The G: but goats are our future. bears are our past, capps.
Kriston: i should think not. your jet goat is some kind of ron paul internet phenomenon.
The G: goats believe they can fly, like R kelly.
The Pygs would like to state, for the record, that koalas are indeed cute. So are pandas. And polars.
But we here at PIAB mostly stay away from Bear Contests completely. A reminder to vote Pro Goat in '08. Intrepid reporter also S. comments : "hi, goats climb trees."
Goats for the future! Goats climb trees! Goats believe in the space program!
Friday, January 25, 2008
dessert/desert
Those frosted sugar cookie things that come in packages of 12 from the bakery at Safeway? Nast. Are they even baked? Seems to me these sugarbombs are mostly composed of raw flour and butter and splenda, then smoothed into a puck and frosted with delicious pink frosting. and sprinkles.
They are the most disgusting two of anything I have eaten today.
They are the most disgusting two of anything I have eaten today.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Bombs away
Three things about old things.
I called Grandma on Saturday and the entire conversation revolved around me growing up. Not in the past tense, mind you, and there was no reminiscing about my childhood. She thinks I need to grow up and start acting my age. Unsaid, but understood, was that this wish extends to the Governess as well.
--------------------------
Why is fishmonger still a word? All the other –monger ending words have new and contemporary replacements.
Costermonger - grocer
Whoremonger - pimp
Warmonger – hawk
Ironmonger – General Motors
Rumormonger – blogger
Cheesemonger – cheese making blogger
Woodmonger – rednecks from out past where Rt 66 ends who drive by your parents house on Sundays and offer to cut down their trees
------------------------
Listen, I’m not a monster movie guy. I’m a zombie/vampire movie guy. But I do know that to make a successful monster, you can’t have it vary wildly in size throughout the film. See The Hulk.
ATTENTION. I AIM TO “SPOIL” CLOVERFIELD AFTER THIS POINT.
Through the entire movie, the Jjbramstein monster is giant. We are led to believe it’s at least Statue of Liberty big or 39 stories big based on things that happen off camera. It’s also big enough to take the majority of a B-2’s Mark 82 dumb bomb payload directly to the spinal column and survive. And it reacts to this attack by taking down a 50+ story building and knocking helicopter circling at several hundred feet out of the sky.
Yet…
Yet when it shows up to Central Park and kills Hud, its about 40 feet tall, tops. A motionless Hud should have been too small for the monster we’d so far seen for the entire movie to have even notice.
To illustrate further –
On the right, Hud prior to an incredibly violent helicopter crash that should have killed everyone on board. On the left, Hud after.
Imagine standing over a single Nerd candy on the floor. Now try to bend over and snatch it in your teeth in one quick dart.
Versus…
Imagine sitting at a table with a generic Cobra officer in front of you. Now bite that.
Other than that one small fault, I found nothing wrong with Cloverfield. It was a cinematic tour de force, genre reinventing film, the jokes about character soiling themselves were off the hook and the wildly unstable camera movement certainly didn’t cause headaches in me or nausea in my already woozy wife.
I called Grandma on Saturday and the entire conversation revolved around me growing up. Not in the past tense, mind you, and there was no reminiscing about my childhood. She thinks I need to grow up and start acting my age. Unsaid, but understood, was that this wish extends to the Governess as well.
--------------------------
Why is fishmonger still a word? All the other –monger ending words have new and contemporary replacements.
Costermonger - grocer
Whoremonger - pimp
Warmonger – hawk
Ironmonger – General Motors
Rumormonger – blogger
Cheesemonger – cheese making blogger
Woodmonger – rednecks from out past where Rt 66 ends who drive by your parents house on Sundays and offer to cut down their trees
------------------------
Listen, I’m not a monster movie guy. I’m a zombie/vampire movie guy. But I do know that to make a successful monster, you can’t have it vary wildly in size throughout the film. See The Hulk.
ATTENTION. I AIM TO “SPOIL” CLOVERFIELD AFTER THIS POINT.
Through the entire movie, the Jjbramstein monster is giant. We are led to believe it’s at least Statue of Liberty big or 39 stories big based on things that happen off camera. It’s also big enough to take the majority of a B-2’s Mark 82 dumb bomb payload directly to the spinal column and survive. And it reacts to this attack by taking down a 50+ story building and knocking helicopter circling at several hundred feet out of the sky.
Yet…
Yet when it shows up to Central Park and kills Hud, its about 40 feet tall, tops. A motionless Hud should have been too small for the monster we’d so far seen for the entire movie to have even notice.
To illustrate further –
On the right, Hud prior to an incredibly violent helicopter crash that should have killed everyone on board. On the left, Hud after.
Imagine standing over a single Nerd candy on the floor. Now try to bend over and snatch it in your teeth in one quick dart.
Versus…
Imagine sitting at a table with a generic Cobra officer in front of you. Now bite that.
Other than that one small fault, I found nothing wrong with Cloverfield. It was a cinematic tour de force, genre reinventing film, the jokes about character soiling themselves were off the hook and the wildly unstable camera movement certainly didn’t cause headaches in me or nausea in my already woozy wife.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Remember the Tit...
Having vowed to play in all possible weather conditions, I showed up in five layers of clothing for a football game on Sunday morning. The Sunday morning of 10 degree temperature and frozen nose airs. Playing on icy mud in cleats is no different than playing on asphalt in cleats and I have the shooting back pain and swelling to prove it. And again, pineapple juice has done dick. If your keeping score: industrial strength male injuries – 2, crackpot internet theories about exotic fruit juices – 0.
I knew that five was the proper number of layers since I’d tested different combination during a dog walk earlier that morning. We hiked through the park behind TC Williams and while he chased squirrels, I caught up on Alexandria history. Dotting the paths are small signs the recount the unknown tales of the city’s past. For instance, there were Indians and freed slaves. And sugar plantations. And sinful outdoor sex acts.
Props to the TC student and his learned use of the thesaurus. Back in high school, I would have gone an opposite and baser direction when looking for salty graffiti synonyms.
Minding the cold, I hoped this wasn’t a recent copulation. It probably wasn’t, though, since someone’s raggedy ass would still be frozen to that sign.
PS – If you actually want to remember the Titans, you better swing down to King Street soon. While a new building stands next-door, the school from the movie is almost completely torn down.
PPS – contrary to what the G may remembers, Hayden Whatsherface and Kate Bosworth were both in Remember the Titans. Hayden played the daughter of White Coach. Kate played Racist Girlfriend #1.
Rather too comfortably, I might add.
I knew that five was the proper number of layers since I’d tested different combination during a dog walk earlier that morning. We hiked through the park behind TC Williams and while he chased squirrels, I caught up on Alexandria history. Dotting the paths are small signs the recount the unknown tales of the city’s past. For instance, there were Indians and freed slaves. And sugar plantations. And sinful outdoor sex acts.
Props to the TC student and his learned use of the thesaurus. Back in high school, I would have gone an opposite and baser direction when looking for salty graffiti synonyms.
Minding the cold, I hoped this wasn’t a recent copulation. It probably wasn’t, though, since someone’s raggedy ass would still be frozen to that sign.
PS – If you actually want to remember the Titans, you better swing down to King Street soon. While a new building stands next-door, the school from the movie is almost completely torn down.
PPS – contrary to what the G may remembers, Hayden Whatsherface and Kate Bosworth were both in Remember the Titans. Hayden played the daughter of White Coach. Kate played Racist Girlfriend #1.
Rather too comfortably, I might add.
Friday, January 18, 2008
even the dog squad showed up!
Last to comment on Corey Worthington, Teen Heartthrob of the Year, but I'd like to thank him for my new gmail signature. I am never not going to use "I suggest you take a long hard look at yourself." "I have. Everyone has. They love it."
Additionally: in 1000% agreement with ABalk's comment on this being probably the easiest/best Halloween costume ever. If only Fickeween was tomorrow.
Additionally: in 1000% agreement with ABalk's comment on this being probably the easiest/best Halloween costume ever. If only Fickeween was tomorrow.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Dear Library Patron: Don't print GAO reports out on the color printer.
It was impossible to forget that the Expo was sponsored by Channel 4 since their booth and displays were front and center when you walked in. There was also a 30 foot tall inflatable Channel 4 logo and a guy in a peacock suit terrorizing children.
Of all the lines we could have stood in to get free junk, the longest was the one that started immediately when you stepped off the escalator and ended in Bob Ryan’s lap. Well, technically not his lap since he was standing behind a waist high desk, but at least right up in his grill. Seriously, the queue was Kings Dominion Shockwave circa 1986 long, minus the blunt force head trauma but plus the feelings of nausea. Your reward for patience was an autograph from Ryan, Jim Vance, a certain sports anchor with whom I may have attended college and have pictures to prove it, and the beautiful Doreen Gentzler.*
If the line had been Kings Dominion Shockwave circa 2007 long or a line to the Doreen Gentzler kissing booth, I may have considered it. But a chance to meet the #2 Morning Traffic Reporter was not worth any line torture. So the D and I, wandered around had the adventures I mentioned earlier.
We was at a booth we had ignored earlier because it was extolling the virtues of walking or eating healthy or some nonsense, when I noticed a pleasing looking figure sitting by himself with absolutely no line of people trying to talk to him. He was so close, in fact, that I had to take few steps backwards to really get a grasp of who he was. I said to my sister, probably too loudly, “Is that Jared?”
Sure enough.
His handler saw us staring and asked if we wanted to meet him. Since I ‘d forced the D to stalk down McGruff the Crime Dog for an earlier picture, she said it was my turn to pose with a demi-celebrity. I introduced myself as a big fan of his work with legitimate appreciation but quickly realized I had no follow up compliment. What do you say to a guy who’s notoriety was obtained after losing half of himself 10 years ago? “Congratulations for not putting it back on?”
Actually, that is exactly what I ended up saying. He stared silently for a moment and then looked down to start signing an autographed photo. With all confidence quickly evaporated, I asked for a picture and tried to scurry on my way. But as I was leaving I noticed a pair of his old, giant-sized jeans on the table. I asked if I could wear them, but was told by Jared’s people that while I could pose with them, I could not try them on since they were on loan from the Smithsonian.
Okay. That very last part isn’t true. But I still wasn’t allowed to wear them.
So we left again because we were late for our appointment to kick the guy in the peacock costume in the crotch.
*While looking up the spelling of Gentzler’s name, Google Firefox tried to suggest the name Doreen Virtue. I ignored it a first but went back later in the hopes that it was the stage name of a porn star. Even better. She's kinda a big deal. She's the world's most renowned practitioner of Angel Therapy.
“DOCTOR Doreen Virtue is a spiritual doctor of psychology and a fourth-generation metaphysician” who believes “everyone has guardian angels, and these angels perform God's will of peace for us all.”
It’s like The Secret but with more fat, porcelain cherubs.
Of all the lines we could have stood in to get free junk, the longest was the one that started immediately when you stepped off the escalator and ended in Bob Ryan’s lap. Well, technically not his lap since he was standing behind a waist high desk, but at least right up in his grill. Seriously, the queue was Kings Dominion Shockwave circa 1986 long, minus the blunt force head trauma but plus the feelings of nausea. Your reward for patience was an autograph from Ryan, Jim Vance, a certain sports anchor with whom I may have attended college and have pictures to prove it, and the beautiful Doreen Gentzler.*
If the line had been Kings Dominion Shockwave circa 2007 long or a line to the Doreen Gentzler kissing booth, I may have considered it. But a chance to meet the #2 Morning Traffic Reporter was not worth any line torture. So the D and I, wandered around had the adventures I mentioned earlier.
We was at a booth we had ignored earlier because it was extolling the virtues of walking or eating healthy or some nonsense, when I noticed a pleasing looking figure sitting by himself with absolutely no line of people trying to talk to him. He was so close, in fact, that I had to take few steps backwards to really get a grasp of who he was. I said to my sister, probably too loudly, “Is that Jared?”
Sure enough.
His handler saw us staring and asked if we wanted to meet him. Since I ‘d forced the D to stalk down McGruff the Crime Dog for an earlier picture, she said it was my turn to pose with a demi-celebrity. I introduced myself as a big fan of his work with legitimate appreciation but quickly realized I had no follow up compliment. What do you say to a guy who’s notoriety was obtained after losing half of himself 10 years ago? “Congratulations for not putting it back on?”
Actually, that is exactly what I ended up saying. He stared silently for a moment and then looked down to start signing an autographed photo. With all confidence quickly evaporated, I asked for a picture and tried to scurry on my way. But as I was leaving I noticed a pair of his old, giant-sized jeans on the table. I asked if I could wear them, but was told by Jared’s people that while I could pose with them, I could not try them on since they were on loan from the Smithsonian.
Okay. That very last part isn’t true. But I still wasn’t allowed to wear them.
So we left again because we were late for our appointment to kick the guy in the peacock costume in the crotch.
*While looking up the spelling of Gentzler’s name, Google Firefox tried to suggest the name Doreen Virtue. I ignored it a first but went back later in the hopes that it was the stage name of a porn star. Even better. She's kinda a big deal. She's the world's most renowned practitioner of Angel Therapy.
“DOCTOR Doreen Virtue is a spiritual doctor of psychology and a fourth-generation metaphysician” who believes “everyone has guardian angels, and these angels perform God's will of peace for us all.”
It’s like The Secret but with more fat, porcelain cherubs.
Chug, chug, chug!
I’m not going to lie and pretend I know what these two guys (the second video) are talking about. That’s for other websites.
I have time spent in Arkansas, though, so I know how things work. But someone should still pull him aside and suggest he not drink water out of jam jars like the one my grandfather brings with him when he comes over for Thanksgiving.
I have time spent in Arkansas, though, so I know how things work. But someone should still pull him aside and suggest he not drink water out of jam jars like the one my grandfather brings with him when he comes over for Thanksgiving.
on learning
Things I googled yesterday: "why high people love wonderpets" and "where was scott storch born?"
Answers: still unknown but the capes/flying boat probably has something to do with it; nova scotia.
Answers: still unknown but the capes/flying boat probably has something to do with it; nova scotia.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
This will be Czarniak-free post
In what may become a new family tradition, The D and I rambled over to the Channel 4 Health Expo at the convention center on Saturday in order to celebrate everything that is Channel 4 and causes strokes. I’ve secretly wanted to go since I was 10 because all the commercials showed people my age playing some ridiculous new sport like indoor rock climbing or walking. But just like a hilarious joke I read today for the first time ever on some college dude’s shirt, I got older while the games stayed the same age. We were denied entrance to every semi-fun event. It left us with little to do but walk around, try to score the best free stuff and volunteer to have our bone marrow sucked out of our hips with giant gauged needles.
1. Highlights include a comic book too poorly designed to be included in Highlights. Zing!
Contrary to what I hoped when I picked this up, Seizure Man’s power has nothing to do with causing his seizures in his enemies. Instead, he prevents them in complete strangers he sees collapsed on the playground surrounded by their do-nothing classmates. Actually, he doesn’t even prevent them; he just makes you comfortable while you’re having one. Also, he can fly. And it’s unclear if he actually has any enemies but if he did I’d have to go with Japanese cartoons or the guy who sells cheap strobe lights at Radio Shack and asks if you want Monster cables with that.
And, conversely to everything my 7th grade gym teacher taught us in state mandated health class, you should never put anything in the mouth of someone who’s seizing in order to prevent them from swallowing their tongue. This is because (which seems obvious know that I’ve thought about it) it’s not physically possible to swallow your tongue.
2. It was also impossibly dry on the Health Expo floor. But there was only one working water fountain and it had a line and was poorly motion controlled. The Expo Center got in the healthy spirit by selling water at a healthy $2.75 per tiny bottle. Fortunately, there was a guy giving out free DTV water bottles. Unfortunately, you had to stand in a long line and spin a magic wheel to win one. During the 10 minutes while we waited, nobody won the grand prize water bottle since its slice of the wheel took up only 1/50th of the total pie. People were begging the booths operator for water but he didn’t budge. Most folks got crappy pens or Post-it notes reminding them that their over-the-air TV signal was going dead on February 17, 2009 because they live in the 50’s or Montana.
It should be obvious where this story is going. Of course, I won the water bottle because I watch so much Price Is Right. But, I also yelled an excitable yet perverse exclamation that resulted dirty looks from all surrounding parents and invitation to excuse ourselves from the floor.
3. Just about the only activity designed for children that they let us take part in was the sobriety walk simulator. Basically, it was a pair of goggles that distorts your vision, designed to show teenagers the effects of alcohol. It was fun watching the kids stumble around after two fake beers. It was also fun watching me nearly knock several people over when I tried on the pair that supposedly equaled 4 beers per hour, plus two Goldschläger shots right before you leave the bar.
The D tried on the same goggles but with less hilarious results. Because her legs are so long she covered the course in 3 strides. It took me 8 stuttering lunges.
OK, this is much longer than I intended it to be, so I’ll wrap it for today.
One more tomorrow.
1. Highlights include a comic book too poorly designed to be included in Highlights. Zing!
Contrary to what I hoped when I picked this up, Seizure Man’s power has nothing to do with causing his seizures in his enemies. Instead, he prevents them in complete strangers he sees collapsed on the playground surrounded by their do-nothing classmates. Actually, he doesn’t even prevent them; he just makes you comfortable while you’re having one. Also, he can fly. And it’s unclear if he actually has any enemies but if he did I’d have to go with Japanese cartoons or the guy who sells cheap strobe lights at Radio Shack and asks if you want Monster cables with that.
And, conversely to everything my 7th grade gym teacher taught us in state mandated health class, you should never put anything in the mouth of someone who’s seizing in order to prevent them from swallowing their tongue. This is because (which seems obvious know that I’ve thought about it) it’s not physically possible to swallow your tongue.
2. It was also impossibly dry on the Health Expo floor. But there was only one working water fountain and it had a line and was poorly motion controlled. The Expo Center got in the healthy spirit by selling water at a healthy $2.75 per tiny bottle. Fortunately, there was a guy giving out free DTV water bottles. Unfortunately, you had to stand in a long line and spin a magic wheel to win one. During the 10 minutes while we waited, nobody won the grand prize water bottle since its slice of the wheel took up only 1/50th of the total pie. People were begging the booths operator for water but he didn’t budge. Most folks got crappy pens or Post-it notes reminding them that their over-the-air TV signal was going dead on February 17, 2009 because they live in the 50’s or Montana.
It should be obvious where this story is going. Of course, I won the water bottle because I watch so much Price Is Right. But, I also yelled an excitable yet perverse exclamation that resulted dirty looks from all surrounding parents and invitation to excuse ourselves from the floor.
3. Just about the only activity designed for children that they let us take part in was the sobriety walk simulator. Basically, it was a pair of goggles that distorts your vision, designed to show teenagers the effects of alcohol. It was fun watching the kids stumble around after two fake beers. It was also fun watching me nearly knock several people over when I tried on the pair that supposedly equaled 4 beers per hour, plus two Goldschläger shots right before you leave the bar.
The D tried on the same goggles but with less hilarious results. Because her legs are so long she covered the course in 3 strides. It took me 8 stuttering lunges.
OK, this is much longer than I intended it to be, so I’ll wrap it for today.
One more tomorrow.
Monday, January 14, 2008
pleasure vessels
Destroyer's Foam Hands? (Here?) Good stuff.* March. I will probably buy. Probably. Probably download. Probably however it is people procure new music these days. Brainbeam?
* I don't usually like this. And I don't like the lyrics, I don't think. But I do like the music, I do think. God, I'm tired today.
* I don't usually like this. And I don't like the lyrics, I don't think. But I do like the music, I do think. God, I'm tired today.
Jammin
Dear Internet Crackpot,
I jammed the bejesus out of my thumb on Saturday. It doesn’t bend, my palm is bruised and it’s so week that I couldn’t press the button in on the gear shift of the car. I’ve been drinking pineapple juice nonstop but it hasn’t done dick. You and your theories are insane.
Yours gimpily,
N
I jammed the bejesus out of my thumb on Saturday. It doesn’t bend, my palm is bruised and it’s so week that I couldn’t press the button in on the gear shift of the car. I’ve been drinking pineapple juice nonstop but it hasn’t done dick. You and your theories are insane.
Yours gimpily,
N
home again
Back from LV. I did not attend the Playaz Ball (sorry, DCvr) but I did have an awkward encounter with a group of naked-from-the-waist-down-ladies taking a smoke break by the elevators on my floor. Not needed in Vegas: Self respect. Needed in Vegas: razors.
The encounter included some glowering-type looks from them directed at yrs truly (natural blonde, what), and I just started a storm of fake-texting to avoid all eye contact. Dude, I was just leaving my room for some Haagen Dazs. Damn. Some cold shit.
Amanda sent me this this morning, imagining it was narrated by me (no).
Thus ends LV stories, or at least for another approx. 9 weeks. Yeah, that's right, I'll spend a good part of the month of April there too. Sigh.
The encounter included some glowering-type looks from them directed at yrs truly (natural blonde, what), and I just started a storm of fake-texting to avoid all eye contact. Dude, I was just leaving my room for some Haagen Dazs. Damn. Some cold shit.
Amanda sent me this this morning, imagining it was narrated by me (no).
Thus ends LV stories, or at least for another approx. 9 weeks. Yeah, that's right, I'll spend a good part of the month of April there too. Sigh.
Friday, January 11, 2008
The most hyphenated post ever
Since we are nearing the Super Bowl, its time to dust an old favorite.
I don’t know what these kids are up to but I earnestly approve of anyone willing to put together a shot for shot recreation of one of those old Holiday Inn commercials.
I’ve also since found that most, if not all, of the originals are up on the Utubes. Included is my favorite, which I didn’t realize features the before-he-was-“famous” black guy from 40-Year-Old Virgin as Guy-You-Call-When-The-Room-Next-Door-Hires-A-Too-Loud-Stripper.
I like these commercials so much because the main character, Mark, reminds me of my friends older brother, also named Mark. If you’d like to verify, he still hangs out at the Cowboy Café in Arlington on Tuesday nights, when the burgers and the shirts of Marymount co-eds are half off.
I don’t know what these kids are up to but I earnestly approve of anyone willing to put together a shot for shot recreation of one of those old Holiday Inn commercials.
I’ve also since found that most, if not all, of the originals are up on the Utubes. Included is my favorite, which I didn’t realize features the before-he-was-“famous” black guy from 40-Year-Old Virgin as Guy-You-Call-When-The-Room-Next-Door-Hires-A-Too-Loud-Stripper.
I like these commercials so much because the main character, Mark, reminds me of my friends older brother, also named Mark. If you’d like to verify, he still hangs out at the Cowboy Café in Arlington on Tuesday nights, when the burgers and the shirts of Marymount co-eds are half off.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
INTERNET ACCESS CODE DENIED PLEASE CONTACT GUEST SERVICES
Desert filing:
1. The head waiter (Bouffant Tim) at a restaurant that I (and most remaining Mafioso) frequent often when in LV REMEMBERED ME last night. This bodes well in my future plans to eventually move to Vegas and quick-marry a guy named Salvatore with a bouffant and an unquenchable thirst for raising a ruckus/protecting The Family. I’m practically a goddamn local already. I gave Tim a warm handshake (using both hands in a loving yet vaguely threatening grasp) and told him I’d see him in 9 weeks or so.
2. Toby Keith’s “I Love This Bar and Grill.” Still funny. Never stops being the truest words ever marketed.
3. The only thing on the local news tonight: A local man just had his thumb amputated and replaced with his big toe. The commercials re: Mr. ToeThumb have been running incessantly. Nevermind that Hil’s in town, and Obama arrives tomorrow.
4. The chair in my hotel room is half a foot too short for the desk. I have been typing to you via booster seat. My legs swing comically. I’m the Eloise of the Monte Carlo.
5. Pr0n convention starts tomorrow. Tera Patrick is throwing a party at the Venetian tonight. The only clothes I’ve packed are sensible Aerosole flats (which I’m wearing with socks?) and black work-suit type things. I’m pretty sure they’ll let me into the various Adult Video Awards shindigs dressed like a 65 year old substitute algebra teacher, if just for the comedic value of it. (I will be their makeover candidate! My porn name will be Eloise. I will be dressed in her classic jumper, but no shirt! Eww. I just grossed myself out. Do you think there are people who fetishize children's book characters? Porn Eloise? Babar as a furry? Oh God I am disgusting.)
6. Last day of the show floor: Saw Bumblebee. Was underwhelmed. Heard the Black Eyed Peas on loop in 45 different booths. Was overwhelmed.*
* The Motorola booth, beyond having BB’s** in white gogo boots, let you perform Humps or whatever in front of green screen and then inserted you into a Fergie video. As a backup dancer. It will go down as one of my life’s greatest regrets that I did not return to the booth before the day ended to get myself on video doing just this. Actually, I can’t talk about it anymore, I’m tearing up.
** I thought we all agreed that the booth babe thing was a dying trend, and that we were all moving towards Hot Business-suited Blonde Professional Demonstration Actors instead? When did the pleather miniskirts come back? Was there a committee meeting about this? Why wasn’t I informed? Anyway, convention fashion report in brief: The Sharp girls were mostly awesome in young/Community College /Admin Assistant wear (tall black pumps/tight Express shirts/black minis); the Real booth went “rave” or whatever (knotted Real tees/black ruffled minis/blue fishnet tights/pigtails), Motorola did Japanime/go-go boots, Hitachi went with all white suits and silver sequin tops with matching shoes (verrrrry fancy), some company I can’t remember were bedecked in knee-high boots and runner’s leggings with tight fleece jackets and no shirt (very bizarre), and basically, any automotive company went with straight-up lady o' the night gear. I thought I even saw some with whips, telling stereo transmitters they were very naughty stereo transmitters. Anyway. Did I do anything besides check out other women’s clothes all day? Neigh. When did this become a clothes blog? I don’t know, and I’m teary again. Now, I will kill myself by eating 8 McRibs. Take that, Dr. Phil.
1. The head waiter (Bouffant Tim) at a restaurant that I (and most remaining Mafioso) frequent often when in LV REMEMBERED ME last night. This bodes well in my future plans to eventually move to Vegas and quick-marry a guy named Salvatore with a bouffant and an unquenchable thirst for raising a ruckus/protecting The Family. I’m practically a goddamn local already. I gave Tim a warm handshake (using both hands in a loving yet vaguely threatening grasp) and told him I’d see him in 9 weeks or so.
2. Toby Keith’s “I Love This Bar and Grill.” Still funny. Never stops being the truest words ever marketed.
3. The only thing on the local news tonight: A local man just had his thumb amputated and replaced with his big toe. The commercials re: Mr. ToeThumb have been running incessantly. Nevermind that Hil’s in town, and Obama arrives tomorrow.
4. The chair in my hotel room is half a foot too short for the desk. I have been typing to you via booster seat. My legs swing comically. I’m the Eloise of the Monte Carlo.
5. Pr0n convention starts tomorrow. Tera Patrick is throwing a party at the Venetian tonight. The only clothes I’ve packed are sensible Aerosole flats (which I’m wearing with socks?) and black work-suit type things. I’m pretty sure they’ll let me into the various Adult Video Awards shindigs dressed like a 65 year old substitute algebra teacher, if just for the comedic value of it. (I will be their makeover candidate! My porn name will be Eloise. I will be dressed in her classic jumper, but no shirt! Eww. I just grossed myself out. Do you think there are people who fetishize children's book characters? Porn Eloise? Babar as a furry? Oh God I am disgusting.)
6. Last day of the show floor: Saw Bumblebee. Was underwhelmed. Heard the Black Eyed Peas on loop in 45 different booths. Was overwhelmed.*
* The Motorola booth, beyond having BB’s** in white gogo boots, let you perform Humps or whatever in front of green screen and then inserted you into a Fergie video. As a backup dancer. It will go down as one of my life’s greatest regrets that I did not return to the booth before the day ended to get myself on video doing just this. Actually, I can’t talk about it anymore, I’m tearing up.
** I thought we all agreed that the booth babe thing was a dying trend, and that we were all moving towards Hot Business-suited Blonde Professional Demonstration Actors instead? When did the pleather miniskirts come back? Was there a committee meeting about this? Why wasn’t I informed? Anyway, convention fashion report in brief: The Sharp girls were mostly awesome in young/Community College /Admin Assistant wear (tall black pumps/tight Express shirts/black minis); the Real booth went “rave” or whatever (knotted Real tees/black ruffled minis/blue fishnet tights/pigtails), Motorola did Japanime/go-go boots, Hitachi went with all white suits and silver sequin tops with matching shoes (verrrrry fancy), some company I can’t remember were bedecked in knee-high boots and runner’s leggings with tight fleece jackets and no shirt (very bizarre), and basically, any automotive company went with straight-up lady o' the night gear. I thought I even saw some with whips, telling stereo transmitters they were very naughty stereo transmitters. Anyway. Did I do anything besides check out other women’s clothes all day? Neigh. When did this become a clothes blog? I don’t know, and I’m teary again. Now, I will kill myself by eating 8 McRibs. Take that, Dr. Phil.
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
McRib is a wild taste that allows customers to experience the fun and magic of the Animal Kingdom without going to Orlando.
While driving about the city a few weeks back, the G and I pulled up to a stop light and got canyon-ed by two rumbling Metro buses. Both buses sported the same panel ads so we got surrounded by the giant photos of the boneless, sauce covered, faux-pork delight known as the McRib.
If you are at all familiar with the McRib (or the Simpson’s Ribwich) you know that MickeyDees keeps the sandwich rotating through its menu as a clever advertising stunt. Proclamations like “McRIB IS BACK for a LIMITED TIME!!!” or “HURRY UP and GET ONE because McRIB will soon be as EXTINCT as the PTERDACTYL or MINATURE SCHNAUZER!!!,” work the lesser pork consumer into a frenzy.
Neither bus ad was clear about whether the McRib was coming or going, leaving us unsure about how fast we needed to hurry up and continue not going to McDonalds. But when presented with such large and inviting advertisements, you are pretty much forced into the flabby arms of the internets and its all-tasting tongue of knowledge and discovery.
Unfortunately, there were few recent clues about its local availability. I assume this is because, like most Metro bus advertisements, these were as outdated as the ones currently displaying Daddy Day Camp images. I am tempted to pass on what I found out about how McDonald’s advertises the McRib but I don’t want to endorse this manner of schilling. However, I will share one amazing thing I discovered.
Via Wikipedia –
Yes, that says “MC Hammer once ate 7 McRibs in a competition with Dr. Phil, to raise AIDS awareness.”
Can this be true? Eating seven McRibs isn’t something that one does nonchalantly, like wolfing down seven Gusburgers in attempt to prove that Charlottesville is filled with lame wimps with weak constitutions. This gastronomical feat was for charity. The other cultural references were ones I was familiar with (it was parodied on the Simpson’s, the MST3K line “I'd rather watch David Crosby eat a McRib sandwich than watch this scene”, etc) so why couldn’t Dr Phil have scarfed 6 McRibs? I was required by feline curiosity to find out.
Unfortunately, the only reasonable way of getting hold of Dr Phil is being a psychotic pop singer. I was left with no course of action other than writing him this letter through his website:
Several weeks went by and I got no response from either Dr. Phil or anyone affiliated with his show. I even marked the box on the site saying I’d be willing to be on the program. I checked the Wikipedia entry several times in the hopes that the shows producers read my letter and altered the site. But there was nothing.
Until Monday.
In fact, the updates have been coming in so furiously they’ve locked the site down. I’m not sure if this is a confirmation in one direction or another, but for the sake of history, let’s just say it’s an affirmative.
Let it be known - for the rest of internet eternity - that unlike most Americans, Dr. Phil is not man enough to eat 7 McRib sandwiches.
Prologue:
Here is the best of several quotes I found about the McRib while researching its distribution schedule:
"Responding to criticism that the cross-promotion of Disney's Animal Kingdom with the McRib sandwich seemed incongruous, a McDonald's spokesman said, "Animal Kingdom is very much a wild experience, and the McRib is a wild taste that allows customers to experience the fun and magic of the Animal Kingdom without going to Orlando."
If you are at all familiar with the McRib (or the Simpson’s Ribwich) you know that MickeyDees keeps the sandwich rotating through its menu as a clever advertising stunt. Proclamations like “McRIB IS BACK for a LIMITED TIME!!!” or “HURRY UP and GET ONE because McRIB will soon be as EXTINCT as the PTERDACTYL or MINATURE SCHNAUZER!!!,” work the lesser pork consumer into a frenzy.
Neither bus ad was clear about whether the McRib was coming or going, leaving us unsure about how fast we needed to hurry up and continue not going to McDonalds. But when presented with such large and inviting advertisements, you are pretty much forced into the flabby arms of the internets and its all-tasting tongue of knowledge and discovery.
Unfortunately, there were few recent clues about its local availability. I assume this is because, like most Metro bus advertisements, these were as outdated as the ones currently displaying Daddy Day Camp images. I am tempted to pass on what I found out about how McDonald’s advertises the McRib but I don’t want to endorse this manner of schilling. However, I will share one amazing thing I discovered.
Via Wikipedia –
Yes, that says “MC Hammer once ate 7 McRibs in a competition with Dr. Phil, to raise AIDS awareness.”
Can this be true? Eating seven McRibs isn’t something that one does nonchalantly, like wolfing down seven Gusburgers in attempt to prove that Charlottesville is filled with lame wimps with weak constitutions. This gastronomical feat was for charity. The other cultural references were ones I was familiar with (it was parodied on the Simpson’s, the MST3K line “I'd rather watch David Crosby eat a McRib sandwich than watch this scene”, etc) so why couldn’t Dr Phil have scarfed 6 McRibs? I was required by feline curiosity to find out.
Unfortunately, the only reasonable way of getting hold of Dr Phil is being a psychotic pop singer. I was left with no course of action other than writing him this letter through his website:
Dear The Doctor Phil Program,
I’ve been a big fan of Dr Phil for many years now and have appreciated much of the advice he has passed along since some of his patients’ problems mirror my own. Unrelated, I am also a fan of McDonald’s McRib sandwich.
That being said, in the Wikipedia article about the McRib sandwich it says “MC Hammer once ate 7 McRibs in a competition with Dr. Phil, to raise AIDS awareness.” There is no footnote that verifies this claim and I know that some of the information on Wikipedia is often fabricated. My independent research has also not been able to find any other reference to this event.
Did Dr Phil lose a McRib eating contest to MC Hammer? If so, do you know when or where it took place and under what circumstances? I have tried contacting Mr. Hammer but have been unable.
Thanks for your time,
N
Several weeks went by and I got no response from either Dr. Phil or anyone affiliated with his show. I even marked the box on the site saying I’d be willing to be on the program. I checked the Wikipedia entry several times in the hopes that the shows producers read my letter and altered the site. But there was nothing.
Until Monday.
In fact, the updates have been coming in so furiously they’ve locked the site down. I’m not sure if this is a confirmation in one direction or another, but for the sake of history, let’s just say it’s an affirmative.
Let it be known - for the rest of internet eternity - that unlike most Americans, Dr. Phil is not man enough to eat 7 McRib sandwiches.
Prologue:
Here is the best of several quotes I found about the McRib while researching its distribution schedule:
"Responding to criticism that the cross-promotion of Disney's Animal Kingdom with the McRib sandwich seemed incongruous, a McDonald's spokesman said, "Animal Kingdom is very much a wild experience, and the McRib is a wild taste that allows customers to experience the fun and magic of the Animal Kingdom without going to Orlando."
You can't tell but he's also wearing brown short shorts. It's hot today, yo.
Gibbs? Eh.
Admittedly, I didn’t bother turning the volume up. Still, does anyone know Channel 5 had the UPS guy commenting on the old ball coach’s retirement?
"Well, Chip, the old Gibbs estate is my first delivery of the day. He came out and said 'Jimmy, I'm getting to old and the game's past me by.' Then we cried a little and prayed on the lawn like Nixon and Kissinger."
Admittedly, I didn’t bother turning the volume up. Still, does anyone know Channel 5 had the UPS guy commenting on the old ball coach’s retirement?
"Well, Chip, the old Gibbs estate is my first delivery of the day. He came out and said 'Jimmy, I'm getting to old and the game's past me by.' Then we cried a little and prayed on the lawn like Nixon and Kissinger."
vegas, babe
i leave tomorrow to catch the last few days at CES. I'll actually be there all day Friday as well, with little work to do (i think) if anyone has any suggestions on what to do beyond gamble/eat/get drunk/flirt with skeevy IT dudes/see a show (hahaha, no I won't)/try to steal the rumored eleventy-billion-foot Bumblebee at the Dolby booth.
I occasionally feel like I am in LV more than I am in DC.
I occasionally feel like I am in LV more than I am in DC.
Monday, January 07, 2008
question
who has recommendations for a mid-price hotel in PDX? Not too pricey (lucia), not party central (jupiter motel)?
Friday, January 04, 2008
didn’t eat all my Clams Casino if you want some.
Our bucolic and Wii-ful vacation was partially derailed last weekend when the power went out for most of the day. At first it was fun – Scrabble, Pit, crashing remote controlled helicopters into remote controlled mutant dragonflies – but when the girls figured out that no electricity meant no water pump and so no toilet things got less amusing. It also meant no Redskins. So the guys shambled off to a bar while the girls went and bought Yankee candles or feathers for tickles fights or whatever girls buy when the lights go out.
At this crappy beach bar is where we met a man. Probably in the back half of his 30’s, he latched onto to us after the other table of female Steeler fans to him to get the fuck away. In our 30 minutes of interaction he got disturbingly and uncomfortably drunk. Here’s the abbreviated version of what was conversed:
I like to have a good time. I like to go to bars and watch sports. But if I ever go out by myself and eat clams and try to score weed from strangers and flirt with some old hag at 5 on a Saturday, then you have my permission to smother me with my Clint Didier throwback jersey. And if one of the strangers I tried to score bud from sees me passed out the next day at the beach with my kid, I won’t expect either of them to move me when the tide comes in. I don’t deserve it.
*Hair of the dog.
At this crappy beach bar is where we met a man. Probably in the back half of his 30’s, he latched onto to us after the other table of female Steeler fans to him to get the fuck away. In our 30 minutes of interaction he got disturbingly and uncomfortably drunk. Here’s the abbreviated version of what was conversed:
Are you guy fucking redskins fans or not, youre not are you. OK maybe you are.I am the biggest fan in here, watch this play because Crooley will catch a touchdown on this play. We’re going to get a safety if we can sack the other guy. That girl in the Roethlisberger jersey is looking at me. I’m married. If the redskins get more than f fumbles they usually win. You’re not a real redskins fans. Do you guys like pool cause the place I’m staying has a mini pool table. I didn’t eat all my Clams Casino if you want some. Do you guys have some bud. This is the best bar for ten miles until Hooters. Can I have a ride home later. My wife may not pick me up. Is the game over. What are you guys doing tonight later. Why isn’t the game on. Whats the score again. My kid is a bigger redskins fan than that guy. You guys wants some of these clams because theyre good. If the redskins win I’m going to give that girl over there a hug. She says she’s 33.He disappeared a few minutes into the 3rd quarter and we hoped that his wife did come pick him up. The bar hoped that he was with us because he didn’t pay his tab.
I like to have a good time. I like to go to bars and watch sports. But if I ever go out by myself and eat clams and try to score weed from strangers and flirt with some old hag at 5 on a Saturday, then you have my permission to smother me with my Clint Didier throwback jersey. And if one of the strangers I tried to score bud from sees me passed out the next day at the beach with my kid, I won’t expect either of them to move me when the tide comes in. I don’t deserve it.
*Hair of the dog.
Trendabee
Morning breaks in Washington, DC. Everyone's lips are moving re: Obamabee, but no one is talking about Bobby Trendy's candlelight vigil for BSpears.
Fuck you guys, seriously.
Fuck you guys, seriously.
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Let’s just say I can no longer claim to be “shacking up with some chick in her twenties.”
I won’t say the age, but the G has reached a point where she and 7 of her friends can not float a single ½ keg of Yuengling after 3 days of boozing.
Likewise, I’ve long past the point where spilling beer is the unconceivable sin it was in college. Now, as I pump the keg empty onto the grass, I wonder if the organic bits will work as a fertilizer or if the alcohol will kill the lawn outright.
Scientifically, I figure it’s a wash.
Likewise, I’ve long past the point where spilling beer is the unconceivable sin it was in college. Now, as I pump the keg empty onto the grass, I wonder if the organic bits will work as a fertilizer or if the alcohol will kill the lawn outright.
Scientifically, I figure it’s a wash.
blerg! blergball!
As far as I can tell, I only accomplished a few really noteworthy things in 2007:
- One, introducing the N's cousin to "Trapped in the Closet,"
- Two, question #48 on the "Rolling Stone Almost Impossible Rock and Roll Quiz" - TOTALLY 1000% CORRECT. (The question for those curious is "Which of the following are pothumous Tupac Shakur albums and which are Steven Seagal movies?" I owned the SHIT out of that question),
- Three, coining the term "when in doubt, bet on soup," and
- Four, getting a prison pen pal.
I'll be looking for that Person of the Year award plaque in my mailbox any day now, Time Mag.
In other news, I think Becks once put it: "3OMG." We spent the last few days down at the beach, making Miis and drinking a keg and bad chardonnay and falling asleep on the couch at 12:15 on New Years (me) and wearing sweatpants and eating lasagna and 1000 pounds of cookies and oh my god the eating and reading a book about mountain survivalists and inventing a new drinking game called "blergball." I'm really bad at the wii tennis, yo. And we didn't have power for the first day! It was cold! We were like beach pioneers!
I'm looking forward to this whole new year/new me thing, I think. 29 was pretty okay I guess, especially when compared to, say, 21 (oh fucking god what a nightmare) and 27 (balls. BALLLLLLLLLLLLLZ.) But I'm thinking odd numbers are not so much my thing.
May we all live forever, each and every one. I cannot wait until you see me so drunk I start fights this weekend.
- One, introducing the N's cousin to "Trapped in the Closet,"
- Two, question #48 on the "Rolling Stone Almost Impossible Rock and Roll Quiz" - TOTALLY 1000% CORRECT. (The question for those curious is "Which of the following are pothumous Tupac Shakur albums and which are Steven Seagal movies?" I owned the SHIT out of that question),
- Three, coining the term "when in doubt, bet on soup," and
- Four, getting a prison pen pal.
I'll be looking for that Person of the Year award plaque in my mailbox any day now, Time Mag.
In other news, I think Becks once put it: "3OMG." We spent the last few days down at the beach, making Miis and drinking a keg and bad chardonnay and falling asleep on the couch at 12:15 on New Years (me) and wearing sweatpants and eating lasagna and 1000 pounds of cookies and oh my god the eating and reading a book about mountain survivalists and inventing a new drinking game called "blergball." I'm really bad at the wii tennis, yo. And we didn't have power for the first day! It was cold! We were like beach pioneers!
I'm looking forward to this whole new year/new me thing, I think. 29 was pretty okay I guess, especially when compared to, say, 21 (oh fucking god what a nightmare) and 27 (balls. BALLLLLLLLLLLLLZ.) But I'm thinking odd numbers are not so much my thing.
May we all live forever, each and every one. I cannot wait until you see me so drunk I start fights this weekend.
Friday, December 28, 2007
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
I mixed several of these together last night and called it the Spirit of Montecore.
Fun with Christmas gifts. Or maybe birthday, I can’t remember when I got this...
Match the celebrity with their stank –
1. Prince
2. Christina Aguilera
3. Sean Combs
4. Shania Twain
5. Mariah Carey
6. Celine Dion
7. Kylie Minogue
8. Paris Hilton
9. Derek Jeter
10. Sarah Jessica Equineface
11. Naomi Campbell
a. Spring in Paris
b. Starlight
c. Cat Deluxe
d. Driven
e. Can Can
f. M
g. Covet
h. Unforgivable Woman
i. 3121
j. Sweet Darling
k. Simply Christina Aguilera
See AM for the answers since she's the one with nothing to do.
Match the celebrity with their stank –
1. Prince
2. Christina Aguilera
3. Sean Combs
4. Shania Twain
5. Mariah Carey
6. Celine Dion
7. Kylie Minogue
8. Paris Hilton
9. Derek Jeter
10. Sarah Jessica Equineface
11. Naomi Campbell
a. Spring in Paris
b. Starlight
c. Cat Deluxe
d. Driven
e. Can Can
f. M
g. Covet
h. Unforgivable Woman
i. 3121
j. Sweet Darling
k. Simply Christina Aguilera
See AM for the answers since she's the one with nothing to do.
morning after pill
oh my god am I grouchy. The cold, people. The cold from hell. Who made me this ill? I demand to speak to someone about this.
Besides that, I have no reason to be such an ass today. Let's consider:
the list of Christmas excess, gifted to me by my husband, who (lovingly) believes me to be a 14 year old boy:
- one Wii. I am terrible at tennis and awesome at boxing and will never leave my basement again. Every member of the family, from great-aunts to small children, have now beaten me in tennis. Fuck.
- one set of Heelys. I fit into a youth large. I am going to HAUNT THE NEIGHBORHOOD WITH MY AWESOMENESS! Also, malls.
- one Hudson University Volleyball sweatshirt.
- some other stuff, like "30 rock" on dvd and a book about how to read what my dog is thinking (it's one page long and says: "NOTHING. HAHAHAHAHA.")
So, I'm still in love.
Also my Mom gave me a truckload of new underwear and the advice to start acting like a grownup.
Merry Jesus Birthday to all.
Besides that, I have no reason to be such an ass today. Let's consider:
the list of Christmas excess, gifted to me by my husband, who (lovingly) believes me to be a 14 year old boy:
- one Wii. I am terrible at tennis and awesome at boxing and will never leave my basement again. Every member of the family, from great-aunts to small children, have now beaten me in tennis. Fuck.
- one set of Heelys. I fit into a youth large. I am going to HAUNT THE NEIGHBORHOOD WITH MY AWESOMENESS! Also, malls.
- one Hudson University Volleyball sweatshirt.
- some other stuff, like "30 rock" on dvd and a book about how to read what my dog is thinking (it's one page long and says: "NOTHING. HAHAHAHAHA.")
So, I'm still in love.
Also my Mom gave me a truckload of new underwear and the advice to start acting like a grownup.
Merry Jesus Birthday to all.
Friday, December 21, 2007
life and death in rosslyn
I thought it appropriate that I saw this story linked on DCist tonight, on my parents 36th wedding anniversary.
They had 6 people at their reception at TSOH, and according my my mother, ("they had a salad bar! It was really classy!") the two crazy kids danced to the Carpenter's "We've Only Just Begun" around the restaurant floor.
My father couldn't be reached for comment. Except, of course, to say like he does every year on their anniversary: "I had to leave a pickup basketball game to make it to the wedding on time. I left the teams uneven. Boy, those guys were pissed."
They had 6 people at their reception at TSOH, and according my my mother, ("they had a salad bar! It was really classy!") the two crazy kids danced to the Carpenter's "We've Only Just Begun" around the restaurant floor.
My father couldn't be reached for comment. Except, of course, to say like he does every year on their anniversary: "I had to leave a pickup basketball game to make it to the wedding on time. I left the teams uneven. Boy, those guys were pissed."
nerd accessories for the hopeless retards in your life
DoS Special Holiday Edition, courtesy Mr. Hunter and the Bragg Boys.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Because, honestly, everything is a competition: Part II
There’s a book that I’ve wanted to get someone for Christmas and only found it today by accident at Borders. There is only one copy left but the lunchtime line was mammoth and I didn’t have my 30% off coupon with me. So I’ve hidden it. This book has nothing to with Japanese manga but it’s living right now next to novels about Sailor Moon or some bullshit.
I’m headed over there right now to rescue it. You know, just in case you wanted to be a ruiner and go move it. Way to ruin Christmas, ruiner.
The Borders at 18th and L.*
I’ll race you.
Go.
Update: You lose slowpokes!
*can we all pretty much agree at this point that no offices or buildings anywhere on L Street are hiring union carpenters? Two protests in two blocks this morning?
I’m headed over there right now to rescue it. You know, just in case you wanted to be a ruiner and go move it. Way to ruin Christmas, ruiner.
The Borders at 18th and L.*
I’ll race you.
Go.
Update: You lose slowpokes!
*can we all pretty much agree at this point that no offices or buildings anywhere on L Street are hiring union carpenters? Two protests in two blocks this morning?
Wintry Mix 07
Making playlists at work, instead of working.
I have not seen "Assassination on Xmas Eve" by Archers of Loaf on anyones list? People? Come on?
I have not seen "Assassination on Xmas Eve" by Archers of Loaf on anyones list? People? Come on?
come on back and see me when you can
while i... appreciate... the OR attempt* at covering "Do What Ya Gotta Do," there is nothing quite like the original when it comes to Miz Simone, non? Who doesn't act frantic along with "Sinnerman" and all that crap on the car stereo occasionally. Admit it.
* Do not appreciate the Meg Baird attempt tho. No, I don't.
* Do not appreciate the Meg Baird attempt tho. No, I don't.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
brains brains brains
The only thing I know about this whole mortgage and foreclosure problem is that we got a 30 year fixed with a great rate. That, and we will never be able to sell our house.
But with terms like “predatory lending” and something about “ARMs”, I can only assume that the changes to Regulation Z that the Fed has agreed to consider are restrictions on the sale of homes to zombies or at least to the illegal zombie hordes crossing our borders.
I salute Chairman Bernanke for addressing this complex yet vital problem facing our nation and Avent's delicious brains.
But with terms like “predatory lending” and something about “ARMs”, I can only assume that the changes to Regulation Z that the Fed has agreed to consider are restrictions on the sale of homes to zombies or at least to the illegal zombie hordes crossing our borders.
I salute Chairman Bernanke for addressing this complex yet vital problem facing our nation and Avent's delicious brains.
gimme more
1) I slept on the Caribou release this year? Even though at one point in my life, "jacknuggeted" (back-in-Manitoba-days) was one of my favorite songs ever, at least for that year? Should I remedy this? I've only listened half-heartedly thus far.
2) Totally forgot to mention the Cribs earlier.
3) I cannot believe I am listening to Lavendar Diamond as much as I am lately. It's brainblowing, and must say something about the state of mind 'round here. Joanna Newsom and Sheryl Crow, what????????
in other news, i got my hair colored yesterday, so there's that. also i am done with my holiday shopping. hey, congratulations cousins, you are getting a weird Starbucks mail-order shrink wrapped gift basket i pilfered from work. as the guy at marvelous market told me this morning, merry seasoning!
2) Totally forgot to mention the Cribs earlier.
3) I cannot believe I am listening to Lavendar Diamond as much as I am lately. It's brainblowing, and must say something about the state of mind 'round here. Joanna Newsom and Sheryl Crow, what????????
in other news, i got my hair colored yesterday, so there's that. also i am done with my holiday shopping. hey, congratulations cousins, you are getting a weird Starbucks mail-order shrink wrapped gift basket i pilfered from work. as the guy at marvelous market told me this morning, merry seasoning!
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Seriously, they looked more like zombie sea cucumbers than zombie humans
My opinion leans more toward disappointment than dislike. Go ahead and put me in the group with the girls.
The unease that zombies elicit in our psyche is based on their resemblance to “normal” humans, if you will. This movie lacked that. If I’m going to zombie movie I want to feel uncomfortable because of the zombies. Not because I’m afraid of the dark or hairless rats or because someone in the audience yells “WILL SMITH DON’T HUG THAT DOG!!1!”
I read a study (which I can’t find online anymore after a morning’s worth of searching) a few years back where participants were asked to record their levels of discomfort while watching videos of people acting in “unconventional” ways. It included people with physical and mental disabilities as well as some dressed in frightening costumes like, animated puppets, aliens, robots and zombies.
Responders were second most uncomfortable watching people who moved and acted like your typical Night of the Living Dead zombie. The more like a human the example acted, the more anxiety the viewer felt. Robots, aliens, etc were all less scary.
(Surprisingly to the researchers, the responders were most uncomfortable watching people suffering from mid-range mental retardation.)
This was one of the problems I had with the I Am Legend villains. I may be mistaken, but I believe there were only two non-CGI zombies in the entire movie and they all looked and moved unconvincingly as a result. The filmmakers would have been better served using at least a few more actors in makeup or prosthetics - especially if the main zombie was at least able to do something other than scream, dislocate his jaw and throw his body against plexiglass without sustaining injury. (I assume this zombie, who appeared bigger and stronger than any of the other ones, and lived in
The movie had other faults too, including a plot hole so big that it pretty much nullified everything that happens before and after the supposed twist. But the weak-sauce zombies is what really kinda ruined it.
How did Anna and the boy get to
ought seven
I'm not doing a Year End Music Roundup Xplosion 2007 Etc because you can go anywhere on the web and find a better one, probably. Also, it would look just like everyone else's attempts. Except for you know, R Kelly and Lil Mama inclusions.
I will tell you I did love Band of Horses & Spoon & Okkervil River, a given. And this:
The G: i did not jerk off to the National like everyone else did this year though
Amanda: yeah me neither!
Okay, one more thing: The Dirty Projectors "Rise Above?" Love it hard. Oh man.
I will tell you I did love Band of Horses & Spoon & Okkervil River, a given. And this:
The G: i did not jerk off to the National like everyone else did this year though
Amanda: yeah me neither!
Okay, one more thing: The Dirty Projectors "Rise Above?" Love it hard. Oh man.
Monday, December 17, 2007
WE ARE POPULAR
When the going gets hard, the hardheaded shut down. Faced with an overwhelming amount of invites this weekend, us Pygs decided to spend two straight days watching Top Chef and not showering or leaving the house, except to play football (male) or got to Target to buy cake mix* (female.)
Errrr, not totally true. We also went out to dinner Friday with old friends and their + 1, where we ate Chinese fusion and talked about all the germaphobes we knew; and then had a lovely date Saturday night where 1., I had several drinks and a delicious appetizer and wondered why we don't hang out at No.9 Lounge more often because it's charming and never crowded and they played Aqueduct and Arcade Fire while we were there and 2. I wore leggings and dangly earrings. It was a weird night, people.
I only thought once longingly about how we missed a Very Merry Washington Social Christmas and G.p. wailing on the sax. D'oh.
* It's both Male Pyg and this one's birthday's today. FYI.
Errrr, not totally true. We also went out to dinner Friday with old friends and their + 1, where we ate Chinese fusion and talked about all the germaphobes we knew; and then had a lovely date Saturday night where 1., I had several drinks and a delicious appetizer and wondered why we don't hang out at No.9 Lounge more often because it's charming and never crowded and they played Aqueduct and Arcade Fire while we were there and 2. I wore leggings and dangly earrings. It was a weird night, people.
I only thought once longingly about how we missed a Very Merry Washington Social Christmas and G.p. wailing on the sax. D'oh.
* It's both Male Pyg and this one's birthday's today. FYI.
Friday, December 14, 2007
hells yeah, Randy Newman!
Hey world:
Merry Holidays. Go download Golden Opportunities. It's free, and you're welcome for the head's up.
Merry Holidays. Go download Golden Opportunities. It's free, and you're welcome for the head's up.
He also killed hundreds of Italian-Americans dressed up to look like Native Americans. Or so I remember.
We’re going to dinner at BD Wong’s in Tyson’s tonight with a friend of the G’s and her boyfriend. She was in our wedding and the G was in hers before that marriage exploded into alcoholism or crippling debt or an addiction to porn or whatever causes divorces after 13 bliss-less months for 26-year-olds. (None of those are jokes. I may currently have more friends that are divorced than ones that are married.) Since we are not going straight home tonight, I took the dog to see my parents so he could hang out and not pee on the ugly indoor/outdoor carpeting we have in our basement.
My mom reports that about 10 minutes after I left, our idiot hound and their equally stupid dog started howling to no end in the backyard. She’s been sick and was not in the mood to deal with the nonsense so she sent my dad in his bathrobe out to investigate. When he came back, they were still barking but instead of explaining what the deal was he went searching for his camera. Such is his way.
He once carried a cicada around in his pocket.
Turns out, our dog had treed a raccoon and the two of them figured that if they yelled at it long enough it would fall off the branch and into their mouths. My dad gave up on the camera, got the leashes and dragged them inside, where they barked for another 40 minutes until the raccoon left. The dogs have spent the rest of the day running around outside, retelling the story to each other like two middle school kids re-enacting Die Hard at the bus stop.
Of course, my natural reaction to this story was why didn’t my dad kill the raccoon and make a hat out of it like Davy Crockett. He argued that 1) it could have been rabid like the City Paper says and (2 that would be insane. I argued that not having a coon skin hat is insane and he should know because he grew on a farm in the 50s and everyone had crazy hats. He didn’t buy it.
The hat conversation got me thinking about Davy Crockett for maybe the first time in 20 years. The D and I watched hours of the Disney version when we were kids but the only part I can remember is that he killed a bear when he was three and he was a crazy trick shooter. The toddler bear killer story I can understand. Maybe he stepped on a gun or the bear fell on a pointed stick that Crockett was carrying around.
But the trick shot part doesn’t seem to hold up to closer deliberation. The tale, as I remember it, was that he was surrounded by a bobcat and bear who both wanted to get him but he only had one bullet. So he shot a boulder and it split the bullet in half and killed both animals in their heads.
I don’t think that that could happen.
Why would a bear and a bobcat team up to attack a human? It doesn’t make any sense.
My mom reports that about 10 minutes after I left, our idiot hound and their equally stupid dog started howling to no end in the backyard. She’s been sick and was not in the mood to deal with the nonsense so she sent my dad in his bathrobe out to investigate. When he came back, they were still barking but instead of explaining what the deal was he went searching for his camera. Such is his way.
He once carried a cicada around in his pocket.
Turns out, our dog had treed a raccoon and the two of them figured that if they yelled at it long enough it would fall off the branch and into their mouths. My dad gave up on the camera, got the leashes and dragged them inside, where they barked for another 40 minutes until the raccoon left. The dogs have spent the rest of the day running around outside, retelling the story to each other like two middle school kids re-enacting Die Hard at the bus stop.
Of course, my natural reaction to this story was why didn’t my dad kill the raccoon and make a hat out of it like Davy Crockett. He argued that 1) it could have been rabid like the City Paper says and (2 that would be insane. I argued that not having a coon skin hat is insane and he should know because he grew on a farm in the 50s and everyone had crazy hats. He didn’t buy it.
The hat conversation got me thinking about Davy Crockett for maybe the first time in 20 years. The D and I watched hours of the Disney version when we were kids but the only part I can remember is that he killed a bear when he was three and he was a crazy trick shooter. The toddler bear killer story I can understand. Maybe he stepped on a gun or the bear fell on a pointed stick that Crockett was carrying around.
But the trick shot part doesn’t seem to hold up to closer deliberation. The tale, as I remember it, was that he was surrounded by a bobcat and bear who both wanted to get him but he only had one bullet. So he shot a boulder and it split the bullet in half and killed both animals in their heads.
I don’t think that that could happen.
Why would a bear and a bobcat team up to attack a human? It doesn’t make any sense.
sorry chenowith, you lose.
i've officially given up on Pushing Daisies. I watched it twice (okay, actually: An episode. And a half. Maybe. Then I got up and ate fruit snacks and copied stuff and other important work things) and then I realized my tolerance for preciousness is already spent on thinking about how my dog almost killed a raccoon this morning. Awwwwwwww.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
You might be a redneck if you keep an ashtray in your pocket.
Honestly, considering the history of product endorsements, the idea that Jeff Foxworthy has his own brand of beef jerky isn’t that surprising. But our late night-trip to the grocery store last night got me thinking about some of the other odd combinations that we’ve stumbled across in the last little bit.
The classic example for the Pyggies is our college town’s very own Acme video store that also sold fireplaces and stoves. The G still has her membership card someplace. I only went in once and I seem to remember that the only movies they had were ones like The Money Pit and *batteries not included on VHS. Also, I think they only sold those fireplaces that I’ve only ever seen on the Price Is Right.
Number two was something I saw in Arizona or New Mexico or maybe Idaho that sold spine readjustments and carpets. On the day I drove by, rugs were on sale. I didn’t have time to go inside because somehow I knew that in two hours I was going to get monumentally lost and maybe spend the night in my rental car on a mountain with vampire bears and wolves that had scorpions for teeth.
Finally, is this gem:
I found it in a Sleazeburg – I MEAN LEESBURG! – Va gas station before we got our Christmas tree and poison ivy two weekends ago. Buying a keychain-shaped pig with a light-up snout was an obvious move. But knowing that, in a pinch, it could transform into an ashtray sealed the deal.
I figured I would save our lives several times over when we went camping last weekend but it broke after a single day in my pocket. I brought it to the cabin anyway and when we almost choked to death from smoke inhalation after a log rolled out of the fire and into the room, the G was able to use it to find her contacts. Subsequently, she did not wander blindly out of the cabin and fall on the serrated knives some people had thrown into woods.
Combination porcine ashtray/flashlight is worth its weight in gold.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
hey ma ma ma ma: i am in yr closet, taking yr striped button down.
Thanks to Unfogged, I have a new style hero in Kate St. John. In 9th or 10th grade a kid named Casey asked "why I dressed like my mom" for some awards reception. I was pretty much wearing the outfit homegirl is sporting in the LIANT video. Minus the gloves, plus a headband.
And furthermore: suck it, Casey. I am still 1000% behind that look.
And furthermore: suck it, Casey. I am still 1000% behind that look.
Monday, December 10, 2007
fire in the hole!
I started to brush my hair this morning and quickly realized that everything I owned that was in the cabin this weekend smells like burning. Including the brush. And now, my hair.* Again.
* Ha ha. Psych. I don't really ever brush my hair.
* Ha ha. Psych. I don't really ever brush my hair.
Friday, December 07, 2007
Puffin. It's what's for dinner.
I’m not saying you called me a liar but you pretty much did. Granted, sometime my yarns do require citing or follow-up research. Accordingly, here are the footnotes to the story I told to AM at a s’mores party last Friday.
1. Recipes for cooking and serving puffin.*
2. The band Vanilla Ninja which you can listen to here and here and ohmyjesus here and good god in a hot tube here and oh no don't stop the rock here.
3. The procedure for eating Ortolan (tiny birds that are captured alive, force fed grain, drowned in Armagnac, roasted whole and eaten, bones and all, while the diner drapes his head with a linen napkin to preserve the precious aromas and, as some believe, to hide the deed from God.)
4. Foreign countries that require their radio stations to play a certain percentage of songs by domestic artists.
*and the subsequent recipe for cooking whale.
1. Recipes for cooking and serving puffin.*
2. The band Vanilla Ninja which you can listen to here and here and ohmyjesus here and good god in a hot tube here and oh no don't stop the rock here.
3. The procedure for eating Ortolan (tiny birds that are captured alive, force fed grain, drowned in Armagnac, roasted whole and eaten, bones and all, while the diner drapes his head with a linen napkin to preserve the precious aromas and, as some believe, to hide the deed from God.)
4. Foreign countries that require their radio stations to play a certain percentage of songs by domestic artists.
*and the subsequent recipe for cooking whale.
Thursday, December 06, 2007
The bag is filled with honey and picnic baskets
Congratulations, Google.
For the first time in the 3 years I've been using Gmail, they’ve finally put an ad at the top of the screen that was somewhat related to any email I have ever sent or received. In fact, it even had something to do with an email I had just read.
See if you can guess what the email was about.
Man, I could watch bears trying to tear shit up all day.
For the first time in the 3 years I've been using Gmail, they’ve finally put an ad at the top of the screen that was somewhat related to any email I have ever sent or received. In fact, it even had something to do with an email I had just read.
See if you can guess what the email was about.
Man, I could watch bears trying to tear shit up all day.
they call me the cautionary whale!
Juno is pretty okay and all, if you want to go see a totally not-life-changing-movie about quirky midwestern teenagers with fast mouths. (See: Napolean Dynamite with less wacky Mormon Idahoans and more stereotypical earnest Minnesotans/sarcastic high schoolers.) Also, we got free "Paulie Bleeker is Totally Boss" teeshirts. Bonus, since I was needing new dumb teeshirts.
I would write more here about it but there is nothing else to say.
In a nutshell: cutesy as hells (coming dangerously close to too twee); one exceptionally uncomfortable Jennifer Garner character who is just... ugh; some funny dialogue involving discarded living room sets; a great soundtrack; a small discussion about what to name the baby that made me howl out loud even thought no one else in the theater was laughing; a bit of dialogue about Sonic Youth/the Carpenters which is just totally off base (no one's favorite song is the one they mention. Trust me); and, like most/all teenage-preggers-movies, a movie plot not even CLOSE to being realistic. So if you want to go see a movie that will not make you think at all, here you go.
Unless yr talking about Allison Janney, who is totally realistic and my favorite character, and not just because she shockingly resembles my mom.
more of the same here.
I would write more here about it but there is nothing else to say.
In a nutshell: cutesy as hells (coming dangerously close to too twee); one exceptionally uncomfortable Jennifer Garner character who is just... ugh; some funny dialogue involving discarded living room sets; a great soundtrack; a small discussion about what to name the baby that made me howl out loud even thought no one else in the theater was laughing; a bit of dialogue about Sonic Youth/the Carpenters which is just totally off base (no one's favorite song is the one they mention. Trust me); and, like most/all teenage-preggers-movies, a movie plot not even CLOSE to being realistic. So if you want to go see a movie that will not make you think at all, here you go.
Unless yr talking about Allison Janney, who is totally realistic and my favorite character, and not just because she shockingly resembles my mom.
more of the same here.
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
Grande Eggnog, hold the nog
The radio said today that Starbucks has started selling their holiday flavors: eggnog latte, peppermint mocha, gingerbread latte.*
This move prompted one of several yearly arguments in our car about another one of their other festive drinks: White Hot Chocolate. I was duped into getting one of these after the particularly cold time traveling adventure a few years ago.
My issue: This is not WHITE hot chocolate. It is HOT white chocolate. To me, the name white hot chocolate indicates that the beverage is so hot you could dip iron horseshoes into it and they would evaporate into nihility.
Of course, everyone in the car disagrees with me.
*I don’t drink coffee so I don’t know what any of that means. This is not a boast like those people who claim/brag that they don’t watch TV. I just never learned how to do coffee. Those no-TV jerks deserve repeated crotch pummels.
This move prompted one of several yearly arguments in our car about another one of their other festive drinks: White Hot Chocolate. I was duped into getting one of these after the particularly cold time traveling adventure a few years ago.
My issue: This is not WHITE hot chocolate. It is HOT white chocolate. To me, the name white hot chocolate indicates that the beverage is so hot you could dip iron horseshoes into it and they would evaporate into nihility.
Of course, everyone in the car disagrees with me.
*I don’t drink coffee so I don’t know what any of that means. This is not a boast like those people who claim/brag that they don’t watch TV. I just never learned how to do coffee. Those no-TV jerks deserve repeated crotch pummels.
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
Like an orange on a toothpick
I went to school with two kids who had extremely large heads.
The first guy had a melon that was proportional to his equally large body. His football helmet was a special order. When we were sized for graduation, the paper tape measure used for his cap size didn’t even reach all the way around his head. They gave him the largest size available but it still looked like a square, powder-blue, cardboard yarmulke. He was commonly known as Pumpkinhead Jones and while he certainly didn’t rejoice in the name he did little to stop its application. He was widely liked by the general student body.
The second guy had an equally humongous coconut but his body was of a normal (if not under-developed) size. He was widely disliked by the general student body.
As a trade-off to for this Barry Bonds-like affliction, God blessed him with a high IQ and powerful inner drive. Class President, Mensa member, head of Model UN, were some of the results. And like Barry Bonds, he was also a giant douche-bag.
This doucehery came to, uh, “a head” the summer after I graduated but while the D was entering her junior year. Several of the more attractive girls from the incoming senior class received letters from “prestigious modeling agency” claiming to be impressed by their good looks. They could easily secure high-priced contracts if they simply sent photos of themselves in underwear or bathing suits to the address provided.
Naturally, most of these girls saw through the classic Wyatt Donnelly Hustle and someone’s parents called the police. The address belonged to giant-head’s grandmother and the dots were easily connected. There were threats of criminal charges including, unbelievably, federal mail fraud but in the end the kid’s father had the whole affair swept under the rug or his giant pillow.
I guess it worked out because according to the D:
The previous sentence should dispel any doubts to my claims to his douchiness. She came to this knowledge after she found out her class had its ten year reunion last week and she was not invited. The guy was supposed to be in charge of planning the event but didn’t. Instead, a few kids got together at a local bard and toasted his swollen head. She’s hoping to catch up with some of the participants this week to find out what else has happened to he classmates.
Either way, it won’t be as impressive as the kid from my class who invented Skinny Cow Ice Cream. That’s right, he invents ice cream for a living. And he’s better at it than you are at your job.
The first guy had a melon that was proportional to his equally large body. His football helmet was a special order. When we were sized for graduation, the paper tape measure used for his cap size didn’t even reach all the way around his head. They gave him the largest size available but it still looked like a square, powder-blue, cardboard yarmulke. He was commonly known as Pumpkinhead Jones and while he certainly didn’t rejoice in the name he did little to stop its application. He was widely liked by the general student body.
The second guy had an equally humongous coconut but his body was of a normal (if not under-developed) size. He was widely disliked by the general student body.
As a trade-off to for this Barry Bonds-like affliction, God blessed him with a high IQ and powerful inner drive. Class President, Mensa member, head of Model UN, were some of the results. And like Barry Bonds, he was also a giant douche-bag.
This doucehery came to, uh, “a head” the summer after I graduated but while the D was entering her junior year. Several of the more attractive girls from the incoming senior class received letters from “prestigious modeling agency” claiming to be impressed by their good looks. They could easily secure high-priced contracts if they simply sent photos of themselves in underwear or bathing suits to the address provided.
Naturally, most of these girls saw through the classic Wyatt Donnelly Hustle and someone’s parents called the police. The address belonged to giant-head’s grandmother and the dots were easily connected. There were threats of criminal charges including, unbelievably, federal mail fraud but in the end the kid’s father had the whole affair swept under the rug or his giant pillow.
I guess it worked out because according to the D:
He went to either Yale or Harvard and sang in one of those a cappella groups that do the Martha Stuart xmas show.
The previous sentence should dispel any doubts to my claims to his douchiness. She came to this knowledge after she found out her class had its ten year reunion last week and she was not invited. The guy was supposed to be in charge of planning the event but didn’t. Instead, a few kids got together at a local bard and toasted his swollen head. She’s hoping to catch up with some of the participants this week to find out what else has happened to he classmates.
Either way, it won’t be as impressive as the kid from my class who invented Skinny Cow Ice Cream. That’s right, he invents ice cream for a living. And he’s better at it than you are at your job.
Monday, December 03, 2007
kenny. for real, his name is kenny. i'm not even making that up.
Is there anything more sad in the galaxy than a retarded tiger named Kenny?
On second thought, do not answer that.
On second thought, do not answer that.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Ta-da!
I tried to hijack my parents HD TV and NFL Network signal last night to watch TO eat popcorn and torch old man Favre. Instead, I walked into a giant I Love Lucy level plumbing disaster. The pipe that the washing machine drains into backed up and the water sprayed all over the place but mostly into the full 5 gallon bucket of detergent. It looked like one of those foam parties that everyone has heard about because of CSI Miami but no ones ever been to because when you think about it, it’s pretty gross and would sting your eye ballz to no end. My dad went to look for the plumbing snake. I took my shirt off and started dancing.
This would be the 4th plumbing issue I’ve dealt with in the last 2 weeks – two clogged drains and 2 replaced faucets – but I don’t really mind since I love big balls of greasy human hair touching my skin and face. My dad and I cleared the water from the sink and unhooked the drain. The clog wasn’t in the trap so I tried to blow the plug free using my strong American lungs. But it was to no effect since they’re black and shriveled up like raisons because of the clove cigarettes I pretend to smoke.
What I was unaware of at the time is that the same drain that deals with laundry water was also the one my parents used to clean the paintbrushes they used to redo the bathroom. So while we were heroically able to clear the clog, I was unknowingly forced to walk around with a painted ring on my lips.
Thanks Mom and Dad!
Love,
Your clown son.
This would be the 4th plumbing issue I’ve dealt with in the last 2 weeks – two clogged drains and 2 replaced faucets – but I don’t really mind since I love big balls of greasy human hair touching my skin and face. My dad and I cleared the water from the sink and unhooked the drain. The clog wasn’t in the trap so I tried to blow the plug free using my strong American lungs. But it was to no effect since they’re black and shriveled up like raisons because of the clove cigarettes I pretend to smoke.
What I was unaware of at the time is that the same drain that deals with laundry water was also the one my parents used to clean the paintbrushes they used to redo the bathroom. So while we were heroically able to clear the clog, I was unknowingly forced to walk around with a painted ring on my lips.
Thanks Mom and Dad!
Love,
Your clown son.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Happy Birthday T-15
This is terrible news. I’ll have to go back to fantasizing about pink-haired Erin Esurance when I’m banging your mom. BURN!!1
Unrelated – it has recently come to my attention that I have been rather combative of late. Specifically, I've been arguing in favor of convictions that I don’t actually hold. I apologize if you have found this to be annoying.
See:
Unrelated – it has recently come to my attention that I have been rather combative of late. Specifically, I've been arguing in favor of convictions that I don’t actually hold. I apologize if you have found this to be annoying.
See:
- the metrics of a one-hit wonder
- whether or not we should go to the dry cleaners five minutes before it closes because they may give us attitude since they've already locked up the registers and put on their jackets and we could just go back in the morning
- etc
it's from Ikea, btw
Internet, send halp!
Britney Spears has somehow broken into our house and oh holy crap, we're freaked. Those undies are LAYING ON OUR DUVET COVER. Barely Legal, y'all.
Britney Spears has somehow broken into our house and oh holy crap, we're freaked. Those undies are LAYING ON OUR DUVET COVER. Barely Legal, y'all.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Eleanor Grace
Among the dozens of lies my father told the D and me about his life growing up on the farm was the one about the boy who would lift a baby cow over his head every day. The child grew stronger in proportion to the cow’s weekly weight gain and by the time his bovine pet reached adulthood the boy could lift all 1200lbs over his head. Eventually, however, the cow got too heavy and the boy’s father had it slaughtered in the hopes that the protein, growth hormones and steroids that he’d fed the cow would be passed on to his son. It worked and that little boy grew up to be the actor who played Roy Biggins on the TV show Wings and one of the strongest humans in Hollywood.
Obviously, every part of that story was made up either by me or my father, some to screw with you but most to screw with me. Baby cows gain weight entirely too quickly for even the strongest boy to train with them. The threshold at which you could pick up a whole cow would be reached fairly quickly – for most folks it would be about, well, one day since they come out weighing about 100lbs. Meloni could probably go for a few weeks but even he would give up around 900lbs.
However, a human calf is another matter. Even those really fat babies from the Maury Povich show only get to be about 60lbs after 2 years. Interesting.
I have recently secured access to a 7lb 6oz baby girl and wish to try an experiment. The first phase begins tonight and should continue another 18 years or until weird Uncle Nabob isn’t allowed to come over and lift a teenage girl over his old man head.
Obviously, every part of that story was made up either by me or my father, some to screw with you but most to screw with me. Baby cows gain weight entirely too quickly for even the strongest boy to train with them. The threshold at which you could pick up a whole cow would be reached fairly quickly – for most folks it would be about, well, one day since they come out weighing about 100lbs. Meloni could probably go for a few weeks but even he would give up around 900lbs.
However, a human calf is another matter. Even those really fat babies from the Maury Povich show only get to be about 60lbs after 2 years. Interesting.
I have recently secured access to a 7lb 6oz baby girl and wish to try an experiment. The first phase begins tonight and should continue another 18 years or until weird Uncle Nabob isn’t allowed to come over and lift a teenage girl over his old man head.
Monday, November 26, 2007
beginner's guide
The holiday ride to NC involved only one instance of near-death, courtesy a giant Chesapeake deer. Antlers, people. The dog was exceptionally well-behaved, and all the toddler meltdowns in the world over the weekend couldn't stop the festive feeling in the air. Also, I ate my entire weight twice over, so the dog and I will be going on a serious walk/jog tonight.
My darling MIL, when asked what she wanted for Christmas, requested "a unicycle." She's serious freals.
Also, here's a glee club video for you.
My darling MIL, when asked what she wanted for Christmas, requested "a unicycle." She's serious freals.
Also, here's a glee club video for you.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
I eat at Wendy's because their burgers are meteor
If you hustle up to your local newsstands you might still be able to catch my premiere appearance in Time Out: New York. It seems that even though I don’t live in New York and don’t like going there because of the C.H.U.D.s, I am to be included in the discussion of the 50 Essential New York Secrets. I didn’t know I was a secret but we’ll take whatever press we can here at Pygmalion. Hint: it’s not Keith Haring’s gay orgy mural LGBT Community Center, but its close. In the picture, I’m the one wearing the jaunty hat and body armor.
------------------
Completely unrelated to that, Episode 11 of Defenders of Stan* is up and features the best plate tectonics joke I’ve heard in a long time. Or ever.
-----------------
And completely unrelated to that, if you were one of the handful of people who watched Chuck on Monday you are either:
*It seems I am a liar and Channel 102 is dead and busted.
------------------
Completely unrelated to that, Episode 11 of Defenders of Stan* is up and features the best plate tectonics joke I’ve heard in a long time. Or ever.
-----------------
And completely unrelated to that, if you were one of the handful of people who watched Chuck on Monday you are either:
A: a Firefly sentimentalist and miss JayneIt played twice, in fact. Once during a scene where the main character, who’s name escapes me, and Rachael Bilson make out and then again when they break up. Coincidently, Bragg wrote the song after I recounted the time that I made out with Rachael Bilson and then dumped her scrawny ass.
B: a moron
C: lucky enough to have heard one of Meredith Bragg’s new songs off his upcoming December album
*It seems I am a liar and Channel 102 is dead and busted.
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.
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.
Monday, November 19, 2007
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.
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.
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.
Friday, November 16, 2007
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.
- 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.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
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"
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 –
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
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.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
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?
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?
Friday, November 09, 2007
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.
“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'."
" 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'."
Thursday, November 08, 2007
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?
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Monday, November 05, 2007
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.
- 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.
Friday, November 02, 2007
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.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
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.
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.
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.
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.
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