You little puke

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

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

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

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

Huzzah!



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

officiant: ben roethlisberger

oh my.

284

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

shining some old glory on me

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

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

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

Seriously, I am totally crippled and can barely type.

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

welcome to DC

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

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

pripyat photos, them big cat-fishes

I love this caption.

hound heaven dont exist

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

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


. . .

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

timing/sharing

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

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

paradise island/chocolate city

Jenny Hoyston, solo.

hey guess where I've never, ever been: Phase I. who's up for a probably really fun time?

finally, some excitement

unconfirmed as of 2:29 PM EDT:

i may have just single-handedly crashed an entire network of media displays in conference rooms across Shanghai.

my life is so fucking dull i am forced to type up boring exchanges as some sort of placeholder for actual content. i want to kick myself in the face?

"So, when I leave boxes full of misc. work crap in the back of yr Jeep for a long time, (Ed note: just under two months isn't really that long, non?) what happens?"

"What do you mean, what happens?"

"I mean: what happens? Besides the boxes being a giant nuisance and me being apathetic about bringing them into work, because it's hot and sweaty out and I don't want to carry a big box of binders half a block to my office, and I'm lazy and I kind of forget they are even back there. What actually happens to the car? Anything?"

"Um."

"Nothing BAD, right? Nothing BAD happpens to the car."

"Right."

"So, say someone (Ed note: "that someone being YOU"), in passive-aggressive retaliation, leaves stuff in the back of MY car, what happens?"

"Um"

"You'd think nothing BAD would happen, right? Like how nothing BAD happens to your car when I leave a box of binders in there?"

"Right."

"Maybe you should go look in the back of my car."

"Maybe you should just tell me what's up."

"Maybe you left a Costco-size jug of laundry detergent in there, a jug I couldn't see, because it had tipped behind a Costco-size pallet of paper towels, and then proceeded to leak all over my back seat and now the rHonda's back bench is bright blue. Maybe that happened"

"I bet it smells better."

"I will kill you in your sleep."

"Let's talk about how you left a frozen pizza in my car last week and I just found it."

". . ."

". . ."


"fair enough. high five."


* * *


In other news, during our suburban drive last night, the G.p. and I made major progress on new business cards for ourselves. They'll have the PIFF blog url and our names, and our titles will be Vice Presidents of Hey. Is That Temp Supposed to be Here, Eating That Sandwich? Doesn't He Know That Catering is for the Biz Dev Meeting on the Third Floor?



Sigh. Friday.

"i just wanted to personally get in touch with mr. loggins on this"

patton oswalt on the latest C&M.

watching/reading/not working/misc:

- the Jena Six

- free fonts from Peter Saville, including the Joy Division "Closer" font.

- "People are repulsed by their appearance." Also, the fuckers hiss.

- Brandon Bird and friend head to ComiCon. Also, a new print I want. Badly.

* * *

("Did you bring your baby? Babies don't watch this. Take the seed outside. Leave it in the streets. Run over it after the show.")

So. In previous gossipy exhcanges, I have found out that classmates from my high school have been really into naming their children after dairy products (think: "Brie". "Colby". etc.) Soooooo. When you find out that, say, One Of Them has now dubbed their offspring the same as an inexpensive alcoholic beverage, what's the appropriate reaction? I mean, this is proving par for the course for Them? I just forget this ever happened, right? Wait. I can't just choose to ignore this, people. I can't. It's all a v. slippery slope, soon there will be a child somewhere in the Novalands named Red Headed Slut Smith, and we will know her roots, and they will be the same as mine, and we will be collectively and exhaustively ashamed, won't we? Won't we.

I would have assumed he got shotgun by default.

Missed connections

You – giant-headed former President riding coyly down Independence this morning in a silver Solara convertible.

Me – almost crashing into a taxi while trying to take your picture.

Where were you going? Please be careful. You make an incredibly tempting target for Hessian snipers.

Also, no motorcade? Even the Dalai Lama gets a motorcade.

bobby arpeggio!

it's official: i have a weird simmering crush on Mike Rowe. He has the best forearms ever. And if you haven't seen the episode of "Dirty Jobs" where he has to deal with some totally insane monkey conservationist woman in S. Africa, you are missing some quality talkybox programming right there. Also, there's this.

guess everyone gotta pay the bills, son.

big umbrella/always wet

Back when it seemed like a fond illusion, if someone were to ask me (and they did) what broken-up band I’d pay just about anything to see live, I would have said The Police. But then Gordon played the hurdy gurdy at one awards ceremony and wore a vest and no shirt at another. He also recorded several albums as Sting.

When it was announced they were touring again and playing at the Virgin/Pimlico thing some people wanted to know if I was still among those willing to fork over the $100+. I have two answers. First, we are out of town so it doesn’t matter. Second, fuck no.

Our out-of-town-ness is also the reason I didn’t enter the DCist’s lolcat/Richard Branson’s teeth contest. Someone who really wants to see 311 and waste their day photoshopping can have the tickets. I just wanted to waste my day.


Smashing Pumpkins



2 TV on the Radios






Modest Mouse




Peter Bjorn and John




Spoon



And a bonus Arcade Fire since they’re not playing Baltimore.

sound salvation/cleaning up the nation

Just a reminder: if you are like me and are an anti-social hermit who doesn't believe in phones, you can always email yr senators too.

zombie of the ghost of the corpse

Writing and Dice Club, can you get any more awesome? I mean, zombie fan fic aside (awesome #1), who else will spend hours watching and rewatching youtube videos with each other (awesome #2)?

Last night (after "Serious Critique" but before "Semi Drunken Let's Start an Arts Journal OMG!!!!Brainstorming Session") we tackled all the weighty issues of the internet: Dramatic Chipmunk, Same Girl, Cute Ear Flicking Tickle Koala, Linoleum Knife (personal favorite), and some Brad Neely Bible History.

I was a toddler, every time a delicious piece of media ended I'd be all: "AGAIN! AGAIN!" Thank you, Kriston Capps. Thank you.

Then I came home and almost chopped my hand off at the wrist with a ceiling fan. Long story.

ibusy today, go somewhere else

got tix, you should too.

may i echo a commenter when i say: "i want to throw a baby chimp"

Until last weekThe G is not easily angered. There are really only a few pet peeves that will get her seriously riled. One of the few, however, is when I find forgotten cash monies in my laundered pockets. It infuriates her for baffling reasons.

Me? I figure Future-Nabob just received a Community Development Block Grant from past-Nabob, especially when HUD requirements dictate that it must be spent on Big League Chew and Garbage Pail Kids.


Like all of Asia, Future-Nabob loves the Pet Shop Boys.

But this one has me terribly vexed.



I haven’t worn this jacket in about 14 months. I’ve also never been to Sri Lanka.

echoing the entire blawgoworld

no really. The new Spoon album? Greatness.

If it rains in london, can you look at pron! in Baghdad? Chaos Butterfly says No.

Thoughts on five days of crutches:

If you leave RFK on the Metro, there is a cop at the bottom of the escamalator who say “no. you can not get on this first train. not yours.” That is unless you hobble down with crutches. Then you are welcomed aboard like Yuri Gagarin and given just as many medals. From now on I will carry crutches to every game so I can ride the handicap train.

The problems? First, every drunk wants to know what happened to your foot. Softball injury is unimpressive. Bear trap works. So does running through prairie dog town and stepping in a hole.

Secondly, even though you’re allowed on closest train leaving Stadium-Armory, you’re put off at the point farthest from the escalator at your stop. It all washes out limply in the end.


----------


My brother in law has mono. I can’t walk. From what I understand, I could still beat him in a 50 yard dash. And the sit-n-reach. Not the shuttle run, though.


----------


The best movie to watch on cable when you can’t go anywhere on a Sunday morning is The Hunt For Red October. Teh worst is Beverly Hills Ninja or that one with Tara Reid and Christian Slater and the bad guy from Blade in the Dark.

The best movie to watch when you can go somewhere on Monday morning is Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome. Blockbuster does not carry this and that is a disgrace. Fortunately, they just, just, just got in Battlestar Galoctopus Season 2.0 which is great since now I won’t have to join Netflix to watch it.

----------

Between my eyes and the TV, my big swollen toes peak out worthlessly under an Ace bandage. They are fat in the way I imagine George Wendt’s toes are fat. And on the TV, Kelly Clarkson new video plays continually on the channels that still play videos. The connection? Clarkson’s fingers are as gross and swollen as my and George Wendt’s toes but she doesn’t have sprained anything.

I’m sure the song is a pop masterpiece and that Kelly is wonderfully nice girl. But she has strange little hands. In the video she keeps rubbing them over some bald dudes head and it’s not appealing.

I'm not the only person to feel this way either. Kelly's on the cover of Elle this month and her portrait has been heavily photoshopped. I understand that this has been common ever since TV Guide put Oprah's melon on Ann-Margret's gams. (The most recent publicized example was Andy Roddick’s new guns on the cover of Men’s Fitness. Less noticed was the previous month’s issue where they airbrushed abs on the outside of the cover model’s shirt.) Still, I really think they touched up her fingers to make them seem longer. They are still gross.

and then avril says: "i think you need a new one."

You know, fair enough. This is actually a very good idea and I am all about such penance. I am going to actually have to listen to KW and the Game like 7000 billion times tho, until my brain actually squishes out my ears, mostly because yesterday I made the tragic mistake of introducing all 12 episodes of "Trapped in the Closet" to my spouse's ex-sorority-sis-type relative (pure as the driven snow, headband-n-kick-pleated-skirts, southern-mom-style) relative, and she ate all that up with a big silver spoon and is actually demanding more. I've been uncomfortable all morning. (well, uncomfortable as a girl making flowcharts by hand entitled "What Should I Have for Lunch?" can be.) I am so sorry for my sins.

(btw. I really dont think I'd like Kanye. Have I made that clear before? Maybe. I bet if I met him in person I'd be the biggest snarky piece of shit to him. Oh well.) Here, have more Lil Mama, gifts from Amanda.

Another confession: I have recently downloaded R's "I'm a Flirt" vs Broken Social Scene remix. And play it a lot. A lot a lot. GOD SEND HELP.

I SERIOUSLY LOVE FLOWCHARTS

oh man. my mornings are really always better than my afternoons nowadays, why is that? Look what I just found in the admin's desk while I was looking for candy a large knife with which to stabby stab the idiots on a certain work email chain i am having to moderate cigarettes and booze envelopes:



I didn't even know something like this existed. If you need me, I'll be spending my day flowcharting the SHIT out of some things.

PS, the Nats suck, in case you haven't been following their epic asskicking the past two evenings. Luckily I was able to drink part of that pain away last night.

We also didnt pay for parking since a) we didnt have the $4 and b) the G just drove right of the garage like she owned the place

4 things I’m glad my parents wouldn’t let me do as a 12-year-old.

1. Get a Nintendo
2. Buy George Michael’s Faith album
3. Get a trampoline
4. Hang out at comic book store with that guy who chewed matches

Last night, I did my best to make sure that “softball* injury” moved up past (stupid old Robert K trying to jump into the pool from the) “trampoline injury” in the 2007 calculations for emergency room visits. The swelling had not gone down after 4 days of ice and bed rest and some people were getting concerned that this may be more than a sprain. My agent also kept reminding me that I’m in the last year of my contract and it’s not the time to goof around with something like this.

The typical emergency room procedure occured: wait an hour to be recognized as a patient, read New Yorker from 2005, get scolded by nurses for walking on a clearly bruised and swollen ankle, get sent back to waiting area in a wheelchair, get laughed at by wife, challenge her to Murderball, finally get seen by doctor two hours after arrival**, get X-rays.

Verdict: Not broken. And not really that painful. The doctor offered to prescribe something for the pain but I replied that the Skittles I was eating was medicine enough. She did not find it very funny. There were few smiles anywhere at that hospital.***

Final thoughts: The G said that if I didn’t stop goofing off in the wheelchair that she would ask the staff to strap me into some of the exam room machines so she could then pull the plug. I responded “fine” since the most advanced instrument was called a Vacutron and at worst I may suffer from a hickey. They also had a tube labeled “MEDICAL AIR” but the nurse was unable to adequately explain the difference between it and regular air. However, she did confirm that there was a giant tank of Medical Air somewhere in the building.



*I found out when we were leaving that the triage nurse inferred that the ankle was injured during a baseball game and it was too late to change. Softball now moves further behind trampoline.
**Just like on TV, The Fray’s “How to Save a Life” played repeatedly in every room
*** Growing up, my best friend’s parents knew Patch Adams. I played with his son, Atomic Zagnut Adams, on occasion. He goes by Zag.

Works for TBS? Yep.

This morning's report:

I have thus far listened to R. Kelly's "Same Girl" 700 times. I think I can officially say my bad mood has lifted.

EDIT: H/T to DCeiver, who I hadn't noticed had posted the link to this, in case you want to waste your entire day watching it over and over like I am. They go play basketball about 2/3 in.

poll

hey heres a question internet: if I recently bought a shirt with pink polka dots all over it, obviously marketed to a 13 year old, should I be beaten to death with a shoe horn?

YES/NO

middlin'

word.

And with that, I'd like to take this opportunity to quickly thank Mr. Reindflesch, a pretty scary Vietnam-vet-turned-Algebra-I teacher, who chose to ignore my boyfriend and I as we frenched at my locker post-7th-period-pre-volleyball-practice every afternoon. Except for that one time when he told us to "at least stop the clumsy groping." Oh, young love.

reno road

Fort Reno, you have magical healing powers along with yr Icee pops. After the mic was straightened out, the Boom Orangutangs did their thing (I want the singers "Cult Idol" teeshirt), Deleted Scenes made 17 year olds dance and assured all us old people in the back they'd "never play an 21-n-over show again cause they never dance!" (love it) and then Mass Movement of the Moth came on and made me laugh like I hadn't cracked a smile since...well last Thursday, or whatever, which is about right. The lead singer is like Rasputin crossed with a pterodactyl.

As I rained blows upon him, I realized there had to be another way.

I spent my entire weekend seething, which takes a lot out of a girl. Luckily there was a Cops marathon on for part of last night.

also: whoever invented "sitekey" can officially eat ass. I hate you. I hate the fact that you assign some random shitty clip art (a picture of Rome?) to my online 401k account, and then I HAVE TO REMEMBER WHAT I NAMED THE PHOTO in order to log in. Um... "The Coliseum Is Dumb"? "Lion Eats Gladiator"? "Skeezy Italian 30 Year Olds Making Pay by Pretending to Jerk Off in Roman Costumes Hit On Me Here in 1999"? "106 Degrees in the Goddamn Shade"? "College Drunk Hangover Drunk Drunk Headache Tour"? I certainly can't remember. I'm hoping I named it something awesome like: "Indiana!"







i'll be back when i damn well feel like it. I am going to fort reno tonight, and eating Popeyes, so I should be back in fighting form by 8:15 pm or so.

Hello, son. Would you want to try the flying motorcycle I just invented?

There’s been some major infrastructure repair going on in the streets near the stately Pygmalion Manor. Blacker and stickier roads! Bone-white sidewalks replacing the old collapsed ones destroyed by a winter of over-salting! Lego-like paving bricks to prevent baby strollers from carelessly rolling into oncoming Jettas!

The new sidewalks are the most exciting since wet cement is the most appetizing artistic medium to any 12-year-old boy and man-idiots like me. But time after time, the new sections were all dried up by the time I got home. It was like driving down Bladensburg by Hogs on the Hill and you smell the BBQ but you’re late and can’t stop. Also, you only have $3 in your wallet and there are no banks nearby. Plus Florida Avenue is still all backed up with construction and when you drive by this one house you see people just sitting inside on their laptops when they should be at real jobs. And your hungry and there was BBQ back there.

That’s what dry cement is like, Capps.

But then I found a wet patch a few weeks back. First, I pretended I was Remo Williams and ran across without falling in. Then I moon walked through it. Finally I had the dog do a little canine jig on it.

And you know what? It looks like pure Scheiße. I regret it up and down. If I catch my kid doing anything like it I will tan him six ways until Caturday.



I’m back baby!

or Klondike

Oh yeah, remember Writing Club? It's pretty much devolved into a lot of drinking and talking about dice. We're like Guys N Dolls all of a sudden. I was all set on renaming ourselves "The International Bone Rollers Guild" but apparently that's taken.

Screw creative writing assignments about zombies, let's focus on scumbag.

dare to stand up and shout hooray

- Something I am enjoying this morning as I drink my overly-sweetened coffee: Ted Leo Talking about exploding shower heads. I KNEW rock personnel had stage clothes! My stage clothes are reserved for walking the dog.

- This week has been chock full of family, since Higher Powers decided it would be really awesome to put two in-law birthdays and Father's day and Flag Day all in one week. Thanks a shitload. It's not like I don't love these people, don't get me wrong, but seeing my mother seventeen times in 6 days is a bit of overkill. She'd say so too.

- We won our volleyball game last night, handily.

- Everyone in my life is getting new jobs or looking for new jobs or thinking about new jobs or trying to decide if they' d like to start side businesses selling crocheted hats for lions. Or whatever. There's something with the moon or tides. Early summer brings change, along with those goddamn afernoon thunderstroms that have flattened my petunias into the saddest looking fuckers you've ever seen.

- Tonight I'm gonna go weasel drinks of CatAn, since she has the best job in the universe. Courtesy her BTW: I wasn’t wearing a bike helmet. The only people who wear bike helmets are 13-year old girls and Tony Hawk, but that’s skateboarding and he’s doing flips and stuff. I’m going straight.

bad habits

something that needs to cease immediately, for the sake of my own sanity:

idly browsing midwest city craiglist real estate listings.

I might as well be shoving sharpened bamboo under each toenail while listening to scissor sisters. why yes, i would like to buy your lovely brick tudor for 89k. And stay at home at make apple butter or whatever. Where do I sign?

confession

i was just looking at the 930 club schedule? I did not know Rooney was a real band? I thought they were like the Monkees or something, for The OC gen?

? ? ?



(OH ALSO: MJ's already heard the leaked Beastie Boys album (The Mix Up) and reports it sounds like Paul Weller. Or Death in Vegas. I only have one Paul Weller track in my IPod and I didn't put it there, so I don't really know what to make of this. Anyhoooves, June 26th.)

i am too bored to actually post my innermost thoughts and feelings and desires

things google/blogs/ internets have gifted me recently:

- Steinberg doodles

- Bomb

- Take it from me: Last night we determined this stuff? will probably kill you. Kill you dead and how.

- I really need to start watching more of the Lifetime channel.

- Awesome.

Also, i had totally forgotten about the existence of Carson Daly until probably last week, and holy crap. What happened to that guy? He looks like a Saturn dealer. Or a guidance counselor.

simple life

the five second update:

I have two bottles of absinth in my house, my brother has been diagnosed with mono (at an extremely old age, it seems - "I just thought I was really bored") and last night I watched the E! news special on Anna Nicole Smith. And like five minutes of Supernanny. Okay, maybe seven.

or, the entire internet could committ spontaneous suicide instead of going to prom

h.t. to CatAn, this: the most hilarious thing, ever? Yes.

along again naturally

it's been single-parent-city at the Pyg homestead recently. The N has been gone for seemingly weeks, which has resulted in a severe lack of showering/grocery shopping (besides quick stops for limes gin-n-tonic limes, the entire fridge now overfloweth with citrus), a lot of bad television, some naps, and a trip to Dinosaur Land. Also, slurpees.

It will be nice to have an adult back in the house. The dog obvs. doesn't count.

you got served

Something i learned yesterday: the sand volleyball court near our house? i always assumed taking care of it was part of the Arlington Co. parks & recs employee duties. It's always been a shit court, may I add.

BEHOLD!!!! New poles, new net, perfectly maintained sand! And who does one have to thank for such a turnaround?

Apparently the court is now actually dug up in the early morning walkin-the-dog hours by at least 7 inmates from Arlington County Jail. Wearing orange jumpsuits! Guarded by officers! As they shovel the hell out of that long-neglected sand pit that now looks super super super terrific!

So thx, jailbirds.

harpy

if i live that long, please let me turn out like this guy.

"blaeegghhhhssssaaah. And Jessica Alba."

I cannot wait for this x a million.

The N: "just listening to Rudd read the cast list is worth $10"

proof i am a completely and utterly unfixable human

my most recent "i-get-beaten-by-a-roided-out-boyfriend-every-night" bruises are shaping up quite nicely, thanks for asking. This particular beaut is from having to choke up so far on the big heavy man-bats in softball, I actually hit myself in the left forearm with the knobby end of the stick every time I swing.

What is it like to be a graceful person? Is it a life full of whimsy and ice cream and perfect, unblemished skin? Someone tell me, I am aching (literally) to live vicariously through you. Ballerinas can skip commenting altogether and straight-up email me. I mean, I know yr feet are probably fucked up from years of dancing, but I bet you don't walk into walls.

hymns for the hopeless

GAH. internet, assistance, i beg for. i am looking for an mp3 of the song "feast of a thousand beasts," by william elliott whitmore and jenny hoysten (it's the first track on the hallways of always album*.) ITunes doesn't have it. All the other usual sources have failed me. I am planning on buying the album like a good n proper girl. But til it arrives from the internets, someone help.

* (note: i found this album in the backseat of my closing-in-on-60-yr-old father in law's car. who is significantly cooler than me (the man, not the car), and would probably school me in like a competition of erase errata trivia or whatever.)

UPDATE ALREADY!: Resolved! Tom Lee, as usual, pwns the internet.

Gilheney - the worst a hemophiliac can get

The thought of buying a replacement mattress for the one destroyed by the Mangler was so undesirable that these little Pyggies opted to repeatedly leave the state in search for a more pleasurable and sandy circumstance. Unfortunately, the time has arrived (summer) where guests have begun inviting themselves to come to Washington, see the Ronald Reagan building, go on unlicensed Segway tours, and beg their crooked congresswomen to expedite their passport applications since that Hantavirus isn’t gonna spread itself. I guess we can’t ask them to sleep in the bath tub any more - I am almost 40, for fraternity’s sake.

Sigh.

In the same vein, mattresses are no longer things you just sort of inherent from your cousin when she graduates from college. It’s one of those annoying purchases that require you to talk to a salesman while he makes you sit there at his desk since he still writes the receipt out by hand, for some reason. There’s also the repeated insistence that seriously, dude, we just need your cheapest mattress and no bedspring and we don’t want an upgrade to the newest Swedish bed technology you guys are pushing. Or maybe NASA’s.

That’s why I whole heartedly endorse whatever the Mattress place is that we went to in Bailey’s Crossroads. The salesman wasn’t aggressive. He gave us what seemed to be a good deal. And he smiled the whole time, even though it was clear he wasn't having a good day.

Case in point:

• Our mattress was at the bottom of a big stack that he had to move by himself.
• He ran out of string for car roof tying.
• While we were maneuvering the mattress out of the backdoor, it slammed closed and locked us out. Our salesman just stood there and stared hound-doggedly until I volunteered to run around the mall to the front and open the door.

While I was gone, the G reports that when she told the salesman that this was a “comedy of errors” he laughed so hard and enthusiastically, she got nervous.

The fact that he was out of rope was also a little suspicious since he instantly suggested we try the Dollar Store next door. Even more so, when the lol-Dollar Store!!1! guy was all, “O hai! You need has rope now? One dollar k bye,” as soon as we walked in the door. But if there was some strip mall collusion going on, it was a pretty sad scam. One dollar for every mattress sold is not going to keep 1,2,3 Dollar! in business.

But maybe this will.



I can’t find any record of Gilheny brand razors anywhere except for an example of their availability in the Guangdong province. There were no instructions on the back but I imagine they would just show a happy man with a beard on his face followed by a sad man with blood, tetanus and lockjaw on his face. Also, the aloe strip was replaced with lemon juice strip.

no crying

PFork interviews Will Sheff, more on The Stage Names.

PIAB- yr DOS updates

(Defenders of Stan: episode 8 up now.)

(And after you're done digesting that, please watch Lil Mama's "Lip Gloss." )

and then Bono showed up.

Chris Rock writes about his first trip to Africa, when he met with Nelson Mandela. "I went to Mandela's house, but I didn't have a sense that he knew who I was; I didn't have these great accomplishments or anything," Rock, who helped launch (Red), says. "His kids, grandkids, and security guards knew who I was, but what do you say to Nelson Mandela? This guy's so great, what the fuck is he doing meeting with me? Is Ja Rule coming in next? Mandela should be meeting with Bono and Oprah … He shouldn't be meeting with the guy from Pootie Tang."

S. pointed me to Annie Leibovitz's Vanity Fair covers. It's a great idea, and I love the way V-F worked the term "shout-outs" into their subhead. Nice work, writer squad! To recap: Condi looks like zombie hell; Chris Rock is treating Warren Buffet's ear like a lucky rabbits foot; Oprah is having an orgasm over the shoulder of Clooney; Clooney, in turn, is sharing his latest lyric ideas with Jay-Z; Iman is on loan from Madame Toussauds; and so on.

But this one is my favorite: WHY IS DESMOND TUTU ABOUT TO EAT BRAD PITT???? He looks like he is gazing upon a delicios Thanksgiving turkey or something. I'm mildly concerned, and massively humored.

(Noted: S. also likes the one of Madonna about to stick her tongue in Maya Angelou's ear. Hot. )

Jan Delay covert Nena!

The N and I have a new favorite artist: Jan Delay.

Here, Jan walks hand-in-trunk with an elephant, while channeling UB40.

Here, Jan frolics surfside in winter garb with indifferent mod ladies, his dachsund, and a seashell. That he raps into.

Here, Jan joins the Campfire Girls, or maybe the Nazi Youth. Or maybe Soundgarden. I'm not sure yet. Anyway: fire, and cavemen.

And here, Jan dresses like Yassar Arafat while making friends with clown protestors and a Revolutionary War marching band.


Obviously, neither the N or I speak German. We also don't speak reggae, so all of this is just a best guess. But JAN DELAY, people! Catch the fever.

Things My Father Hates (Updated):

- Balloons
- Parades
- Macy Gray
- Roadside Memorials dedicated to drunk driving crashes/hit-n-runs/other tragic teen deaths, especially if they involve stuffed animals and/or fake flowers from Michael's (NEW FOR SPRING 2007!!!!)

ding ding ding

Yesterday I was going to post a lot, but then I got wrapped up in some serious IM's with Amanda regarding ghosts. Did you know the Virginia Paranormal Conference was cancelled this year due to lagging ticket sales? WTF. If I had known, I would have been there.

Amanda: did you watch Angel at all? one of the characters had a ghost, dennis who totally took care of her. drew her baths, teleported the phone to her when it was ringing, etc

The G: ah, no. angel was on tv during an alcoholic phase where i didn't own cable because it interfered with bar tab money. but I NEED A DENNIS

Amanda: yeah he's the shit

The G: i'll look into that. recruiting a ghost. you think ghosts read craigslist?

Amanda: oh my god. i was typing the exact same thing. jinx

The G: wanted: one ghost (kindly)

Amanda: you owe me a ghost!

The G: also, a magician. OH! OH! WAIT! Ooooh..... LOLGHOSTS.



More later. Until then, muskrat feet earrings, please.

a celebration of blog

( btw: for those who care [3 random internet strangers who have emailed me], I have resurrected [kind of] the abandoned Chi-Chis blog.)

hollywood

Intereviews like this solidify my belief that Matt Damon is a super nice dude and probably fun to go drink PBR with/start petty arguments with about like, the Justice League, mock-fights that end in smiles and shots and headlocks/hair-ruffling. Please, no one email me with tales of him acting like a typical Hollywood d-bag, I'm in a fragile state these days.

I saw 2 movies this weekend: Knocked Up (relatively funny, Seth Rogen is Al Brooks Jr., all the Apatow-alum roomates stole the show from the lead roles, and I am pretty sure I went to college with the "Jody" character) and Pirates (sucked, not surprisingly.)

i need a date

i have 2 tickets to the nats game tuesday night. my spouse and bff are both out of town. who's in? too late suckers, I am a hot commodity apparently.

Take that, Hamilton!

If my understanding of DC history is correct, the grounds where the Ronald Reagan building stands have been:

1. a swamp-assed forest
2. an awkward triangle in L’Enfant’s partially realized dream
3. a neighborhood of brothels, flopboxes, scratch cribs, bordellos, saloons and other piles of kindling.
4. the failed re-realization of L’Enfant’s dream left uncompleted due to a crippling national depression.
5. a parking lot
6. the Ronald Reagan Building and International Trade Center, opened 1998

If this is correct, then I don’t see why there are 8000 middle school kids coming to visit it every day in the spring. President Reagan, yours is the only building within the District’s borders to house a Smoothie King. The metal detectors and mile wilting sun walk, I can abide. But when I wants my smoothie I wants it now. Not after 30 minutes worth of line waiting and dozens of children have pawing over your Smoothie King brand Estrogen supplements, which they sell for some reason.

But on the plus side…

On my way back from “lunch” I saw three young teenage boys lifting up their shirts and flashing their skinny pale stomachs and chests through the fence outside the Treasury Department. Oh hell yeah, I thought, non-violent political protest and disobedience! I sure hope Deputy Assistant Secretary for Critical Infrastructure Protection and Compliance Policy D. Scott Parsons is looking out his office window right now. These boys want him to know that they think his policies are pure bunk! In your face!

Unfortunately, this was not the case and I doubt the little scamps even knew what building they were in front of. They stood there long enough to allow the rotating jet sprinklers to splash across their soft bellies. Then their teacher yelled at them and they scampered off. You win this round, Secretary Paulson.

please tune in right now if you can so you can confirm we are right on this.

The Nabob: "Why is Peter Sarsgaard emceeing the National Spelling Bee?"
The G: "Oh my god, he is!"

(So far, I like Prateek. He has a slight moustache, and his interests include playing tuba and science. God, kids rock so much sometimes. His word was just "Randkluft" and he aced that shit.)

"we wrote symbols and themes and motifs! he's a clown!"

one more thing and then i'll shut up: so Michael Cera is only 19. that's okay, right? it doesn't make me a total molester to have a 19 year old on "my list," does it? I mean, Cusack is looking beyond-pufferfish bloated and making movies about child martians nowadays. I think it's time to update.

coppertone ass

new song from OR's next album, The Stage Name, up on myspace. "Our Life is Not a Movie or Maybe." No opinions yet, mostly because I can barely function today. Oh internet, you're lucky I was even able to type these words.

147 unread work emails

Clark & Michael: "They rested their balls on our chins and brushed our teeth with their dicks"

more later, I'm kind of depressed this morning.

back home/exceptionally cranky

all my plants are dead and I itch.

worthwhile sacrifices to the gods of beach.

It's still better than my dad's and in the end thats all that matters

As my huckleberry pie of a wife pointed out, I’m rockin the modified Hrabosky today after ditching the beard last night. Here’s the pic she took this morning over my normal breakfast bowl of melted raspberry sorbet.* The full growth was getting unmanageable as I was unwilling to admit that this was less of active beard instead of in inactive razor. I was also unwilling to spend any money on any sort of facial hair trimming devices. Nuts to that.

While the beard investigation was an amusing departure from my normally baby-shorn face, this Spurlock is something completely different. It’s completely empowering but in a totally cocksure and irrational way. Every time I catch my new reflected profile in a parked car window I want to turn to any nearby pedestrian and yell “ALL THIS FLORIDE IN THE DRINKING WATER IS A NASA CONSPIRACY!! FUCK ME?!? NO FUCK YOU!?!! BRAAARRRRW!!!” And its ugly as hell.

You got 18 hours left in you, mustache. Live your splotchy life accordingly.

*This actually looks more like the child Ryan Avent and I would produce if we were to have a son. And was a Muppet.

aint nothing like them summer nights/keep the top on drop while the girls looking hot

yay, deleted scenes. yay, full schedule soon.

"what do we want? BRAINS! When do we want it? BRAINS!'

sigh. it's official, zombies are the new pirates. which i think replaced ninjas. or maybe it was robots. I can't even remember at this point.

next stop: vikingtown.

* * *

In other "I'm-so-bored-I'm-spending-all-day-on-Apple-Trailers" news, there was a really sweet German film called "Bella Martha" (or "Mostly Martha") that came out a few years ago. K. and I rented it at a while visiting friends in Tucson, watching it in a complete daze shortly after having our brains liquified by George's sound system ("LETS WATCH A FEW SCENES FROM MASTER AND COMMANDER IT WILL KICK YOUR ASS!") It's a nice little piece. Now Zeta-Jones has decided to make what looks like a maybe craptastic American version. What's his name is way too good looking for this role. Besides, jesus. That chin.

1000% morons

of COURSE i lose my sunglasses the day i leave for vacation. of course.

((ps. my spouse is looking disturbingly like morgan spurlock recently. more on this as the day unfolds.))

Seriously, if he fucks up one more time I’m going to sell him to Michael Vick.

The deal brokered with BD when he came to stay with us was a simple one: he would sleep on the floor at night and not chew up our stuff. Those terms were violated immediately. Fortunately, in the last year he seems to have grown out of his whole “I checked Weddingchannel.com* and have decided to eat all your wedding gifts priced at $120 or higher” phase. But he still didn’t sleep on the floor.

That ended Monday.



There really isn’t much to say here. Chewing = out. Digging a hole into the mattress down to the springs = teh new dogness.




There’s a store down the street next to Five Guys that sells used mattresses. But the signs are only in Spanish so I’m gonna need someone to come with me to help translate/bargain.

*I’ve got a friend who married this horrible woman. Their divorce proceedings lasted longer than the marriage. He discovered that if you search for his exes' name on Wedding Channel you can not only still buy gifts for his old wedding but also for her new wedding. He asks that in lieu of gifts you send her one of those bubonic infected squirrels that the monkeys love to eat.

november rain

courtesy this one: The best idea I never had.

This would be even greater if a similar person didn't already attend my reunion and perform a scaled-down version of what you see here. Except she wasn't a professional stripper, she was just an almost-30 year old lifeguard with a self-esteem problem and a 1998 head injury.

garrrrrrrblarrrrrrr

this is so not my deal usually (tweeness? the french? i mean, really), but the herman dune video does make me smile. I think it's the inclusion of animated alphabetics that gets right in the ol' blood pumper.

Oh god, do I need to get out of here. I am so sick of indoors and proper clothes and pollen and recycled office air. I can't even sit in my chair, I'm all toddler-slouchy and ADD and have a ton of work and am not motivated to do anything and HEY LOOK INTERNET CONNECTION.


beach in t-minus 2 days.

awesome

so catherine and I are shopping for bathing suits online. it's probably okay for me to buy a used Bud Light themed one-piece on Ebay from a seller named "chiggerville", right?


I thought so. Sold!

"Throw your clothes on the floor/ I'm gonna take my clothes off too!"

Eagle-eyed Girl on the Street S. IM's yrs truly the Birchmere July schedule.

I missed PM Dawn, so.... SWEET MUSICAL REDEMPTION! Check on the 22nd. For the low, low price of 50 duckets.



My best BIIM story:

Scene: high school, Homecoming dance. I am in the middle of a v. dramatic semi-reunion with a boyfriend who cheated on me with a skirt named Sheryl, she of the giantest blonde Texas cheerleader 'do I have ever seen, like 5x the size of mine. Also a giant rack. Anyblahs, said boyfriend requests DJ to play "Please Forgive Me" by Bryan Adams and dedicate to me. Instead, the DJ plays "I'll Make Love to You" by Boyz II Men. And dedicates it to me.

Awesome?

Hen Wen

While I certainly remember reading books as a child (tween/preteen/whatever comes before freshman English class and Tess of the D’Urbervilles), I’m not sure why I chose the books I did. I recall going to the school and public libraries but I have no conscience memory about what motivated me toward my selections. Nowadays, I just grab whatever’s nearby or at the airport’s Hudson News or is about zombies. But what invisible hand was guiding my decisions back then? I’m guessing it was either a kindly old lesbian librarian or the wicked Scholastic Books marketing devilkin.

A quick survey of friends and family has me leaning toward the idea that as books readers we are all embarrassingly lazy and will read whatever is placed closest to the door, propped open on its end with a dynamic shiny cover. Tek War, ahem.

So Lord knows why I was drawn to the Chronicles of Prydain series by Lloyd Alexander around age 11. And while I don’t exactly remember what happened in terms of characters (magic pig) and plot* (quest for magic pig), I do recall thinking the series was the greatest literary accomplishment since The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins. It also had nearly invincible zombie warriors in it.

I was therefore saddened to read that Alexander died last week at the age of 83. Here was a man whose writings slyly nudged my current literary tastes toward the world of fantasy but no so much that I’m one of those weirdoes that read fantasy novels. Well played, Mr. Alexander. And thanks.


* Wikipedia reveals that the plot was a crazy-assed one. Also, the other series I enjoyed as a yearling was the Dark Is Rising which they are turning into a movie, apparently. It’s also apparent that writers of children’s fantasy are required to have all their characters with magical powers to get on a ship and sail away to an elf world at the end of the final book. It’s called the Elrond Halfelven Dictate.

editorial note

yes, i used the non-word "chillax" twice in the last post.


suck it.

midnight in the garden of good and violin

so Andrew Bird is pretty fantastic, right? think jeff buckley with a serious whistling skill. and a violin. and guitar. And some serious early-college summer SNZ flashbacks. and a sock monkey. and other awesome things.

The N would like to register a hearty "shut the hell up" to the girls standing behind us, who began bitching as soon as AB started over a few times on a particular song. "God, enough already. Lets just pick up where you left off." Okay, ladies, ladies. You obviously didn't grasp what he was doing up there, with the whole recording and playing back thing. So see, like, if he "godkeptgoingalreadyjeezthisissoannoying" it would have meant that mistake would loop through the entire song. So chillax. Go get a beer or something. By n by, yr forever 21 top is hideous. And yes, I know where it's from.

On a good note: there was a lot of short people there, so even in the way back I had a great view.

To review: Andrew Bird last night was great and you should have been there. A quick note to the crowd from the G: STOP GOING ON FIRST DATES TO CONCERTS. Jesus, people.

Oh, also as we were leaving the N inadvertantly pissed off some poor local lead singer by not taking his free CD. Dude, chillax. Here is how you start a fanbase: by not flippin yr shit when someone doesnt take a free CD.

* * *

i'd try to talk about my week/weekend beyond that, but frankly, i'm exhausted. i don't know how you yng whippersnappers even do it. There was baseball and parties and drinking and tailgating and girly things and visitors and a sleepover where K and I tried to explain the concept of "what not to wear" to my mom. Long story.

DIE DIE DIE

todays blog message is brought to you by the Mockingbird, who is in his very last moments of life.

In other news, I am on hiatus until Monday. If I win Bird War, I will return. maybe.

I got a Honda that jingle jangle jingles

The G’s little grey motor coach developed a sexy new rattle a few weeks back, so we did what responsible car owners do and flat out ignored it. Flat out. When you turned the engine over you were treated to the distinct sound of metal jangling against other looser metal followed moments later by my darling wife going “Siiiggghhh. Will we ever own nice things? Ever? Siigghh.”

Well, good news my child bride! I was driving around this morning, felt a loud banging under my feet and saw this pirouetting in the middle of a Route 7 intersection.



Problem solved! The rattling ceased immediately. And the car didn’t crash or catch on fire or fall apart like a scene in a madcap 70’s road comedy starring Tim Conway.

Now, the only concern is that the one guy on our softball team who actually knows something about cars saw this picture and said we should probably get it fixed immediately or the car’s “suspension” may fall off the car’s “frame.” But he also adds that it should take about 20 minutes and I could do it myself with $4 worth of parts from the Home Despot.

Yeah! Project.

Anybody need a ride home?

I'm tired of Lohan anyway

Hey hey! Congrats to Tommy for making the Posts Express blog thing two out three days this week. Will Manifest Density become the new Superficial? The go-to website for lazy Express editors? I think it might.

CHRIST ALMIGHTY

the problem with working in an office of v. few is that when your day goes wrong, there is only a select handful of folks that can then bear the brunt of my insane wrath re: all things career. So hey there, spousal unit! Sorry I almost kung-fu kicked you right off the Memorial Bridge with my raging tiny feminine fists of steel tin foil n tears!

In other better news, I went and bought the most decadent dinner ever because of my insanely good mood: strawberry lemonade, brie, and chocolate-covered blueberries. Apparently when yrs truly has a bad day at work she magically transforms into Marie Antoinette. If MA were big into sulking and watching marathons of Miami Ink. (Oh lordy, speaking of. Remind me to tell you something about that sometime soon.)



my god I need vacation, stat. who wants to go to chicago in june.

``I Do Believe We're Naked'' by Funky See Funky Do

Do the premiere cable channels still have their free trial weeks on occasion? Is HBO doing one now? We seem to be getting it for free. Someone call my dad to make sure he knows so he can record every movie on Betamax. They can go into the water damaged cardboard box with Ferris Bueller's Day Off, Flight of the Navigator, Little Shop of Horrors, Short Circuit, Stand By Me, Star Trek IV, The Karate Kid Part II, Three Amigos, Crocodile Dundee, Hoosiers, The Care Bears Movie, Great Mouse Detective, Howard the Duck, Money Pit, The Black Cauldron, King Solomon's Mines, The Legend of Billie Jean, Cocoon, and Witness. It’s in the basement next to old storm windows.

====

Also, I never got into early 00’s Japanese horror film revival and know nothing of films like The Grudge or The Ring. But HBO played The Ring yesterday and I watched it with the sound off. For those who have never seen it (wife) here’s what I think happens based on not hearing the dialogue:

Naomi Watts really hates this old home video so she burns it in a barrel like a hobo. The fumes from the plastic cause her son to get sick (possibly hypothermia) and also attacked by a herd of 20 male deer. To help her son, Watts goes to the mental hospital that Sarah Connors broke of in T2 but her cell now only has books and an old TV and Sissy Spacek in it. Apparently, this doesn’t help so she goes home. In the meantime, the kid's doctor, who’s played by Wilma from the Flintstones movie, kills herself and the boy leaves the hospital where he’s been living. He goes home and kills the guy who played the young bisexual actor in LA Confidential by stretching his mouth open like Alec Baldwin in Beetlejuice. Watts finds the body in a pickup truck but leaves it there to go make her son a poisonous peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She then drowns him in the bath tub until a little girl comes of his mouth. This causes the TV to come on, so Watts goes inside of it and then falls into a well. She climbs out when a monkey in dress starts chasing her but she is able to trap it by pushing a 1000 lbs rock on top of the well. She then wanders around the forest from Cider House Rules until she come to a cliff and jumps off. The end.

This may not have been the way the script reads but it’s what the movie looked like and would probably have made a better one. And if you think that was confusing, you should have heard me try to explain the Battlestar Galactopus mini-series to the G last night so she could understand the first episode on DVD. She got angry and said she was going to bed even though I was only halfway done. It was 8:30.

Update: It turns out I was watching the Ring 2.

advice, travel

listen, when yr wife demands a dirndl as a souvenir, just you know - for shits and giggles, to wear around the house or to a bar or a barbeque or whatever, it's probably in your best interest to just buy her one. Trust me on this. You'll probably be thankful. I'm sure there are lots more "slutty costume options" than "authentic peasant options" nowadays.


...


if you dont' know what it is, look it up.

Close, but no, not the Jewish spinny top. That's dreidel.

nonblawg/you taste like a burger

Please to be reading before you ask anyone to "throw together" a bridal shower/birthday party/baby shower/wedding invitation for you.

"GrrrrlySwrlz Swash Bold Italic" or whatever? Decidedly UN-AWESOME.

* * *

Hi. I am swamped. I am not talking to Blog this week, or at least I don't think I will be. Stay tuned for The N's gripping tales of... whatever he talks about lately. Beowulf, magic, women's fashion gone awry, how much his wife sweats Paul Rudd. Etc.

Website comes to our house, listens to our conversations, turns them in to funny and better written posts.

Since we can’t be bothered to write anything about anything we will just rely on this to tell you exactly how we feel. Really, exactly exact.

Except maybe for Gosling. There’s never been much heat for him by either of us. I would happily bed anyone else, though. Especially Bale.

If you're small and on a search

In the brief history of human/marsupial relations, how many people do you think have kicked a living opossum? Not in a Mark Mosley sort of way but more of a “be gone you nasty rat thing and spoil my lawn no more” kinda of way. Or both maybe. Either way, I presume I have joined a very small union of people who have accomplished this feat. And like riding on Air Force One or going under the North Pole in a submarine, I expect receive a certificate from the navy shortly.

In other fuzzy animal news, my cell phone is no more. The antenna was made out of a sheet metal screw and duct tape. And the dog puncture-chewed the speaker so you couldn’t hear any high frequency audio. If somebody got excited or had a particularly squeaky voice, the sound would drop out. I missed several calls from Jane Wiedlin.

This is considered animal news because the display screen options on the phone were limited to pictures of nature, swaths of primary colors or a toggling set of assertively adorable animal photos. Behold:



This was, of course, the background option I chose because I’m a 37 year-old admin assistant in Cedar Rapids and my glasses are on a jeweled chain and there is cat hair on my sweater and I wear ill-fitting bras. So, I was especially distraught when the phone needed to be retired and puppy-bunny-kitty had to go. Ahhh, puppy-bunny. He can has mah cheezburger.

I tried to get animal photos to transfer to my new phone but Verizon and LG would have nothing of it. They will live on forever now on the internets.

This is the first picture I took with my new camera phone, a luxury that has quickly been abused.



It’s a vending machine that sells individual beers at a nursing home bowling alley. It is awesome and I need one near my house or the dog park.

This is the second picture I took. It’s the pornographic cake from the first Dismemberment Plan show. Or it was. Behold the ravages of age and indie sugar fury.



Puppybunny is dead. Long live puppybunny.

my name is earl... sinclair.

oh my awesome friday morning:

one.

two. I had completely forgotten about the existence of this show until last night when we saw a commercial for the DVDs. And "Andy Richter Controls the Universe" is still not out? Son of a bitch.

three. *








* this will become relevant later on in the life of this blog, I promise.

ugh for serious tho

Dear Heather,

I concur. THE EMPIRE WAIST TREND CANNOT DIE FAST ENOUGH.

Love,
The World

* * *

Thanks for making me look like an idiot, fashion assholes. Also, again just a simple kind reminder: stop making clothes with skulls on them. Unless it is Misfits merch.

Thanks.

morning commute, chapter 22

The N: (under breath): I wish I could date a computer model.
The G: what?
The N: nothing.
The G: I heard you. You said you wish you could date a computer model. What the hell is that supposed to mean? Does this mean like, a Barker's Beauty demonstrating a computer (does Vanna-Whitesque hand motion) or like, a.... (blanking on computers) ... Tandy?
The N: Tandys are too old.
The G: Tandys are the cougars of personal computers! So what then? Mac?
The N: Too many tattoos.
The G: Dell? ... No, not a Dell. Dell's are square.
The N: Yeah, but Dell's aren't that old.
The G: But they are boring, right?
The N: I guess so. Dell's are like the girl when you find out she isn't Mormon, you're all "Really?? Not at all? Huh." *




* an aside: 90% of the Mormons I personally know are EPICALLY un-boring.

total aside

I defend my right to like Glaceau (which I know is pronounced like: "glah-so" [thanks HS french!!!] but which yes, I insist on pronouncing "glack-cow!!!!!!", kind of like, "ker-PLOW!!!!") SmartWater simply because of the packaging; the shape of the skinny bottle fits perfectly in my tiny little Harry Potter hands.


...


here ends yr corporate shillin.

no seriously guys, virginia is teh suxx and i hate it and never go there cause i hate it SO MUCH and fuck rosslyn too WOOOOOT backwards hicks!!!1

Obama spoke in Richmond last night. (also - so wait - was Kaine the first governor to endorse him????? am I wrong on that?)

Think of what we could do with the $265 million a day we are spending in Iraq -- right here in Richmond ," the first-term senator continued. "Think of the schools we could build and the roads and the bridges and the hospitals. We need to bring to a close this sad chapter in American history, and begin a chapter that passes the might of our military to the freedom of our diplomacy and the power of our alliances. And while we are at it, we can close down Guantanamo and we can restore habeas corpus and we can lead with our ideas and our values," he said emphatically.

pig

if you haven't been reading Chris Onstad's "Bacon Chronicles" then you have been missing out on some of the best blogging that exists.

but not since you left, have the waves come

1. "Oh!" said I, and then i remembered this....

The country has come to accept stereotypical gay men -- sardonic fellows with fussy hair who live in over-decorated apartments with a striped sofa and a small weird dog and who worship campy performers and go in for flamboyance now and then themselves. If they want to be accepted as couples and daddies, however, the flamboyance may have to be brought under control. Parents are supposed to stand in back and not wear chartreuse pants and black polka-dot shirts. That's for the kids. It's their show.

... and now I don't care.

2. It is not unusual to be achingly tempted by a big giant obvious bright-as-a-thousand-suns job opportunity in a really shitty faraway rural town, a town I would learn to hate/resent in like: 8 days time, but a job that is still simply screaming for me to apply? The answer is yes, it is unusual. But I mean. I'm not gonna do it. I don't think.

3. Last night we had hot dogs and pudding snackpaks for dinner, and today is our anniversary. i would write something sappy and romantic here, but instead: Hahahahahha. SUCKER.

The Noid

I guess I could look up the ad agency that’s producing the latest series of Domino’s Pizza commercials but let’s keep this impersonal and just say they are doing a terribly poor job. They make want to eat the frozen $4.99 pizzas from Safeway with the crusts made from cardboard and the watery tomato sauce that doesn’t come from the fancy glass jars but the big metal cans with the cheap paper yellow label and the big tomato stamped on them. You will remember them from camp or your grandmother’s neighbor’s house.

Exhibit 1 – The one where a big piece of furry fudge comes to the front door and gets chocolate all over a little girl and ruins her pretty outfit.

Exhibit 2 – The one where three roommates sit around a steaming pizza and praise it based on their own exaggerated and disturbing facial features.

Exhibit 3 – The most recent one where two guys discuss their gross cookie based facial hair after eating an Oreo Dessert Pizza.

None of these make me want to order from Domino’s. Two of them make the G dry heave. And the last one ruined my lunch today because the Queen’s hat looks like a giant Oreo Dessert Pizza and it made me gag on the butterscotch Handi Snack I brought in because I was Mondays make me feel blue.


I took two pictures of TV when the queen was visiting the WH. In the first one you can see the hat clearly. The one above is all blurry but it makes it look like the Prez is about to chow down on some delicious Oreo dessert hat.

She can find quarters behind my ear/And make me laugh, one two one two

i am gonna spend my entire day watching old "30 rocks" and trying to figure out a way to blog a story from friday night. it's hard when the bulk of the tale involves hand gestures and me breaking down in hysterics.

really, it's taken me over 48 hours to calm down enough to even tell this stupid thing in person.

* * *

hey, remember house parties?

(girl jiggles doorknob of questionable basement bathroom)
K: um, i think someone's in there.
Girl: was it a guy?
K: yeah.
(girl jiggles doorknob more insistently)

HOORAY, POORLY EXECUTED BATHROOM HOOKUP!

Looking for other explanations

Stargate SVU, or whatever the show with MacGyver is called, is a show I’ve always considered one of the dimmer stars in the TV/movie sci-fi constellation. I don’t think I’ve ever seen an entire show. The only time I’ve watched some of any single episode is when the G makes me clean the room where the dog sleeps and the TV in there doesn’t have cable. Golf or pro basketball or Stargate? So I try Stargate even though it’s always confusing and that one giant guy has a medallion on his head in some episodes but not in others and sometimes they are underwater and every planet they go to only has peasants on it. Also, Beau Bridges is on it for some reason.

Can anyone like that show enough that they would honor their fandom on their license plate? I may be way off base here but that’s all I could assume when we saw “STG8 LVR” on some dude's car this week.

Any other suggestions on what it may be?

and for my next trick, i turn a handkerchief into a dove

so far this morning I've had a lengthy IM conversation about whether Paula Deen's sons might be in the Klan, consolidated all my saved/favorite phone text messages from the past year into a single Word file (hi. i am drunk at bar pilar. ps who is the bad guy from strawberry shortcake???? purple pieman, right?) and drank myself 3 cups of coffee. HAPPY FRIDAY.

"this is where the magic the gathering happens"

Defenders of Stan Episode 7.

parking, jesus.

When I was a very small boy, very small boys came and drank with me. On several youthful Thursdays, before the G rescued me to a world away from the Clarendon Metro stop, I could be found sitting outside the Dupont Front Page with an entire bucket of Coronas sweating in my lap. After I had consumed several of these, I would retire down to the bathroom and wait in line to do what it is that people do when they retire to a stank bathroom.

On one such occasion, while washing my hands, a young man burst in, saw all the toilets were occupied, huffed and did the desperate pee-pee dance. Frustrated by the lack of free urinals, he quickly loosened his ribbon belt and chino dress pant and relieved himself into the begrimed floor drain.

I have never returned.

In the proceeding years, the bar’s proprietors discovered that they owned more framed copies of the New York Posts than they had wall space for and they opened another location in Ballston. I don’t know why I didn’t make the connection that the two were related but last night I was tricked into going to the one in Arlington.

The cover band played "Undone" and clearly no one there knew it. Same with Rusted Root. Come on, anybody? "Cat Turned Blue?" I felt old. Especially when I saw some kids I was an RA for. But then I calculated that even they were too old to be there so I just felt bad for them. Their baseball caps were very white.

Like its sister bar, the bathrooms are not adequate for the Miller Lite-filled masses. But in Virginia, no one pees on the floor.

bzzness

- THE LEGEND OF HOGZILLA

- "He also praised an Alex Rodriguez home run by saying it 'traveled as far as the railroad featured so prominently in Anna Karenina,' and referred to LeBron James as 'LeVronsky' in an apparent nod to the heroine's lover."

- oh man, joke/skits on mixes. Those were the days. I think I put "Gordon's Answering Machine Message" on at least 800 tapes I made for people. Ugh. I apologize.

* * *

On the drive in, we started talking about what a bee most likely cranks up on his Ipod as he takes one last long, lingering look at the hive he's about to abandon. Honestly, I'm not terribly worried about the bees. They're disappearing, not dying, right? That's what Bee Lady on NPR said. Poof, gone. Probably they're all just moving to California for the next 10 years to write screenplays; they'll be back for their HS reunions, just the right time to for a chilly-yet-romantic homecoming run-in with the Girl Bee that Got Away/ Got Left Behind on Prom Night.

Anyways. That Guided by Voices album, sure. Jesus n Mary Chain's Just Like Honey (whoa Scarjo. just... whoa), maybe that one Joseph Arthur song, also Tupelo Honey.. The N suggests Blind Melon's No Rain (ba dum dum, ching). Anything I'm forgetting? The Bee Gees? The Hives?

california uber alles

MJ's deep thoughts on the melting of cali highways:

After earthquakes, tsunamis, brush fires, terrorism, the world turning into one giant Gap, runaway trolley cars, decks collapsing, sea lion attacks, seagull attacks, bouncy colorful ball attacks, bike messengers, and the Stephen Colbert-like idea of California falling off into the ocean due to its sinful ways, this is probably my biggest fear about San Francisco.

dude you forgot surfers.

Something meaty this way comes - part 1

Not being part of the BSWW, I haven’t really been part of this whole meatcake conversation. (Actually, I really haven’t been part of any conversation of late because of this despicable sinus issue and when people talk at me I usually just nod and laugh when they laugh since I can’t hear a rutting word.) K and the G have launched several weak verbal lobs at each other, both happily strutting around telling each other what’s what and bragging on whose kitchen acumen is most suited for loafing meat. When I did show interest in participating, I was quickly informed that I would be regulated to number 2 and my help would be appreciated but here’s a kiss on the cheek for being so cute and can you walk the dog?.

Well, I’m nobody’s Jonathan Frakes. Especially since every time I asked about when this cook-off was going to take place I got either a new answer or a shifting timetable with no promise of benchmarks. It was supposed to go down on Tuesday but of course all the “main” participants are too busy with writing something or IMing about fleecy pullovers.

I knew this would happen. If you want to copy some large, purposeless and public internet-meat-based phenomenon, you best do it yourself. My plan was hatched at the DPlan show when the participants in this spectacle were beginning to get wishy-washy on the details. Fine, I said to myself, while the rest of you cats hem and haw and go see the Wrens on Saturday, I’m going to get off the pot and make myself some meatcakes.

First things first - a recipe. Fortunately, a kickass recipe has been handed down through the Pyggy lines since Grendel’s time and I have my mother’s hand-written copy above the microwave. Actually, the entire cookbook is handwritten (probably about 250 recipes) but often features unforgivable mistakes throughout (sugar cookie recipe lacks sugar as ingredient) and each one is punctuated with the name of the author. The meat loaf entry was one of several scribed by my mother but it’s the only one where she includes her maiden name. I assume it’s meant to remind the world that this recipe is from her family and was dreamt up before she was saddled with her new and horrible last name.

Second things second – I needed a spouseless house. This experiment is the G’s baby and if I wanted to ruin it out of spite it needed to be conducted in secret, away from the prying eyes of my wife and her internet minions. On Saturday, she and CA were off to see kids with sunburns and sockless loafers fight each other at the Tombs. But she Would. Not. Leave. I kept suggesting she head out early on account of bad parking or burning libraries or pink polos or whatever other hazards would slow her roll on M Street.

Finally, she left and I did that thing where you crack all your knuckles at once and laughed evilly. Meatcake is GO!

Okay. Here are my observations for anyone trying to, eventually, follow in my footsteps. Keep in mind that I never actually read any of the other websites that proceeded in this experiment before me. There is probably a “right” way to do this. The following, probably, isn’t.

• Buying the ingredients of Staurday night at 8pm makes you look like the saddest bachelor in the history of sad-sack losers. My recipe was for a single loaf and I estimated that I needed about 2.5 times those ingredients. That meant about 4 pounds of hamburger meat, five cups of grated cheese, several eggs, milk and 4 cups of corn flakes. No fruit, no vegetables, no folic acid - nothing that anyone would ever claim could be a healthy meal for a woman. Plus, I bought hair gel.

• Meatcake is not cheap. I spent $40+ on the ingredients.

• Quick – how much un-grated cheese equals 5 cups of grated? No one will ever know, except me. And I'm not giving up any of my secrets, only to say that there are two bricks of cheese in our fridge if you need to reinforce your patio or if you have an enemy who is lactose intolerant.

• Safeway brand cornflakes are some irregular-assed shaped cornflakes.

• Cooking any meat loaf, in general, requires making a huge mess. Making it on this grand of a scale meant an ever larger kitchen wide disaster. My advice is to get a dog as they love all meatloaf ingredients that land on the floor except Worcestershire sauce.

• Worcestershire sauce is the most outrageously named condiment sold as a generic supermarket food stuff. And things that runny should not be called sauce. From now on it shall be referred to as English Juice, like they do in Brazil.

Coming soon – the actual "cake" cooking and wobbly construction. Stay tuned, you lazy bloggers.

yawn city

-- Two things about this:

1. Parade magazine is online?

2. Real life imitates How I Met Your Mother plotline, sort of, only much cooler? Yes, I watched it on Monday night, even though I swore to never watch it again.

It's been a giant family joke since, well, forever, that I am adopted. And my real family is not only blonde, but very very rich. Probably my real family has a room in their mansion dedicated to giftwrapping. Fuck it, according to my mother, I'm a Spelling.

Where was I.

Oh yeah! Yr dad's on the A-Team????? Dude. Nice.

-- In other news:

Let's just call it was it really is: "Boundary Street Writers Workshop" now officially redubbed "Fake-Angry Drunk Fighting Workshop." (now with even more smoke breaks!)

-- In continuing Dplan coverage:

get rich!

all i ever say now

dplan review @ pfork.

No, i'm not done talking about it.

ALSO:: Kanishka alerted me to the fact that I am an unapologetic plagiarist w/r/t blog entry titles. Oops. Consider this carefully retitled: "the fatgirl keeps onward!" Or even better: "One too many blows to the head."

girly mag

i don't know jack shit about fashion, but I do know that when ol' whats-her-name Levy states someday she'd sell her wedding dress, I about want to cry. If I looked like that, in a dress like that, I'd wear that son of a bitch to the OFFICE everyday. Mark my words. I'd errand it up - paying bills at home, post office, bank, dry cleaning. I'd be the hottest cube drone this city'd ever see. Like the episode when Marge gets a Chanel suit and keeps repurposing it.