a very happy holiday to me, starring Christopher Meloni's forearms

Thanksgiving came early to our house last night, in the form of a new Law and Order: SVU. IT. WAS. EPIC. I have to assume the writers were already on strike, because it was so awful and awesome and chock full of ridiculous guest stars, I don't even know where to begin. The N and I had the TV on as we were lounging around about to fall asleep and stuff because we are old and that is what we do at 10 PM, but by 10:52 PM we were both sitting straight up in bed squealing like schoolgirls and slapping each other in amazement. For those of you who missed it (shame on you so much):

A generic White Girl is found beaten and dead in the NYC woods. The first person to get blamed is Ultimate Fighting Champion "Kona" (Forrest Griffin, GUEST STAR NUMBER ONE), since they somehow have his DNA on file. Kona's golddigger fiance is played by Ice-T's Coco (GUEST STAR NUMBER 2). Turns out Coco likes to film her cheating Fighter fiance, and has a picture of him sleeping with White Girl. All this doesn't matter, as the SVU crimefighting squad figures out the Fighter didn't kill her even though he was bangin her and then oops, White Girl's dad shoots the Fighter dead. In the police station. All within the first five minutes of the show.

Okay, so then somehow the unit gets pictures of White Girl dancing at frat party with Black Guys (One of whom is "Smash Williams" from FNL, says The Internet, SO GUEST STAR 3?), and they are brothers, and they track them to a fraternity house at Hudson U (WHERE IN SVU WORLD EVERYONE GOES TO COLLEGE BTW) and while talking to the president of the frat, who makes a joke about "brothers" and Ice-T thinks he's referring to black people instead of say, fraternity brothers or the fact that the kids they are looking for are really brothers (so confusing, so awesome, show written by penguins this week apparently or something?) has a confederate flag hanging in the party room (probably KA) the brothers show up and then they run away from Ice T and New SVU Cop who is Native American and raised in foster homes (for some reason this becomes a big deal later.) One brother runs out the door, the other jumps out the window onto what appears to be a rope/bedsheet ladder constructed specifically for escaping from cops out the 3rd floor window of a dorm and/or KA house.

So now to track down the brothers, Ice-T and the unit do some research and find out the brothers were in prison before college. So they go to Rikers to talk to the brother's prison teacher who is: get this: Steve Earle. (GUEST STAR NUMBER 4, WINNER OF MOST AWESOMEST GUEST STAR BESIDES COCO'S BOOBS)

Then A LOT MORE STUFF HAPPENS, including tracking down the brother's mom who is in the middle of screwing a dude who looks like Lil John and wants his $20 refunded (GUEST STAR NUMBER 5, TOTALLY UNCONFIRMED) because she's a prostitute, and the one of the brothers' turns himself in to get his whoremom out of jail and protect the other brother who he thinks probably killed White Girl (remember her?) Whoremom of the Year is all "thank you son for saving me, I'm outta here, have fun in jail" and lets her son take the rap for a murder so she can go "get clean." She also promises someday to take her sons out to a moderately priced seafood restaurant thats not Long John Silver's when they are proven innocent. Um, okay.

Also, back in pre-college Rikers when they were learning 5-paragraph essays from Steve Earle, the boys joined a gang for protection. Apparently this gang is mostly about rape and wearing red baseball hats and intimidating the Latin Kings. So Ice-T and New SVU Cop dress in red baseball hats and hang out at the projects playground to antagonize the Latin Kings. The Latin Kings take the bait, and then try to assault Ice-T with a paintbrush. Yesh.

(sidenote: EVERYONE WRITING FOR LAW AND ORDER SVU IS ON DRUGS.)

All this leads SVU to a Gang Leader who is probably responsible for White Girl's death and will prove the brothers are innocent. Hey, remember at the start of the show when there was Ultimate Fighting Champions involved? Yeah, that story line has totally been dropped. When they try to apprehend Gang Leader, he is shot at by one of the brothers (who was still on the street) and then chased by fat, limpy Ice-T, but falls into a trash compactor being operated by a guy who's IPod is too loud. Ice-T tries to stop the trash compactor but the operator can't hear him over Korn so we watch Gang Leader die by compacting.

(sidenote: EVERYONE WRITING FOR LAW AND ORDER SVU IS ON DRUGS AND IS AWESOME.)

To recap: White Girl dead, one brother in jail, one on the run, probable-killer Gang Leader crushed, mom is a ho, Hudson U fraternity guys are douches, SVU working late and is sad and they are all getting divorces because of how work interferes in their personal lives, oh noes.

Detective Elliot Stabler comes in in the middle of the night to be awesome and do paperwork and probably pushups, and decides to help out Newbie Native American SVU guy who can't shake the feeling that the brothers are innocent because he too was raised in foster homes and us foster kids aren't all bad no matter what society says, even if sometimes we're at Rikers. Elliott and New Guy re-watch a video of dead White Girl grinding with brothers at frat party and they suddenly notice an 11-month pregnant girl in the corner taking pictures of them on her Cybershoot or whatever other POS digital camera lip-lined 11-month pregnant hoodgirls use at Hudson U frat parties.

Okay, I'll wrap this up: Preggers is home-girl in lipliner from the brothers' hood, tells Ice-T that White Girl was one of Gang Leader ho's (where that came from I have no idea) and she took pictures Gang Leader beating White Girl to Death so, yes, Foster-Home Native American New SVU Guy, the brothers are innocent and they should be released.

New SVU Guy decides he is going to go pick up the boys mom and they'll all go out for a big surprise dinner at Red Lobster (RED LOBSTER, GUEST STAR #6). Unfortunately, just then he gets a phone call from Ice-T telling him that Whoremom is dead. He gets off the phone all saddy-faced and the boys are like "what's the big surprise???" and New SVU Native American Foster Home Empathetic Cop says "We're going to Red LOBSTEEEERRRR!" like Oprah or Tyra.

Fade to black on the best television show I have ever seen in my life.

- - - - -

Let's review: Ultimate Fighting Champion, Coco's breasts, gang hats, mom whores, death by trash compactor, lip-lined girl from da hood, racist kid in stripedy shirt, native americans, fat Ice-T, grinding at frat parties, STEVE EARLE, Red Lobster. The tag function on Blogger just exploded, SORRY WORLD.

How would you hum "dignity"?

After going to see my cousin at Union Station on Friday (or satisfying a Sbarro’s craving, depending on who you ask) I decided to hoof back to Dupont Circle. That’s 2 miles to you and me. But because we live in an awesome city, even if we’re ugly, you get see some awesome things.



Like a March for Justice.



Or a massive car crash at 18th and Penn that results in the arrival of police from seven different law enforcement jurisdictions. I’m not sure what this car hit since there was nothing else around it in the intersection. Blonde Jessica Alba force field? The physical manifestation of Wolfowitz/World Bank ill-will, like in Ghostbusters 2?



Or a brand new dinosaur that has just evolved out of parts of lesser beasts and appliances.

I was a little skeptical about National Geographic’s claims that they’d discovered a dinosaur with a vacuum mouth, so I went over to see it for myself. When presented with something unexplained, like extra bones or vacuum attachments, these paleontologists have been known slap the parts onto any old section of the body. They bollixed up the brontosaurus so badly it doesn’t even exist anymore. And when they discovered that some of the plated dinosaurs had thick clusters of nerves in their tales they concluded it was a second brain that controlled their back halves like a laddered fire truck. Unless this thing has rotating bristles for teeth, I’m gonna be a little suspicious of the vacuum mouth claim

Did the one-on-one visits persuade me other wise? Not really. Something doesn’t sit right and I bet that those 600 teeth could have gone anywhere. Maybe it was dinosaur Tooth Fairy and the comet hit just when he was getting back from some baby dinosaur teeth jackpot and he was carrying all of them, I don't know, in his mouth.

One thing I do know, however, is that this guy liked to have a good time. Look at that party-time face. This guy was the John Belushi or Fatty Arbuckle of the Cretaceous period.

scientifically proven

(Stepping lightly as to not tread all over Avent's usual Blog Topics of Choice)- some real estate math for you:

94% of homes for sale in alexandria/arlington/falls church in a particular price range (read: ours) have wood paneled wet bars.

If you are from 1973 and in the market to buy, may I suggest a few listings.

schemes

- I played in my first vball game since Anklegate last night. Things went relatively smoothly - I am not completely terrified of dominating at the net as is my way. My serving still sucks (all mental). Back to normal I suppose, with the exception of the crazy strappy black robot ankle brace I am wearing.

- Best Magazine Covers. Seriously, that O one sucks. But what do I know. Texas Monthly makes up for it in spades.

- I got up to 41 in freerice.com before quitting.

-"The Camp Delta document includes schematics of the camp, detailed checklists of what "comfort items" such as extra toilet paper can be given to detainees as rewards, six pages of instructions on how to process new detainees, instructions on how to psychologically manipulate prisoners, and rules for dealing with hunger strikes." Basically, a girl's freshman college dorm. (ziiiing!!!!)

- "Lies & Rhetoric" - out 11/19.

- I am concerned about Secret Clinical Strength deodorant. It's pretty amazingI guess, for a $7 dollar deodorant? (that's right.) And seems to work very well? And yet, has the same exact ingredients as my standard typical lady deodorant? (Mitchum, for those of you wondering. And yes, that's a real brand, you can find two dusty expired Mitchum products on the bottom shelf of your local drugstore and when you think to yourself "shit, who buys Mitchum?" the answer is: I do.) But Secret Magic (instructions: put on before bedtime, don't us if you have kidney failure, etc) has the same exact ingredients, at the same percentages as good ol trusty 1970s Mitchum. So why is it working better? Science, look me in the eye when I'm asking you a question.

- Catherine and I need to borrow/rent two French Horns, stat. If anyone can help out with this, please email me.

quick musical opinion. i'm gonna BLOG ABOUT IT!

The new Doughty songs are pretty terrible. The re-record of "27 Jennifers?" Christ.

The N: "the synthesizer breakdown in the middle is the audio equivalent of a star wipe"

Intended for those who didn’t bother coming out last night.

We’ve all chuckled as little kids and fat guys and maybe someone we know and maybe someone we used to respect have all taken their turn at Crankin Dat. Good on Souljaboy for foolin’ the MSM, bloggers and us white people for having this massive hit for several months and not telling us about it. You got us. We’re as lame as you expected. Look at us dance.

But now there’s “Report Card” and it’s sampling and liberal use of Rich Boy. This does not bode well for young DeAndre Cortez Way.

As a juvenile performer, Soulja Boy has a limited number of life experiences and personal narratives to draw from when it comes to forming his rhymes. Not that his lyrics are particularly sophisticated (I got me some bathin apes) but once his opinions on dancing like Robocop have been expressed there is little room in which to fall back.

So what does a young person in America know about? School? Comic books? Playgrounds? Cartoon? Yes. But good hip-hop, these topics do not make. The bad news for Soulja Boy is that this often means the quick and unceremonious end of your career. It’s hard for the record buying/downloading public to take you serious as an artist when your main themes are “sweet talking” your teacher into giving you better grades. Especially when you only get a 47 in math or a 14 in science.

There is precedent for this theory –

• Young MC followed Bust a Move with Principal's Office
• Kriss Kross followed Jump with I Missed the Bus
• Another Bad Creation followed Iesha with Playground
• Da Youngsta followed Pass da Mic with Cartoons and Neighborhood Bully
• Skee-Lo followed I Wish with Superman

Obviously, this pattern has been avoided by other young hip-pop artist – Will Smith, L’il Bow Wow, L’il Romeo, Juvenile, etc – but based on Soulja Boys career to date, this Report Card follow-up is not a good sign.

Hollywood. Call me. I'll scab for you.

Tuesday Night Dreaming:

I was living in my parents house, and everything in the town was apocolyptic because of, you guessed it: the great Zombie Plague. (Most of humanity had been wiped out - a bunch of people were dead from Zombie sickness. About 50% of us survivors were all normal and whatnot, having escaped the illness. Normal except for the whole super-paranoid apocalypse type behavior. And looting, probably. The other 50% were zombies living among us. But somehow governmnet/scientists/Important People In Charge had given them some Zombie Prozac n Haldol or whatever, and the Zombies were all well behaved and among us and drove cars and had menial jobs and stuff, and except for the occasional minor zombie freakout we were cool. Everything was fine - you just couldn't let a zombie touch you, because the mere touching of a non-zombie, even like - your hand as you exchanged money or if a Zombie stopped you from stepping off a curb into oncoming traffic or whatever, could set their flesh-lust off.) Anyway, I was at the store buying green peppers, and a zombie tried to tap me on the shoulder right there in the produce aisle and I was like "NO, ZOMBIE" - kind of how one talks to a toddler. And I got the willies. The DREAM willies.

Okay, so then I had to hang out at my aunt and uncle's house for some reason with a skinny guy, and I couldn't leave, the doors were locked. I was kept there not by zombies, mind you, but by a regular looking dude who you'd see at Black Cat, and he made me read to him out of the Book of Mormon. Then he took my skin off.

The zombies, by the way, disappeared. Thanks a lot, zombies. You are everywhere all over my dreams and then when yr really needed, poof, nowhere to be found.

Things I blame for Tuesday Night Dreaming:

Late night viewings of Law & Order: SVU while listening to Sufjan Stevens, deep seated fears about being buried alive, middle school friends emailing me, just kind of having a weird week in general. Like S. said: murder, intrigue, religion! Well done, imagination. Now please fucking stop it.

PIAB Girl on the Streets: Michigan Report

Blackberried from K: "The Grand Rapids airport smells like an elementary school. Also, there is an arcade."

i forgot.

"cattle and cane" is such a good song. how comes we don't wear floppy girl-bow-ties and big hair with hats anymore? we should.

internet veteran

I was the only person in the world who had yesterday off. I spent it watching this*, drinking coffee, standing quizzically in Home Depot while debating my dad on cell about the merits of caulking guns, taking Brown Dog to the park, doing some half-assed Christmas shopping, watching the "Dirty Jobs" episode where Mike Rowe goes to a goat farm (so great), and digging 25 years worth of shitty amateur acrylic patches and mildew out of the upstairs shower. Then my spouse came home and handed me a razor blade and told me I was a moron.

This is why I don't blog anymore, universe. If it makes you feel better about my rock and roll lifestyle, I did it all while drinking a High Life.


* pretty lovely, no?

You take the rags, you just pin 'em on there like a hobo, you know? And then flame on, lights up the night! It's a beautiful costume, I think.

In the first year of college, on the first day of classes, 100 nervous freshmen sat in a History 101 amphitheatre and verified their attendance as their names were called. Shortly after the teaching assistant called out my name he hesitated and slowly read “Knuckles, Jonathon.”

“Here,” replied the short dark haired young man. “But I go by Johnny.”

Johnny Knuckles soon become somewhat of a cult legend at my bustling university based solely on his name. Had they been around back then to mock, surly WWJKD? bracelets would have been made. Unfortunately, his time at our highly regarded brainery was short lived and he did not return from, I swear, New Jersey when the second semester started.

Even though Johnny Knuckles was a real person, he only falls somewhere in the middle of the list of Johnnies to try to save the world from the horrors of supervillainy and poor sanitation.

Johnny Switchblade
Johnny Human Torch
Johnny Knuckles
Johnny Combat Action
Johnny Space Commander

Sigh. Which leads us to GHB flavored toys. Kids these days get the coolest side effects out of their toy boxes. The worst I ever got was a severe sore throat after swallowing two Star War rifles and perforated intestines via Skeletor’s clawed hand.

All these new Chinese rape toys are quickly pushing lawn darts and those swimming-pool-things-that-can-go-up-your-deal out of the toy recall gold standard and taking the humor out of them. Bad toys are supposed to have funny/tragic consequences like losing part of your ear when the front wheel falls off your bike or chipping your teeth when the moistened grass continues your Slip ‘n’ Slide journey into a pile of bricks. They should not cause developmental damage or comas.

also, a lengthy IM covnersation concerning KMFDM

awesome things i have said/thunk this morning:

" then again, i usually assume everyone's german. so what do i know."

best online thing i have read this morning:

"Beyonce said when she was in New York City she doesn’t know how it happen but she jumped on a bicycle and was able to ride around like a normal person and she describes it as 'excellent'."

the weird turn pro

Oh hi blog. My back and neck are fucked. I can't move. I am cranky +++. I forgot my office key this morning. Not a single person on this entire floor brought in leftover Halloween candy, despite the many "I want candy"-type threatening looks I doled out on the elevator all last week. But, today is D's birthday (happy birthday Baltimore) AND my friend Justin is on some sort of crazy hippie all-vegan diet, so he's already starving to death on purpose before the Hwood strike starves him to death for shits n giggles. So life is awesome. Just kidding, no it's not. Let's run away to Mexico. Or, as RA suggested earlier, shoot some people in a bar and then join the French Foreign Legion. Does the French Foreign Legion still exist? And if so, can we as criminals join up? Someone get back to me on all this.

Hey, also - i'd like to discuss something. Larry King's shoes, and where i can buy some for myself. MY STYLE GOD IS LARRY KING.

One more reason to off myself.

Okay, instead, here is a list of what I listened to this morning on my music machine thing (computer).

Hold It In - Jukebox the Ghost
Le Loup - Le Loup
Transmission and Isolation - Joy Division
My Absent Will and Twin Arrows - Meredith Bragg
The Beautiful Ones - Dump (Yo La Tengo) *
Plea From A Cat Named Virtue - he Weakerthans
The General Specific and Is There a Ghost - Band Of Horses
Cross Bones Style - Cat Power
Enjoy The Silence - Division Day
Cockermouth - Mekons
I'm Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How To Dance With You - Black Kids **

Also, Justin Timberlake. It's true.


* Can we please talk about YLT covering A Rev-era Prince song? Pretty please?
** Eh? What's the fuss again?

a very viking fall

Aventiana directs us all, and by "us all" I mean specifically targets me, to today's NYT article on Enslaved. May I also suggest catching up on Wikipedia.

Ryan: Well, the NYT thing has lots of funny lines
The G: oh man: " The first group to use an early version of Viking metal was Led Zeppelin with songs like "Immigrant Song" and "No Quarter" with references to famous Vikings and Viking gods"
Ryan: Also, references to Tolkien

In other news, I got to go home early yesterday cause my building was on fire, and I'm seriously considering dying my hair red.

The G: maybe i'll go home and dye my hair thats what people do with midlife crises, right? or buy a sportscar
Amanda: i think dying your hair is what you do in response to middle school crises, but yeah, i still think it's appropriate
The G: okay good, thats right at mental age target for me
Amanda: haha
The G: middle school, get drunk, dye hair. check and check.

sado-mas

Seeing Control in the very first row of a sold-out theatre, craning yr neck this way and that? Fitting, I think. Matter of fact, it's now the only way I will recommend you see Control. Ian weeps, you weep.

In unrelated but also weep-worthy news, Mattos just sent me a link to a company that sells lifelike Ghostface dolls. Should you have a spare $500 laying around your manse.

today

there is a man on the corner of 18 and K selling poems.

drop kick yr jacket

uh, weekend:

- The DC2NY bus rocks, even with annoying copassengers and a terrible movie and a chatty driver with a coffee phobia. We got to vote on "Sneakers" vs. "Flight Plan." I think I was the only one to vote for "Sneakers." "Flight Plan," by the way, is terrible. D and I cheered for the bad guy. When in doubt, always cheer for Sarsgaard. (sp: Saarsgard? Saarsgaaard?)

- Several beers in Hells Kitchen.

- Carb-loading by proxy: I ate my weight in pasta at Cara Mia.

- The BFF pwned the marathon. Right on goal target, kept great pace, stopped to smile and wave at our frantic screaming somewhere in Brooklyn, looked terribly cute doing it. We missed her near the Queensboro Bridge because we're blind, and again at Central Park, cause we were busy with pretzels or something. Called after finishing to chat about her day like she had gone to the movies and Target and the bank and then lounged around being lazy or something, instead of running 8 billion miles. She's kind of incredible, that one. Also, she beat Holmes by like, an hour.

- I have had the Mr. Belvedere them song in my head since Saturday morning. I want to chop my head off.

- Four dudes in Duane Reade. One actually responded in conversation, with no apparent irony: "THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID."

- So many cute Swedish people everywhere.

- Seriously, NYC? seriously? I have to read one more website about how unfashionable my hometown is, and yet every single woman between the ages of 17 -32 in Midtown has a goddamn uniform assigned to them? It. was. very. weird. And made me simultaneously angry and lustful for a new pair of flat boots. I'm not reading any more assy websites that label my kind uncreative dressers because of our penchants for faded Gap teeshirts and reasonable mom khakis. You were all wearing the exact same outfit. I felt like I was in a movie about a Gossip Girl casual wear cloning experiment gone awry. That's right, I just referenced Gossip Girl.

- I got halfway through The Book Thief and listened to mopey Scottish dudes while watching the sun set over Secaucus. My seat partner on the bus ride back belched the entire way home.

- My house was sparkly clean when I got in, and my dog was very cute indeed. Great weekend.

It's were George Washington went to contest his parking tickets

If you ever need to contest a parking ticket in Alexandria after the city magically re-zones your neighborhood making all the spots handicapped, then I have some advice for you: watch TV the night before. The city’s lone adjudicator is a monster fan of Dancing With The Stars and you’ll need something to talk about while waiting the 25 minutes it takes for a copy of your ticket to get faxed over. You also might want to come up with some reasons why you don’t like camping and practice making sympathetic faces and noises when you hear all about their last disastrous relationship. It's worth it when they make your $200 ticket go away.

hey Baltimore:

the Domino Sugar factory is on fire? or exploded?

Tin Foil Hats For EVERYONE!

I spent most of Wednesday trying to find a pumpkin to carve since our last one went and got itself eaten. All the grocery stores were sold out and I was not, NOT, going to the nursery near my house that charges $20 for a bag of mulch. Fortunately, a local church was having a pumpkin fire sale so I got one on the cheap.

As soon as I heard the news Tuesday night I knew what had to be carved into it. Get it? Robert Ghoul-et! Regrettably, my pumpkin skillz aren’t as honed as they were back when I was still in clown college/med-school.





Poor Robert came out looking a little bit like Edgar Allen Poe. But I guess that works for Halloween too.

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

As mentioned below, we did not get too many kids stopping by. In fact, the most continuous stream of people by our house were our neighbors stopping by with their costumed dogs. Poor costumed dogs, continually mocked by non-costumed dogs. There was a princess and a bumblebee and a pumpkin and a little rat terrier dressed like Late Night Shots. Or at least what I assume was LNS as she was wearing a pink polo shirt with the collar popped.

Many wondered about Brown Dog and his costume and I had to explain he doesn’t stand for that kind of crap. Anyways, he was in the basement wearing his tinfoil hat and writing his manifesto on an old typewriter with no ribbon.



Such are his ways.

static, distance

Dark days, friends. The IPod has reached capacity.

It might be worth nothing that I just fucked it by trying to upload Songs:Ohia's Farewell Transmission, which I am always deleting off the damn thing accidentally for some reason, and which I forgot is approx. 8 minutes long. Even axing Split Enz and really long live Belle & Sebastian dirges I never liked earned me very little extra room. Goodbye Garden State soundtrack, you kind of piss me off anyway.

SIGH SIGH SIGH WEEP ETC.

A Bountiful Harvest of Souls and Tastebuds

In theory, our neighborhood should be rife with trick-or-treaters on Halloween. It’s clean, it’s safe, and there are 140 townhouses close together in a cul-de-sac brimming with their share of the $5 billion worth of candy that is bought by lazy people at 5:30 on Halloween night.

But kids these today don’t do a good job scouting out the prime neighborhoods weeks before like we did so ours remained mostly unvisited. This year, there were some fat kids who got so hot walking up our hill that their parents ended up carrying most of their costume by the time the get to the house. And I aided as much as I could to their imminent onset of childhood diabetes by letting them take handfuls of candy.

It still left us with buhkets of leftovers.

That leads us to the house the third installment of “What to do with all this arfing candy?” Previous attempts have dealt with breakfast, Milk Duds and Candy Hearts. This year, I’ll be experimenting with the fall classic and recent soda flavor: candy corn. And since all this sugar has resulted in a serious protein imbalance in my diet, I thought I’d invent a new November 1st treat, the candy corn omelet!



It wasn’t a disaster on the scale of Candy Heart Oatmeal but it certainly wasn’t a success. The candy corn melted almost instantly and the syrup bubbled in unappealing orange pools. When I flipped the omelet most of the syrup seeped out and quickly burned in the pan. The candy corn also stuck to the spatula resulting in threats from the omelet to break apart with any attempts to move it.



It tasted exactly how you’d imagine a delicious Vermont Omelet would taste: gross. The syrup overwhelmed all egg flavor and the sugar caused 32 instant cavities. It’s now 4 hours later and I still crave something extremely salty to cut into the lingering dextrose glaze on my teeth. I’m thinking a big bowl of salt.

Into the trash it went. The G wanted to know what smelled so good and if I were making her breakfast in bed with yummy pancakes. No dice sweetheart. But standby because you may be getting mouth-watering candy-cornbread later.

there is no shitting way you have 64 inch boobs and wear a b cup.

word to the wise, ladies: you cannot accurately measure for a bridesmaid dress with a metal tape measurer.

Seasons change, feelings change

Rumple-Grumpiest blog ever: it is 82 degrees in my office today.

Also, I just used Expose lyrics as a blog header. INTERNET FIRST.

MERRY FUCKING EARLY CHRISTMAS II

I have to second what the G said below. It was one of those weekends that seemed nice enough until someone asks you about it and it all falls apart. The car breaks down in the middle of the busiest part of VA, AAA says it will take 30 minutes but it takes 3 hours. And the repairs are well over a grand.

Then I got a $200 ticket for parking in a handicapped spot in front of my house that doesn’t exist. I mean the handicapped spot doesn’t exist, the house does.

I know this because the dishwasher has started leaking water. But that’s not too big of a deal because we only do dishes once a month. We’re like that children’s story where the guy just buys new dishes instead of cleaning the dirty ones. Or maybe we’re like that story where the magic pasta floods the whole villa.

Now the sink is backed up and when I took the trap off to see were the clog was about 5 gallons of nasty garbage disposal water shot into the kitchen and into my shoes and pants. 30 seconds later, the neighbor calls and says that we have a shared pipe so the free condo association plumber is coming to look at it but can’t show up until Saturday. But first thing Saturday so at least it’s a 7am inconvenience. And you can’t run the broken dishwasher anyway so feel free to clean them in the shower.

Now we have to deal with the condo association plumber guy who talks like Emo Philips. MOTHER FUCKING EMO PHILIPS!

So do we pay for the plumber who can come earlier or wait for the free one? Darling wife, I hope you like take-out.

MERRY FUCKING EARLY CHRISTMAS

there are three different kinds of chili in our fridge/freezer right now. related: our sink is busted and isn't draining, and so there are dirty chili dishes all over the place that I will have to wash in the bathtub tonight.

not related, my car has 12k worth of repairs needed after a massive blowup in bailey's crossroads on sat. afternoon.

at least pre-halloween weekend festivities were a good time.

Stay Classy, Poostew

The G loved the Death Feast poster for the crazy-assed typeface. I liked because it gave me a new challenge outside of photoshopping Chuck Brown karate-chopping Duke Ellington in the throat. Is it possible to decipher every name?

Two challenges:

First, these bands deliberately make their logos hard to read. There needs to be some mystery involved. There needs to be a sinister, parent-worrying, possible Satan worshipping, goat blood drinking, maggot bloated corpse edge to it. And they also seem to want to out do each other. Look at the far left on the top row. The band’s name is Foetopsy. But it looks like they spelled it using shaving gel on a filthy bathroom floor.

Secondly, staring at this red poster for an hour made my eyes go crazy. I’ve been to one of those Flophouse parties where they change all the light bulbs to red and your rods and cones get screwed up for a few days and when you drive home everything looks green. This was worse.

So without further ado, the list goes from right to left. Links to Myspace are included so you should probably turn the volume down. My grindcore ear isn’t as sophisticated as it was in high school but the songs sound exactly the same as they did back then. And they still sound exactly the same to each other.



Top row:
Napalm Death
Gorgasm
Foetopsy

Second row:
Immolation
Aborted
Krisiun
Cliteater
Sinister
Obscenity

Third row:
Wormed
Aversion to Life
Hour of Penance
Guttural Secrete
Mucopus
Emeth

Fourth row:
Defeated Sanity*
Leng Tch’e
Deadborn
Keitzer
Rumpel Grumpel**
Happyface

Fifth row:
Jack Slater
Putrid Pile
Fecal Corpse
Suppository
Human Mincer
Resurrected

Sixth row:
Grind Inc
Defeated Sanity*
Irate Architect
Dawn of Azazel
Debauchery
Poostew

The Death Feast 2008 lineup is already being formed.


*Defeated Sanity is listed twice on the poster. I don’t know if this was a mistake or if they did two sets.

**I could not find a website for either Rumple Grumple or Resurrected. Resurrected was too common a name. Rumple Grumple just rocked too hard.

info stat

Someone explain Division Day to me. I have exactly three songs by them downloaded: a cover of SDRE, a cover of Roxy Music, and a cover of Depeche Mode. I'm not investing in Beartrap Island until the Internet tells me they aren't just a cover-band-with-an-indie-twist I can see at Clarendon Grill on Friday night happy hours.

Laissez faire pumpkinomics

I grew up within venial sinning distance of a certain Arlington Catholic high school that receives most of the county’s proudest delinquents after they’ve been permanently excused from the fine public schools. Among other un-pleasantries, it meant we could never have pumpkins on our front stoop until the fully-carved finality appeared on Halloween night. Any appearance prior to October 31st would result in a kicked-in pumpkin and its seedy brains scattered in the road. It was a neighborhood-wide issue. There were meetings.

In the end, my parents decided that it was just easier to not have pumpkins until the very last minute. When they showed up destroyed on Nov 1, at least they died with only a single day's worth of sentiment.

It was not until I got all grow’d up and moved into a semi-respectable and high school free neighborhood that I found out that there are other forces conspiring against wee pumpkins. For the first few day’s I couldn’t noodle out why bits of my poor gourd were disappearing into the Negative Zone. Then I caught those squirrel bastards red handed.

This idea was news to me but it seems like Que Sera, Sera. Squirrels eat pumpkins, what are you gonna do? I mean besides covering them with cayenne pepper or spraying them with hairspray*.

What you do is not buy a pumpkin 3 weeks before Halloween. I understood this basic fact of suburban living. The G did not.



Real world analogy: Say you buy a giant bag of Halloween-size boxes of Mike ‘n’ Ikes three weeks before the big day but open the package so you can have just one. Chances are that by the time the 31st rolls around, that junk is going to be gone. You should consider pumpkins as Mike N Ike’s for squirrels. (Full disclosure: we have about 3 boxes of Mike ‘n’ Ike’s left.)

I allowed the G to live with her mistake for a week while it slowly rotted on our steps. The squirrels got their fill after a few days and the mold and fruit flies moved in. On Monday it collapsed in on itself. Wednesday, it went into the trash. I refused to help. Laissez faire pumpkinomics.

I thought that was that. We all learned a valuable lesson. But this morning some wise guy squirrel took things to the next level. While walking the dog under a large tree, a chunk of pumpkin landed on my head. ON MY HEAD! Where I cut my hair and wear my giant pink helmet!

Escalation announcement received. I used to carry tennis balls around to alert squirrels before the dog could sneak up on them. If they weren’t paying attention, a quick shot across their bow would scare them up into tress. Not anymore. Every squirrel gets a ball, even if it’s already treed.

It's on.



*The former does not work. The latter supposedly does. But please wait until the hair spray is dry before illuminating the pumpkin. Unless you want things to get awesome and quick.

the most stunning use of type ever in the history of mankind

heh. "cliteater."

in the news

Best illustration ever.

But in the nearer future, humans will evolve in 1,000 years into giants between 6ft and 7ft tall, he predicts, while life-spans will have extended to 120 years, Dr Curry claims.

Physical appearance, driven by indicators of health, youth and fertility, will improve, he says, while men will exhibit symmetrical facial features, look athletic, and have squarer jaws, deeper voices and bigger penises.

Women, on the other hand, will develop lighter, smooth, hairless skin, large clear eyes, pert breasts, glossy hair, and even features, he adds. Racial differences will be ironed out by interbreeding, producing a uniform race of coffee-coloured people.

However, Dr Curry warns, in 10,000 years time humans may have paid a genetic price for relying on technology.

Spoiled by gadgets designed to meet their every need, they could come to resemble domesticated animals.

Okay, I'm all about becoming a long-living all powerful giantess, but the first time I start to resemble BD and can chew on my own butt, that's grounds for suicide. Either that, or it's kind of awesome. I haven't decided yet.

ghost lingering

The N: BLU GHST. I'm gonna start taking pictures of funny license plates!

The G: Please don't do that. One, they aren't funny. Two, didn't you once send me the link to 3 or 4 websites that already do that? And six: that's such a creepy old man hobby.

The N: Fine.

The G: ...

The N: I'm gonna start watching planes land!

* * *

The G: Can I be a drug dealer in Second Life and make a lot of money?

The N: Did you know in Second Life you can get baby unicorns?

The G: What. That's kind of awesome.

The N: Yeah but you have to do it with an adult unicorn first.


* * *

Hey so Spoon* was pretty good, non? Despite being a totally fucked up situation? There were maybe 17 people and my gramma there despite several assurances from Human @ 930 dot com that if you didn't get yr raggedy ass to the 930 before sundown, you were not going to see a show. But it was nice. My elbows all askew and not in anyone's ribcage, no one shoving or pouring beer in my shoes. Jumpy pointy guy was there. Fresh air and a fresh-faced kid who was so swooning adorable when Britt Daniel passed us on the corner on his way inside the venue, AMattos and I thought he might actually faint. Who are these earnest rock fans I keep running into at shows? I like it! Prompt opener, promptly on stage at 8:05, no witty banter, great set list that came from all over, and I was home by 10. Bizarro concert world for old people. I can dig it.

I did make brief pleasant small talk outside pre-show with DCeiver and another friend of BStretch's (who's name I can't remember now) about how I guess I was "rooting for Denver" now that Cleveland is out. Okay, right, Colorado. Not Denver. Noted. But now I've spent a good 25 minutes this morning trying to find out why some teams represent entire states (Arizona DBacks) and other's are simply city teams (O's, etc). I would think it has something to do with ownership or taxes or $$$ because everything has to do with those things - but the Rockie's are owned by a giant group, one of the biggest partners is an Ohio guy I think, and it was Denver CITY taxes that were raised for Coors Field? Basically, I'm dumb probably and this is a really simple answer, so enlighten me already. It took me a good 10 years to get the infield fly rule, and I still don't understand the physics of how planes fly, so let's keep it simple, shall we?





*

(From thisun: set list:

"I Could See the Dude"
"Utilitarian"
"Minor Tough"
"Fitted Shirt"
"Anything You Want"
"Me and the Bean"
"Small Stakes"
"The Way We Get By"
"Stay Don't Go"
"Jonathan Fisk"
"Back to the Life"
"The Beast and Dragon, Adored"
"The Delicate Place"
"I Summon You"
"Don't Make Me a Target"
"The Ghost of You Lingers"
"You Got Yr. Cherry Bomb"
"The Underdog"
"Black Like Me"
Encore
"Japanese Cigarette Case"
"Peace Like a River" (Paul Simon)
"I Turn My Camera On"
"Don't You Evah"
"Rhythm and Soul"
"My Mathematical Mind")

Sports sports sports. I love sports. Sports.

He told us straight to our faces that he couldn’t play because his foot was paralyzed. Looked us right in the eyes and laughed his lying laugh. And then he hobbled off.

Fine. We don’t need you or your fake gimpy leg and pickle throwing arm. We had a quarterback who could lead us to 28-0 losses while throwing interceptions on every drive. And he was cut. We didn’t need two of them.

Now we have a new quarterback who’s only thrown one pick and it was a Hail Mary across his body moving the opposite way. But all was forgiven because he’s very handsome and has a great smile that makes the refs pick up their across-the-line-of-scrimmage flags even when he’s clearly three yards past the sticks.

Sexy new quarterback can do so many things that Shuler can't.

have some chocolates, rar rar rar rar

Seriously, Ryan Adams. Seriously.

I kind of love the mask, though.

glamorous life

I've stepped up my game enough that I will indeed be attending Spoon tonight (with these folks). My head still vaguely feels like it might pop off my body and start it's own orbital rotation around Earth (MOON HEAD!) but I can deal with it. No alcohol though. Show's over, people; the lights have been on for at least fifteen minutes. Clear the premises.

No other news. Listening to Dappled Cities. Making plans to bus up to NYC. Saw "Gone Baby Gone." Made a weird rice dish last night that looked like oatmeal and tasted like scorpion poison (you have led me stray for the last time, allrecipes.com!) Helping build Halloween costumes (yes, I said "build.") Curing leprosy. Etc.

my life is sore.

"I've never seen you drunk!" - C. Andrews.

Here, a handy guide:



I have hazy memories of talking absolute nonsense, and also stumbling pretty awesomely while on my way to said inside keg, which although drunk, I can still blame on an ankle that can't support my fat ass. Anyway, I didn't leave my room all day yesterday except to eat mashed potatoes and find the remote when I flipped it off the bed.

Also, I had a weird dream about Charles Bissell serving me grilled cheese in a Route 66 diner in Oklahoma.

Beyond that, people, I got nothing. Except I'm home sick from work today, which I don't think has anything to do with this past weekend. Unless one of you fuckers passed along a whopping case of meningitis. In which case, I totally hate you.

or were we called the drone clones? we can't remember.

Catherine and I are hard at work at forming an all-girl noise band called the Drone Crones. The first order of business will, of course, be a self-released CD named Murder of Sluts. Credit where credit is due.

ian curtis

my favorite review of Closer so far.

rainbows

One: this morning I admitted to Ryan that I liked "Bodysnatchers." I still think the rest of it is dull.

Two: My husband has a date tonight. Whoever is interested in bellying up to a bar (TBD) to drink beers with me should send me an email. Otherwise, I might go bowling.

Also, godammit, Cleveland. The hell.

This is our 1,600 post. Obviously, nothing like your SAT scores.

Ladies, we live in a society and society has rules and if we want to operate in this society we need to follow those rules. That means you can’t wander in off the street, all late in shit, hoping to get cauliflower ear or that staph infection that kills high school kids and not expect to get locked the fuck out.

Have fun at Galaxy Hut, you chugalugs.

state of the crazy people, puppies, etc, rambling

I don't have anything to blog about because besides driving to work, I haven't left my house since Sunday. We've been cooking actual meals and going to bed at reasonable elderhostelesque hours. All is calm-n-copasetic in the Pyggie household, save for the taste of rage I get every time I see a squirrel. Those little bastards are dead to me. BD is not doing his job protecting my hastily-purchased-afterthought H'ween decorations.

Lesse, how much more boring can I make myself sound. I recently bought a hat that makes me look like a young female Mao Zedong, without the whole being Asian thing. I got a new laptop @ work and now am farting around on Vista. I need new music recommendations to download (no donkey electronica) so I can stop listening to the same ridiculous choices I made while on the Vic a few weeks ago (NO SERIOUSLY YOU GUYS who downloaded ALL THIS TOAD THE WET SPROCKET) The D. IM'd me yesterday all upset because she had a dream that Jeff Tweedy died. At some point this past weekend, I made mention of how maybe I'd like to learn to play tennis and everyone took me seriously. I'm doing yoga tonight and I might die??????

Hrmph.

- photo detective

- puppy saver

- TAXI!

- PEOPLE. Cleveland is sooo going to clinch this thing, and then my loyalties will be split. Do I root for Colorado and the awesomeness that is Matt Holliday, or do I stick with Mr. Blake and therefore incur some serious text message wrath from rabid-Rockies-fanatic-friend Brian? I only know anything about CR because of his foaming at the mouth, anyways. Choices, choices. Also seriously factoring into my decision: the name "Jhonny." I think the way to decide this is to go back to the salary listings, and I will simply root for whichever team has the lesser payroll. Additionally, courtesy ILB: I seriously can't stand Dane Cook. *

- stupidest thing I've seen this morning. This single photo made me stupid-er in 5 seconds of glancation than watching an entire season of "Rock of Love." I don't think the previous sentence is even CLOSE to being gramatically correct, that's how stupid I now am.

- I have it on good authority that "Puppy Bowl" is being filmed right now and that the puppies have like, bodyguards.




* (and while we're discussing baseball, let's revisit this awesome quote from former White Sox (now with, according to Wikipedia, the Long Island Ducks) Carl Everett circa 2005ish or so: "God created the sun, the stars, the heavens and the earth, and then made Adam and Eve," Everett said last Friday, before the Red Sox lost two of three in Atlanta. "The Bible never says anything about dinosaurs. You can't say there were dinosaurs when you never saw them. Someone actually saw Adam and Eve. No one ever saw a Tyrannosaurus rex." YAY CARL EVERETT GREATEST AMERICAN HERO!

spidercricketpigs

Arrrghhhh, flashback re: these pieces of shit. I lived in a basement FULL of these effers for a year of my life. The N. thought they would jump into his gaping maw as he snored slept; thus, he blames their presence on why he never (ever) drove out to the wilds of Fairfax to stay at my house. And explains how I put 8 million commuter miles on my ever-breaking-down Volvo that year. I drove 66 twice a day for 365+ days, added on to my typical daily work commute. Pain. In. My. Asshole.

I blame his absence not on the cricket infestation, but on his sheer laziness and the fact that I catered to his every dude whim. Man, girls are chumps. I mean, even after I moved 2 miles away from him in the ARL (a house which involved infestations of other sorts: fleas, rats, a possum in the chimney, woodpeckers in the living room; i may have mentioned this 10000X before on the internet) I still had to sleep my ass at his grody boy-house every night.

But then a few years later we got married and that catering bullshit stopped immediately. Right? Right. Or something. I did take the dog for a walk this morning (first time in a month). Wife of the year!


Update on the mousepad situation: Sommer has found me a clear frontrunner. It involves Ghost Casey Novak (she's transparent!)

ratpad

Nerds of the online universe, I need yr help. I am in the market for a new mousepad. I have special requirements.

I am disgusting and eat at my desk and live in filth and germs and food particles. I don't wash my hands or wrists enough, apparently, if you'd see my once-white custom mousepad that the N. made me for my bday one year ("Vance Refrigeration - We Make Scranton a Cool Place to Live!")


1 - Nothing Disney. I suffered here at Current Workplace with a Disney mousepad for quite some time (the person who had my job before me loved Dumbo [?] and I was too lazy to replace it), and I can't do that to myself again.

2- Nothing light colored (reference above reasons)

3- I would consider a custom-made something, but I'm lazy so it can't be too diificult. Also, it can't be fabric (see #2, see above description of filthy work environment, etc.)

4- I do occasionally find great things on Etsy, but that A) site is so freakishly overwhelming sometimes, I don't even know where to begin; and B) SO. TWEE. And C) I hate wading through crap to get to the few real gems (I'm referencing jewelry here mostly, but you know what I mean. why does everyone in the universe make beaded stuff? stop.) There are a few awesome mousepads on there (i like the whistling octopus one) but I think, again, these are made of fabric. Sigh.

5- Ideally, you will find me a vinyl, wipeable, Law & Order SVU mousepad. *



Go forth, Internet, and bring me something suitable.



(* Found thus far on Ebay: "Property of Christopher Meloni XXL" teeshirt, several scanned photos/articles on CM from a gay publication, this, and my current favorite: "Stabler Bucks." Awesome. The only Chris Meloni mousepad for sale is indeed pretty sexy, but uses Comic Sans as a font and that's just not something I can abide by. Remember people: there are rules that go along witht his mousepad purchase.)

The Yodeler

I’m sure everyone has some cherished memory about grandma and Bob Barker/Price Is Right so I won’t bother with the boring yakety-yack about my old babysitter and why she and barker are the reason that I was terrified of Pope John Paul II when I was 5. But since today is Drew Carey’s first day, I figure he’s fair game.


The set: All the games are designed the same but the curtains hiding the prizes are now actively retro instead of just looking retro because they’re old. Big shapes of similar colors, disorienting flashing light, Boise State blue astro-turf on just about every surface. Standard PIR interior decorating.

Production: Did the director and cameramen retire too? They couldn’t find the new contestants when their names were called, one camera shot another camera and several times you could see backstage. Let’s tighten it up, fellas.

Carey: He’s a comedian so he’s funnier on the fly but he did a terrible job explaining what was going on with the rules. If you weren’t familiar with the games you would have had no idea how to play. For instance, Carey didn’t go over the rules of The Hiking Werner Von Trapp game, which is arguably the most complicated, until he had already asked the contestant for her first guess. And during the wheel spin, one guy walked away before he was done because Carey didn’t explain that his first spin didn’t count since it didn’t go all the way around.

He also needs to take more control of the contestants. One guy wandered off to see the new car up close before the game started and Carey’s Cuties or whatever they call the models had to shoo him away. Another woman was jumping up and down so much after winning $16,000 that she bit it on the shiny white floor and nearly broke her tailbone.

The whole show: Everyone who got called up on stage won so it looks like Carey pitched a prefect first game. In fact, the first lady to spin the wheel won $1000 so up to that point they had given away every possible dollar the producers could afford. And if the lady with the broken tail bone sues, she could walk away with more than just a new hot tub.

Bottom line: If Drew keeps the poop jokes to a minimum, things she be smooth sailing for grandma and hospital waiting rooms.

homecoming (?)

My weekend was fine, thanks for asking. I wore an orange sweater totally not on purpose, and then looked like the million and half other 19 year olds who attend your football games. Also, question: who wears ties to a sporting event, unless your own damn coach makes you and you are a freshman in high school and the administration is trying to impart some wisdom on class/make sure you grow into being a semi-responsible member of society? And uh, seersucker? And dresses? Jesus christ, people.

Otherwise, I laughed my ass off as my husband attended his first baby shower (swear to god). I suck at Mexican Golf, or whatever the game that E&K made up is called. It involves golfball nunchucks and PVC pipe. I played with a dog who was almost as cute as mine and 3x as well behaved.



Also we saw a sheephearding dog trial, which was great, and not just because people there were wearing fleece and dirty jeans. Now THAT is what you wear to a sporting event.

I have scored a Spoon ticket after my premature/immediate return of original tix because I was mad about the MPP mixup. Let this be a lesson - don't let emotions cloud yr concert judgement like that, people.

Also, yesterday I cleaned out three closets. There is nothing like spending the weekend at some hyper-organized friend's house (matching curtains and bedding? guest soap?) to make one realize that one lives like a frat boy.

In other news, baseball baseball baseball. That's kind of all I want to talk about. It was rainy and cold in Denver last night; Cleveland won thanks to Casey Blake's hottness, I think (a friend and i determined this weekend that one Mr. Casey Blake has a fine looking beard, and would be really good at the following: canoeing, chopping wood, living in Maine, eating Ben and Jerry's, and giving us ladies sexy piggy back rides through fall landscapes. Call me, Casey Blake!)

Okay, that's about it. October is the best month, no?

windup

Ordering a new pair of glasses online seemed like a good idea. I am blind, so so so blind I never wear glasses because it takes two full days for my eyes to adjust to the different kinds of focusing you have to do with glasses vs. my precious contacts. Also, glasses make delicate pale flesh behind my ears hurt. Also, I look like Hans Moleman.

It has taken over a month to get my goddamn order to be taken off hold. For a variety of reasons, first and foremost me being a moron who apparently can't measure her face correctly. Did you know your face needs to be measured for glasses? I guess I kind of knew it? But didn't think about it. And then every time said online retailer tried to inform me my measurements were wrong and my face is probalby not 2" wide, unless I am a Little or something, their emails went into spam filterland.

My final email was a bit curt. My bad, spammy online spectacle retailer. But according to cheapoglassesforsociallyawkwardhermits dotcom, as of yesterday, my glasses are in the post. Did they cost the promised $39 dollars? No internet, no they did not. They cost 75 bucks or so because I am special needs. but whatever. At least I don't have to go to Costco and partake of/in actual human interaction.

in other news: i've spent today planning fake vacations for the next three years of my life and eating sushi. i find in rainbows boring, i've downloaded a bunch of MP3s from morningside recently, and we're spending this weekend in Charlottesville reliving... someone's else youth. I didn't go to UVA.

Who wouldn’t want to watch a bunch of 30-year-old illiterate Longhorns playing some ex-con Gators?

At this point, any scheme designed to establish a new professional football league can be scientifically characterized as wolf-face crazy. But you know what? They may be on to something with this All-American Football League. I’m officially intrigued.

There’d be six teams, each of which is made up exclusively of alumni of powerhouse colleges who couldn’t crack the NFL. Michigan, Texas, Tennessee, Florida, Arkansas, and Alabama. Games in the spring, played either on the campus or nearby. Basically, a college an All-Star league

I didn’t go to a school with a respectable sports program and usually pay little attention to college football so I’ll probably stick with the NFL. But there is certainly an existing fan base large enough for this to work. I imagine other schools would be eager to join too, especially if it’s not an XFL* level debacle after the first kickoff. And I’m sure while the actual universities can’t be official sponsors, there’s no reason to be against it.

Verdict? Unlike the UFL, the AAFL is not completely laughable.



*Even though it was created in this decade, XFL paraphernalia is considered “vintage” on Ebay.

Something something sigur rus

Someone I trust on this whole deal described it as “kinda boring” and “droney electronica.”

Of course, I read that as “donkey electronica” and was suddenly very excited. Finally a Radiohead album I can get behind. Plus, donkey electronica is one of those google searches that get exactly one result.

the morons at fox!

What she says, via me. via the N.

God, blogs make me tired sometimes.

Grubs

The D and I misrepresented ourselves on Saturday and weaseled our way into the Green Festival at the DC Convo Center. It was kinda like the Army show that Milbank went to in the Post except a million percent opposite. Instead of foamy stress relieving hand grenades, kindly elderly ladies handed out free bags of dirt. Well, technically they were bags of compost. But if it had been me sitting at that exhibit I’d have yelled “Hey dirtbag!” to anyone walking by and if they turned, I’d have chucked it ‘em. Actually, I went through a phase of doing that when I was in elementary school but I didn’t bother putting the dirt into easily recyclable paper bags.

Being green is something I’m 100% behind when I don’t have to do anything that is more expensive than not being green. For instance, I passed on the $210 solar powered meesenger bag/cell phone charger. I’m also not really on board if it means doing something gross like drinking coffee that comes from beans that goats poop out. But if being green means being delicious and eating pounds of Real Raw Honey on Triscuits, then I say OK!


Going in I was sorta in the market for some new eco-friendly apparel. But who would have thought that retailers at a green living trade show would have had an agenda? Although most of the clothes were soft and supple to the touch (even the normally scratchy hemp-wear) every single article had some sort of pro-dirt/anti-Hummer message. In fact, other than the Pink Ladies railing against war, every booth had some sort of anti-Hummer message. If you wear these beads made from paper or use this giant solar array to cook ramon noodles or give the guy in the Ranger Rick costume a hug then you will offset ten minutes of Hummer driving. And in the off the chance that a t-shirt did have something non-Hummer related on it, then it had some huge ugly website address printed all over it.

Can’t a guy be pro-environment and wear irreverent T-shirts singing the accolades of 1930’s flamboyant bonne vivante actresses and not have a message?



Only if I design them myself.

boo.

I could talk at length about my weekend, but summing the whole experience up in a neat little package:

the visitors center in Mt. Airy, NC provides not only a wealth of information re: local bluegrass festivals, but also is a (free!) museum dedicated to Donna Fargo, Chang and Eng, Andy Griffith, and duck decoy woodcarving.

Things we no longer support (based on our unwillingness to retrieve the magnets that fall off our cars after we go through the Jiffy Lube car wash.)

The USA
Our Troops
Our Canadian Troops
Arlington Soccer
Arlington Little League
St Agnes School
Breast Cancer Research
Darfur
Virginia Tech
The Nats
The Temple Rodef Shalom
Our local swimming pool
Giant animal footprints or maybe Blackwater USA Security Service*














*If you’ve ever driven to the Outer Banks from any point north then you’ve passed the Blackwater HQ in North Carolina. It’s in Moyock, one of the first towns you hit driving across the border from Virginia. Their main campus building is visible from the road but most folks can’t see it because of the advanced cloaking technology they employ.

I guess if you consider 395 a park, then yes, it is park-side.

The radio and the web logs were both atwitter this morning because some condos in Old Town Alexandria were being auctioned off at reduced rates. Something like $100,00 below the normal price. That sounds like an amazing deal. And it would be great to have some new neighbors in Alexandria. Unfortunately, the group running the auction is using an incredibly liberal use of the tag “Old Town.”

Let’s consider that the Banana Republic at the corner of King and Washington Streets is the center of Alexandria. Let’s also say I live in this advertised Parkside at Alexandria and need a new flowing A-line skirt in a grey soft wool-blend flannel for a business/casual dress rehearsal dinner I’m attending Friday. That should be no problem since I live in Old Town, right?

Almost. Google Earth says Parkside is a little over 4 miles away from the BR, as the crow files. But don’t think I’m not going to pull the same stunt now when we sell out place since we’re 3 miles away. Hell, we live on the waterfront. In the Torpedo factory even! Also, George Washington wrote the Articles of Confederation in our guest bedroom.

blood tracks water

Unlike Tom, I’m an early adopter of razor technologies. In my 16 years of face shaving I’ve used a single, double, double/medicated aloe strip, triple, triple/medicated aloe strip, vibrating triple medicated aloe strip, quadruple, quintuple and quintuple + 1 bladed razors. The hidden cameras that Gillette installed in my bathroom picked up on this recently, so they sent me their latest 5 bladed model for free.

I tried it but when the single complimentary cartridge wore out, I didn’t buy any replacement. Both 4 and 5 bladed razors are too much for my fair face. Plus they are to expensive. I know these are sharpened pieces of steel, honed to their finest edges by sexiest Gillette scientists miles below the surface in underground caves. But there is a tipping point when it comes to how many pieces of metal should be dragged across your delicate face.

That number is 3. Someday they will stop making my tri-blades and kids will mock me for using anything less then 12. And by kids, I mean Tom.

wknd

1. If I wasn't still pissed about the Great Blowout of 2002 I partook in with their circulation department (I am all for supporting music businesses / mags / publications / whatevblahs, but their shit was being run by benzodiazepine'd-out sloths back then), now would be the time where I might mention in passing the bands announced for CMJfest this year.

2. I am hitting the road for NC with my folks at the asscrack of light tomorrow AM. My husband, intelligent man, is not partaking in/of this little adventure. So far, the trip outline is centered mostly on alcohol availability, as is my family's MO. With a healthy sidetrip to Mayberry. Yes, I'm sitting in the backseat of my folks car for 8 hours just to go drink in Mayberry. I feel 15 again!

The first time my mom tells me "I'm such a pretty girl, but I should really start wearing my hair out of my face", I'm calling quits.

i forgot my shit shirt

Courtesy CatAn's IM notification of "guess what's playing on WOXY right now go listen!"... I just downloaded the Wren's cover of REM's Nightswimming. For those of you who're fans of both, and such. ("stereogum's drive XV - an automatic for the people tribute"). May I also recommend Dappled Cities "Try Not to Breathe." Probably anyone/thing could cover that song and I'd still get teary, tho.

Now if I can only find copies of when Charles Bissell was covering Okkervil River (in concert in DC, I think the last time I saw them???), I'm set. Set for... something.

what, no hug for me?

So, in an hour i get to go home and undergo some sort of V.I.P. torture therapy, written out in bubble handwriting by my physical therapist, who when he was charged with simply FMFUB (fixing my fucked up back) I liked, and now have decided: hey big blonde swimmer PT guy, why do you want to make me cry? I cannot believe I have to go spend an hour of my life alternating between boiling buckets of lava hot water and ice slush just to get swelling down (why is it still swelling 3 weeks later? I DON'T KNOW. Because i am old and injuries don't heal fast anymore? Because I might not have any ligaments left? Because I'm a giant whiny baby who wants to wear shoes to work again, so she doesn't have to bear the judgemental under-the-breath-on-the-sidewalk wrath of certain K St lawresses [lawtrixes?]-n-interns, pieces of crap in their d'orsay heels* and pencil skirts, who look at my flip-slops and limp with some sort of mega-disdain? listen, Project Bitchway: My foot's broken. from kicking somone's ass when they made a comment about "how ugly flip-flops are and esp. in October OMG." Kindly Fuck. Off. I'm hurt, and i hate you) on the top of my foot. I could be somewhere doing something important tonight, like drinking. A lot. At a bar. Or walking the dog, which I haven't done in a month now and I'm pretty certain that fact alone is leading to imminent divorce, since the dog's had runny craps for 3 nights straight. Probably from eating trash. That I probably left out.

Also, my calf is all crampy and fucked up from overcompensating and standing for hours at concerts. Which maybe I shouldnt do anymore. (CRIES)

Have I mentioned that in about a month, I'm off to watch my one of my closest friends run a marathon and I'm gonna be the fat one taking taxis to meet up with her at certain milemarkers? Because, yes. Maybe I'll use a cane. I'm like that one lady doctor who used to be on ER, except not a doctor.

Here's the lesson in all of this: don't sprain your ankle. It sounds like the fucking wussiest injury ever, right? Even to me, I type it and then make fun of myself. But then here we are, aren't we.


* i only know this word from catalogs. thank you j. crew, always getting mailed to my house even though i havent bought anything but bridesmaid dresses from you since the late 90s.

Of all our friends, I was voted most likely to have an affair! By my wife!

The conversation in which The G learned her daily nugget about moonshine was related to an earlier one where several people were discussing their hillbilly cred. You can help decide who among us is the heir to the Brotherhood of the Crimson Nape’s vast NASCAR fortune.

• When Subject A visits his/her family he/she discovers this:

It’s exactly what it says it is.

• When subject B’s spouse dies, he/she claims, “I’m going to take the money from your insurance policy and get new boobs. Just like my grandmother.”

• When Subject C and his/her spouse have children, theirs will be the first born in wedlock. The child will have 22 bastard cousins.

Who will it be? A, B, or C? Only you can decide.

bball

187 text messages later from my friend B, completely flipping out about his beloved Colorado, we finally had to go to sleep. It was the 11th inning and it was getting BORING, y'alls. Walk, strike out, walk, strike out. Etc. 8-8 forevs. The only fun part was every time Khalil Greene would come up to the plate, so I could start quoting Fast Times at Ridgemont High again and annoy the everliving shit out of my husband. Obviously, we gave up to soon, since Jamey Carroll and his boys came back to win in the 13th or something ridiculous like that, according to SportsCenter. Also: holy crap, the goatees. It was Battle for the Playoffs: Facial Hair. Giles vs. Helton.

okay, that's all about that.

Also, who would have guessed that after 7 years of forced media isolation Jenna would be so 100% boring as fuck.

The following email went into my spam folder so I missed it until it was too late.

Dear Suburbs,

So. You want to put giant potholes in our roads and make our cops work overtime and not dedicate funding for our Metro and fill our hippest neighborhoods with d-bag college drunks eating slices of pizzas larger than their faces? And then not pay a commuter tax? Fine. Then we’re going to shut down all the bridges and most of the roads for some second-rate triathlon. Then we’re going to allow every group to have their fair or festival or symposium in honor of their heritage or books so even if you do make across the river it’ll take you an hour to drive 4 blocks and there will be no parking. Plus, there will be 100,000 people enjoying free walking tours all over town so forget about turning at any intersection. We hope you have fun this weekend not getting to where you want to go.

Kind regards,

The District

That was pretty much the deal on Saturday. There were two things I wanted to do: play flag football and eat loads of fried fish. The first was stone cold canceled because of the triathlon. Boo. But its totally understandable since both my football league and any other public athletic event in the District (outside the Marine Corps marathon) is atrociously run. However, I figured that my friends 3rd annual fish fry at 2pm would be safe.

Not the case. It took an hour-thirty to get to his place near National Cathedral – a trip that should take about 20 minutes. BOOOOO.


On the flip side, it was Cathedral Day. I left the party with about 5 pounds of fried pike in my stomach and thought it would be a good idea to climb the 7 flights up to the observation level of the Cathedral. You think meat sweats are bad. I almost threw up on the grave of Edgar Allen Poe or Sir Walter Raleigh or Gerald Ford or whoever is buried in the crypts of National Cathedral.



There was some pretty neat stuff. But the best part was the guy with the telescope pointed at the Vader gargoyle. I’d always heard that it was up there but never had binoculars when I was nearby. Plus I assumed it was huge. It’s not. It’s a little guy. And it’s way the hell up there.



The above shot was brought to you by science. Just stick the lens of your $200 digital camera into the eyepiece of a $3000 telescope and you get a pretty clear picture.

Also, Ranger Rick iz n ur skies, garding ur cathedrals.

here is where i talk about bands

catan: i needed to leave for a minute. everyone in there is tall, hot, and nuts
the g: ... and not in a good way.

Show last night was fantastic, even if it was ass-to-crotch crowded, 1000 degrees, and the RnR Hotel was smelling vaguely of cauliflower. At least their sound is decent. OR's set was awesome- a great mix of old and new, and they didn't play "Red" even after 80 or so drunkards screamed out for it, which is good because I'm sick of that song. Their "Westfall" was bizonkers. The shortest, most excited Asian OR fanboy ever * stood next to me and sang precisely along to every single lyric, which made me happy cause I spotted him earlier beggin for tix outside. I witnessed family members drinking beer and out til midnight on a Sunday (babysitters of the suburbs, lemme hear you holla). I met an internet dude both Catherine and I were previously convinced didn't actually exist in real life. I didn't drink that much, so I am functioning this morning.

Oh, also at pre-show beers-n-sandwiches, we learned several kind of adorable anecdotes about damian jurado's kid AND that the world is really small (esp. when Austin, TX is concerned.) Everyone knows everyone.

All in all, great night. In conclusion, my foot hurts. Completely unrelated: I seriously can't believe I missed the Long Winters a few months ago. God, stupid.



* (K: can we talk about that kid?
me: HAHAHHA. I LOVED HIM KIND OF
K: i was trying to describe him and his friend to K&J - did you hear when he yelled out 'that was ABSURD!!!"
me: ha. no?
K: and then his friend turned to him and said "YOU'RE absurd"
K: he was great.
"THE SNARE!!!! THE SNARE!!! if we cover this song, we HAVE to do the SNARE!"
that kid can die happy now.)

the only six things i know about the game

THE BASICS OF FOOTBALL
by: the G.

1. Rex Grossman sucks
2. Everyone in this town is still bizonkers for the Redskins even though Daniel Snyder is a total douche.
3. Boise State uses the "statue of liberty" play.
4. Everett is the guy who got hurt really bad
5. Plaxico Burruss has a name that cracks me up every time I hear it, and I once referred to him as "the guy who's name sounds like 'plastic' but with an 'x'."
6. Also, Rex Grossman sucks.

dinner parties

good: leftover 2amys for lunch, a really nice and sympathetic waitress.

better: learning how to distinguish good moonshine from bad moonshine: "the secret is to shake it. if there are big, floaty bubbles - don't touch the stuff. too much methane."

Also Jens Lekman = Jay Garner

The last three times someone has asked me who sings the new Ipod Nano commercial I told them it was some lady named Feith.

How I wish it were so.

misc.

- Today on the car ride in, the N decided "Myanmar" sounds like the name of something delicious. I, hwver, have decided it sounds instead like the name of a cat. Nermal, Heathcliff, Myanmar.

- Hey, way too late on this for all of you: but Lawrence Wright's My Trip to Al-Qaeda at the Kennedy Center? Really, really good.

- New York City

- 7 year trade-up

- Polly Jean Harvey, 93ish? (from unfogged)

Where was I. Hotel Chevalier* is free for download on ITunes, so I'm gonna go grab me some of that before having my second cup of coffee and conducting the most awkward business phone call in the history of mankind. Take care, Internet.



* update: jason schwartzman officially creeps me out.

Iowa: part 2 - Tiny Town

Golden retrievers
Grapes
Rex Grossman
United Airlines
Dolly Parton
Hot summer days
Thanksgiving
Eskimo college scholarships
Carole King
The Coal Miner’s Daughter
Volkswagen Passats
Van Morrison
Beer in containers greater than 12 ounces

The list above is just a malnourished fraction of the topics you can bring up around the G that will result in her responding, “I have a friend whose mom raises miniature horses.” She claims that they are bred as helper horses and it’s one of her favorite avenues of conversation. I assume being a helper horse means they eat small amounts of unwanted hay you may having lying around or possibly quell tiny riots. She also claims that they wear slippers painted to look like tennis shoes so they won’t scuff supermarket floors. But the G is a known fabulist.

The thing is, even though she loves talking about them, I’m not sure that my dear wife has had much personal exposure to miniature horses. The idea of a shrunken version of any draft animal is obviously charming. And since the G is a girl and all girls love horses and all horses can be manipulated to produce weensy-ized versions of their parents, it would be natural for her to become infatuated. Or so argued my college Logic professor who looked like a Fraggle.

I, on the other hand, have intimate familiarity with miniature horses seeing that I have just returned from an Iowa county fair. I have looked into the face of these stupid things and can tell you without reservation that they are by no means cute or worthy of anyone’s adoration.



First, they have strange hair. It feels like a dog’s fur after it’s been shaved for the summer so it won’t get hot. It’s dry to the touch but still looks somehow oily. Almost like if it’s been greased up with its own canine shame.

Second, they have weird eyes. They’re not soulless like a shark’s or a possessed doll’s but they look dead nonetheless. They didn’t react to any movement in front of their faces like hand waving or carrot nubs or fried cheesecakes. And most of the one’s I saw had some serious discharge and subsequent crust-ation.



Finally, they clearly look ______*. It’s a word you’re not allowed to call people anymore although I assume it still enjoys popularity in middle and high schools. And if you use this there will always be one girl nearby who has a brother and she scolds you for being insensitive. You know the word I’m talking about. Miniature horse’s heads aren’t shaped like other horses’ heads. They’re bulgy in weird places. Whatever is genetically influenced to achieve itsy-bitsyness also clearly causes some sort of retardation.

Fine. You made me say it. Miniature horses look retarded. I’m not proud of feeling this way.

Their images beg for photo manipulation. Below is an example of the only acceptable use of miniature horses, as far as Pygmalions are concerned: baby unicorns. Not miniature unicorn only baby unicorns.



Only a fraction of the distaste for these abominations can fall to the horses themselves. The rest clearly falls on the breeders. But I haven’t determined what is worse, the fact that they are bred into stupidity to be judged and mocked or that they are actually forced to drag their captors around.



This seems wildly unfair.


*The N: Can I call a horse retarded?
The G: i think it would be funnier the farther you take trying to not say "retarded"
but yes
that horse
looks retarded

crank dat engineering bylaw review

As i have reported via IM to anyone who would listen to my silent internet screams this morning: I am spending the day in a frigid meeting room full of older white neckties, 20 of em or so, all with varying levels of low-grade autism.

Paying real attention would make my head explode, so instead I've spent the morning reading about the Padres MB's knee injury (dumbass), and emailing my brother about lepruchans in Alabama. They exist.

say no more, shark eyes

Also somewhat peculiar is the fact that buried in one of Anderson’s monogrammed suitcases is 10,000 euros in cash—about $14,000—an amount that may or may not be legal to carry, and that was given to the director by Bill Murray, who asked that the money be “delivered to Luigi.”

Okay, sure, Wes Anderson. Great.

But. Good God, how much do I love Bill Murray.

I don't think I'm spoiling anything, but here goes.

Have you ever wanted to express such love and devotion and earnest excitement about something/someone, that you start hyperventiliating a tad and then get teary-eyed and can't talk? It's jut altogether too overwhelming?

Go see D-Wars. Now. Just leave work. I'll be the first to admit that the film raised more questions than it answered concerning dragons, Korea, the arms race, young love, tattoos, roommates named Britney, the power of the press, "poor man's Chris Tucker, if he was fat and lazy, and still the best actor in a film", edamame or perhaps umami (unclear), Jedis, the bombing of downtown LA, etc. but oh God, who cares. I laughed, I cried, I clapped loudly several times at the best repeated line ever. Also, I think I accidentally kicked the toddler sitting in front of me in the back of the head several times with my giant clubfoot. My apologies.

Not Bully

I’m guessing the Nat’s are going to argue that they wanted to create some bond between the traditions of RFK and the new stadium* by having Teddy Roosevelt not win the president’s race. Fine.



However, the fact that he didn’t participate in the race was remarkably intolerable. He didn’t even show up to the stadium until well into the later innings! Sure it was nice to win the game but the people want Teddy. I didn’t hear the 30,000+ fans chanting any one else’s name at the game.


*Have they announced a name for the new place yet?

i have photoshop at work, hi.

i am a monster:



my halloween costume: lily allen lifting her spaceman face shield, on loop.

Okkervil Tix - i gottem

Okay, hi. I can't do basic math, and somehow ended up buying an extra ticket (I think) for the 9/30 sold out Okkervil show at Rock and Roll hotel. Catherine also has an extra as well. We are tandem-blogging this windfall of ticket availibility. (windfall = 2)

I need to confirm I'm not totally dopey and have promised this to someone else already, but I'm pretty sure it's up for grabs (and Cat's ticket is def. available.) Want it? Face value, I don't make money on these things.

Email me: Pyginablanket AT gmail dot com.

you should see the ads

things discussed at great length this morning via gchat:

- Beards, beard championships, beards made of chia seeds, growing your own salad toppings on your face, redwood tree toppling, types of lava

- Okkervil River, flair bartending

- Consensual sex where the girl takes drugs beforehand as to be unconscious during the act: kinky-and-terrifying, or boring-and-terrifying?

- S's coworker Tim's investment strategies.

- my anti-nut philosophy

UPDATED: Oh. And I forgot the chat about vampire peacocks. How could I overlook that, you ask? I don't remember.

a month away!

me: ... unrelated... did you know that Target is selling adult Hermione Whore costumes? for halloween? ?"

Amanda: hahahaha WHAT?

me: because they are

Amanda: holy shit

me: and they are labeled "Wanda witch." dude. you are fooling no one, Target.

Amanda: hahahahahhahahahha. you must photograph this, and blog about it. thanks.

me: done. i need to go try it on in person, don't i? dammit. OMG ALSO WHORE LIBRARIAN!!!

Amanda: 'member that time we were in prison, and our jump suits had flare pants and a halter top?

Boji

Iowa. Seriously. You’re perhaps a relatively normal state. But probably not. Exhibit number one: my father.

Exhibit 2-100 are to follow. And I will try to do this in the chronological order in which they happened.

#2

Generally, I’m pro-statue. However, my opposition to artists creating likenesses of children is well documented. Child statues are creepy. The proportions are always incorrect, the poses are generally unnatural and anytime the children are interacting with an adult there is always be perverse presentiment about it.

For instance, I once drove 4 hours out my way to visit the only town in American that still sells bottles of the original cane sugar recipe of Dr. Pepper. I got there late and the museum was closed. But the statue out front was on full display.



I can’t remember who the guy is, maybe the good Dr. Alphonso J. Pepper M.D. himself. Or maybe some other weird Texan. Either way, besides the unquestionably painful height of his pants there is nothing really wrong with him or his statue. The child, however, is terrifying.

It’s similar situation with this statue we found in Iowa.



I have no complaints with the captain statute*, even with his Bolton mustache. (Ok, the giant steering wheel belt buckle is bit put-offish.) But that fraking little girl. Sure the first few steps will be awkward when her mystically animated body tries to free itself from the metal base plate. Once she gets going we’ll have to lure her into a lava pit just to slow her down.

Maybe it’s the hair. Is it hard to render long hair in metal replica form? Artists? Scientists? I don’t know and I’m both.

Notice I didn’t mention the boy. While I am aggressively anti-child statue I am 100% behind any statue that memorializes chocolate covered ice cream bars on sticks rolled in nuts.



The statue here is a tribute to not only the good Cap’n but to the Nutty Bar, which was reportedly created in this Iowa “resort” town. I am therefore only one-third against the installation as opposed the normal two-thirds.

*In honor of talk like a pirate day:

This boat captain statue walks into a bar and orders a drink. The bartender brings him a beer but asks, “What’s the deal with the steering wheel on your pants?”

The captain statue replies, “YAARRGG!! I don’t know. But it’s driving me nuts!”




OMFG that is funny!

Ridley makes me late, again

I heard or read or made up somewhere that NYC has a law that limits the number of construction projects allowed on one way streets that travel in the same direction. It’s intended to allow drivers coming in or out of the city during rush hour an opportunity to find a less hindered alternate route.

I’m not sure if DC has a similar law. But if it does it needs to extend past construction projects. Let’s say they are tearing down a building on 20th Street and have two lanes blocked off.



Then Russell Crowe shouldn’t be allowed to come in and block off 18th for some bloated, globe spanning suspense picture that will dismay your senses with its austere realism and exhaust you with its passion.

On the plus side, I got to watch them tear down that building on 20th for, like, 10 minutes. I’ll miss that Zero’s subs. But the rainbow was pretty.

also, i am back at the office today conducting important workstuffs

So SM ("asian experience" is a flavor? what does that taste like, exactly?) was unaware of Steven Seagal's energy drink production, which naturally led back to re-investigation on the Interhos. Upon revisiting lightningdrink.com; we discovered that there is a helpful icon in the lower left hand corner that tells curious consumers such as ourselves that one can find Lightning Bolt Energy Drink at fine 7-11 retailers. No need to order online! Good news for all.

OH! All this came up because of her hat tip of the millenium:

SM: if i still had a personal blog, i'd be tempted to do something about these photos (scroll down to the ones with the kids)

me: oh good lord. oh. that is outstanding.

SM: he's totally going to drop kick those kids into submission. Steven Seagal is angry! i love the Ukrainian media.

me: Steven Seagal is pouting!

I am on hour 58 of a cable-television-watching marathon. if i don't get out of this house soon? cutting. some. bitches.

the part where the astronaut turns out to be Lily Allen? Funny every time, I swear.

pyg in an aircast

I suppose it was due. I've spent 800 billable hours at emergency rooms with the N (shoulder, teeth, ankle, knee, full body blow, concussion, staples, the list goes on), so it's only fair that he hang with me in Alexandria INOVA emergency room til 2:30 AM, watchin' on the Eukaneuba Dog Show and blowing up medical gloves into what resembled rooster crowns (all the better to perform the "Arrested Development" Gob dance with.) The Xray tech's name was Bob and he asked me if "I fell off a boat, too?" (what? no. who boats in the middle of the night? what? confused? huh?) Also, there was a nurse on duty who had made soup for the overnight ER staff and was serving it from a CAULDRON (seriously). The N told me they were making my potions and poultices. Instead, they gave me Vicodin. I LOVE YOU, ER! I cannot relay to you how much funnier yr little pill bottle made the Reg & Kelly 20th anniversary show this morning.

Besides all this last night, my spouse and the remainder of my local family had a plane to catch to Iowa in less than twelve hours, so why NOT snap an ankle or two. Awesome timing, dipshit!

I am strongly considering hooking the dogs into some sort of chariot apparatus to pull me to Galaxy Hut for grilled cheese. Anyhooos, my stellar vball season is officially over and I have crutches that are one inch too big for me since I live in a family of giants.

More later, maybe even pictures. I'm off to cut some sweet deals with uninsured people with busted ribs for my extra Vics. Capps says pills are worth his other ribs. I can make my own woman out of them, so I'm considering his offer.