they played "Debaser." No, they did not play "Here Comes Your Man."

3. There were several dancing (?) nu-hippie chicks, one guy who did a modified bunny hop down the entire lawn while holding two full beers (talent), and one dude in front of us who appeared to be wearing a pirate-themed bandana on his head. He was quiet most of the time, and then he'd suddenly FREAK OUT and scream along to the lyrics. He was cool, but only because we were outside and I could keep me uh protective bubble of space around my body.

4. My brother, in town for the sole reason of "seeing the Pixies, dude", kept saying "She's such a badass." It took me a few minutes to realize he meant a certain someone on stage, and not the scantily clad blonde chick he kept eyeing up and down every time she passed our beach blanket bingo party. Gross. But anyways, agreed upon. Refer to #1. Deal is a badass.

5. They opened with "In Heaven" and then went into "Wave of Mutilation." After that I was all transfixed by the big glowing screen of all things Pixie and intense guitar, (kind of like a baby and a ceiling fan: open-mouthed, kind of drooly? yeah) so I can't really tell you the order of things.

6. There are no fast food drive-throughs in a planned community like Columbia, Maryland.

7. Complaint: it was way too short. But they didn't do a real encore, so they therefore have earned my respect. I have a thing about encores: mostly, I hate them and find them pointless.

8. "Surfer Rosa" went gold, (an hour before the show, or so joked Frankie) and the RIAA presented them with their record/plaques. It only took 17 years!

9. Oh yeah, and Bloc Party was there too.

10. Once home, satisifed and happy, I crawled into bed to watch Aqua Teen Hunger Force. It may have been aperfect night.

Oh, such is my love for this concert.

To the Coolest Guy I Know

You wouldn't let me buy George Michael's Faith in 1987 (or wear Big Johnson shirts, thank god), but got me the best of Elvis Costello and the Attractions instead.

You took me to see Arlo Guthrie at the Birchmere but had to get a babysitter when you went to the old 9:30. And you can remember where you were when you found out Danny Gatton died.

In 1992, when I thought I had "discovered" Led Zeppelin, you told me to check out the Lovemongers' cover of Battle of Evermore on the Singles soundtrack. And thought I might like the other acts on the record too.

You suggested that I would dig this Brit named Nick Drake, years before the Volkswagen Passat cruised under the stars. And you tipped me off to the Hour of the Bewildebeast.

And after you named most of the songs Moby sampled on Play, you broke out the originals on old 45's.

You took the Governess to see Hem when no one else would go. And I'm sure you were the oldest guy at the Zero 7 show.

Maybe it's because you grew up so near Clear Lake, Iowa, but who knows?

Thank you, Dad, for being my Rock 'n' Roll hero.

And Happy Birthday.

don't get me wrong, i really liked "Achtung Baby."

some other blog reminded me of this:

I was 15 or 16, and was sitting in Ms. Egan’s art class, perfecting my pen-n-ink stippling technique of paper bags or whatever (Ms. Egan loved making her students draw paper bags. What the holy hell was that all about?) when someone asked me what my "desert island" tape would be: like, if you only had one album and your solar-charged Walkman (and unbeknownst to the questioneer at the time, you were about to stage your own personal "Lost") on an island and you had to listen to it forever, what would the album be?

And I thought and thought and finally I said something kind of douchey and popular and whatever, like "Achtung Baby", because I didn’t want to admit my desert island album at age that age would be "Brotherhood" by New Order, and that probably made me a gay British Man instead of the female Student Government rep for my homeroom.

A decade+++ later, my answer has changed, but not by a whole lot.

Dear my husband, you married a gay British man. My bad.

quik

10 Things thought about wee-early this morning, while I should have been doing something to advance my atrophying career else.

1. Is it innapropriate (read: uncool) to wear airbursh to a Pixies concert? Is that a no-no, like white after Labor Day? I've got a teeshirt with my name written on it in swirly script, and a unicorn, on a palm-tree'd beach, at sunset, with a rose in its mouth. It was supposed to have a butterfly riding on it’s back, but apparently the artiste was too hopped-up on NyQuil and OE to comprehend that request. (Also, he tried to molest The D. Vaguely confirmed.)

2. If I were involved in polygamy, I’d want to be a middle wife, like: 3rd of six or something. My guess is they get mostly left alone.

3. "A Tribe Called Johnny Quest" is the best-worst band name ever. If I were a musician, I would be "Monkey Moves Cursor by Thinking." Or, "Republican Mother In Law." Those are tote indie. However, If I were a hip-hop superstar, I’d be shit out of luck, because "Juiceboxx" is taken and my dad’s already claimed "Assa-9."

4. I pulled my quad muscle on Thursday. It still hasn't healed. BALLS.

5. "The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen" is the most awful film experience of my life, and I love all movies. Except for this one. And "Be Cool." And "Last Action Hero." Maybe I’ll spend my lunch hour on IMDB looking for who exactly was responsible for that film. Maybe I’ll write a letter!

6. Once again: we've been suckered. A very adorable hound dog (seriously, a hound: like: bred for hunting bears and raccoons) we tried to adopt on Saturday, and name "Roy," (Or, "Varmint") was adopted out from under us. Again. I am getting morose and blue. I really, really wanted a dog that would protect me from bears.

7. While I’m on IMDB, I might as well find out what Mark Holton has been up to. (Answer = not much.)

8. You know who is amazing? The double-jointed guy who can fit through a tennis racket. That guy is incredible. I had forgotten all about him until I saw him featured on Telemundo Saturday night.

9. My quickly-forming "Weak Women’s Arm Wrestling League" is going to be so off the hook. I am very proud of myself.

10. Come on ride the ruminate train, whoooo-whoooo! We went out to eat last night, despite the oodles of food in our house. Mind you, when there's nothing at home, you can find me making a one-egg and dried basil and granola bar and frozen blueberry and salt omlette or something, because I'm so desparate, and not even considering going out to eat. Logic, not a strong point.

the Del Merei:

- The Nabob reports the Martinsville squash just fair, and the mushrooms not so great. Other members of the party report the squash is very good.
- I report the petite filet yum (order it medium for perfect pink/redness), the macaroni nicely rich and greasy, and the southern style green beans probably from a can, but still good in that childhood-nostalgia kind of way.
- Don't be a baby, order the frickles.
- The artichoke dip, although it sounds like something that should be only on the menus of Chilis or something, is wonderful.

Everything I ate was very heavy, but I also ordered a plate of soul food, so I got exactly what I expected/wanted. The portions are pretty good: not too small, but won't get you painfully over-stuffed either. I'd say for now, stick to Evening Star if yr in Del Ray (I love the Evening Star, so much it's really obnoxious. I've never had bad food there. Ever. And they have great coffee), but this place has potential (like I did! In high school! and then sat on it!) I was a member of the clean plate club last night. Moooo. I'm also a sucker for well-designed menus that are easy to read, because I'm old. And crabby.

Other things from this weekend: breaking open a geode, playing team sports, watching MTV's "Made" marathon*, having cute blondes who can dance like Eazy-E over for chicken sandwiches, naps, Old 97s concerts, meeting highly enjoyable humans who drink out of pineapples and are super-welcoming and nice. Happy new house and birthday, you people (!)

* Seriously, how much did I love the "Made" where chick went all BMX-biker and dropped her shoppy-shop GF's for a passel of big brother BMXers and then STUCK A FLIP, as an amateur, only the 2nd woman to ever do that in competition, or so notes MTV captioners? A buttload, that's how much I loved it. The Nabob reports it's original airing brought a tiny tear to his eye. He's not fooling. All the other "Mades" cannot compare to BMX biking chicks with asthma inhalers and attitudes, all "i'm just gonna do a flip already."

At least we all have hair like a lion's mane

The Nabob's grandfather looks at old photo albums and then can't remember who they are.

The Nabob's father loses his Donavan albums and then can't remember where he left them.

The Nabob types "www." into his web browser and the can't remember what website he wanted to visit.

The media may change but the brain arthritis gene remains securely in place.

yo ho ho

I strolled past the newest establishment in my hood last night and it FINALLY appeared to be open! I've been crossing my fingers ever since December, when the Governess informed me of the opening. Please Allah, let this actually be a lovely new corner pub for me to frequent. I can only take St. Ex in spurts, ever since the Bush's decided to honor it with their presence. And I'd like another eatery/bar-ery around. ALL HAIL GENTRAFICATION! By "gentrification" I mean, my pesky drinking/eating habit and the fact that I have a killer case of A.D.D. when it comes watering holes

Where the Governess Gets Her Friday Bitchfest on...

... due only to an unsatisfactory Starbucks experience this morning.

(I am Jack's yuppie trash. Man, it's hard for me to even comprehend I just typed the above, but there you have it.)

(Quick side note having nothing to do with this post, as if this post had some sort of grand theme anyways: Starbucks near my office bumps up their staff to accommodate the morning rush. This means that even with a long line, service is speedy and efficient, because there are 25 employees behind the counter, most of them yelling. Unfortunately, to be this speedy and efficient, the whole line has ordered by the time they reach the register to pay, because employees yell "WHAT YOU WANT?????" to every person in line. So then I have to also yell my order across the room back to the counter, which I find vaguely and inexplicably embarrassing. My coffee and I have a thing, dammit, a private, morning thing that I do not want the IT guys to share. It is MY coffee. I do not know why, but I don't want everyone to know my order. (grande vanilla soy latte, no foam. Not brain-bending.) But because of the yelling, they get my order wrong. All the time. Today, I walked out with no soy milk, and possibly someone's blueberry muffin, which I did not order nor did I want, yet they thrust in my hands, insistent. I need a new java mainline. Please, independent shops, make your way to the facelesss, numbing office parks of suburbia. Bring your comfy couches, your free wireless access, your hippie/patchouli/grad student smell of sweat and desparation, your organic third-world co-opt coffee beans from Farming for a Future, your Battle of Bands, your adorable, fresh-scrubbed employees wearing hemp necklaces. Please.)

(I now hate myself because of the above post. Great.)

My bad mood might also have something to do with this:



Last night, 395 South. I love flat tires, but I love GIANT BOLTS FLYING UNDER MY CAR even more. And not fun bolts, like lightening bolts. Bigass pieces of metal. This picture does not accurately represent the size of this sucker. I can't even comprehend what nails/bolts/screws of this size are used to fasten. And now, I get to buy new tires, again. My car has been renamed "Goofy Foot."

Don't Mess With Burke

I have officially now missed Revival (ex-Canyon) every single time they've played, ever, anywhere, in the whole galaxy. I feel bad for Revival (ex-Canyon). Will they ever be billed just as Revival? And not Revival (ex-Canyon)? R-E-C, I am missing you again on Saturday, for Old 97s. Apologies. Since I have never seen you, I don't know whether to be concerned about this or not. Are you good?

Perhaps I have mentioned it (to anyone who will listen), I am pretty apathetic in re: to this Old 97s concert, even though I will attend and sing along with the rest of the attendees, because I always do, and God knows I love tradition. I don't know why the magic has faded in recent years- it might have something to do with the song "Rollerskate Skinny." It might also have something to do with Grey de Lisle opening up, (AGAIN)), in a giant wave of nepotism and insanely low-cut dresses. I'm sure she's a lovely woman but I really don't like her warbling music; like: biblical proportions of dislike.

Also.

Much like every single Bob Schneider concert I've been to, I get annoyed by the 700 (give-r-take) people who scream out "TEXAS! TEXAS RULES!!!!" or "AUSTIN!", like they're from that state. When they actually grew up in Burke or something. Don't lie, I know you did.

Happier Things:

1. Someone googled "Pyggy Metal" and found this page (awesome.) I am hoping this is some kind of headbanging thing. I'm really hoping to bring Headbangers Ball back to MTV, and I think a musical genre like Pyggy Metal might be just the thing to push the suits into revitalizing said programming.

2. The color printer at my main office server is named "Dr. Bunsen Q. Honeydew." The black and white one is named "Shaft."

Poppin' Fresh

I know this is not new territory, but it was driven home today when the new summer interns showed up for their first casual Friday.


Collar up, Amstel Light down
It's one of the few things I've seen in a while that literally separates the men from the boys.

Listen, I'm not going to criticize because I recently had to much to drink and popped mine at a party. And by too much to drink, I mean I woke up at a petting zoo.

And God said, "Thy will make not jokes of the ass!"
But fellas, a piece of advice. This site has been selling this shirt for well over a year. That means it's been mock-able for at least two years. And just like my cousin now regrets wearing a collarless tuxedo shirt at his wedding,* you too may regret the latest trend.

*statement may not actually reflect cousin's opinion, but the Nabob regrets it enough for both of us.

1776

A slow day at work means I finally finished McCullough's latest, 1776. Not his best and certainly not the best concerning the time period, but still an enjoyable read. And it's reminded the Nabob why the 18th century pleased me so.

1. "I have never been afraid of the force of the enemy. I am more so of their arts. They must be watched . They, like the Frenchman, look one way and row the other." - General William Heath

Ah, the French. Forever mistrusted.

2. "The whores, the trulls, 'these bitchfoxly, jades, hags, strums'"

Such wondrous vocabulary! Why, I wonder, did the ladies of this site choose their stuffy noms de plume when The Bitchfoxly was available?

3. Tall and somewhat overweight, as was the fashion...

I long for the day when being tall and overweight is the fashion once again. Curse this love for mutton! And H&M slim fitted shirts!

The Second Closest I've Ever Come to Death Was During a Blizzard in Iceland

The Nabob hasn't been yet, but is hoping that the Strathmore in Bethesda has proper opera seating or at least benches for people to rest their weary bodies. Seems that Sigur Ros (that's Victory Rose to you non-Akureyrites) is coming back to cause another narcoleptic panic among the area's hipsters in September. I don't base this on the music (which I like) but the fact that I saw three people collapse at their 9:30 show a few years back.

One of these poor yobs actually fell on top of the Governess and I was pressed by a bartender to help drag this fellow out of the club. And then was harassed by security when I tried to re-enter.

On the plus side, though, I saw the cutie from the CD Cellar at the show and was given an approving nod. You know which one. The one who silently, but accurately, judges you on what you buy and try to sell back. So wise, so wise.

Goofy Foot

1.

Hot Hot Heat's frontman looks like Carly Simon crossbred with a Bichon Frise – Jeffy Reguilon

(Or, Steven Cojocaru with a perm!)

2.

I've done up a quick Powerpoint to get the ideas flowing, people! We need to discuss a critical topic: "Lords of Dogtown" vs. "Gleaming the Cube". This is a brainstorming session, you guys, and we're looking for creativity. Remember, this is YOUR company too!!! I need 110% here! You're my go-to-guys! Do I talk to HR about setting up motivation seminars for you people?? Strategolutions!


Sorry, the Powerpoint has that effect every time.

Honestly, true story or not, GTC comes out ahead. It had the Vietnamese mafia, AND Christian Slater's teen angst, which in my opinion reigns as an unstoppable duo. I may be biased, seeing as GTC is one of my Top Movies of All Time, and I ordered a VHS tape off of Ebay a few years ago and would hold the Duchess hostage and force her to watch it with me. On repeat.

3.

Have I really gotten to the point where I'm going to start posting things like, "Songs I'd Play if I Were an IPod DJ, Which I'm Not?"

Maybe.

Oh, dear Lord in heaven, save a poor blogging soul from having to do that.

4.

The Year in Trends. Kind of interesting, but as my friend Mike mentioned, "it's written like high school yearbook copy." I think the whole idea of tracking trends for some kind of cultural/historical benefit is a nice idea, but this read like a woman's magazine WHAT'S HOT/WHAT'S NOT list, and I hate those. I'm always sixteen seasons behind, anyways.

The roof is on Fiya!

Overslept, forgot lunch, missed bus, Ipod battery died, walkman battery died, Blue Line delayed, hot, Rayburn's on fire.

It's a bad start. Is it too early to call in a closer?

Two Way Monologue

Pros and Cons of an anti-Clear Channel wedding reception...

Pro: Talking Heads mother/Groom dance

Con: Sufjan Stevens is hard to dance to.

Pro: Jurrasic 5. May have been the first Jewish wedding featuring the line "We harass n****s like we was the po-po" But I'll have to do a Lexis-Nexis search on that.

Con: Former college radio DJ's, swelling with percieved musical superiority, unplug the iPod mid-dance to switch to their machines. Also three second pause while next song cues is no good.

Pro: The Old 97's Niteclub

Con: Guy repeatidly doing the splits when Hey Ya was played. Granted, it was the only song he knew. (Sorry, Rookie)

Pro: Dance off

Con: Wedding Guest: Nabob, who was that guy who got all worked up and started arguing with you?

Me: Not sure, Frank maybe? He was pretty drunk. I told him I was going to see Wilco at Merriweather and he flipped.

Wedding Guest: HeyZues! Never bring up Tweedy around Frank! Didn't you read the invitation? He's a Farrar guy.

Me: Oh. That Frank.
(Oddly enough, this happened tot he Nabob at a past wedding also, but then it was about Ben Folds)

Hey Wendy, hi are you?

when are they going to put "Andy Richter Controls the Universe" on dvd, already.

Spoiler: Because the Governess types three times as fast...

Scenes From a Batman Begins. Now Pirate Free.

Item! CNN's John King and Jamie McIntyre bring children to movie. Maybe not their children, but somebody's children!

Item! Senator Patrick Leahy shakes many hands, yet not told to fuck anybody!

Item! Is that the Vice President's senior advisor and former re-election spokesperson Steve Schmidt talking to Karl Rove near the balcony? Be careful fellas, that's a dizzying drop and everyone knows how much you like to spin!

Alright, on to the movie.

1. We didn't stay for the credits but I assume they rolled by like this...

Henri Ducard.... Liam Neeson
Mr. Neeson's Mustache Wrangler.... ???

I'm also assuming that the mustache had it's own off-screen fluffer, but sort of thing doesn't make it into the credits of respectable motion pictures. His whole upper lip is very distracting.

And so is the one on Tom Cruise's current beard. We all know what's under that make-up.

2. The standard complaint of every old person: too loud. It's fine during dialogue, especially since all the English blokes have a hard time enunciating when they try to talk A-mur-i-can. But the sound of train brakes or 10,000 bat screeches in uber-amped Dolby is a bit much.

3. The actual movie: Okay, the Governess is right, there is nothing new. Unconscious damsel, check. Car chase, check. Explosion/fire of large building/vehicle, how about three? The fight scenes are very cramped like they were shot by someone trying to take a picture of themselves, with their grand-big sister, at arms length, at the Front Page, during the first weekend of summer break, after it appeared in the Lonely Planet's intern guide to Dupont Circle. (That's some crowded shit) And the didn't waste any celluloid in the first 30 minutes. It's edited like a trailer.

But you know what? It's still good. Christopher Nolan did a fine job. It's fun, it's scary, it's entertaining.

It's David Goyer best story, better than all the Blades, but I can understand people's problems with the villains. Warner Brother's past movies have tied his hands. You can't go near the Joker because Nicholson. Halle Berry has (temporarily?) ruined Catwoman. Mr Freeze and Posion Ivy were nauseating in the Clooney one. They went with the Scarecrow and Ra's al Ghul. But if they wanted to stay Frank-Miller-dark then these were the bad guys to go with.

It was nice to have real actors in this. However, it's too bad that the Brits have to show up all the Americans. Kate Holmes and Morgan Freeman were the only homegrown talent and Kate wasn't even good. And I have a hard time watching Christian Bale without thinking of him naked, dropping a chainsaw on someone from 8 stories up.

But he deserves an Oscar for the scenes when he gets all fratty. The girls in the pool and the party speech? That's brilliant, classic frat. You'll see.

take me him out.

My new favorite blog:

Plunk Biggio

Baseball's so great.

* * *

EDIT: The Governess Also Reports on the Best Thing She Heard On TV Last Night:

"That's a lovely shade of bitch you're wearing. -- Reno 911.

Spoiler Alert ! ! ! Kind of.

I guess you could consider this spoilers, but I don't exactly give much away.

Headline: DRUNK BILLIONAIRE MURNS DOWN BANSION. DRUNK.

1. "Batman Begins":

Kill Bill franchise + Janet Jackson Rhythm Nation, if Ninjas were involved + "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" + "Speed" + "Spiderman" + Liam Neeson (who I think I last saw in "Love, Actually" so I was all: why are you not being more tender, Liam Neeson?)= "Batman Begins."

Also, the last time I saw Cillian Murphy he was being chased by zombies, so this movie could have used a few real zombies instead of people faking like they were zombies. You'll see, it's the scene in the Narrows.

Also, we briefly thought we saw Biz Markie walk in and leave his camera phone at the door.

2. Seriously, if you have a camera phones, and you think you are going into a Wanrer Bros. production, you are dead wrong and subject to being drawn and quartered in the coat check room. You best leave that shit in your cars, homies, or check it with security. Anyways, the parts of the night that were laughter inducing: pre-movie spotting of Paul Wolfowitz shaking hands with a big-headed dude at the Willard, whispered Janet Jackson jokes, someone giggling like a totes nerd at the "Jungian" mini-speech, Katie Holmes in general, the Nabob getting pissed that he had to see this movie with a passel of chicks who don't pay attention to movie details. "Seriously, were you even THERE?"

He'd lost a lot of weight, so I wouldn't have recognized him except for DEAR GOD THAT HEAD.

3. Karl Rove's big, bald, baby-like head distracted some of our accquaintances so much, they couldn't follow the plot. That's right, the plot of Batman.

He really is that short in person. I could put him in my pocket, and feed him crumbs from my Balducci's roast beef sandwich.

Excuse me, Fatty

4. Free sammiches. and candy! and booze!

In conclusion, more zombies.

Basically, "Batman Begins" presents the theory that there is no new territory for action movies. We've officially covered it all, folks. Don't get me wrong, it was entertaining - I enjoyed several scenes, especially the ones where Katie Holmes wasn't involved. Christian Bales was pretty good, and I love Michael Caine. Even though lots of people find CB sexy, I find him blank - kind of like a Sears model. He has weird teeth.

Sumo Batman Premier

Last post for today, I swear.

I quickly wanted to brag about the Pyg in a Blanket blog's total attendance at the Batman premiere at Warner Theatre. We will be dressed to the nines and shit, like socialites would be.

And be "nines," I mean in costume.

Seriously, how much do I want some of these for my friend Ben's Legendary Annual Picnic later this summer? Lots and lots, that's how much. Do you think if you wore one, you could float in a pool? Like, have your own raft, and then get out and sumo wrestle? Sweet.

Hello Brightness, My Old Friend

Why hello there hot, shiny sun. I see you have made your return after two months of April. So good to see you. You make sports more fun to play in.

But you make lunchtime walks unpleasant. Actually, you make walks on the numbered NW DC streets unpleasant. Strolls down lettered avenues are quite shady and nice. A ramble to the Olsson's on 19th left my old-man skin burn-y.*

At the same time, though, I do enjoy trying to watch seven people read the Express in the thin shadow of a telephone poll each morning at the bus stop. We can't all fit, guys. Somebody's going to have to squat in the mailbox shade.

And Olsson's, I'm the first guy to say "you know, you really should support you neighborhood independent record shop and bookstores," but you're making it tough. $16.99 for a new release does not a sale make. But hey, I can wait a few weeks for the demand to drop.

It will then go to its regular price of $19.99, you say? Hmm. Best Buy is within two miles of my house and stands alone in the parking lot. That makes it neighborhood-ish and independent-like, right? What if I promised to walk?

Life was so much easier when I didn't know people who worked for the RIAA and could still invite them to parties without fear of them seeing the illicit, Kazaa-ed origins of my songs. And is it ironic or a coincidence that the RIAA has their office in the building above Olsson's on 19th? Stupid Jagged Little Pill.

* And the pretty lass on the other side of the street, you will remain un-checked-out because the Nabob is unwilling to cross into the sun.

Where I rusurrect a past IM message I've saved for 2 years because it makes me laugh

The Governess: Want to go see Clutch with me tomorrow at 9:30 club?

S: Can't. have to go to a one-year-old's birthday party with you.

The Governess: Fuck. fuck fuck fuck. i forgot. it will be over by then though. (?)

S: True, one year olds don't party into the funky hours of the night. Especially nice Christian ones.

The Governess:Oh, man, I hate that family, and it has nothing to do with their religion. They're uppity. Damn. i don't want to eat Christian cake with them.

S: Ha ha, I am so announcing at party that you are going to see a show where the opening act is called Jesuseater.

Update: Since U’ve Been Gone

In case you were wondering, I've been working on/updating my Summer 2005 Goals. It's going slowly, thanks for asking.

1. Drink beer. (Check!)

2. In my front yard. (Hmmm. There are pleasant, short men in my front yard every morning nowadays, cutting grass and edging flowerbeds and such. They also smile and turn off their noisy machines when I pass, and tip their hats. See what that monthly housing association $$$ gets me? Yardwork, done by short, considerate, smiley men in orange reflective vests! Man, landscapers are aces. Anyways, I suppose this baby pool idea will have to be weekends only, or relegated to the backyard kingdom, which is also my neighbors common area and covered by Golden Retriever poo. I need a plan.)

3. stolen from friend: In an inflatable baby pool. (Not yet purchased, but something tells me it won’t be hard to find, once a plan is established. Reminder to self: pay water bill.)

4. ideas from same friend: Preferably wearing a black glitter bikini. (Secret Shame #4, Internal Posting Edition– I own an 80s’riffic shiny black bikini that is way too small for me and my partner, Ass. It’s pretty hilarious, and RILLY SHINY. Not glittery, but like –sleek, like a seal? Or made of satin? Kind of Really stripper-esque? I honestly don’t know how long I’ve had it, or why it was purchased, but so it goes. I know I’ve never worn it; but I did pack it on a trip to CA and pulled it out in Laguna Beach; and then was all like "seriously, who do I think I am?" and repacked it and came home and shoved it into a far corner of sock drawer. But I was looking around the other day, and it’s reared it’s supe-sexy head. If you are 5’2" and 100 lbs, I might have a swimsuit for you. I say "swimsuit" with the ultimate in sarcastic afflication, I'm pretty sure it might dissolve upon touching liquid.)

5. Also, read Kavalier & Clay so I can stop pretending like I already have read it when people talk about it in groups. I know, I'm 15 years behind on this. (Also read 1776, to look smart!)

6. Seriously, get my car inspected already before the fuzz tracks me down. (Passed, even with my cracked windshield.)

7. Build some sort of amusement park. Mebbe in honor of Jesus. (Amended. Ideas: Roller Rink, Water Park, just purchase Dinosaur Land instead of building a new roadside attraction, change it’s hours so I can make sure it’s open for my birthday in winter.)

Additions:

8. If Project Dinosaur falls through, make early reservations for Medieval Times.

9. Also, commence Project Responsibility, which requires social drinking to be conducted in a mature manner. Baby pools= totes mature.

10. Find copy of "Runteldat" on video.

11. Write a review on new Coldplay album, because that’s what accredited bloggers do. Reminder: listen to it first.

12. I missed Graceland while I was in Memphis, so I’m rightly and obviously a tad peeved. That’s why I hereby proclaim August the month of Merle Haggard! Did you know Merle Haggard grew up in a boxcar in Oildale, CA? Neither did I. But this I know –the current owners have been known to let visitors in to look around. I smell a very special vacation for the Governess this summer! Flights home "across the pond" to London, an original vacation plan, are too expensive for me on my retirement pension.

13. Duet cover of "Summer Lovin'" with Craig Finn, become instant star/revered musical genius.

14. Update IPod. If Beyonce and Jay-Z come on one more goddamn time, I will throw myself off the stairmaster in an unholy, dramatic production consisting of my own hot blood and deathly woman-screams.

* * *

EDIT: Any other sites have a review of the new Lucero besides the usual suspects? Thx.

Secret Shame #3

All New Levels of Geek: The Nabob salutes, the Governess makes a curtsy

We've taken to leaving each other messages in saved drafts of Blogger posts, because we know that the other one is so anal, we will check each other's work for spelling errors before posting. So when I read a draft, it says in the middle of the text:

"Governess, how did your meetings go this morning?"

"Can you pick me up from work?"

"Scooter my daisy head?"

Interestingly enough, all this reading of drafts and we're still not catching many aforementioned spelling mistakes. Maybe we should actually email each other or something.

Did you know "curtsy" is an alteration of "courtesy"? I did not.

Sorry

I know this is Wonkette territory (or whoever is filling in) but the White House just hosted its annual Black Music Month performance in the East Room....

meh.

You know what? I was going to do something about equal opportunity but I can already tell future Nabob will look back and regret it. I'll just post the links and move on.

The man stole Oates' 'stache. But tell that to the HoKoConCent.

God, this is so LCD. Ugh.

I said "cockles"

I know that Rathergood.com is just, so 2003 or whatever, but I'm a crabby old lady and I've had a bad day. My arthritis is acting up.

Guess what makes my grumpy days better, even lo these long years later??????

Kittens playing the xylophone.

Now, don't go leavin' any comments about how this isn't the best one, alright? Alrighty. I like the Viking kittens too. Who doesn't? But the Northern Kittens warm my cockles 'n stuff every time.

* * *

PS: Side note to the people who adopted the very cute dog I had my eye on first, but got their shit together before I even rubbed the sleep out of my eyes: I shake my fist at you. She was a very beautiful doggie, so you better take good care of her. You also better hope you don't run into me in a dark U Street alley or anything, because DO YOU KNOW WHAT A MOTHER'S WRATH LOVE IS LIKE????!?!?!?

Do you?

PPS: I am working on a genius new entry for CPJL. Give it time.

PPPS: I am going to the gym tonight. To beef up my biceps. To beat cute dog owners with.

Secret Shame #2

Jessie Spano

The Nabob caught me watching "Showgirls" on VH1 last night.

Twice.

After pretending I wasn't.

My remote finger is soooooo not fast.

But the blurring-boobies effect was genius! Little bra tops! One was even re-created in leopard print to match her outfit! Way to go, VH1.

Secret Shame, First in a Series

I Drink Alone

I can't decide whether is pretty cool, or some cold shit, that yrs truly is named after a George Thorogood song.

(Dad, that shit's [cuckoo] B-A-N-A-N-A-S.)

Friday Night Lights

(Subtitled: "Friday, I'm in Love." Or, "My Girl Friday.")
Okay, I'm done.

So, Spoon!! last night.

My thoughts, in musical order:

1. Jazz, played pre-show: It was like being on the set of The Love Boat, if Love Boat was shot in a smoky concert venue filled with very short 18 year old girls in glitter fedoras who kept squealing and bumping into me. I am a grumpy 176 year old woman, young ladies, and do not take kindly to your nonsense. I'm glad you want Britt Daniels to go to prom with you, and I'm actually begrudgingly a fan of Josh Schwartz and his evil, diabolical plan to bring good music to tweens through vapid soap operas. Way to get up in American Idol's grill, Josh Schwartz. Fight the Power. So, welcome, young people. I'm glad you are here. But please BACK OFF. When I let you pass to get to the front of the stage, this doesn't mean you can also bring your whole shorty posse. Also, maybe it's the 158-year age difference, but Sweet Betty Sue Dickens, I have never seen so many off the shoulder shirts paired with visible bra straps. I thought this was the Future. Why are we recreating Flashdance? But you're 18, and cute, so you can get away with it. Maybe I'm just jealous. My flesh would just bunch up like so many waves of flabby wrinkles. It's hard being 176.

2. The Clientele:, The Clientele, where were you when I was an 18-year old art student? Your music was quite twee and even mopey, without being threatening, and would have filed perfectly right before my Cowboy Junkies cds. (Oh shit,and Innocence Mission. And the Sundays. Ha! Who remembers the Innocence Mission??????) I would have been quaking in my black Doc Martens and angtsty eye makeup had you been around in the 90s. Unfortunately, it's the Future, and I'm no longer the same intense Anglophile I once was. Future. See above.



Anyways, you were cute and British and quiet and probably lovely chaps, let's get a spot of tea sometime. However, I'm old and I have a bad back, and you made me sleepy when I wanted rock. I don't think this is your venue, or crowd.

3. Prince, played between bands: Prince, is there anything you can't do? You sing, you play basketball, you dance, you are responsible for many people I know's sexual awakening, you make pancakes. I love you, Prince, even though you have a perm similar to my Grandma. You are a genius.

4. Spoon: "Britt Daniels constantly looks like he's about to sneeze." -- The Nabob. Spoon's set was good, I have no complaints. The bassist's dad was there, which was probably nice. I can imagine it's kind of thrilling to see indie chick's sweat yr son. Spoon, you performed everything I wanted you too, you kept the witty banter to a minimum (nice), and you were dressed for someone's wake. You also left my favorite song til the last, which was a good touch. All that being said, why did I leave feeling disappointed? And maybe a little bored? Man, am I hard to please.

In another note, um - hey, Drunk Guy Who Raises His Hands and Dances, Kind Of, and Stumbles About Yelling Along to the Song, and Then Yells Out Requests to the Band? Nice to see you! Are you the same guy at every Gomez concert I've ever attended? You realize that half the time, the requests you're yelling aren't even songs from this group, right?

I am very tempted to write a lengthy diatribe on how to politely attend a concert at 9:30, but it's like preaching to the choir. Bloggers know these things. The rest of you, not so much.

Bah humbug. I need a nap, and a hot toddy. Where's the afghan for my knees? BAH.

* * *

Today, I had two RBI's, got on base several times, made 3 or 4 key outs, and generally played well. Except for a completely missed hard grounder that made me look like a seven year old girl running away from the ball because it's scary.

Softball!!!! DAMN YOU.

It's cool because I always thought Taylor Hawkins was pretty cute

The Nabob was late today because of this.

I believe the FF's new song is called Best of You but I'd go with either Teeff or Mouff. This video was the most hypnotized I have been since I thought I was a Chinese TV Evangelist for Christ and almost fought a gay kid for accusing me of having a Scottish accent. That makes so little sense but the Governess' mom can back that story up. Fortunately, my Hollaback Girl came on and I came to.

That shit's bananas. B-A-N-A-N-A-S.

And Governess? I'd have to think that the above .jpg will shake you free of your Montessori-girl crush on Dave. However, anyone who blows out the sound system at the Patriot Center is alright by me, so you have my blessing.

And by the way, it's Pat Smear.

Bill Bryson is a Whiny Bastard

Dear roommate,

You like trail mix? I like trail mix! That's cool.

You know what's not cool? Picking out the M&Ms, peanut butter chips and other sweet bits. A bag of raisins and peanut's, although technically gorp, blah blah, barf.

Kind regards,

The Nabob

* * *

Dear roommate,

You totally want me.

Best,

The Governess

Internets, Bearing Gifts

A link from Nabob: Mitch!

I miss Mitch.

I have nothing else to say.

Oh, except that I've done no work, all week.

Shad Roe with Caviar Butter on Black Pepper Fettuccini with Vodka Cream wasn't the only thing being served

The Nabob was recently a judge at a dance-off/wedding between two bridesmaids. To smooth over the accusations that I received any pesos under the table, here are my notes on the scoring.

Judges identities hidden to protect integrity of competition.

Sister of Groom:
Handicapped by an indie-rock background, but wisely overcame this by wearing a dress with no pockets to place hands. Kept Emo-Head Bob to a minimum. Style clearly based on the Skank, with wild yet controlled waving of the arms. Kept leg kicks in time with the selected song. Had the judges believing she was actually "dropping" something as it were "hot". Points for maintaining eye contact with opponent and aggressive punk-posturing.

Friend of Bride:
Style clearly based on Jock Jams. Judges detect fundamentals of perhaps high school dance team or Eric Nies. Highly choreographed with the obvious goal of "serving" opponent. Points for ease of movement and limb control. Attitude: keeping head to side and eyes clinched tightly as if power of her dance were brighter than a 1000 suns (nice touch). Loss of points after fourth pelvic thrust directed at date mistakenly hit bride’s grandmother.

Ruling:
While the Nabob was leaning toward the Friend of Bride based on skill alone, Sister of Groom received a million point bonus for shoving her opponent at the conclusion of the song. SoG took the prize the moment the disbelieving FoB hit the ground.

The winner is

The Governess and LJG are known to get upset with Nabob and myself, for both of us have jobs in which we are able to watch TV all day long if so desired. I must admit, as much as I love the fact that I can say with confidence that I have now seen every episode of A Different World. The TV can also be a curse. I have done no work all day for I have been watching this on ESPN all day. It’s being held live, down the street right now. For the past few hours I’ve been asking myself why, why am I not in the audience. We are currently down to 3 kids. All under the age of 13.
Onychiohagy – the biting of fingernails. How does an 11-year-old know that?

million dollar belly

This one reminded me:



Um, Nabob et al, whatever happened to the Hulk gloves we used to own? I know the Duchess turned one into a beer coozy (brilliant), but we should have another full set floating around somewhere.

I think I've been inspired to take up boxing, and I really think I'd do better with sound effects.

EDIT: somewhat related.

golden fish colonels

1. Jessica Hopper of "Hit It or Quit It" fame and of "Who I Blog-Stalk" fame, is coming to DC in late-ishy July. Where oh where should she do her magical readings? DC, make us seem cool, I beg of you. Spill your secret hideouts.

2. I know I cannot stop harping on this, but I've been gone for a few days. Seriously, Couch's BBQ and THE CATFISH CABIN. Catfish. Cabin. It's no joke, people.

Gorilla + Dynamite = Marketing Gold

Recent happenstance found the Nabob in Alamogordo, NM. Driving through "town" I nearly caused a single car pile-up at the sight of this billboard.



I don't know what that monkey is selling, but I'm buying.

However, I wish he was selling Ipod accessories. The Kmart in Alamogordo, shockingly, did not sell iTrips and radio choices/reception was poor.

Silly as Geography

PS, I'm Rich!!!!!!!

Drinks on the house and HUZZAH.

I am of an age where real estate is kind of a hot topic (like the clothes store! Quick sidetrack: I am so sad I was never goth in high school, like truly, COMMITTED, cape-sportin’-goth. I would have been great at it. I’m really not joking, I was (am)a nutty-as-hell Cure fan, and I look good in black, but I would have dug theatre so much, and dragon teeshirts.)

Anyways. I sure do admire people my age with energy and focus. Narrow, narrow focus. These people can talk only about very particular, very specific subjects. In DC my 1st favorite question is "What do you do?" (My usual answer is that I’m in moonshine distribution); but besides career paths, my next 2 favorite topics seem to be money and/or real estate. And interest fees. And taxes. And books on real estate. And investments. And O.A.R. And the hosuing market some more.

I’m glad you have hobbies, but you're barely-if-yet 30, so cram it. Yes, you- I don’t care that you’re buying and flipping properties with great abandon and renting your first NoVA purchase to your fraternity bros while you deal with another condo payment and you are so smart and wise and Mr. TRUMP! and I have granite countertop envy and SNNNNNnnn..nnnnnnn.... oooooo.. .. zzzzz...zz..z....z... ... .. .

See my face? Sleepy. EVERYONE KNOWS you are a consultant and make some decent bank, and that you really love to haggle on your signing bonuses and milk your piggy boss for all he’s worth on your annual salary increases, big guy, and yes, someone at the keg already told me you are going to Telluride for a ski retreat with your client’s team and we rolled our eyes and made jack-off gestures and SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP.

(I'm not questioning your work ethic. I'm questioning why I came to this party in the first place. If you have so much goddamn money from all your suburban home-buying ventures, why I am not having man-servants siphon a mixture of Cristal and crushed diamonds straight down my gullet? WHY, I ask you.)

So, I pay my bills, and then I bitch about how no one I like can find affordable housing; and yet the people I don’t like keep making money and buying the houses I want my adorable, charming, perfect friends to live in and raise babies and golden retrievers in, and that’s about it. I’m really good at bitching.

Despite previous whining and piling hatey piles of hate all over the place about people obsessed with real estate: every time I leave the DC area, I am such a sadomasochist, I pick up the local houses-for-sale guide. Tuesday, I spent most of the day curled up in the backseat of my rental Gallant, driving through cotton fields, wanting to throw myself onto the road every time I flipped the page. For example:

If we were to sell our tiny, TINY, narrow, 60-year-old yardless townhouse and move back to my dad’s hometown (a town in the south, and not, like, uh, Atlanta), the Nabob and I could buy this:


as God as my witness, I will never go pool-less again

And make a handsome profit. That’s right. Profit.

Oh yes, hello 2.5 acres.

Pool? Don’t mind if I do. A pool means a pool boy, maybe named Scooter, and we all know what a huge flirt I am.

Again, an example only. I'm way more likely to go buy some 200-year-old Victorian with no heating and delusions of bed-and-breakfast ownership (or a mobile home and then leave all my trillions of dollars of wealthery to my cats or something) than I am likely to buy new construction, despite it's state-of-the-art security system and gated entry and CRUNK DANCE HALL and shit. All this just shows of how insanely deluded the East and West coasts are- especially in DC, money is absolutely meaningless. It’s like everyone's playing one giant game of Monopoly. (Please note, I’d like my piece to be the fire-breathing Godzilla. Or, a Barbie head. Or the top hat, I guess. I’m not picky. There's a Barbie head in Monopoly, right? I mean, there always was in my family.)

Or, instead of the house I’ve dubbed "The Great White PopeHope", we could move to somewhere else in said town and buy a slightly smaller place and pay cash. I, myself, would get no greater joy than paying for a home in small bills, stacked in my grandmother’s Samsonite from the '50s. Because I’m eccentric! And, apparently, wealthy! I did not know this! Thank you for letting me know, Real Estate Guide from This Particular Town! If I moved to you, I would wear white 3-piece suits with string ties, and talk about my plantation. Oh, and the pool boy. Scooter.

So, let us brainstorm, kittens. What to do with our imaginary handsome profit on the imaginary sale of our DC-area home, and consequent imaginary move to the Southlands? Right now, I'm pretty sure zoning would allow me to add an imaginary go-go establishment on to the back end of the property. Discuss.

a terrible ten

1. Note to the modern world: try to never, ever book last minute Memorial Day plane tickets out of town.

2. Especially to Memphis.

3. I wish the definition of the word "demonstrative" was actually "to de-monster something." I'd probably use it in my daily vocabulary much more if that was it's meaning. The Nabob was demonstrative last Wednesday, killing the Wolfman in the basement.

4. I am exactly one day overdue on previously mentioned car inspection. Today is my mom's birthday!

5. Tomorrow: does anyone have a guess as to when Mr. Morrison will hit the stage?

6. Seriously though, Memphis. AND THEN DROVE THROUGH ARKANSAS.