On June 12, 1959, a young boy named Kenny Wilson attended a birthday party for a classmate in northwest Iowa. Like most of Kenny’s friends, this classmate lived on a farm and the party was held outdoors between the house and the large grain silos. The young partygoers were pointedly herded away from the barns since they were noisy and foul smelling and filled with a few hundred hogs.
Between the pig pens and County Highway B24, ran a ditch about 15 feet wide and 5 feet deep. At the far end, a small hole led into a winding series of limestone caverns. While it was very easy to get into these caves it was exceedingly difficult to get out. The county placed an iron cap over the entrance but it was commonly damaged during large rainstorms.
On the rare occasion where they gate was loosened and a hog managed to get free of the pens, it sometimes found its way underground. Although little light penetrated the winding crevices, it was possible to survive in the caverns. While the lack of proper nutrition would stunt their growth, they would still turn feral after a few months - sometimes to the point where the small tusks, normally filed down by farmers, would grow out of their months. Usually, only the smaller piglets managed their way into the caves and it was seldom worth the time or effort to retrieve them.
If you’ve ever experienced the hardships of growing up on a farm, you know where this story is going: Kenny Wilson wandered away from the birthday and fell into the cave. A quiet boy, he was not missed at the party until his parents came to pick him up a few hours later. A search of the farm by the family, neighbors and police revealed little. Of course, hanging over the entire effort was the immutable horror of living on a farm that no one dared speak: the child may have been knocked unconscious near the hogs. If that were the case, he surely would have been eaten in only a few minutes.
As dusk approached and the search grid got larger, the broken cap was discovered. And when Kenny’s parents yelled into the hole, they could faintly hear him calling back. The lowered a slate down to him and he scrawled out that while he was okay there were things down in the cave moving around near him.
A rescue effort was quickly launched but it soon became apparent that the fragile nature of the limestone could not withstand drilling without risking a total collapse. Days of digging by hand also yielded little progress. Food was lowered into the chamber, as well as a flashlight and blankets. The feral hogs, for the most part, left Kenny alone.
After weeks of heroic yet fruitless attempts, everyone became resigned to the idea that Kenny may spend the rest of his life in the cave. They lowered food and water down several times a day. At least one family member stood vigil over the cave entrance at all times in case he needed anything. Clothes, tools and dismantled furniture eventually made their way to him and he built himself a makeshift bedroom. Each night a classmate would send down his homework and the next morning someone else would pick it up. He made the pigs his pets and was even able to train a few to perform basic tasks.
As of 1986, Kenny the Pigboy was still living in his cave in northwest Iowa.
Obviously, this story is complete make-believe. There was no moral or lesson. My dad told it to me when I was eight for no other reason than to fuck with my head. While he did grow up on a farm in Iowa, there was never a Kenny, he never had a birthday party in his yard and their certainly isn’t a vast series of limestone caves under my grandparents farmhouse.
But I didn’t know that when I was a little kid and told it to my friends and grown-ups and any pet that would sit still long enough to listen. “Did you know there’s pigboy living under my grandparents house in Iowa?” I became that kid who told fanciful bullshit stories. And not because I wanted the attention or because my dad ran off or because I lived with my grandparents and my older sister wasn’t really my sister but actually my mom.
I asked my dad this morning why he would do such a thing to a little boy and he just laughed and laughed and laughed. If you’ve met my father, then you know what I’m talking about.
Anyway, I'm off to see my grandparents in Iowa tomorrow. 60th wedding anniversary. I'll pass your regards on to Kenny.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
13.1
Would you rather have opposite? At least the B-town half-marathon is not like this. I ran in a race on Saturday that was roughly this shape and a guy who trained with Alan Webb was even complaining.
-----------------
There seems to be much excitement over Ironman trailer, no? Here’s the G’s simple reaction last night as she’s lying in bed, not even looking at the TV, “Why is this commercial so fucking long?”
Ironman always seemed to me a second-tier hero with dumb villains. And recently he’s been a major dick. So why the excitement? I think it’s less the character and more that the public has secretly craved more Robert Downey Jr. In fact, let’s just forget every other part RDJr has played in the last 22 years and assume that this is a sequel to Weird Science. I can easily see Tony Stark, billionaire weapons designer turned, recovering alcoholic and major Republican campaign donation bundler, pouring cherry Slush Puppies on nerd's heads at the mall as a high school senior.
-------------------
Is mine the only CVS in the area that is not already selling Halloween candy? I want my goram candy corn!
-----------------
There seems to be much excitement over Ironman trailer, no? Here’s the G’s simple reaction last night as she’s lying in bed, not even looking at the TV, “Why is this commercial so fucking long?”
Ironman always seemed to me a second-tier hero with dumb villains. And recently he’s been a major dick. So why the excitement? I think it’s less the character and more that the public has secretly craved more Robert Downey Jr. In fact, let’s just forget every other part RDJr has played in the last 22 years and assume that this is a sequel to Weird Science. I can easily see Tony Stark, billionaire weapons designer turned, recovering alcoholic and major Republican campaign donation bundler, pouring cherry Slush Puppies on nerd's heads at the mall as a high school senior.
-------------------
Is mine the only CVS in the area that is not already selling Halloween candy? I want my goram candy corn!
Monday, September 10, 2007
tags: itunes, philly, all i download anymore is ghostface remixes, send help
someone please tell me to stop listening to plastic little's "crambodia." one, come on already. My brain cannot take any more cock-n-coke references, even ironic ones. two, i am 50 years behind w. plastic little * anyways.
* (whoa, total coincidence, but am I ever timely or what. at black cat tomorrow?)
* (whoa, total coincidence, but am I ever timely or what. at black cat tomorrow?)
All we do is cakes
T-15 once hosted an annual party at his ancestor’s rambling estate in central Maryland where several amazing things happened. Foremost, wearing nothing but cargo pants and a World War I-era pointed German helmet, I drove a go-cart with no hands into a field of corn/poison ivy because I had a homemade 40 ounce beers duct taped to my hands. Frustrated, I threw an apple into the woods where it hit some girl in the face while she was jumping on a trampoline. True story.*
The second amazing thing that happened was I baked a cake for the party with the Vice President’s face on it. I honestly don’t remember what stimulated this feat but I’m sure at the time it was quit hilarious. According to this adorable golden retriever puppy calendar I keep on my desk, it was the same summer that he and Vermont’s senior Senator exchange unpleasantries on the chamber’s floor. Here’s all that remains…
With every new party it came to be expected that there would be a fresh new cake with a fly new theme. But like the party itself, the expectation for the cake became more of a spectacle than the event itself. Each new attempt brought a lingering sense of disappointment, even as my baking skills increased. In the past year there’d been a sense that both traditions may be thankfully winding down.
But then T-15 went and got all engaged and stuff and it seemed necessary that if there was to be one final party (wedding) there needed to be one final cake. Especially with (now confirmed) rumors that in lieu of wedding cake there would be several wedding pies. Pie? At a wedding? Not only delicious but the opportunity to get blueberry stained on your suit is so much greater!
So what to do? Bringing a cake to the wedding itself seemed misguided as my cake would certainly upstage any pie, no matter how boysenberry-ish. So I aimed for the rehearsal dinner which fell on a Friday and a 13th.
Thank you, Mr. Voorhees, we have a theme. Firstly, I needed blood and lots of it. Secondly, this cake required at least 4 layers to hold the blood. Thirdly, I needed more blood.
The cake and frosting portion of this experiment seemed pretty straightforward. I bought two cans of the second cheapest frosting and two boxes of the yellow cake with the least amount of written instructions. But the blood had me vexed. When trying to explain these types of projects I tend to confuse and annoy most folk so talking the butcher into supplying me with the real stuff was probably out of the question. Susan B Anthony always warned you always catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar but what of some sort of blood/sugar concoction? Will is smell? Will there be sharks? Too many questions.
I wandered the grocery store looking for a possible solution. Strawberry Quik looked awfully pink. Strawberry and raspberry sauce, jams and jellies were all too chunky. I did have some lingonberry jam I picked up at Ikea that was the right color but the little lingonberries made it look too much like brain matter. I didn’t want my ingredients limiting me into doing some sort of head wound cake only.
Then I remembered the crappy and impossible to clean blender we got as a prize for getting married. If I was going to do this right, I couldn’t rely on pre-made blood. I needed to make my own. And fortunately raspberries were on sale. Tada.
I put the raspberries in the microwave first so they’d be a little mushy and they blended up real nice. The only problem was the little seeds. Good thing I’d bought a fencing foil at Herman’s Sporting Goods right before they went out of business. (Also Boy Scout merit badges I hadn’t earned. Re: porcine studies.)
Gravity wasn’t working hard enough to pull the goop into the bowl so I forced it through with a soup ladle. The result was pure seedless raspberry blood. It was a bit tart so I mixed in a few tablespoons on sugar.
Originally, my plan for this thing was to just have a white cake with buckets of blood on top and maybe a machete sticking out. But the blood turned out too well just to be splattered around like a hobo massacre. Could the blood be in the cake? Not cooked into the cake with some marble effect. But could the cake actually bleed when you cut into it? Let’s find out.
I baked four cakes. After letting them cool, I popped one out of the pan and used a spoon to dig a small divot. The original plan was to pour the blood into the hole. But I figured too much of it up would be sponged up and I’d just have a red and raspberry flavored cake. And soggy.
So I frosted the hole to hopefully give myself a moderate seal.
Repeat three times and stack.
The only problem with this plan is that it used up an absurd amount of frosting. After 2 additional trips to the grocery store, I ended up using an insane 5 cans. But as far as I could tell the thing was holding. The center hadn’t collapsed in on itself meaning I hadn’t dug too deep. But too be sure, I stuck the whole thing in the freezer to help it set.
Now we needed the rest of the decorations. Any attempt to draw a Jason mask would end in a Jason Takes Manhattan-type failure. The G is the master decorator and she wasn’t around. I was going to have to cheat. Off to the local costume shop!
Our neighborhood costume depository doubles as a tuxedo rental store. Actually, it functions as a tuxedo rental store with the costume part sort of existing only for Halloween, high school mascots and crackpots like myself. As soon as I walked in, three Italians swarmed me with their cloth tape measures looking to get at my in-seem. Sorry, sirs, but I’m not here for your fine woolen wares. Can you point me to your hockey masks?
There was one young girl in the back reading a ratty copy of Flowers In the Attic and guarding the costumes. She jumped up and asked if she could help. Fake mustache? Giant foam cowboy hat? Unnecessarily frightening Slipknot mask? No Ma’am. Jason mask and possibly a plastic machete, please. Done, she said.
Once home, attaching the mask was easy enough. I used toothpicks to keep it from settling directly on the frosting and added a little blood to the front and back to give it splash of color. I’d have to say I was pretty much done.
It was a huge hit. But when the bride cut into it…
It bled, but not as much as I’d hoped. I’m not sure if it was practical to think this would be a gusher. The cake was probably not deep enough to hold the required amount of overflow blood. Ah well. That’ll be another cake for another day.
So how did it taste? Honestly, it was unbelievably good. Two bridesmaids, an aunt and possibly a grandmother said so. The cake part itself was pretty average. But if you were take four carpet samples and cover them with 5 cans of vanilla frosting and fresh raspberry sauce it would also taste awesome. Let’s say Queen Victoria 1899 Christmas Dinner awesome. That’s right, woodcock pie awesome.
So there you have it. If you’re looking to make a blood filled cake, you now have a blueprint. It isn’t perfect but it should serve you well enough.
Woodcock.
*Actually, all true parts of several combined stories from the same party. Though, they did not happen in that quick a succession.
The second amazing thing that happened was I baked a cake for the party with the Vice President’s face on it. I honestly don’t remember what stimulated this feat but I’m sure at the time it was quit hilarious. According to this adorable golden retriever puppy calendar I keep on my desk, it was the same summer that he and Vermont’s senior Senator exchange unpleasantries on the chamber’s floor. Here’s all that remains…
With every new party it came to be expected that there would be a fresh new cake with a fly new theme. But like the party itself, the expectation for the cake became more of a spectacle than the event itself. Each new attempt brought a lingering sense of disappointment, even as my baking skills increased. In the past year there’d been a sense that both traditions may be thankfully winding down.
But then T-15 went and got all engaged and stuff and it seemed necessary that if there was to be one final party (wedding) there needed to be one final cake. Especially with (now confirmed) rumors that in lieu of wedding cake there would be several wedding pies. Pie? At a wedding? Not only delicious but the opportunity to get blueberry stained on your suit is so much greater!
So what to do? Bringing a cake to the wedding itself seemed misguided as my cake would certainly upstage any pie, no matter how boysenberry-ish. So I aimed for the rehearsal dinner which fell on a Friday and a 13th.
Thank you, Mr. Voorhees, we have a theme. Firstly, I needed blood and lots of it. Secondly, this cake required at least 4 layers to hold the blood. Thirdly, I needed more blood.
The cake and frosting portion of this experiment seemed pretty straightforward. I bought two cans of the second cheapest frosting and two boxes of the yellow cake with the least amount of written instructions. But the blood had me vexed. When trying to explain these types of projects I tend to confuse and annoy most folk so talking the butcher into supplying me with the real stuff was probably out of the question. Susan B Anthony always warned you always catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar but what of some sort of blood/sugar concoction? Will is smell? Will there be sharks? Too many questions.
I wandered the grocery store looking for a possible solution. Strawberry Quik looked awfully pink. Strawberry and raspberry sauce, jams and jellies were all too chunky. I did have some lingonberry jam I picked up at Ikea that was the right color but the little lingonberries made it look too much like brain matter. I didn’t want my ingredients limiting me into doing some sort of head wound cake only.
Then I remembered the crappy and impossible to clean blender we got as a prize for getting married. If I was going to do this right, I couldn’t rely on pre-made blood. I needed to make my own. And fortunately raspberries were on sale. Tada.
I put the raspberries in the microwave first so they’d be a little mushy and they blended up real nice. The only problem was the little seeds. Good thing I’d bought a fencing foil at Herman’s Sporting Goods right before they went out of business. (Also Boy Scout merit badges I hadn’t earned. Re: porcine studies.)
Gravity wasn’t working hard enough to pull the goop into the bowl so I forced it through with a soup ladle. The result was pure seedless raspberry blood. It was a bit tart so I mixed in a few tablespoons on sugar.
Originally, my plan for this thing was to just have a white cake with buckets of blood on top and maybe a machete sticking out. But the blood turned out too well just to be splattered around like a hobo massacre. Could the blood be in the cake? Not cooked into the cake with some marble effect. But could the cake actually bleed when you cut into it? Let’s find out.
I baked four cakes. After letting them cool, I popped one out of the pan and used a spoon to dig a small divot. The original plan was to pour the blood into the hole. But I figured too much of it up would be sponged up and I’d just have a red and raspberry flavored cake. And soggy.
So I frosted the hole to hopefully give myself a moderate seal.
Repeat three times and stack.
The only problem with this plan is that it used up an absurd amount of frosting. After 2 additional trips to the grocery store, I ended up using an insane 5 cans. But as far as I could tell the thing was holding. The center hadn’t collapsed in on itself meaning I hadn’t dug too deep. But too be sure, I stuck the whole thing in the freezer to help it set.
Now we needed the rest of the decorations. Any attempt to draw a Jason mask would end in a Jason Takes Manhattan-type failure. The G is the master decorator and she wasn’t around. I was going to have to cheat. Off to the local costume shop!
Our neighborhood costume depository doubles as a tuxedo rental store. Actually, it functions as a tuxedo rental store with the costume part sort of existing only for Halloween, high school mascots and crackpots like myself. As soon as I walked in, three Italians swarmed me with their cloth tape measures looking to get at my in-seem. Sorry, sirs, but I’m not here for your fine woolen wares. Can you point me to your hockey masks?
There was one young girl in the back reading a ratty copy of Flowers In the Attic and guarding the costumes. She jumped up and asked if she could help. Fake mustache? Giant foam cowboy hat? Unnecessarily frightening Slipknot mask? No Ma’am. Jason mask and possibly a plastic machete, please. Done, she said.
Once home, attaching the mask was easy enough. I used toothpicks to keep it from settling directly on the frosting and added a little blood to the front and back to give it splash of color. I’d have to say I was pretty much done.
It was a huge hit. But when the bride cut into it…
It bled, but not as much as I’d hoped. I’m not sure if it was practical to think this would be a gusher. The cake was probably not deep enough to hold the required amount of overflow blood. Ah well. That’ll be another cake for another day.
So how did it taste? Honestly, it was unbelievably good. Two bridesmaids, an aunt and possibly a grandmother said so. The cake part itself was pretty average. But if you were take four carpet samples and cover them with 5 cans of vanilla frosting and fresh raspberry sauce it would also taste awesome. Let’s say Queen Victoria 1899 Christmas Dinner awesome. That’s right, woodcock pie awesome.
So there you have it. If you’re looking to make a blood filled cake, you now have a blueprint. It isn’t perfect but it should serve you well enough.
Woodcock.
*Actually, all true parts of several combined stories from the same party. Though, they did not happen in that quick a succession.
dink
I spent all day yesterday with a group of very kind strangers, playing in a volleyball tournnament in 90 degree heat. Why anyone would ever think this is a good idea escapes me, but it was indeed kind of fun and when my foursome wasn't playing, I spent a few hilarious minutes in the rapidly-disappearing shade playing "guess how many ice cubes I'm holding in my hand RIGHT NOW" with a group of 5 year old girls. Anyhoodles, I played embarrassingly shitty although I did get one really good block in against some jackass with tribal tattoos. That makes up completely for my asstastic serving skills.
Also, there was a dog frisbee contest. Border collies are kind of terrifying. I don't think I could ever own a dog smarter than myself. If I threw a frisbee at BD, it would hit him square between the eyes and then he'd slink off because he thought he smelled string cheese.
By the time I carpooled home from Annapolis, I was good for nothing except blanking staring at the television screen trying to pretend I cared that "REX GROSSMAN TOTALLY SUCKS." But I don't really care. Oh, and then I watched "Feasting on Asphalt" which seriously might be the best show ever made. I love Alton Brown and his fried-food man boobs. Then I fell asleep.
How was your weekend?
Also, there was a dog frisbee contest. Border collies are kind of terrifying. I don't think I could ever own a dog smarter than myself. If I threw a frisbee at BD, it would hit him square between the eyes and then he'd slink off because he thought he smelled string cheese.
By the time I carpooled home from Annapolis, I was good for nothing except blanking staring at the television screen trying to pretend I cared that "REX GROSSMAN TOTALLY SUCKS." But I don't really care. Oh, and then I watched "Feasting on Asphalt" which seriously might be the best show ever made. I love Alton Brown and his fried-food man boobs. Then I fell asleep.
How was your weekend?
Friday, September 07, 2007
it's all related, maybe
Re. today's Unfogged:
May I throw in my vote - The charmingly named Kentucky Headhunters have an album, Electric Barnyard, featuring the song "16 and Single." (Now I'm feelin' rowdy and lookin' for some fun/ you see I just had my birthday and I done turned 21).
So it's not unintentional, but it's still my (and my dad's!) favorite. Apple, tree only a foot away, etc.
Also, the N. sends me this link, and promptly makes my Friday terrific: Kyra Sedgwick, Kevin Bacon, songwriters, and arm wrestling.
May I throw in my vote - The charmingly named Kentucky Headhunters have an album, Electric Barnyard, featuring the song "16 and Single." (Now I'm feelin' rowdy and lookin' for some fun/ you see I just had my birthday and I done turned 21).
So it's not unintentional, but it's still my (and my dad's!) favorite. Apple, tree only a foot away, etc.
Also, the N. sends me this link, and promptly makes my Friday terrific: Kyra Sedgwick, Kevin Bacon, songwriters, and arm wrestling.
.... DOT COM.
things I found around 'nets, places like kottke and whatnot else, but i'm too lazy to credit, because it's friday and whatever:
- meat hair
- time bomb
- mini cows
- dog hump
- croc undies
things my sibling said to me in a late night phone call:
- do i want to meet him and his fraternity brothers in Adams Morgan Saturday night, they are getting a hotel? (answer: no)
- have I ever heard of Arcade Fire, they are pretty good huh? (answer: really? no, really?????)
things I'm going to accomplish today:
- obsess over a house i really want to buy even though it's probably terribly impractical, and I believe may have a root cellar and the N. is terrified of root cellars, so we could never move there because of his "fear of skeletons"
- drinking?
- meat hair
- time bomb
- mini cows
- dog hump
- croc undies
things my sibling said to me in a late night phone call:
- do i want to meet him and his fraternity brothers in Adams Morgan Saturday night, they are getting a hotel? (answer: no)
- have I ever heard of Arcade Fire, they are pretty good huh? (answer: really? no, really?????)
things I'm going to accomplish today:
- obsess over a house i really want to buy even though it's probably terribly impractical, and I believe may have a root cellar and the N. is terrified of root cellars, so we could never move there because of his "fear of skeletons"
- drinking?
Thursday, September 06, 2007
im an angel from heaven
me: http://www.raptureletters.com/
Kriston: amazin
me: yes. i am going to send you a letter ... from after the rapture
it will say
"dear friend:
SUCK IT. i told you so.
love,
THE CHOSEN"
i guess?
Kriston: that's a good one. let me try.
"Dear Sinner
I can see you masturbate
Love,
KC"
me: oooh thats a good one
Kriston: PS It is cause I am way up in heavin
me: "from up here on my God Cloud'
Kriston: it's a very good cloud
me: good god, cloud.
Kriston: amazin
me: yes. i am going to send you a letter ... from after the rapture
it will say
"dear friend:
SUCK IT. i told you so.
love,
THE CHOSEN"
i guess?
Kriston: that's a good one. let me try.
"Dear Sinner
I can see you masturbate
Love,
KC"
me: oooh thats a good one
Kriston: PS It is cause I am way up in heavin
me: "from up here on my God Cloud'
Kriston: it's a very good cloud
me: good god, cloud.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Enrico Pallazzo saved the Queen!
Word is Pavarotti is in very bad health. I don’t intend to speak ill of the dead so I’ll do it now. I have a great story about the famed tenor but it can not be recounted on this family website. If you want to hear it, IM or email or ask me in person. It’s pretty good.
state of the blod
oh hi blawg.
- Life has been desparately dull lately, what with the laundry completion and uh, that's it. Even my IM's aren't funny, although Amanda and I spent 30 minutes the other day dissecting the age old problem of whether or not it's totally reasonable to date/not date a dude based on firstname alone. (Ask us about our opinions on Bills/Bens/Ricks/Matts)* Somewhere back in the black holes of times past, there are two v. proper hoopskirted ladies writing letters in spidery handwriting about whether you should ever court a Wilhelm or a Laurent, because ermgggz you just know Laurent is a bad kisser.
< / SIGHS, STUPID, NOT FUNNY >
- My shoulder/back, after being "back on track" (sorry), are nicely fucked up again, just in time for Fall. Thanks, God!
- I uploaded/swiped from K. photos from Chicago. Here's one that sums everything up quite nicely:
hint: used to have beer in it
- Other things I have been reading/watching lately (besides all things Dragon Wars):
Music from the Sphere
I was going to suggest "murder" as a topic for the next BSWW, but I retract that.
The IBD game
okay bye.
* i think the only thing totally agreed upon is that one can never git wit a "Johnny". Johnny's do/deal coke, right?** All of them? Okay, unless maybe Johnny Marr. Even then, though, probs ?able.
** "There's cocaine all over my clothes!" You just know a Johnny called that in?
- Life has been desparately dull lately, what with the laundry completion and uh, that's it. Even my IM's aren't funny, although Amanda and I spent 30 minutes the other day dissecting the age old problem of whether or not it's totally reasonable to date/not date a dude based on firstname alone. (Ask us about our opinions on Bills/Bens/Ricks/Matts)* Somewhere back in the black holes of times past, there are two v. proper hoopskirted ladies writing letters in spidery handwriting about whether you should ever court a Wilhelm or a Laurent, because ermgggz you just know Laurent is a bad kisser.
< / SIGHS, STUPID, NOT FUNNY >
- My shoulder/back, after being "back on track" (sorry), are nicely fucked up again, just in time for Fall. Thanks, God!
- I uploaded/swiped from K. photos from Chicago. Here's one that sums everything up quite nicely:
hint: used to have beer in it
- Other things I have been reading/watching lately (besides all things Dragon Wars):
Music from the Sphere
I was going to suggest "murder" as a topic for the next BSWW, but I retract that.
The IBD game
okay bye.
* i think the only thing totally agreed upon is that one can never git wit a "Johnny". Johnny's do/deal coke, right?** All of them? Okay, unless maybe Johnny Marr. Even then, though, probs ?able.
** "There's cocaine all over my clothes!" You just know a Johnny called that in?
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
ethan hawke should not write. nor act usually. nor sing.
oh another thing I found out this weekend/recently: they are making a movie out of Ethan Hawke's The Hottest State, which might be a miserable idea. (This previous sentence was directed towards anyone who might be involved with the making of said movie, perhaps you should get out now? Or is it too late, and this destined-to-be-pile-of-excrement is already made? see, i can't even remember exactly what I read about it, I was already so bored.)
Oh man. Hottest State was like... Love Story, only for the even stupider.
Oh man. Hottest State was like... Love Story, only for the even stupider.
goodbye summer
I guess if one were to measure a long weekend's success by the amount of meat consumed, then mine was pretty grand. I et steak two nights in a row, and then barbeque. Also the house is clean(ish) and I took a nap at poolside while listening to old Luna songs on 11.*
Also, I am covered from head-to-tiny-toes in mosquito bites the sizes of silver dollars.
* UPDATED: ? what ?
Also, I am covered from head-to-tiny-toes in mosquito bites the sizes of silver dollars.
* UPDATED: ? what ?
Friday, August 31, 2007
Stan's back
DoS #9 - up now. And not to pimp the competition too much, but Welcome to Our House has made me laugh out loud several times. Several. Exuhcise, people.
Finally, a real summer movie
Tom and Emily,
Looks like someone in Asia was listening to our prayers about dragons fighting tanks. I have no idea what is going on in this trailer but it looks like they just CGI-ed out the all the crappy Transformers and CGI-ed all sorts of awesome dragons to replace them.
They also added knights riding dragons, dragons firing missiles, most of LA blowing up, Robert Forster and what looks to be the guy who hosted While You Were Out and was the opening act for Britney Spears. And then more dragons. And in another trailer on Youtube, there was a dragon eating an elephant. And that guy from the Office. So fucking awesome.
Love,
PonyFace69
Looks like someone in Asia was listening to our prayers about dragons fighting tanks. I have no idea what is going on in this trailer but it looks like they just CGI-ed out the all the crappy Transformers and CGI-ed all sorts of awesome dragons to replace them.
They also added knights riding dragons, dragons firing missiles, most of LA blowing up, Robert Forster and what looks to be the guy who hosted While You Were Out and was the opening act for Britney Spears. And then more dragons. And in another trailer on Youtube, there was a dragon eating an elephant. And that guy from the Office. So fucking awesome.
Love,
PonyFace69
bon anniversaire
Happy anniversary, kids! The card was great, don't get me wrong, but it seems like some text was left out.
Oh, well. I'm sure it can be improved upon for the Big 10th; or maybe RA's wife can hog yr idea for their 2nd anniversary. Or birthday. Or Arbor Day. Really, whenever... it seems to be the stationery that keeps on giving.
Oh, well. I'm sure it can be improved upon for the Big 10th; or maybe RA's wife can hog yr idea for their 2nd anniversary. Or birthday. Or Arbor Day. Really, whenever... it seems to be the stationery that keeps on giving.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Also, they play the type of shows that require roads being closed around Ballston Commons and wristbands
Once, when I was younger and not afraid to talk to women who weren’t my girlfriend lest she find out later, I struck up a conversation with a young woman at a NoVa house party. And even though she was cute, she was also monstrous bitch. Demeaning and demanding, she got upset when I wasn’t impressed by her claims that she was in a band and that they were famous and I should have heard of them. Classic, future psycho-ex-girlfriend behavior. It would be better if I just walked away and called my current, Idaho park ranger girlfriend, which I eventually did, a few weeks later.
Truth be told, though, I had heard them play before but feigned stupidity because, 1) they were playing in someone’s basement and 2) they weren’t very good and 3) even though they were playing in basements and were not very good, the lead singer was still acting like a monstrous bitch and snapped at anyone who came to close to her instrument with a drink.
Naturally, it kind of soured my whole impression of them. If anyone ever asked if I knew anything about this band, I told them to stay away from Iota whatever night they were playing.
Obviously, any concert promoter sending Pygmalion cold emails asking us to plug this woman’s band on our blog wouldn’t know any of this. We never would. But since I figure any press is good press, I just ignored his request instead of writing a post about how much the band sucks.
Also, I only check the Nabob account about once I month so I missed bad-mouthing the show by a few weeks anyways.
Truth be told, though, I had heard them play before but feigned stupidity because, 1) they were playing in someone’s basement and 2) they weren’t very good and 3) even though they were playing in basements and were not very good, the lead singer was still acting like a monstrous bitch and snapped at anyone who came to close to her instrument with a drink.
Naturally, it kind of soured my whole impression of them. If anyone ever asked if I knew anything about this band, I told them to stay away from Iota whatever night they were playing.
Obviously, any concert promoter sending Pygmalion cold emails asking us to plug this woman’s band on our blog wouldn’t know any of this. We never would. But since I figure any press is good press, I just ignored his request instead of writing a post about how much the band sucks.
Also, I only check the Nabob account about once I month so I missed bad-mouthing the show by a few weeks anyways.
it is always blogs fault
I know I am all about linking VI news stories today (please see: Ricky Bobby Baby Jesus the dog) but this cannot be ignored:
Chain of Tragedy
Now I do not want to treat the topics of depression or heroin addiction or wedding crashing lightly, but:
NEWSWEEK: So far the coverage of Owen Wilson's reported suicide attempt has seemed fairly reasonable and not too lurid. But what about Internet gossip sites and blogs? Are they a new way for misguided information to spread?
BLOGS! STOP MAKING PEOPLE WANT TO BE LIKE OWEN WILSON. Why are you guys such sucky assholes all the time? Blogs, answer me.
Also, I ate at Red Rocks pizzeria place last night in Columbia Heights and it was pretty good, even if they did have chair shortage, which was weird.
Chain of Tragedy
Now I do not want to treat the topics of depression or heroin addiction or wedding crashing lightly, but:
NEWSWEEK: So far the coverage of Owen Wilson's reported suicide attempt has seemed fairly reasonable and not too lurid. But what about Internet gossip sites and blogs? Are they a new way for misguided information to spread?
BLOGS! STOP MAKING PEOPLE WANT TO BE LIKE OWEN WILSON. Why are you guys such sucky assholes all the time? Blogs, answer me.
Also, I ate at Red Rocks pizzeria place last night in Columbia Heights and it was pretty good, even if they did have chair shortage, which was weird.
dogs in the WaPo
RICKY BOBBY BABY JESUS.
best first sentence in all of journalistic history.
stupid movie, but still.
. . . .
. . . .
Okay, that's all. Carry on.
best first sentence in all of journalistic history.
stupid movie, but still.
. . . .
. . . .
Okay, that's all. Carry on.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
i'm living with a white girl
why does kristin hersh sound like exene cervenka nowadays?
related from Gp: photo stills of Exene Cervenka and Viggo Mortensen falling in love.
I've been playing the Pinback game a lot. I'm not very good, but it shor is pretty.
related from Gp: photo stills of Exene Cervenka and Viggo Mortensen falling in love.
I've been playing the Pinback game a lot. I'm not very good, but it shor is pretty.
the end of civilization
i just thought I'd let the world know that Paula Deen has a recipe for FRIED BACON WRAPPED MAC AND CHEESE on Food TV's website.
larry, darryl & darryl
Oh man, and Larry Craig! Be gay, Larry. Just be gay.
Unrelated but the LC story made me Idaho-nostalgic:
A coworker lived with her parents in a very nice double wide (with porch) at the foot of a small mountain range/cliffs. Every year there is a hanggliding competition there, every few weeks there is some sort of wolf/mountain lion/bear sighting. She and her parents owned 3 or 4 old Chihuahuas that liked to sleep on your head/pee on furniture. They were all named things like Cottonball and Buttercup and Sweet Pea. Usually the mangy rodent-dogs weren't allowed outside, but sometimes they'd leave the little demons on the porch.
When S. came into work the next morning, I asked her what she did the night before, and in the most nonchalant voice ever she said: "eh, my nieces and I spent an hour looking for Cuddles until we realized a mountain lion had gotten him. It was kind of sad. Then we watched Britney Spears videos until I had to put the girls to bed."
S. had owned Cuddles since she was 6, by the way.
Unrelated but the LC story made me Idaho-nostalgic:
A coworker lived with her parents in a very nice double wide (with porch) at the foot of a small mountain range/cliffs. Every year there is a hanggliding competition there, every few weeks there is some sort of wolf/mountain lion/bear sighting. She and her parents owned 3 or 4 old Chihuahuas that liked to sleep on your head/pee on furniture. They were all named things like Cottonball and Buttercup and Sweet Pea. Usually the mangy rodent-dogs weren't allowed outside, but sometimes they'd leave the little demons on the porch.
When S. came into work the next morning, I asked her what she did the night before, and in the most nonchalant voice ever she said: "eh, my nieces and I spent an hour looking for Cuddles until we realized a mountain lion had gotten him. It was kind of sad. Then we watched Britney Spears videos until I had to put the girls to bed."
S. had owned Cuddles since she was 6, by the way.
okker/vil on con/an
i can't stay up that late. i know the Cousins tivo'd it, and I'm assuming it will be up on YouTube shortly. If youn's know of a copy of the OR performance on Conan last night, if it already exists somewhere on the vast internet, please send it my way.
I got nothing else. Career authority figures are out of town until early September, so thus far my days have consisted of reworking database crap, watching the 2nd season of "6 Feet Under" (hi, I am from 2002) and drinking more coffee than I should. Question: should we go out of town for the 5th consecutive weekend? I am on the fence with this. I miss my house.
I got nothing else. Career authority figures are out of town until early September, so thus far my days have consisted of reworking database crap, watching the 2nd season of "6 Feet Under" (hi, I am from 2002) and drinking more coffee than I should. Question: should we go out of town for the 5th consecutive weekend? I am on the fence with this. I miss my house.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Splash
So why does this Flickr ad bother me?
In my 30 years of beach going experience, I have learned that nothing impresses high school girls like laying out into an oncoming wave to catch a football. The photo is meant to capture this blithe moment of athletic process.
Except the water is moving the wrong way. In fact, if the guy were diving after the ball there wouldn’t be any water on him at all. This is clearly a picture of a well-toned and mustachioed young man jumping out of the water holding the football out in front of him.
It makes me not want to buy a Nikon. But it does make me want to buy some Jolly Ranchers and Zima. Girls? I mean, ladies?
In my 30 years of beach going experience, I have learned that nothing impresses high school girls like laying out into an oncoming wave to catch a football. The photo is meant to capture this blithe moment of athletic process.
Except the water is moving the wrong way. In fact, if the guy were diving after the ball there wouldn’t be any water on him at all. This is clearly a picture of a well-toned and mustachioed young man jumping out of the water holding the football out in front of him.
It makes me not want to buy a Nikon. But it does make me want to buy some Jolly Ranchers and Zima. Girls? I mean, ladies?
Monday, August 27, 2007
summer/bff wedding bells/the wire
quickly, quickly: Friday we ate our weight in crabs, made googly eyes at a really cute baby. The groom bought me jewelry, which was slightly adorable. I watched a mornings worth of Top Chef, got exceptionally lost on my way to the hotel even though Baltimore is the easiest city in the universe to navigate. Glass breaking, Irish music, a really strange hired rabbi that made several references to his drinking problem. I wrote out the ketubah, which I think means the groom and I are now married. The N did not drop the chuppah (yay!) After the ceremony we stiffed a cab (sorry, cab drivers of Baltimore!) and snagged a ride to the reception The dudes were doin' well, even sporting 3-piece wool tuxedos in 1000000 degree temperature, and shortly afterwards sweating out Bombay and shots of Beam. There was a bar visit afterwards with a terrible cover band, bowls of Lays potato chips, drunken voicemails that I really, really hope the recipient deleted immediately (COLLEEN YR A WHOOOOOOORRRREEEEE) and several jokes about people dying in boating accidents. I don't know, don't ask.
And with that, ladies and gentlemen, the Pygs retire from wedding attendance, at least for a short while. Unless any family members pull a giant surprise or coworkers do the unimaginable, we have officially run out of friends. I will miss the open bars. I will not miss the strapless bras. god, i hate those fuckers.
And with that, ladies and gentlemen, the Pygs retire from wedding attendance, at least for a short while. Unless any family members pull a giant surprise or coworkers do the unimaginable, we have officially run out of friends. I will miss the open bars. I will not miss the strapless bras. god, i hate those fuckers.
Friday, August 24, 2007
employee of the century
Am I so done with Pitchfork, or have... I dunno... just changed a reader? Eh, whatever.
I'm bored. I've spent most of the morning WORKIN HARD. Googling things like "remote fishing village mexico commercial property for sale," watching You Tube videos on ghost riding the whip in heelies (thanks Tom for that part of my brain I'll never get back), idly fuckin 'bout on Flickr, IMing people on how best to gut a fish/www.fishinghurts.com and how delicious frosted miniwheats are ("Kriston: i know. they are genius like sandwiches are genius. such a good idea. tiny frosty sugar hay bales").
You know what screw this. I'll be sleeping on a friends couch in Baltimore til Sunday if anyone needs me, which you won't.
I'm bored. I've spent most of the morning WORKIN HARD. Googling things like "remote fishing village mexico commercial property for sale," watching You Tube videos on ghost riding the whip in heelies (thanks Tom for that part of my brain I'll never get back), idly fuckin 'bout on Flickr, IMing people on how best to gut a fish/www.fishinghurts.com and how delicious frosted miniwheats are ("Kriston: i know. they are genius like sandwiches are genius. such a good idea. tiny frosty sugar hay bales").
You know what screw this. I'll be sleeping on a friends couch in Baltimore til Sunday if anyone needs me, which you won't.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
just for callng themselves "dakota"
okay, RAvent and i are taking a poll. What's the funniest state? Lke, a state government that probably has the best sense of humor? Right now, we're both going with North Dakota but I don't know how accurate that is.... mostly just a gut feeling.
My IM's this week, btw, have been ridiculous.
unrelated and outdated, but my latest download: Prefuse 73 featuring Ghostface Killah. Oh, yes indeed.
My IM's this week, btw, have been ridiculous.
unrelated and outdated, but my latest download: Prefuse 73 featuring Ghostface Killah. Oh, yes indeed.
you know how i know YOU'RE gay?
can we all just agree, internet, that it's okay to have an affair with Paul Rudd? okay, great, thanks.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
And speaking of meatcakes
When the super-volcano under Yellowstone erupts in 10 years and every piece of artwork west of Illinois is destroyed by lava and everything east is blackened by ash, this will be the only record of our civilization to survive. Archeologists will discover this in the pyroclastic flow and conclude that our culture worshiped fire, wolves and comically breasted women. And they’ll be right, more or less.
If I asked you where you thought I saw this tailgate and you guessed America, I’d say you were close, but off by one country. One country too south.
If I asked you where you thought I saw this tailgate and you guessed America, I’d say you were close, but off by one country. One country too south.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Something meaty this way comes - part 2: The Meateninged
I recently made a cake that was so delicious and awesome that the Food Network announced there will not renew Ace of Cakes for a fourth season since Duff Goldman is too embarrassed to show his round face anywhere on this entire seaboard anymore. It has occurred to me, though, that before I “blog” about this new mind-blowing cake, I need to put something up here about another astounding feat of cookery. Something that has been absent from the internholes for too damn long.
That’s right, meatcake is back!
When we last met meatcake, he was just parts – meat, cheese, cornflakes, additional Pygmalion family secret ingredients.
Actually...
Hold on...
This meatcake was meant to be the vanguard. The idea of baking a cake made entirely of ground beef and frosted with mashed potatoes was much hyped on several websites, including this one. Boasts were made, trash was talked and gloves were thrown down on the ice. At the time, I feared being regulated to the backseat when the actually bake-off occurred, so I secretly procured all the ingredients and made one my own. Ideally, it was meant to help the official contestants, to serve as a blueprint and, as a last result, motivate the bakers into setting an actual deadline. But in the end, I failed. After days of excuses, the discouragement became so great that I didn’t bother posting the second half of the instructions. I expected from the players that when they came, they would come correct. They did not. One of the participants has been scolded in private and the resulting miasma hangs heavy over our home. The other one apparently needs the internets (and their robots) to tell him how special he is. But that means he also needs the internets to tell him how absolutely unspecial and disappointing he is. They both have a chance at redemption but I doubt they will take advantage of it.
Sorry. Let's move on.
When we last met meatcake, he sat quivering in a bowl, awaiting his destined augustness. The dozens (minus one) ingredients had been mushed and mashed into the kitchen’s largest bowl and, based on the G’s colorful Barbie weights, probably weighed about 12 pounds. I say ‘minus one’ because I forget to get the eggs out of the fridge when I was taking stock. At triple the ingredients it meant the recipe was down 6 eggs. Fortunately, it seemed to have little negative effect. In fact, I recently had some of the same recipe with the eggs and I didn’t find it as good. Based on this I can now say that that my version of meatcake is a completely original invention and all future royalties are accordingly owed to me.
Now, there was a bit of a time crunch involved with this entire process. First, I was meeting an old high school friend for drinks and although I told her I was making a cake and might be late, I didn’t mention it was of the hamburger variety. Second, the project needed to be completed and cleaned up before the G got home from her carousing and merrymaking with her Blogibite friends.
So after scooping the goop into three disposable cake pans and putting them in the oven, I realized that the additional baking time required for that much meat could ruin this whole thing. Better get started on the sauce.
A traditional meatcake uses mashed potatoes as frosting, including whatever I assume is the medium between each layer. But I just didn’t have time for that sort of nonsense. Using honey, oregano, olive oil and tomato sauce, I whipped up what I hoped was an acceptable cement for holding the layers together.
It was red and sticky and delicious and tasted like some sort of super-ketchup. But it wasn’t gross like ketchup, which is odd because it’s mostly the same ingredients.
The extra meat in the oven about doubled the cooking time, so keep that in mind if you are making a cake and going on a first date on the same night. When the hamburger started to brown and pull away form the pan, I grabbed the first one out the oven and promptly burned all epidermal matter off my arm from the elbow down. It was just bone and Swatch. I neglected to consider that the meat would sweat off about a gallon of grease, which sits in the pan waiting for an opportunity to scald witless idiots.
While this makes it easier to remove the cake layer from the pan, it’s a damn near deadly maneuver out of the oven. And take care not to spill grease all over the kitchen when trying to pour it from the tray into an empty plastic container of Reese’s peanut butter cups that you had to quickly eat and then feel sick from.
Once removed, the layers stack easily enough, with enough sauce to cover the desired mess. Like a real cake, the meat layers tend to be taller toward the center, so if you have time, shave a few centimeters to allow it to lie flush and not wobble. I prefer adventure, so I just shoved the whole unsteady thing back into the oven hoping that the sauce would set and bind everything together.
20 minutes later…
Since, my recipe was seriously outmatched by the complication involved with this monstrosity, I was expecting at least some level of calamity, besides the ice bath for my arm. But I’ll be damned if this thing wasn’t the greatest triple-tiered hamburger tower I had ever eaten. It was juicy and hot and tangy and meaty. If the White House called, desperate for me to cater Jenna’s wedding reception, I would bake 300 of these things and then sit back and wait for my Presidential Medal of Freedom. It would be me and David Addington and Claude Allen – American Heroes for Time Immortal.
I threw the Stormtrooper in there to help with the scale. You can see that the cake is about 3.5 inches high and 8 inches across. Later that night, when my high school friend asked how the cake turned out, I showed her these pictures and she was confused yet impressed. Her husband, though, wanted to know if I had kids and if not why I had such easy access to Star Wars dolls. It was a proud moment. He’s a doctor. Or at least maybe a nurse.
Epilogue – Upon returning home, my wife discovered the meatcake and was filled with respect, then suddenly followed by shame. After consulting a psychologist, they decided that the best way to work through this self-reproach was to secretly start the frosting process. I walked into the kitchen to discover my cake decorating kit finally being put to a noble use. She did an amazing job using instant mashed potatoes and even added those little piping blobs along the side. It also went along ways toward relieving her considerable guilt.
As good as the meatcake was before the icing, it was scores better with the mashed potatoes. The saltiness added the perfect complement to the sweet tang of the tomato sauce. I think she added a little bit of garlic to the mix which made turned it from knee-buckling good to smoke-from-ears great.
So there you have it. In just a few weekend hours all of your meatcake dreams can come true. Those who bragged on this whole idea when it was first birthed have no reason for not following through on their boasts. They acted like the cocks of the walk. I say they are the cocks of nothing. Especially not cocks of meatcakes.
That’s right, meatcake is back!
When we last met meatcake, he was just parts – meat, cheese, cornflakes, additional Pygmalion family secret ingredients.
Actually...
Hold on...
This meatcake was meant to be the vanguard. The idea of baking a cake made entirely of ground beef and frosted with mashed potatoes was much hyped on several websites, including this one. Boasts were made, trash was talked and gloves were thrown down on the ice. At the time, I feared being regulated to the backseat when the actually bake-off occurred, so I secretly procured all the ingredients and made one my own. Ideally, it was meant to help the official contestants, to serve as a blueprint and, as a last result, motivate the bakers into setting an actual deadline. But in the end, I failed. After days of excuses, the discouragement became so great that I didn’t bother posting the second half of the instructions. I expected from the players that when they came, they would come correct. They did not. One of the participants has been scolded in private and the resulting miasma hangs heavy over our home. The other one apparently needs the internets (and their robots) to tell him how special he is. But that means he also needs the internets to tell him how absolutely unspecial and disappointing he is. They both have a chance at redemption but I doubt they will take advantage of it.
Sorry. Let's move on.
When we last met meatcake, he sat quivering in a bowl, awaiting his destined augustness. The dozens (minus one) ingredients had been mushed and mashed into the kitchen’s largest bowl and, based on the G’s colorful Barbie weights, probably weighed about 12 pounds. I say ‘minus one’ because I forget to get the eggs out of the fridge when I was taking stock. At triple the ingredients it meant the recipe was down 6 eggs. Fortunately, it seemed to have little negative effect. In fact, I recently had some of the same recipe with the eggs and I didn’t find it as good. Based on this I can now say that that my version of meatcake is a completely original invention and all future royalties are accordingly owed to me.
Now, there was a bit of a time crunch involved with this entire process. First, I was meeting an old high school friend for drinks and although I told her I was making a cake and might be late, I didn’t mention it was of the hamburger variety. Second, the project needed to be completed and cleaned up before the G got home from her carousing and merrymaking with her Blogibite friends.
So after scooping the goop into three disposable cake pans and putting them in the oven, I realized that the additional baking time required for that much meat could ruin this whole thing. Better get started on the sauce.
A traditional meatcake uses mashed potatoes as frosting, including whatever I assume is the medium between each layer. But I just didn’t have time for that sort of nonsense. Using honey, oregano, olive oil and tomato sauce, I whipped up what I hoped was an acceptable cement for holding the layers together.
It was red and sticky and delicious and tasted like some sort of super-ketchup. But it wasn’t gross like ketchup, which is odd because it’s mostly the same ingredients.
The extra meat in the oven about doubled the cooking time, so keep that in mind if you are making a cake and going on a first date on the same night. When the hamburger started to brown and pull away form the pan, I grabbed the first one out the oven and promptly burned all epidermal matter off my arm from the elbow down. It was just bone and Swatch. I neglected to consider that the meat would sweat off about a gallon of grease, which sits in the pan waiting for an opportunity to scald witless idiots.
While this makes it easier to remove the cake layer from the pan, it’s a damn near deadly maneuver out of the oven. And take care not to spill grease all over the kitchen when trying to pour it from the tray into an empty plastic container of Reese’s peanut butter cups that you had to quickly eat and then feel sick from.
Once removed, the layers stack easily enough, with enough sauce to cover the desired mess. Like a real cake, the meat layers tend to be taller toward the center, so if you have time, shave a few centimeters to allow it to lie flush and not wobble. I prefer adventure, so I just shoved the whole unsteady thing back into the oven hoping that the sauce would set and bind everything together.
20 minutes later…
Since, my recipe was seriously outmatched by the complication involved with this monstrosity, I was expecting at least some level of calamity, besides the ice bath for my arm. But I’ll be damned if this thing wasn’t the greatest triple-tiered hamburger tower I had ever eaten. It was juicy and hot and tangy and meaty. If the White House called, desperate for me to cater Jenna’s wedding reception, I would bake 300 of these things and then sit back and wait for my Presidential Medal of Freedom. It would be me and David Addington and Claude Allen – American Heroes for Time Immortal.
I threw the Stormtrooper in there to help with the scale. You can see that the cake is about 3.5 inches high and 8 inches across. Later that night, when my high school friend asked how the cake turned out, I showed her these pictures and she was confused yet impressed. Her husband, though, wanted to know if I had kids and if not why I had such easy access to Star Wars dolls. It was a proud moment. He’s a doctor. Or at least maybe a nurse.
Epilogue – Upon returning home, my wife discovered the meatcake and was filled with respect, then suddenly followed by shame. After consulting a psychologist, they decided that the best way to work through this self-reproach was to secretly start the frosting process. I walked into the kitchen to discover my cake decorating kit finally being put to a noble use. She did an amazing job using instant mashed potatoes and even added those little piping blobs along the side. It also went along ways toward relieving her considerable guilt.
As good as the meatcake was before the icing, it was scores better with the mashed potatoes. The saltiness added the perfect complement to the sweet tang of the tomato sauce. I think she added a little bit of garlic to the mix which made turned it from knee-buckling good to smoke-from-ears great.
So there you have it. In just a few weekend hours all of your meatcake dreams can come true. Those who bragged on this whole idea when it was first birthed have no reason for not following through on their boasts. They acted like the cocks of the walk. I say they are the cocks of nothing. Especially not cocks of meatcakes.
Monday, August 20, 2007
handclaps
probably really late on this:
i don't really have an opinion on imogen heap, but this video from 06 is pretty awesome.
i don't really have an opinion on imogen heap, but this video from 06 is pretty awesome.
chicago seemed tired last night
"If you want to have clear skin and bright eyes, don’t drink alcohol."
update: at my desk, not in gutter. it was a marathon and not a sprint, even in the context of a less-than-48-hour visit, so i am not still hungover. I don't think.
just mind-bendingly exhausted.
oh, and old.
Anyhooos. I am tired of airplanes and I'm going to try to not get on one for the next few weeks, at least. Everyone, you just have to come to me. I'll be lying on my basement floor surrounded by towering piles of laundry, carb-loading, hazy-eyed'ly watching "Rock of Love" marathons, etc.
update: at my desk, not in gutter. it was a marathon and not a sprint, even in the context of a less-than-48-hour visit, so i am not still hungover. I don't think.
just mind-bendingly exhausted.
oh, and old.
Anyhooos. I am tired of airplanes and I'm going to try to not get on one for the next few weeks, at least. Everyone, you just have to come to me. I'll be lying on my basement floor surrounded by towering piles of laundry, carb-loading, hazy-eyed'ly watching "Rock of Love" marathons, etc.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
GOODBYE INTERNET, REMEMBER ME WHEN I'M REAL DEAD
I will be in Chicago from 3 pm today til... I can't remember... on Sunday. This trip already involves some sort of transgender'd Asian food service scheme, 1:00 AM sketch comedy, and deadly old-lady Aerosole wedge heels with the rubber bottom coming off, but they are something fierce comfy so I'm wearing them anyway. ALSO I FORGOT MY CAMERA.
It's the old boys network wknd vs. K and me (& maybe a temporary girlfriend of aforementioned boys), all well past our prime and yet dangerous*. Except for the temporary girlfriend, they usually average around a spritely 22. also air and water show is apparently in town, and a Cubs game maybe? So I guess it's law we have to go pick up sailors on the lakefront? Terrified.
I will try not to die or end up in jail. Key word: "try." The chances of me passed out on some Wicker Prk floorboards or a strangers house in wrigleyville? Dunno yet. Drunken running man? We can assume anything at this point. I might make scrambled eggs on Sunday morning.
The N, alternately, will be in Canada (not joking), drinking with/hitting on 18 year old coeds who drunk-drove up from Detroit; no need to worry about him.
* ("A slinky is just a javelin that has yet to uncoil." Thanks for backing a girl up, Linkins!)
It's the old boys network wknd vs. K and me (& maybe a temporary girlfriend of aforementioned boys), all well past our prime and yet dangerous*. Except for the temporary girlfriend, they usually average around a spritely 22. also air and water show is apparently in town, and a Cubs game maybe? So I guess it's law we have to go pick up sailors on the lakefront? Terrified.
I will try not to die or end up in jail. Key word: "try." The chances of me passed out on some Wicker Prk floorboards or a strangers house in wrigleyville? Dunno yet. Drunken running man? We can assume anything at this point. I might make scrambled eggs on Sunday morning.
The N, alternately, will be in Canada (not joking), drinking with/hitting on 18 year old coeds who drunk-drove up from Detroit; no need to worry about him.
* ("A slinky is just a javelin that has yet to uncoil." Thanks for backing a girl up, Linkins!)
Just because you spout crazy in the privacy of your own car doesn’t mean it will stay private.
I publicly challenge the G to defend her statement from this morning that Slinkys (Slinkies?) are as dangerous as any of the other recently recalled toys; lead paint, poop flavored magnets, etc. I inferred from her convoluted ramblings that “pinching” would be the major threat.
The forum is yours, my dear.
The forum is yours, my dear.
and we all know my feelings re: goats.
if you haven't watched the video for Loney, Dear's "I am John", it's on myspace, & you should. Usually I'm not one for this level of My Little Pony tweeness, but the video is pretty much a multimedia childrens book. There's hunter with a handlebar moustache, a deadly tea party, some ponies, an owl, a kitten who masquerades as the hunter's conscience and chapeau, and my personal favorite, what appears to be a Swedish elf dancing with a goat.
music writers/family values
correspondence from little brother re: last night's GWAR show:
The VA Tech shooter was walked out and promptly got his head chopped off, spraying blood everywhere. A gigantic 12 foot prehistoric creature attacked the band. Luckily the lead singer was there to make sure things didn't get too rowdy, and proceeded to stab it in the face until pus (puss?) poured out all over the place. Some random hellion was came out and immediately received a stake through his body and was prepared to be roasted as he was marched off the stage by the band’s slaves, who, by the way were dressed in leather and covered in blood. Obviously. Another victim had his entire front layer of skin ripped off until he was just a skull, spewing his blood all around, but someone told me that's fairly typical and not that impressive. Pretty sure there may have even been something that sounded close to music in there as well. Good times had by all A+++++!!!!
Unrelated to GWAR, happy Elvis Died Day. One of the fondest memories I have from my own wedding is when my mother leans into me about two songs into the reception (like, first dance maybe? I can't remember) and asks "why the hell is he playing ELVIS?" The answer is, mother: because it pleases me greatly.
Please go to here, h/t Gp. He preferes Photo #8, I myself am a huge fan of #6. Omgcapes. Let's all promise to go get something airbrushed today, in memory. Doesn't matter what. Fingernails are a nice option, but if yr a biter like me we can stick to teeshirts, or sure, capes.
The VA Tech shooter was walked out and promptly got his head chopped off, spraying blood everywhere. A gigantic 12 foot prehistoric creature attacked the band. Luckily the lead singer was there to make sure things didn't get too rowdy, and proceeded to stab it in the face until pus (puss?) poured out all over the place. Some random hellion was came out and immediately received a stake through his body and was prepared to be roasted as he was marched off the stage by the band’s slaves, who, by the way were dressed in leather and covered in blood. Obviously. Another victim had his entire front layer of skin ripped off until he was just a skull, spewing his blood all around, but someone told me that's fairly typical and not that impressive. Pretty sure there may have even been something that sounded close to music in there as well. Good times had by all A+++++!!!!
Unrelated to GWAR, happy Elvis Died Day. One of the fondest memories I have from my own wedding is when my mother leans into me about two songs into the reception (like, first dance maybe? I can't remember) and asks "why the hell is he playing ELVIS?" The answer is, mother: because it pleases me greatly.
Please go to here, h/t Gp. He preferes Photo #8, I myself am a huge fan of #6. Omgcapes. Let's all promise to go get something airbrushed today, in memory. Doesn't matter what. Fingernails are a nice option, but if yr a biter like me we can stick to teeshirts, or sure, capes.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
the realist killaz
What he neglects to mention is the genius that awaits a person when you click on "View Enlarged Picture" link on the Tupac Wallbanger page.
Giant Crapping Floating Bumper-Billiards Room Tupac. I need this for my basement. NOW. (GCFBBR Tupac, not the bumper game.) Amanda also suggests making this into a mobile, which is nice of her. Now my next baby shower gift is taken care of. Bonus.
Giant Crapping Floating Bumper-Billiards Room Tupac. I need this for my basement. NOW. (GCFBBR Tupac, not the bumper game.) Amanda also suggests making this into a mobile, which is nice of her. Now my next baby shower gift is taken care of. Bonus.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
You should also probably stop eating all those Polly Pocket figurines
For boys who played with dolls/action figures, the toy’s accompanying accessories were often as important as the character itself, with the GI Joe figure “Law” being a perfect example. Normally, he would have been a boring old MP who walked around with a white helmet, a black leash, a black Uzi, a black nightstick. Yawn. But what launched Law into the Detective Elliot Stabler spheres of acceptable police brutality was that he came with his own German Shepherd named “Order” who I assume was bred to attack groins first and ask questions later.
I would have assumed that things were similar for girls and their dolls. I seem to remember that the D’s My Little Ponies came with brushes and her Cabbage Patch came with an elaborate back story and forged Chinese birth certificate. Sure, I would have gone with the tiny M-60, but that’s why I don’t work in the young girl’s swallow-able plastic toy industry.
I haven’t had much exposure to children’s toys in the last 20 odd years, especially to little girl dolls, so I was a bit unsure of what it took to market them to America’s sophisticated youth. But thanks to the Chinese and their recall triggering love for lead paint we got to find out today.
It turns out that if you’re not buying your daughter the Dog Walking Barbie* that comes with a golden retriever that poops easily ingested brown magnets which can cause infection and other internal hazards, then you might as well not be buying your daughter anything at all. But if you have already bought the pooping dog Barbie, then you need to take it back to KB Toys, because it may be dangerous, especially if you child also somehow manages to swallow the 4-inch magnetic pooper scooper.
I commend Mattel for attempting to teach our youth that it is important to clean up after their pets, even if it comes at the price of poisoning their insides. As Uncle Ben said, “With great dog ownership comes great dog responsibility.” Now, if I could somehow get our dog to swallow little magnets so I could just pick up his poop with a metal stick, my life would be perfect.
*While searching for a picture of Barbie and Tanner I found that Toys ‘R’ US, Walmart and Amazon have already pulled the toy from their sites. Fortunately, Target will still allow you to poison your children.
Update: Now Target's is gone too.
I would have assumed that things were similar for girls and their dolls. I seem to remember that the D’s My Little Ponies came with brushes and her Cabbage Patch came with an elaborate back story and forged Chinese birth certificate. Sure, I would have gone with the tiny M-60, but that’s why I don’t work in the young girl’s swallow-able plastic toy industry.
I haven’t had much exposure to children’s toys in the last 20 odd years, especially to little girl dolls, so I was a bit unsure of what it took to market them to America’s sophisticated youth. But thanks to the Chinese and their recall triggering love for lead paint we got to find out today.
It turns out that if you’re not buying your daughter the Dog Walking Barbie* that comes with a golden retriever that poops easily ingested brown magnets which can cause infection and other internal hazards, then you might as well not be buying your daughter anything at all. But if you have already bought the pooping dog Barbie, then you need to take it back to KB Toys, because it may be dangerous, especially if you child also somehow manages to swallow the 4-inch magnetic pooper scooper.
I commend Mattel for attempting to teach our youth that it is important to clean up after their pets, even if it comes at the price of poisoning their insides. As Uncle Ben said, “With great dog ownership comes great dog responsibility.” Now, if I could somehow get our dog to swallow little magnets so I could just pick up his poop with a metal stick, my life would be perfect.
*While searching for a picture of Barbie and Tanner I found that Toys ‘R’ US, Walmart and Amazon have already pulled the toy from their sites. Fortunately, Target will still allow you to poison your children.
Update: Now Target's is gone too.
I'm being followed home/I'm being followed home
being back at work is totally annihilating me.
also, does the guy from Of Montreal look like Jared Leto or is that just stupid me? Maybe it's just the makeup. Is this why I haven't gotten into them, because I keep confusing dude with 30 Seconds to Mars or whatever?
Monday, August 13, 2007
It's how we draw 'dignity'
Things left in Europe that we expect to get back:
iPod
Camera Battery charger
Blackberry charger
Sunglasses
Regular glasses
2 books
Kick ass, red Albanian sweatband
English copy of Deathly Hallows
Things we don’t expect to get back:
The G’s wallet
iPod
Camera Battery charger
Blackberry charger
Sunglasses
Regular glasses
2 books
Kick ass, red Albanian sweatband
English copy of Deathly Hallows
Things we don’t expect to get back:
The G’s wallet
"i think i might like Feist. Is Feist for pussies? Do I get docked 10 points for Starbucks rock? Is she hot? These are all things I should know." *
Late summer/Fall is shaping fairly well. there's a few shows that i can't even be bothered to list right now that I'd like to see (i missed white rabbits this weekend), i have tix for OR on 9/30 and spoon on 10/22; I'm trying to decide if a Monday night drive up to Baltimore is worth it for Pleeseasaur, and Capps is pressuring me into a sultry night of Eyeball Skeleton on Thursday if I can figure my shit out in time.
I think I'm out on New Pron this time around, Vox trot's a def. maybe as is Girl Talk. Stiff Little Fingers? (VH1's "You Oughta Know" tour????? who the fuck is Brandi Carlile??????????????) Lucero? Are the Rosebuds worth it? Answers, people, answers.
* (not responsible for subject line using "starbucks", "hot", and "pussies.")
I think I'm out on New Pron this time around, Vox trot's a def. maybe as is Girl Talk. Stiff Little Fingers? (VH1's "You Oughta Know" tour????? who the fuck is Brandi Carlile??????????????) Lucero? Are the Rosebuds worth it? Answers, people, answers.
* (not responsible for subject line using "starbucks", "hot", and "pussies.")
friendlove
so i come back from vacation and what's the first thing i do? okay, second thing, after deleting 340 emails about getting a rolex/bigger penis (no thanks on both counts)? schedule vacation again. I'm going to chiboogie this weekend, it will be a thousand YAYs. Fortunately, I am going to visit a fellow unhealthy lazy boozehound. Unfortunately, my other travel partner is a runner. She can wake me up upon her return from however many miles she has to run a 6 am (CRAZY.)
TR: I know, she runs. Great. You know what I do? Watch "Who's the Boss?" reruns on youtube.com and read about the "hyphy" rap movement on wikipedia. Then I eat.
in other news, i have uploaded 240 brit photos out of a potential 5000. i have edited out all the ones where i am super fat. Do the math. Dude, I ate bacon and chcolate for 2 weeks and did not look in a mirror ONCE, who wouldn't edit those out.
TR: I know, she runs. Great. You know what I do? Watch "Who's the Boss?" reruns on youtube.com and read about the "hyphy" rap movement on wikipedia. Then I eat.
in other news, i have uploaded 240 brit photos out of a potential 5000. i have edited out all the ones where i am super fat. Do the math. Dude, I ate bacon and chcolate for 2 weeks and did not look in a mirror ONCE, who wouldn't edit those out.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
we don't have to take our clothes off
home home. we come bearing 8 pound bags of Cadbury's, a few good yarns re: rental cars, memories of chip sandwiches (genius), a Jermaine Stewart earworm that can't die fast enough, and raging potential case of hoof n mouf. the dog is only slightly skinnier and skittish-er. more on all this later.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Highway Yobbery
We’re off to a wedding. In England. And then maybe other stuff if I don’t kill us by driving on the wrong side of the road. Three things before we part, possibly forever.
1. I consider myself knowledgeable on English weddings because I’ve seen 6 of them on TV - two of them were real and featured Prince Charles’s and four of them were fake but starred Hugh Grant. But it may not be exactly how I imagine since half of the people getting married are from India and we expect some new traditions, perhaps a chuppa? In my head this will be much like the episode of The Office were they all go to Kelly’s Diwali with the added excitement of seeing women in huge hats featuring crazy shit sticking out of them. Neither the G nor the D have bought their huge hats with crazy shit sticking out them in the hope that people will think they are unfashionable British wedding goers and not lazy Americans who couldn’t be bother to buy at hat at Target and crazy shit to put on it from Pier One.
2. Although I am an expert in English marriage traditions, I am less knowledgeable in their justice system. It seems that their police departments have developed a technology that can calculate how much crime is being committed by each citizen. In one case, this “yob” was responsible for 40% of the police’s time. Impressive as this is, though, it pales to this 12-year-old who has committed 85% of town’s crime.
We are about to take off, so could somebody call the town constabulary in Worplesdon, Guildford and alert them that I am planning on being responsible for 100% of the drunk and disorderly charges in their sleepy hamlet on Saturday night? Thanks.
3. Yobbery. I assume there is American slang that the British think is as hi-larious as I think theirs is. I’ll let you know on the 13th.
1. I consider myself knowledgeable on English weddings because I’ve seen 6 of them on TV - two of them were real and featured Prince Charles’s and four of them were fake but starred Hugh Grant. But it may not be exactly how I imagine since half of the people getting married are from India and we expect some new traditions, perhaps a chuppa? In my head this will be much like the episode of The Office were they all go to Kelly’s Diwali with the added excitement of seeing women in huge hats featuring crazy shit sticking out of them. Neither the G nor the D have bought their huge hats with crazy shit sticking out them in the hope that people will think they are unfashionable British wedding goers and not lazy Americans who couldn’t be bother to buy at hat at Target and crazy shit to put on it from Pier One.
2. Although I am an expert in English marriage traditions, I am less knowledgeable in their justice system. It seems that their police departments have developed a technology that can calculate how much crime is being committed by each citizen. In one case, this “yob” was responsible for 40% of the police’s time. Impressive as this is, though, it pales to this 12-year-old who has committed 85% of town’s crime.
We are about to take off, so could somebody call the town constabulary in Worplesdon, Guildford and alert them that I am planning on being responsible for 100% of the drunk and disorderly charges in their sleepy hamlet on Saturday night? Thanks.
3. Yobbery. I assume there is American slang that the British think is as hi-larious as I think theirs is. I’ll let you know on the 13th.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
england ho.
- Wikipedia: Bob and Rob's Corpse-Eating Service; Can I Cultivate Your Groinal Garden?; etc.
- Other new favorite
- Jessica. She has her own sleeping bag.
* * *
I got nothin. I've spent all morning twiddling thumbs, wrapping up loose ends, lissnin' tosteaming streaming albums, and trying v. hard to mentally block the ever-rising bile re: the thought of leaving my dog with strangers for 9 days. Let's all hope he doesn't kill anything/anyone while his lover master is gone.
- Other new favorite
- Jessica. She has her own sleeping bag.
* * *
I got nothin. I've spent all morning twiddling thumbs, wrapping up loose ends, lissnin' to
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
And then she makes my dad call to make sure I was listening
I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feeling so I won’t mention names, but have you ever had one of those boringly long phone conversations where the purpose of the call is completely necessary but after 30 seconds your ears do the equivalent of your eyes glassing over and then about ten minutes in you realized that you’ve absent-mindedly stacked 40 kernels of corn like a tiny Stonehenge?
I can’t remember anything I agreed to on the phone but I can tell you the date of the autumn equinox.
I can’t remember anything I agreed to on the phone but I can tell you the date of the autumn equinox.
Monday, July 30, 2007
I am trying to explain to S. what has happened in the "news" the last two weeks she's been in Mexico.
Please note: As of this morning, www.notmypants.com does not appear to be registered. I CLAIM IT.
HEY! You NEVER throw books!
It’s pretty much agreed, by those who follow these sorts of things, that of all the movies featuring the American military taking up arms against a series of increasingly voracious dragons, Reign of Fire is the film that most squanders this potentially awesome idea. This fact was verified this past Saturday when it aired on Spike or TBS or USA or TNT or FX or whatever other channel shows dude movies over the weekends.
However, it should be noted that since the cast features Christian Bale, Matthew McConaughey, and Gerard Butler the film should be qualified not as an action/sci-fi disaster but more as the sexiest movie of all time, based on the secret equations formulated by the scientists at People Magazine.
However, it should be noted that since the cast features Christian Bale, Matthew McConaughey, and Gerard Butler the film should be qualified not as an action/sci-fi disaster but more as the sexiest movie of all time, based on the secret equations formulated by the scientists at People Magazine.
doin whatever a spider pig does
This is the first weekend in since I can't remember that we were A) in town and B) had no official events to attend. Like the rest of the internet, the N and I saw TMLMTBGB on Sunday afternoon and crap, it's great. If it weren't already over, I'd tell you to go get tickets. Tom was right when he mentioned the serious parts didn't work as well (they were kind of.. obvious?) but still enjoyable. Just not as enjoyable as a piece entitled "Games, Damn!" during which I almost passed out from asphyxiation. Or however you spell it. I was doing that thing where I laugh so hard I start sobbbing.
Our show also got through 29.5 plays, and they didn't even start the timer late.
After all that Neo-Futurist culture we had to counteract with the Simpsons movie down the block.
Okay, what else. Friday was an internet party (although according to Becks there was a sex show going on? that we missed? Fuck), we had dinner with friends Saturday which ended in being kicked out of the restaurant, only to continue the conversation re: $5 Thai groin massages in the parking lot. Our neighbors just got a Viszla puppy with green eyes (HUMANY eyes) and I'm working on elaborate dognapping plans. I made potato salad last night and 4 of us planned our trip to England. Man, I am so glad we are prepared for this thing. Seeing as we leave Thursday and right now the "official" plans look something like this:
- Wedding
- London? Tate
- Um Bath
- England
- Also do we need hotels
Quite honestly, I'm amazed we've even figured out how to buy plane tickets.
Our show also got through 29.5 plays, and they didn't even start the timer late.
After all that Neo-Futurist culture we had to counteract with the Simpsons movie down the block.
Okay, what else. Friday was an internet party (although according to Becks there was a sex show going on? that we missed? Fuck), we had dinner with friends Saturday which ended in being kicked out of the restaurant, only to continue the conversation re: $5 Thai groin massages in the parking lot. Our neighbors just got a Viszla puppy with green eyes (HUMANY eyes) and I'm working on elaborate dognapping plans. I made potato salad last night and 4 of us planned our trip to England. Man, I am so glad we are prepared for this thing. Seeing as we leave Thursday and right now the "official" plans look something like this:
- Wedding
- London? Tate
- Um Bath
- England
- Also do we need hotels
Quite honestly, I'm amazed we've even figured out how to buy plane tickets.
Friday, July 27, 2007
The Truth Is Not Out There
The following passage from Stephen Hayes’s book on Cheney is pretty much what you’d expect from a biography of the VP, with the ### standing in for just about any political group outside of the Douglas Feith Institute for Bespectacled Youth or its spin-off, the Heritage Foundation.
IN YOUR FACE, ART BELL! IN YOUR FACE, ALEX KRYCEK! Cheney’s got no time for you and I Want To Believe belly aching! Get back into the basement.
The ### community seized on Cheney’s allusion to classified information, and its hope turned to bitterness. “He was like the secretive and calculating Cheney of old.”Pretty normal excerpt, right? Well, that’s where you’d be wrong, my friend, because the ### stands for UFO! And that makes it AWESOME!!1! According to the book, the Roswell folks were totally backing Cheney until 2004 when he told them to go DIAF.
IN YOUR FACE, ART BELL! IN YOUR FACE, ALEX KRYCEK! Cheney’s got no time for you and I Want To Believe belly aching! Get back into the basement.
NEWS, World
AUGUST 21st!!!!!
Courtesy CatAn: All Y'All. Listen now. I'm a fan of Catch Up, which has been on myspace for a while I think, but here ye go again.
Courtesy CatAn: All Y'All. Listen now. I'm a fan of Catch Up, which has been on myspace for a while I think, but here ye go again.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Ms. Rice doesnt even own an umbrella as her hair is coated with Armor All
Sensing that the new State Department rules concerning international travel would clog the passport system to such a degree that they'd even force George Schultz to come in to help sort applications, I did the clever thing and applied for a renewal in 1999. It took 7 years of pining, but in 2006 I finally got my paperwork and was able to take that trip to Niagara Falls to visit my summer girlfriend from 7th grade. Love knows no torture like international Canadian love torture.
But if you weren’t smart like me, you now have to stand in line for hours in the July Fiendfyre and miss your honeymoon, if you want a valid passport. On the plus side, however, the security guards will give you an umbrella to block the blistering sun, which totally makes up for any inconvenience.* I hear Mr. Schultz, himself, made the donation.
*Apparently, though, you don’t get an umbrella if you look like Dale Earnhardt and wear jorts, like the guy on the right. You have to face the sun’s and Condi’s wrath out in the open.
But if you weren’t smart like me, you now have to stand in line for hours in the July Fiendfyre and miss your honeymoon, if you want a valid passport. On the plus side, however, the security guards will give you an umbrella to block the blistering sun, which totally makes up for any inconvenience.* I hear Mr. Schultz, himself, made the donation.
*Apparently, though, you don’t get an umbrella if you look like Dale Earnhardt and wear jorts, like the guy on the right. You have to face the sun’s and Condi’s wrath out in the open.
kicks
Can i please remind you how important Aug. 7 is going to be? I already pre-ordered Stage Names, and "John Allyn Smith Sails"? For those of you who haven't heard it yet, it transitions into a "Sloop John B" cover. I think I'm in love. Here, Avent, gloat: so, so, so much better than "Stuck Between Stations."
the best sentence i've ever read
The new round of "Trapped" videos finds Kelly portraying an old man named Randolph, complete with a pot belly and a fake white beard that nearly falls off mid-scene, as well as a preacher in a gray Jheri-curl wig and garish orange suit.
News from The Baltimore outpost, D: Trapped in the Closet - 10 new episodes.
News from The Baltimore outpost, D: Trapped in the Closet - 10 new episodes.
the lauren graham cover exclusive: "why we love the girl-next door types but not copy editors, etc."
The latest from poo-pile Capitol File is on my desk, and it's a yawn factory, even though this is the annual "Little Black Book" issue. Only MY FAVORITE ISSUE EVER!!1 Hot singles in DC (all of them, fascinatingly, are "VPs of Communication".... yes, I'm looking at yr sexy face, Mr Tripp Donnelly, on every. single. fucking. page) and not a single one of them is slightly crazy/interesting. No one's making a Zoolander face this year. I'm sad.
BUT, do not fear! There is something to make me grind my teeth into oblivs and break out in cold raging sweats. The required article re: charity polo matches starts off with this sentence: "Merrriam-Webster dictionary defines charity as "benevolent giving."
You've got to be joking. It reads like the speech of someone running for 8th grade class secretary, non?
- - - - - - - -
BTWallthingspublishing, I didn't realize its not just Washington CP who's been boughten (???? greatest sentence fragment ever???), but also Chicago Reader. Please note the last line - DC residents have yet another reason to hate the suburbs. Or I guess learn to love them, dep. on your view of The CP. Chantilly rep'sent.
BUT, do not fear! There is something to make me grind my teeth into oblivs and break out in cold raging sweats. The required article re: charity polo matches starts off with this sentence: "Merrriam-Webster dictionary defines charity as "benevolent giving."
You've got to be joking. It reads like the speech of someone running for 8th grade class secretary, non?
- - - - - - - -
BTWallthingspublishing, I didn't realize its not just Washington CP who's been boughten (???? greatest sentence fragment ever???), but also Chicago Reader. Please note the last line - DC residents have yet another reason to hate the suburbs. Or I guess learn to love them, dep. on your view of The CP. Chantilly rep'sent.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
yes it is, cathy!
so remember this? I finally got a new phone, and along with it comes the devestatingly awesome ability to have indian/wolf as my ringtone.
i am annoying.
i am annoying.
how can a train be lost? it's on rails.
for those of you so inclined: the darjeeling limited trailer is up. And the last episode of clark and michael. TEARS.
Also, Spoon-n-bombs-n-such.
Also, Spoon-n-bombs-n-such.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
We'll put the shelves here
To answer your questions, this is how I see it: if you’re already in Hall of Fame, who cares if you don’t make the All Star game every season? What does Mickey Mantle care? He’s fucking Mickey Mantle.
---
It looks like that although Brown Dog likes Meredith Bragg he doesn’t much care for Meredith Bragg’s music. As soon as the “drums kick in,” the dog took off. G and I both enjoyed the show except I did so at a distance of 150 yards.
Another one to add to the list of things brown dog is terrified of.
---
While the average 39 year old Americans can not identify the game Tetris they can easily recognize the silhouetted shape of the Chinese Empire in 1872, at a glance. This is according to a poll conducted by PIAB/New York Times and assumes that my cousin is an average American.
---
It looks like that although Brown Dog likes Meredith Bragg he doesn’t much care for Meredith Bragg’s music. As soon as the “drums kick in,” the dog took off. G and I both enjoyed the show except I did so at a distance of 150 yards.
Another one to add to the list of things brown dog is terrified of.
---
While the average 39 year old Americans can not identify the game Tetris they can easily recognize the silhouetted shape of the Chinese Empire in 1872, at a glance. This is according to a poll conducted by PIAB/New York Times and assumes that my cousin is an average American.
noted
seriously england, stop fucking around. i have to go to you next week and the thought of wading through excrement sounds less than awesome. although i guess this (floods not waste) would be a really great excuse to attend a wedding in wellies or fishing waders. Although i probably don't need an excuse come to think of it???
Completely unrelated, I find the Scott Baio VH1 show strangely touching.
Completely unrelated, I find the Scott Baio VH1 show strangely touching.
HOT R NOT
- We spent all of Saturday race-reading HP on the beach, even though the N had a 200-page head start on me, I still annhilated him by bedtime. Yes, yes, one day, I can read exceptionally fast. It's a talent that has proved pretty much worthless in my life, except to finish essay-question test light years ahead of the other kids. As a grown-up, v. little rewards.
- Random third-n-fouth cousins from all over the Midwest stormed the sand like tiny blond locusts, they were afraid of the surf and used terms like "manorexic" with utter glee. They also made us mexican food. Also they bought boyfriends who were professional cover-band drummers.
- I drank 700 glasses of red-wine without a headache, which is an alcohol coup of some sorts.
- More hilarious probs than watching the YouTube debate: listening to the YouTube debate on the radio.
- I finally bought a Fort Reno teeshirt last night, it's blue and I'm gonna make it my Back-Git-Well shirt. Coolest old gal on the physical therapy block.
- (PS: Funniest word of the weekend: INELIGIBLE!)
- Random third-n-fouth cousins from all over the Midwest stormed the sand like tiny blond locusts, they were afraid of the surf and used terms like "manorexic" with utter glee. They also made us mexican food. Also they bought boyfriends who were professional cover-band drummers.
- I drank 700 glasses of red-wine without a headache, which is an alcohol coup of some sorts.
- More hilarious probs than watching the YouTube debate: listening to the YouTube debate on the radio.
- I finally bought a Fort Reno teeshirt last night, it's blue and I'm gonna make it my Back-Git-Well shirt. Coolest old gal on the physical therapy block.
- (PS: Funniest word of the weekend: INELIGIBLE!)
Friday, July 20, 2007
Waterboarded
Along with the cultural and national pride that a country feels after being selected by the IOC to host the Olympics comes the concession that some of the cultural and national norms are completely unacceptable. In London, it was the realization that their artistic tastes have not expanded since Kajagoogoo. In China, it’s that they can’t allow their citizens to swear publicly, ignore existing ticket queues and traffic laws, spit and defecate in the street and, most infamously, allow the notorious bare-chested masters to walk around Beijing.
China has also realized that they need to clean up the products they intend to sell to the throngs of international visitors next year, so they might as well start with most basic. When I was in China, the basic rule for wherever you go is “Don’t drink the water.” Don’t drink tapwater, ever. Don’t drink the water that vendors sell on the street. And only then drink bottled water if it’s from a western company. Everyone knew the water was bad and full of gross things that I will discuss in a second. But for the Chinese government to act surprised that the bottled water is fake is just like them acting surprised that they sell racist toothpaste or that there are already copies of Transformers 2 being sold on the streets of Shanghai. Spoiler Alert: Sideswipe dies.
Here’s how the scam works. Whenever you throw a bottle of water away in any trashcan in Beijing someone follows shortly behind and takes it out. They travel to the nearest faucet or spigot or puddle and refill the bottle. Employing a lighter, they carefully apply the flame to the cap and plastic rim and melt them together. Appearing to be sealed, unwitting Americans or uncaring Chinese purchase the water and chug it down because it’s hot.
I know this to be true because 1) Chinese people told me it happened so don’t drink the goram water, you stupid roundeye and 2) I didn’t listen and drank the water.
Having spent a very warm day touring the best of what Beijing could offer according to Lonely Planet, I was approached by a woman selling frozen bottles of water from a cooler. Believing that I could not be outsmarted by an elderly Chinese crone, I inspected the bottle and determined that it had never been opened. The seal also responded with the appropriate cracks when I twisted the cap. I paid my two bits and made my way.
Since it was mostly frozen, I took a few sips and waited for it to melt. Over the course of an hour I consumed most of it, relishing its hydration. But as I was taking the final sips I realized that something hit my tongue every time I tipped the bottle back. At first I assumed it was bits of ice. But now only water remained, I held it up to the sun and almost threw up.
Inside was a clear plastic straw. The bottom half looked normal. But the tip that entered my mouth with every sip was chewed to a mangled flatness and featured the gentle smudges of lip gloss.
You would have gagged too.
China has also realized that they need to clean up the products they intend to sell to the throngs of international visitors next year, so they might as well start with most basic. When I was in China, the basic rule for wherever you go is “Don’t drink the water.” Don’t drink tapwater, ever. Don’t drink the water that vendors sell on the street. And only then drink bottled water if it’s from a western company. Everyone knew the water was bad and full of gross things that I will discuss in a second. But for the Chinese government to act surprised that the bottled water is fake is just like them acting surprised that they sell racist toothpaste or that there are already copies of Transformers 2 being sold on the streets of Shanghai. Spoiler Alert: Sideswipe dies.
Here’s how the scam works. Whenever you throw a bottle of water away in any trashcan in Beijing someone follows shortly behind and takes it out. They travel to the nearest faucet or spigot or puddle and refill the bottle. Employing a lighter, they carefully apply the flame to the cap and plastic rim and melt them together. Appearing to be sealed, unwitting Americans or uncaring Chinese purchase the water and chug it down because it’s hot.
I know this to be true because 1) Chinese people told me it happened so don’t drink the goram water, you stupid roundeye and 2) I didn’t listen and drank the water.
Having spent a very warm day touring the best of what Beijing could offer according to Lonely Planet, I was approached by a woman selling frozen bottles of water from a cooler. Believing that I could not be outsmarted by an elderly Chinese crone, I inspected the bottle and determined that it had never been opened. The seal also responded with the appropriate cracks when I twisted the cap. I paid my two bits and made my way.
Since it was mostly frozen, I took a few sips and waited for it to melt. Over the course of an hour I consumed most of it, relishing its hydration. But as I was taking the final sips I realized that something hit my tongue every time I tipped the bottle back. At first I assumed it was bits of ice. But now only water remained, I held it up to the sun and almost threw up.
Inside was a clear plastic straw. The bottom half looked normal. But the tip that entered my mouth with every sip was chewed to a mangled flatness and featured the gentle smudges of lip gloss.
You would have gagged too.
talkgadget
here is what i have wanted to say in the elevator every morning this week, or at least def. the past 2 mornings, but I don't have the cojones* or really know how to articulate said idea so early (9 am, not that early) in the morning:
Dear Weird Dude Who Works on my Floor,
Stop being so goddamn weird all the time.
Love,
The G
* Dear Me,
Stop using the term "cojones," you hate that, remember?
Love,
Me
- - - - - - - - -
Here's a gift from Tom Lee to my inbox. Probably the entire internet has seen this but not I.
- - - - - - - - -
I forgot how good the song "Fire Island, AK" was. And Oh, Susquehenna!. Even if the N calls them a commie band.
- - - - - - - - -
I had weird dreams last night. One of them involved our dog driving a car. OH MY GOD I JUST MADE THIS A DREAM BLOG, IN THE SAME ENTRY WHERE I POSTED A UNICORN TATTOO. off toget coffee face the error of my blogging ways.
Dear Weird Dude Who Works on my Floor,
Stop being so goddamn weird all the time.
Love,
The G
* Dear Me,
Stop using the term "cojones," you hate that, remember?
Love,
Me
- - - - - - - - -
Here's a gift from Tom Lee to my inbox. Probably the entire internet has seen this but not I.
- - - - - - - - -
I forgot how good the song "Fire Island, AK" was. And Oh, Susquehenna!. Even if the N calls them a commie band.
- - - - - - - - -
I had weird dreams last night. One of them involved our dog driving a car. OH MY GOD I JUST MADE THIS A DREAM BLOG, IN THE SAME ENTRY WHERE I POSTED A UNICORN TATTOO. off to
Thursday, July 19, 2007
do it all the ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-tiiiiiimmmmee!
DaNabob: yo, hollywood
Movietown128: whats up?
DaNabob: You know how I don’t really complain about most of your work
Movietown128: yeahyeah
Movietown128: btw never said thanks for seeing Dreamcatcher
DaNabob: sure, I liked the book
Anyway
I have one
a complaint
Movietown128: hitme
DaNabob:if I were in movie editing 101 and my assignment were to male a movie trailer for a quirky hipster comedy
I would use the violent femmes as a soundtrack
because i am unoriginal and don't know any other songs with off beat syncopation
that would be easy to edit to
fucking enough already with "blister in the son"
sun
Movietown128: hmmm
Movietown128: I hear ya
Movietown128: Its why we got rid of Jared Hess but I’ll also have a word with Ruffalo’s people
DaNabob: cool
Movietown128: whats up?
DaNabob: You know how I don’t really complain about most of your work
Movietown128: yeahyeah
Movietown128: btw never said thanks for seeing Dreamcatcher
DaNabob: sure, I liked the book
Anyway
I have one
a complaint
Movietown128: hitme
DaNabob:if I were in movie editing 101 and my assignment were to male a movie trailer for a quirky hipster comedy
I would use the violent femmes as a soundtrack
because i am unoriginal and don't know any other songs with off beat syncopation
that would be easy to edit to
fucking enough already with "blister in the son"
sun
Movietown128: hmmm
Movietown128: I hear ya
Movietown128: Its why we got rid of Jared Hess but I’ll also have a word with Ruffalo’s people
DaNabob: cool
Real as any place you've been/Get a life with the dreamer's dream
Although there’s probably an obvious answer for this question that someone can easily explain, I haven’t found a satisfying answer in any of the reports I’ve read in the NY papers:
Why, 7 years into the 21st century, is it still necessary to pipe large amounts of steam throughout a city?
Is it because somebody needs steam or is it that somebody doesn’t want steam? What has Con Ed doing down there for the last century? My best guess is secret, underground Boingboing wet dream Steampunk society.
Why, 7 years into the 21st century, is it still necessary to pipe large amounts of steam throughout a city?
Is it because somebody needs steam or is it that somebody doesn’t want steam? What has Con Ed doing down there for the last century? My best guess is secret, underground Boingboing wet dream Steampunk society.
tuxedo styled
I have totally reamed my IPod over the electronic coals in the past few months, and now my Work Mac won't accept it when I plug the damn thing in. Well, it will accept it kind of, but what it really really wants me to do is reset it to its factory default and make all my precious music go away. Well eat it, Work Mac, it ain't gonna happen. I'm am far too lazy to reload all this.
What I'm getting at: I can't play along with yr whole list-game. I can however, show you the Top 25 Songs Played at Work Itunes (culled from a list of only about 100 songs total, so the results are.... skewed. My options are kind of limited.)
Please note #s 2 (?), 6 ("folk") and ... 25. Who am I.
Not on here at all, but courtesy ILB: White Rabbits - The Plot. Good. Aug. 11 @ Black Cat. Which I don't think I can go to, so. Feh.
* * *
Unrelated/side note/haven't mentioned this yet: I still haven't read Gp's Onion article on Mingering Mike, or gone to Hemphill yet (stupid & I'm running out of time), but the website itself is sick awesome. I want to own a real copy of Sickle Cell Anemia. Or at least the book, for those of you making early-holiday present lists for loved ones (me) in yr mindgrapes.
What I'm getting at: I can't play along with yr whole list-game. I can however, show you the Top 25 Songs Played at Work Itunes (culled from a list of only about 100 songs total, so the results are.... skewed. My options are kind of limited.)
Please note #s 2 (?), 6 ("folk") and ... 25. Who am I.
Not on here at all, but courtesy ILB: White Rabbits - The Plot. Good. Aug. 11 @ Black Cat. Which I don't think I can go to, so. Feh.
* * *
Unrelated/side note/haven't mentioned this yet: I still haven't read Gp's Onion article on Mingering Mike, or gone to Hemphill yet (stupid & I'm running out of time), but the website itself is sick awesome. I want to own a real copy of Sickle Cell Anemia. Or at least the book, for those of you making early-holiday present lists for loved ones (me) in yr mindgrapes.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
gift dog in the mouth, creepy
Wherein i begin our new series entitled: Inexplicable Gifts from Vendors.
One particular company I order stuff from sends "gifts" with each order. I have seven fringed fleece scarves with pockets, several weird water bottles, a few keychains, and, during the winter months, they ususally package tins of those powdery mini-chocolate in three metric shit tons of protective bubble wrap.
I just got my order and inside was my free gift.
They are velcro'ed both together and to the strange wicker basket. Apparently, said vendor thinks I am a 64 year old secretary with a penchant for puffy painted sweatshirts.
seriously, ???
One particular company I order stuff from sends "gifts" with each order. I have seven fringed fleece scarves with pockets, several weird water bottles, a few keychains, and, during the winter months, they ususally package tins of those powdery mini-chocolate in three metric shit tons of protective bubble wrap.
I just got my order and inside was my free gift.
They are velcro'ed both together and to the strange wicker basket. Apparently, said vendor thinks I am a 64 year old secretary with a penchant for puffy painted sweatshirts.
seriously, ???
payoff/guilty friends
(Internet: before i spend a ridiculously large ITunes gift certificate: did you like Dinosaur Jr's Beyond?)
Lifeguards, Ski Patrol, and Other Recreational Protective Service Workers
This post assumes you have read the Workers Substance Use and Workplace Policies and Programs report that the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration released yesterday. It basically says that the person to your left is currently using drugs and the person on your right is drinking out of a fire hose and will not graduate with you.
Clocking in at a refreshingly scant 69 printed pages, any information contained in the report’s findings are easily eclipsed by the details in its marvelous appendices. You know what? Maybe the greatest part of living in DC is the amount of appendices we are exposed to. That and symposia. This city is fat ripe with symposia.
The drug report has 6 appendices featuring a overindulgent array of tables and graphs. But it’s Appendix D: Occupational and Industry Classifications that I find most fascinating. Essentially, it’s the governments system of categorizing every job in America.
The hard copy version in the report led me to this: The Department of Labor’s May 2006 National Occupational Employment and Wage Estimates. It not only gives the definitions of all the occupations in America but list the total number of people in that job and their average salary. And quite frankly, it is awesome.
For instance, only 1,470 people in our amazing country consider modeling to be their primary occupation. And they make, on average, $27,980 a year. By contrast, there 15,580 shampooers. They should not be confused with the more advanced hairstylists, of which there are 344,900.
Other tidbits:
Blogging is a tough one. There isn’t a professional blogger category so it’s either the Labor Department considers it an illegitimate career or it falls deep under some justifiably valid category. It probably fits under Writers and Authors but for now we’ll put you in with whatever group also has people who make chain mail out of paper clips in their step-dad’s basement for sale at medieval festivals.
Clocking in at a refreshingly scant 69 printed pages, any information contained in the report’s findings are easily eclipsed by the details in its marvelous appendices. You know what? Maybe the greatest part of living in DC is the amount of appendices we are exposed to. That and symposia. This city is fat ripe with symposia.
The drug report has 6 appendices featuring a overindulgent array of tables and graphs. But it’s Appendix D: Occupational and Industry Classifications that I find most fascinating. Essentially, it’s the governments system of categorizing every job in America.
- Did you know that when the government lays down some statistic about how often or to which degree a person in managerial position does something that this not only includes your CEO boss but also farmers, casino operators, ranchers and funeral directors?
- Did you know there is an official job called roustabout? While the government considers only those assembling or repairing oil field equipment using hand and power tools to fall in this category, I’d like to believe that the more Elvis-like definition also applies. Carnies are hard workers too.
The hard copy version in the report led me to this: The Department of Labor’s May 2006 National Occupational Employment and Wage Estimates. It not only gives the definitions of all the occupations in America but list the total number of people in that job and their average salary. And quite frankly, it is awesome.
For instance, only 1,470 people in our amazing country consider modeling to be their primary occupation. And they make, on average, $27,980 a year. By contrast, there 15,580 shampooers. They should not be confused with the more advanced hairstylists, of which there are 344,900.
Other tidbits:
- There are there 16,340 people who consider themselves choreographers yet there only 16,010 dancers. That’s a ratio that any educator would envy and can’t even be matched by the students at Patrick Henry.
- There are 900 private cooks.
- There 485,120 bartenders or roughly one for every 452 adults of drinking age.
- There are an astounding 6,770 broadcast news analysts. And that’s not people working in broadcast news as reporters or producers or whatever. That is the number of people that “analyze, interpret, and broadcast news received from various sources.” Yeah, pundits. There are 6,770 pundits.
Blogging is a tough one. There isn’t a professional blogger category so it’s either the Labor Department considers it an illegitimate career or it falls deep under some justifiably valid category. It probably fits under Writers and Authors but for now we’ll put you in with whatever group also has people who make chain mail out of paper clips in their step-dad’s basement for sale at medieval festivals.
I make the N listen to the Fall Out Boy version every morning during our commute because I am evil.
i had seen this a while back and can't remember noting it, and then Drew reminded me: Control trailer.
Also - in high school, I owned 7 out of 10 of these albums. Pretending to be from 1983 was my THING. That, and making mixtapes (Erasure) with british flags on the cover.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
"i think its called 'flight of the commodore' or something? and it's awesome?"
i can't get any servers at my office to work, so i'm pretty much fucked for getting anything accomplished this morning. good thing it's July and the entire galaxy doesn't really care.
- what should have been the one hit
- issue #17
- voxtrot @ black cat, 10/6; new porn same month @ 930.
Quickly: the N and I took a trip to New Mexico a few years just because, it was hella good times and lots of fun climbing around holes in Bandelier and driving our rental Sonata to weird little places, including a tiny town called Madrid (3 blocks big) which I liked because it had a crazy theatre production about the mines there. According to the Radio Voices (NPR or whoeever, I'd assume) in my kitchen last night as we concocted some sort of disgusting/delicious meal (involving cheddar cheese and tuna fish, don't ask) NM is the new hotness for Hollywood because the state gives em all tax breaks and the Important Celebrities love to pretend to be ranch hands. FYI: Poor Madrid apparently had a fake diner built for the filming of "Wild Hogs." World, what have we done.
- what should have been the one hit
- issue #17
- voxtrot @ black cat, 10/6; new porn same month @ 930.
Quickly: the N and I took a trip to New Mexico a few years just because, it was hella good times and lots of fun climbing around holes in Bandelier and driving our rental Sonata to weird little places, including a tiny town called Madrid (3 blocks big) which I liked because it had a crazy theatre production about the mines there. According to the Radio Voices (NPR or whoeever, I'd assume) in my kitchen last night as we concocted some sort of disgusting/delicious meal (involving cheddar cheese and tuna fish, don't ask) NM is the new hotness for Hollywood because the state gives em all tax breaks and the Important Celebrities love to pretend to be ranch hands. FYI: Poor Madrid apparently had a fake diner built for the filming of "Wild Hogs." World, what have we done.
Monday, July 16, 2007
also music also
the sea and cake are touring and coming to b'more in september. i made a promise to myself today to look up songs from "everybody." So whether i make it up to charm city for a group I kind of forgot about remains to be seen. I've never been to Sonar.
CONTINUING.... so far I'm a fan. "Lightning" =/< Yo La Tengo's "The Summer?" Or Pinback.
CONTINUING.... so far I'm a fan. "Lightning" =/< Yo La Tengo's "The Summer?" Or Pinback.
I've had women/I've had germs *
you know in high school or middle school or whatever, there was always the Girl Who Was Always Hurt/Sick - on crutches/had mono/broken arm/cramps/potential brain lesions/skin rash/chronic fatigue syndrome/cancer scare?
Friday afternoon I burned the everliving shit out of my arm on a hot iron (I never iron. is this ... IRONic? oh my god I'm sorry I couldnt help it), and 30 seconds ago I slit my thumb open (not the one that's sprained [yes, sprained thumb, christ], the other one) on the lid of a... wait for it... yogurt container.
I am officially The Girl Who Is Always Hurt/Sick of grownup school. Related, I start PT for the back next week. If I'm still alive.
* PS: holy crapload!
Friday afternoon I burned the everliving shit out of my arm on a hot iron (I never iron. is this ... IRONic? oh my god I'm sorry I couldnt help it), and 30 seconds ago I slit my thumb open (not the one that's sprained [yes, sprained thumb, christ], the other one) on the lid of a... wait for it... yogurt container.
I am officially The Girl Who Is Always Hurt/Sick of grownup school. Related, I start PT for the back next week. If I'm still alive.
* PS: holy crapload!
flamenco!
Aforementioned wedding was totally totally lovely, the bride was teh hotness, I sweated a ton (in a good way), the DJ played New Order, and the grandma didn't even say a peep about the ceremony including the Beach Boys- so all is well on all wedding fronts. Apparently the afterpartying was choice enough that my very white friends someone got themselves adopted into an African-American family reunion at the Holiday Inn, where new "cousin T." exchanged both hugs AND business cards. Shirtless. Maybe.
Oh. And K. and I just bought tickets to Chicago in August on a whim, which is awesome, except I think as penance (or maybe not, the whole thing is just v. confusing?) I'm being forced to go see the Gipsy Kings. (is this okay? I know nothing about the Gipsy Kings other than they are Basque mebbe [?] and my mom listens to them and when I tried to tell TR about the concert he got all excited about going to see Gypsys and then I had to explain.) But my ol pal Eric just bought a new sweet grownup condo for free crashing, and is even nice enough to come get me at the airport even though I said I'd take the El.
I love you, summer.
Oh. And K. and I just bought tickets to Chicago in August on a whim, which is awesome, except I think as penance (or maybe not, the whole thing is just v. confusing?) I'm being forced to go see the Gipsy Kings. (is this okay? I know nothing about the Gipsy Kings other than they are Basque mebbe [?] and my mom listens to them and when I tried to tell TR about the concert he got all excited about going to see Gypsys and then I had to explain.) But my ol pal Eric just bought a new sweet grownup condo for free crashing, and is even nice enough to come get me at the airport even though I said I'd take the El.
I love you, summer.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
You can't leave first until you chug a beer.
The G saw I’d dusted off the cleats and softball uniform last night and asked if I was seriously considering playing this morning, since just three weeks ago I was hobbling around on crutches. Yes, dear. They’re called the playoffs.
But she was probably less worried about the current state of my ankle and more so about the possibility of me showing up to late her best friend’s wedding that starts in 90 minutes. And that’s actually a justified concern since I’ve pulled that stunt before.
Well, we were knocked out after two games and I’ve had plenty of time to get ready. Her real concern, though, should have been the line drive I took straight to the orbital bone. It’s not the worst black I’ve had but it’s pretty shiny. And this steak isn’t helping much.
I’m going to wear my glasses with the thickest frames and hope she doesn’t notice. Nobody say anything until Sunday.
Update: The black eye went undetected until the G's mom ran her big fat mouth. She's been employing this unwelcome habit recently to increasing degrees of disasterous-ness. Ours is more resembling your typical sitcom son-in-law/mother-in-law antagonistic relationship everyday.
But she was probably less worried about the current state of my ankle and more so about the possibility of me showing up to late her best friend’s wedding that starts in 90 minutes. And that’s actually a justified concern since I’ve pulled that stunt before.
Well, we were knocked out after two games and I’ve had plenty of time to get ready. Her real concern, though, should have been the line drive I took straight to the orbital bone. It’s not the worst black I’ve had but it’s pretty shiny. And this steak isn’t helping much.
I’m going to wear my glasses with the thickest frames and hope she doesn’t notice. Nobody say anything until Sunday.
Update: The black eye went undetected until the G's mom ran her big fat mouth. She's been employing this unwelcome habit recently to increasing degrees of disasterous-ness. Ours is more resembling your typical sitcom son-in-law/mother-in-law antagonistic relationship everyday.
Friday, July 13, 2007
and with that, Al-Qaeda has won. SuxxXorrrrrrrrrrrrr.
i was all set to start my Fri morning off right, with a nice steaming cup of coffee and some "frat douche" bashing, but it seems the City Paper's site is down. This is not good! I am pissed! Did some 22 year old drinking a gallon of milk, someone who was "legally savvy and with unlimited funds" hire a techie to burn their whole website to the ground? OH PLEASE LET'S HOPE SO!!!! Online war omg teh AwEsome pwnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
"oh, we know each other through the internet"
so, hey. last night's scene was kind of a barrel of laughs, wasn't it? The two of us showed up with me already on the last train to Wrecksville and bragging about it, we got inside just before the deluge and then squeaked upstairs even though the show was sold out- I was stumbling up just as they launched into a Sophie B Hawkins cover, which was bad ASS, AMattos was dressed like a fashion model, I saw the D and K and oh yeah LJG for the first time in like 56 months, the DCeiver was charming as per usj, ANNNNDDDDDD even though I was given the opportunity, I did not lick Eric Axelson from toe to head. And by "opportunity" I mean just being nicely and formally introduced by the Avents, nothing more. Anyhoos, my husband was there and the licking would have been.... what's the word I'm looking for... uncouth? Sure. At least I didn't have to battle sexy single CatAn for face time or whatever, I crumble under competition.
Where was I?
OH. And if I were really really cruel, this is the time where I would also outline the completely hilarious and inappropriate voice mail my mother left me accidentally yesterday, thinking she was talking to someone else, which may or may not have contributed to me getting kind of smashed.
oh and music.
Where was I?
OH. And if I were really really cruel, this is the time where I would also outline the completely hilarious and inappropriate voice mail my mother left me accidentally yesterday, thinking she was talking to someone else, which may or may not have contributed to me getting kind of smashed.
oh and music.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Also, my shoes are filled with blood
The day is certainly not starting well here at your friendly neighborhood PIAB. For the Nabob, the highlight has been the suggestion that if he behaves he may be allowed to watch a crash test video of a old-school Optimus Prime semi T-boning a school bus on a giant IMAX-like screen. For the G, its been the anticipation that at some point tonight she may be allowed the saccharine release of sleep and dream about garrotting 20 aged and elephantine men.
Unbuckled? We shall see. It depends on how well these cyanide pills work.
Unbuckled? We shall see. It depends on how well these cyanide pills work.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Illusion, Michael, Illusion. Tricks are what hookers perform for money.... or candy.*
As an official tuxedoed participant in an upcoming August wedding, I was guilt-ed by the groom into driving to Baltimore last weekend so I could have some grownup face time with the new bride. She’s utterly delightful and charming. And to be honest, I’ll probably side with her in next Augusts’ divorce proceedings. Lose one friend, make another who’s a lawyer and a girl. Even Stephen.
B-more is a crazy, mixed-up town where Dale Jr’s and Izod’s can eat next to each other at a crab shack that sits comfortably between a liquor store and an American Apparel. It’s why I simultaneously love and hate the place but most of all I love it. And hate it. And it’s farther away than it should be.
We wandered Charm City for a bit, bribed our way to better O’s seats, played some GTA, avoided the Joint Strike Fighter destroying 695, drank some beers bigger than our faces and then limped home. But the walking distance between the stadium and our hovel was greatly miscalculated. Plus, our bellies were full of hotdogs and peanuts and cotton candy and our brows were moist with sweat. We began wilting fast.
Thankfully, someone had carefully and heroically constructed a large marquee declaring that their establishment was selling Magic Hat beers for $3. Also, they promised magic.
A couple of free-spirits in Baltimore have rolled the dice and sunk a bunch of their hard scammed three card monte money into Illusions, the city’s only bar/magic shop. Filled with dark stained woods, heavy drapes and Houdini lore, it attempts to link alcohol with your grandparent’s Carter Beats the Devil brand of magic instead of your nephew’s I’m a Huge Asshole kind.
After a few moments of lingering near the bar, we were asked the establishment’s proprietor to please have a seat since things were about to begin. He then locked the doors so no more bachelorette parties could get in. (I don’t know if it’s because I’m hanging at the right places when I’m in DC but whenever you got to Baltimore you will see a bachlorette party. And if you’re a guy with 51% of your teeth, you’ll be asked to suck a Lifesaver off some nasty shirt.) The lights went dimmer and then…
The idea of a magic store/bar almost works. For the price of one $3 Magic Hat, you get two card tricks and a straight-jacket escape routine performed by what I believe is the nation’s skinniest magician. He’s the son (perhaps co-owner) of the bar and maybe weighs 115 pounds. He wore the Baltimore-required Under Armor skin tight shirt yet it hung off him like that college sweatshirt you wear when you’re sick.
While I haven’t any clue about how the card tricks were executed, they seemed to be rather basic and were likely taught within the first few weeks of Professor Vexctor’s Arithmacy class. Sure, he made cards appear in crazy places (his pants) and used one of those giant impractical swords you can buy at store in the mall that sells travel alarm clocks, Swiss Army knives and giant impractical swords but I still feel like I was watching a free magic show. And even the though the straightjacket routine was performed upside-down, hanging from the ceiling, I think he got out just because he was skinny. Like, if you made me put on Benny McCrary pants but cinched the belt real tight I bet I could still get out of them.
Bottom line: Go to Baltimore and for the price of gas and $3 you can get a beer and a magic show. Whether it’s worth will be based on your reaction to shiny things.
*While writing this entry, I accidentally cut and pasted the headline into another serious, non-hooker related document. Some people received it by accident. By “some people”, I really mean “everyone.”
B-more is a crazy, mixed-up town where Dale Jr’s and Izod’s can eat next to each other at a crab shack that sits comfortably between a liquor store and an American Apparel. It’s why I simultaneously love and hate the place but most of all I love it. And hate it. And it’s farther away than it should be.
We wandered Charm City for a bit, bribed our way to better O’s seats, played some GTA, avoided the Joint Strike Fighter destroying 695, drank some beers bigger than our faces and then limped home. But the walking distance between the stadium and our hovel was greatly miscalculated. Plus, our bellies were full of hotdogs and peanuts and cotton candy and our brows were moist with sweat. We began wilting fast.
Thankfully, someone had carefully and heroically constructed a large marquee declaring that their establishment was selling Magic Hat beers for $3. Also, they promised magic.
A couple of free-spirits in Baltimore have rolled the dice and sunk a bunch of their hard scammed three card monte money into Illusions, the city’s only bar/magic shop. Filled with dark stained woods, heavy drapes and Houdini lore, it attempts to link alcohol with your grandparent’s Carter Beats the Devil brand of magic instead of your nephew’s I’m a Huge Asshole kind.
After a few moments of lingering near the bar, we were asked the establishment’s proprietor to please have a seat since things were about to begin. He then locked the doors so no more bachelorette parties could get in. (I don’t know if it’s because I’m hanging at the right places when I’m in DC but whenever you got to Baltimore you will see a bachlorette party. And if you’re a guy with 51% of your teeth, you’ll be asked to suck a Lifesaver off some nasty shirt.) The lights went dimmer and then…
The idea of a magic store/bar almost works. For the price of one $3 Magic Hat, you get two card tricks and a straight-jacket escape routine performed by what I believe is the nation’s skinniest magician. He’s the son (perhaps co-owner) of the bar and maybe weighs 115 pounds. He wore the Baltimore-required Under Armor skin tight shirt yet it hung off him like that college sweatshirt you wear when you’re sick.
While I haven’t any clue about how the card tricks were executed, they seemed to be rather basic and were likely taught within the first few weeks of Professor Vexctor’s Arithmacy class. Sure, he made cards appear in crazy places (his pants) and used one of those giant impractical swords you can buy at store in the mall that sells travel alarm clocks, Swiss Army knives and giant impractical swords but I still feel like I was watching a free magic show. And even the though the straightjacket routine was performed upside-down, hanging from the ceiling, I think he got out just because he was skinny. Like, if you made me put on Benny McCrary pants but cinched the belt real tight I bet I could still get out of them.
Bottom line: Go to Baltimore and for the price of gas and $3 you can get a beer and a magic show. Whether it’s worth will be based on your reaction to shiny things.
*While writing this entry, I accidentally cut and pasted the headline into another serious, non-hooker related document. Some people received it by accident. By “some people”, I really mean “everyone.”
billy, benny
most exciting thing to discover today EVER:
My aunt and uncle are moving only 9 miles away from where the McCrary Twins are buried!!!!
so freaking pumped.
My aunt and uncle are moving only 9 miles away from where the McCrary Twins are buried!!!!
so freaking pumped.
man vs. babynames
okay, Tom. You win. Bear Grylls? Kind of hot. But. The man has a child named Marmaduke? I mean, it's not naming your kid after budget champagne, but it's a close, close second.
Marmaduke. Marmaduke Grylls.
Marmaduke. Marmaduke Grylls.
Sunday, July 08, 2007
thangs
- BIRTHDAY, bitches! Today, I play Ian McNabb in yr honor. If I can find any Ian McNabb.
If it were my blogbirthday, or my birthday, or Monday morning (which it will be soon) - I would want this. Oops, wait, I think I just bought a signed copy, and it's not even my birthday OR Monday yet.
- The N is smoking a giant chicken with a beer can up its ass in my backyard. The dog smells like Swamp Thing. I just bought unncecessary things at Ikea. Why is it impossible to get out of Ikea without buying a cuttin gboard? What is that all about? I have 15 of them.
- My back was too fucked up to go camping this weekend so I sat in a straight-backed chair all day yesterday with a soda bottle under my shoulder blade watching "ANTM" marathons. That show is confusing.
- By the way, the entire internet was at Black Cat on Friday night. I did the following: watched a porn-like interaction with a piece of machineary, talked about hippies and looms, and sent a few text messages that were kind of awesome ("I AM HERE WATCHING A CONCERT IT IS PACKED I AM DRUNK SHE IS CUTE COME TO DC OH ALSO DID THEY JUST COVER DYLAN???? Wait, No.") Oh yeah, and music. And beer. And The Icicle Works. If i could have turned my head, I would have said "hello" to more of you, internet, but I can't.
If it were my blogbirthday, or my birthday, or Monday morning (which it will be soon) - I would want this. Oops, wait, I think I just bought a signed copy, and it's not even my birthday OR Monday yet.
- The N is smoking a giant chicken with a beer can up its ass in my backyard. The dog smells like Swamp Thing. I just bought unncecessary things at Ikea. Why is it impossible to get out of Ikea without buying a cuttin gboard? What is that all about? I have 15 of them.
- My back was too fucked up to go camping this weekend so I sat in a straight-backed chair all day yesterday with a soda bottle under my shoulder blade watching "ANTM" marathons. That show is confusing.
- By the way, the entire internet was at Black Cat on Friday night. I did the following: watched a porn-like interaction with a piece of machineary, talked about hippies and looms, and sent a few text messages that were kind of awesome ("I AM HERE WATCHING A CONCERT IT IS PACKED I AM DRUNK SHE IS CUTE COME TO DC OH ALSO DID THEY JUST COVER DYLAN???? Wait, No.") Oh yeah, and music. And beer. And The Icicle Works. If i could have turned my head, I would have said "hello" to more of you, internet, but I can't.
Friday, July 06, 2007
ironside was scariest
Transformers: worst movie ever made or sheer brilliance? I said "worst" and Mathis almost cut me over IM, if that's even possible. But then I reconsidered a little bit and sure, space robot automobile fight scenes? Sure, sure. Sign me up.
Pros: Dance Dance Revolution cameo, Bumblebee being retarded?, hot computer scientist chick (Dr. Christmas Jones) and oh yeah space robots that fight each other and are cars also sometimes.
Cons: Entire hole-filled plot that made no sense, me almost crying at Bumblebee, Jazz, Megatron not really being scary, the Nabob wearing the most obnoxious National Guard hat I've EVER SEEN and yelling "BOOOOOO" several times towards the end of the film. Also then when the D stole his hat and threatened to throw it away he threw a temper tantrum and stormed out of Gallery Place.
So, I don't know. given all that I guess one thumb up, one heartily down.
Pros: Dance Dance Revolution cameo, Bumblebee being retarded?, hot computer scientist chick (Dr. Christmas Jones) and oh yeah space robots that fight each other and are cars also sometimes.
Cons: Entire hole-filled plot that made no sense, me almost crying at Bumblebee, Jazz, Megatron not really being scary, the Nabob wearing the most obnoxious National Guard hat I've EVER SEEN and yelling "BOOOOOO" several times towards the end of the film. Also then when the D stole his hat and threatened to throw it away he threw a temper tantrum and stormed out of Gallery Place.
So, I don't know. given all that I guess one thumb up, one heartily down.
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