meh

I entered the District last month and quickly broke the law. While looking for a parking spot I turned the wrong way down a one way street. I drove about ten feet before realizing my mistake but when I looked in the mirror to back up a cop was pulling in behind me. Meh. First (non-parking) ticket in a good while.

The city gives one the option of paying for small violations online, by phone or through the mail. But the following week, when I tried to pay through the electronic means, there was no record of the citation. Checked a few days later and still nothing. A call to the city yielded no record of the thing.

Every few days I would log onto the DMV site to no avail.

Until today.

It's been a month since I got the ticket. It's been a month with no record of the ticket. After a month the fine doubles. Guess what was suddenly processed a month + 1?

I'm too fucking passive and not outraged enough to do anything about this except complain on a blog read only by my wife's friends. But if this has happened to anyone else, let's cause some trouble by writing a letter to someone and perhaps mention to them our displeasure.

Personnel File

Stuff:

- Say hello to Art Dorks. (via sweetney)

- "We’re working. There’re high winds at sea. Giant sheets of ice are breaking on the hull and I can feel it shake through my knees. We’re surrounded by great mountains of rock. We’ve taken lovers. We’ve crossed the threshold. We desire the Unknown. We may already be lost." Hmm, okay. The Constantines Tournament of Hearts is out. I haven't heard it yet, but Shine a Light was one of my favorite albums of 2003.

- Powered by a handcrank and Magic Faerie Dust.

* * *

Cheese:

Around 7:45 PM last night, you would have found me curled up tightly in a ball on the (increasingly mud-and-decaying-leaf-caked) kitchen floor, laugh-crying so hard I couldn't breathe. I was eating a delicious granny smith apple, and looked across the room to the husband, who was watching me intently, copying my every move. But instead of eating an apple, he was eating a block of Colby Jack cheese, bigger than a newborn's head. He was eating it like an apple, big disgusting slimy yellow bites of cheese.

It was the grossest and funniest thing I have ever witnessed.

* * *

Trip:

"Traveling USA" plans for '06 are gearing up. Temporary list as of today, 11/22. Subject to change.

- Chicago
- Portland OR*
- Seattle
- New Jersey
- Vegas
- Maine, somewhere
- LB CA, maybe

I may have to quit my job, or at least turn Brown Dog over to social services, complete with a dramatic and heart-wrenching Lifetime Network-y scene about how I love him but can’t take care of him, and will find him again some day. I will be back, brown dog!!!!!!! Remember me!!!!!!

* (Portland involves Rick. And Rick... well, Rick involves a number of things, as the N. is happy to tell you. Rick and the N. were roommates, once, but the two of us met Rick separately, and were friends with Rick separately; which is an unusual thing, for people like us to do the separate thing. Rick and I used to sit in the hallways of art buildings, laying on cold tiles at 3 AM; talking about life and what to do with it/about it. Rick used to dedicate Steely Dan songs to me at 3 AM, when he worked night shifts at a classic rock station. Rick had 23 majors before graduating, and a girlfriend who broke his heart. Rick works shady jobs, moving from city to city. We saw Rick at a diner two Sundays ago, we had brunch and the put him and his skateboard on a Greyhound, bound for the wild unknown.)

* * *

Personality Test:

Stability results were low which suggests you are very worrying, insecure, emotional, and anxious.

Orderliness results were moderately high which suggests you are, at times, overly organized, reliable, neat, and hard working at the expense of flexibility, efficiency, spontaneity, and fun.

Extraversion results were moderately high which suggests you are, at times, overly talkative, outgoing, sociable and interacting at the expense of developing your own individual interests and internally based identity. (read: esp. when whiskeyed.)

Trait Snapshot-

open, tough, irritable, worrying, does not like to be alone, craves attention, low self control, emotionally sensitive, interacting, sad, very social, aggressive, prefer organized to unpredictable, dependent, social chameleon, suspicious, values the heart over the mind, likes large parties, outgoing, likes to make fun, likes to fit in, mildly phobic, vain, makes friends easily, enjoys leadership, clingy, rash

* * *

Overly talkative! Sad, very social! Cheese! Perfect. HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!!

Same day, different bullshit

I just read the below post from the other quarter of this blog and can’t figure out how we spent the weekend together yet still had completely different stories.

1. Paintball! Yeah! You know what most folks and all girls don’t like hearing stories about? Paintball! You know what I’m really good at for some reason? Paintball! So you know what I did hours before Fakesgiving and no one cared about?

1. My pathetic flag football season finally came to an end on Sunday with a crushing defeat by a much younger and faster team. (I say “finally” because it should have been over three weeks ago, as the only way my team of old knees and swollen joints could make the playoffs was if the two teams ranked above us tied. And sure enough their game ended 0-0.) We limped into the playoffs and limped off the field like the bloody old gits we are.

Is any one going to catch that? Oh, your Achilles ruptured again? I guess I'll get it.

None of our linemen were in town so I had to block. (Today, my arms are so sore that I can’t actually lift them onto the key board to type. I have to stand up, let them dangle above the desk and then sit down when they come to a rest on the keys. I ate my Potbelly sub in the same fashion I imagine a snake would eat a Potbelly sub.) But my only good block resulted in a fight with one guy on my team pinning one guy on their team to the ground with a knee to the neck. As a result, I consider the game and season a 2-8-2 stunning success.

3. The G and I both had a problem with the Cash movie because it seemed to imply that after 1968 everything went perfectly well in the Cash/Carter household. June agrees to marry Johnny, the end, happily ever after.? No drugs, no bad times, no ostrich attacks? In reality, Cash fell back into drugs, had some bad times and was attacked by an ostrich. Where the hell was that in the movie? Instead we get the ham-fisted origin of the song Great Balls of Fire. In fact any of these would be better than Jerry Lee Lewis talking 'bout all of us going to hell and forced references to Dylan.

4. Harry Potter – Good. I don’t have much to say other than I feel like I should be forced to walk in one of those Iraqi flagellation marches for this. Elle Child: The Extra Pervy Edition.

11/19: Shimmy Shack

Friday Night Spoilers:

My biggest complaint about "Ray" was (besides the fact that I saw it in Tucson, K. & I hiding out for the weekend at a friend's place, where the volume on George's insane entertainment setup was set to "deafening" [earlier in the evening, he instructed K. and I to sit on the couch and hold on to each other, because he was about to " KICK OUR ASS." He then inserted "Master & Commander," flipped to the battle scene, and commenced to shred all eardrums in a 20-mile radius until his wife yelled from the back of the house that he may have killed the small dog and the big dog had just peed on the carpet.] Anyways, movies shown at their place are painful-loud) the ending. All that build up and beuatiful shots of multi-colored glass in a tree, cold sweats and then ROLL CREDITS: "Ray kicked drugs and had a v. happy life until he died, the end." I guess that's how it really went, being a biopic and all, but ???? I wanted more???

"Walk the Line" is "Ray", only with less Jamie Foxx.

Joaquin Phoenix makes a compelling fucking JR Cash. He is handsome and hairlipped and really, did a great job at making the guy human as opposed to mere legend.

Reese Witherspoon is just a dark-haired Reese Witherspoon who chirpily announces herself as "most amusing! look at me! LOOK AT ME." throughout the whole movie, and you kind of can't help but think of her not as June whatsoever, but really just as Legally Brunette.

Baby, baby, baby, baby, BABY.

Saturday Night, Live:

It does not usually take 4 hours to get to the Cutest Lil' Country Cottage Ever, Virginia, unless I travel with K. A late start, an exploded tire on her Honda, Bridget, a TripAAA visit/car switch, and stop for candy and gas later, we made our destination. Desination was decorated with cornhusks and front porch chairs and pumpkins and dogs in bandanas and 16 people I love. I was at the kid's table this year.

It was a Fakesgiving miracle for me to end up last in the food line, making less need to actually unbutton pants as previous years have seen. I was on driving duty, as the bird flu knocked me back to only 1/10 as intoxicated as the rest of the world, or so it seemed; so all in all my gluttony took a vaca in '05. It's hard to drink when you also have to use your mouth to breathe. I did make an 11 PM beer run to Grottoes. Also, there was some downloading which including the Smooth Sax Tribute album to Michael Jackson (P.Y.T. never sounded so Kenny G.) and a folk-acoustic version of "Little Red Corvette." There was a drunken wake-up or two around 3 in the morning that I missed, because I was snoring away on our flocked-velour red air mattress in the living room after a heady discussion as to the identity of man in movie "Glory" is the same man as in "Grey's Anatomy." (He's not.)

I don't know. The sun was shining, the dessert table plentiful, the garage stocked with PBR. Two of us turned a year older, cats were there. Life is good.

* * *

Other/newsworthy:

- My draft entry on Capital File is now up to three pages in Word. Time to edit.

- Flickr photos tagged with "comic sans." Comic sans, my most fiendish nemesis.

- Also/maybe worth noting, I missed the speaking engagement w/ Kirk Savage, "Monumental Obsolescence: The Demise of the Equestrian Statue, and Other Tales from the Nation's Capital," from his (upcoming) book Monument Wars: The Changing Memorial Landscape of Washington, D.C. (Sounds more interesting to me than his last book, I think.) Apparently it was free and down in Harrisonburg on the 3rd. Oh well.

Anyhoos, the art dept. offers up a link to an old article of his re: memorials: Savage article.

Liveblogging: The Poseidon Adventure

Okay, not really. But we are watching it. And taping it. Just in case anyone wants to borrow a copy.

We're talking an Adam Baldwin/Rutger Hauer/Steve Guttenberg trifecta, people.

(OMG, and Robocop. And PONYBOY!!!!!!!!!!)

dear bird floo: suck it

- When Vin Deisel jumps in the ocean, he does not get wet. The ocean gets Vin instead.

- In case you were planning on dressing like a bagpipe for your holiday office party.

* * *

Update: Still sick.

Travelling southward tomorrow for the fifth annual Fakesgiving, in which my posse makes and consumes enough food to transform into human Macy's parade floats, and drinks twice as much as we eat. I'll also be partaking in (very cold) football spectating, and annoying the everliving be-effing-jesus out of my compadres with constant sniffling. My voice is hilarious - I kind of sound like a 3-year old boy. I'm also eating* with my mouth open so I can breathe at the same time. Wicked.

I'll have more to blogggg on and on about in upcoming weeks. Right now, I'm working on transcribing the D's roving reporter update from the VIP room at Cavalia (which I may have to start a whole new blog for); and the N's small-but-significant rant re: the copy of Capital File currently sitting on our dining room table. (I've found two major typos in it without even trying. And that is nothing to do with actual content.)

More teasers for you- the next few months gives the Blanketed Pyggie: extended family time due to 2 major holidays, a high school reunion, more Capital File, and a partridge in a blog tree. It be overflowin, the content potential.




* Is there anything better than office-baby-shower food for lunch? My diet today has consisted of chocolate cake, Pepsi, chips, and a cookie. In five minutes I'll be bouncing off the walls, only to fall into a deep sugar coma five minutes after that. I totes feel yr pain.

Terrell Owens is my Lock Of The Week. And that's a pretty big lock!

Apologies, first, to the G. because this entry is the exact opposite of what she dreamed her blog would be like when she was a little girl 206 years ago. Apologies, second, to the rest of you who don’t care about this stuff. Apologies, third, again to the G. for making her read this even though she has the bird flu. Or monkey pox. or SARS or whatever designer illness she is currently suffering through. But, I’ve got another dissatisfaction with the Post Express sports section. The guy who does the weekly fantasy football advice is plain gawd awful. It was first noticed a couple weeks back when they suggested picking Chris Simms on the weekend his team had a bye and he was playing golf and not football.

Time for a project! Here’s a breakdown on the players recommended versus their actually performance.

October 21 – Week 7
Travis Taylor/Vikings WR – 36 yards and no score
Chris Simms/Bucs QB – Did not play - Bye week

October 28 – Week 8
Mark Clayton/Raven WR – Did not Play - Injured
Josh McCown/Card QB– 140 yards, one score, one pick

Nov 4 – Week 9
Brad Johnson /Vikings QB – 136 yards and 2 scores
Nate Burlseon/Vikings WR – 2 catches, 16 yards and a score
Note: He also suggested not playing Dez White and Jeff Robinson, a player who’s had 2 catches all year and one I’ve never heard of, respectively. Sage, very sage. (Not Rosenfels)

Nov 11 – Week 10
Marc Bulger/Rams QB – 304 yards, one score, one pick
Joe Jurevicius/Seahawks WR – 27 yards and no score
Note: Last week, the advice was to not start Peter Warrick, the forth ranking receiver on Seattle’s bench. Again, that seems rather obvious.

Brad Johnson had an efficient game and Bulger generally plays well with Holt in the lineup (especially when they fall behind 24-9 in the third) but other than that, this advice stinks. And the Clayton thing? It was well known that the guy was sidelined with an ankle injury. I’m no Kreskin, but based on this guy’s record, you’re better off finding other counsel for you fantasy needs.

conor, on crack

okay, i know: it's been a slow afternoon. lots of posting.

but I just had to give you this.

(all good things this week courtesy sweetney.)

in my heart, in my soul, top 40, when I grow old

All I have to say re: the very bloggy-buzzed-about list from my neighbor, renowned musicologist Info Leafguy, can be found in his own comments. Of which there are 83, last I checked.

are you fucking kidding me?
where are the walkmen?
Posted by: shjdhj at November 16, 2005 04:10 PM

i think they're in the studio. betcha $2 they're on next year's list.
Posted by: EAR FARM at November 16, 2005 04:15 PM

MELVINS!
Posted by: Gatrios at November 16, 2005 05:24 PM

m83 are french.
Posted by: d at November 16, 2005 05:25 PM

You're french.
Posted by: rjb3 at November 16, 2005 05:39 PM


Seriously, I love blogheads like I don't even know what.

simpleton's mayor

The whole office is down for the count. My o-mates and I are splitting the big bucks on antibacterial Kleenex. I am wary of things deemed antibacterial. I'm on a strict lozenge-n-drug cocktail, making my head fuzzy, so nothing today is making sense.

I also have a game tonight. It will be an astounding comic feat of slow reflexes and insanely terrible off-the-net sets, guaranteed to make our outside hitter, a guy named Steve who sports a white bandana, um... angry.

* * *

After reading Catbirdseat this morning re: Apple Box Collection, I wandered on over to XTC's page. Cripes, will you look at that discography. I occasionally forget that some bands have been around a long time. Some bands have more than two albums. No, really!

(Sidestory somewhat involving XTC, subtitled "Saved by the Bell- The College Years:" I worked as an RA to pay for my car. The building I was assigned to live in was composed of 85% male, further math-breakdown 40%/40% frat/jock, 5% athletes foot. It was simultaneously the best and worst year of my life, and some of those asshats stayed around so long they even made it to my wedding. (Unconfirmed but a pretty solid bet: they may/may not have hooked up with some of my friends that night.)

I was upstairs in an unnamed fraternity suite (think "southern", think "gentlemen") getting a key duplicated, or watching "Friday" with his roommates, or whatever you did at age 20ish/in the '90s, when I noticed an out-of-place poster hanging on the cinderblock wall.

A flood of strange emotions fills a young girl's head at a time-stopping point like this, emotions that come with a metallic taste - has she underestimated these hulking underlings; tall, white-hatted, worshipping at the altar of DMB? Beings constructed of stubbly flesh, plaid flannel and handles of Yukon Jack? Menchildren who's entire breath-cycle revolved around freshman trim?????

"You like XTC? That's cool, I never would have guessed."

At this point you can probably imagine the look that was given to me. It was as if I was a brontosaurus, and had suddenly materialized from OUTER SPACE. Turns out, it was a... "pass-down?" From an older fraternity brother? And so he had to keep it up on the wall of his dorm suite?

I'm not even sure what this means.
He wasn't quite sure who XTC was.

XTC sounded like a drug so maybe that was cool, you tell me. It became my own little private thing- to know this kid was living upstairs from me, his Skylarking poster sandwiched between discongruous* wallart: Belushi in his "College" sweater, a Coors Light model.

I don't know, but it made me happy, and I used to blast my Plan 9-purchased brand new Upsy Daisy Assortment at ridiculous levels because of that particular poster; because of him, a frat guy; because of Andy Partridge; because I was 20 and liked people- a soundtrack/ode to my boozy brick little commune.

Well, that and "Mo Money Mo Problems." Obvs.)

* * *

Where was I?

I forget. Anyhoos. Send chicken noodle soup, and LUV.







* This is a word, right? Please god, do not tell me I am making up words. I blame the snot. It has a life of it's own.

it's offish...

...i have a cold.

More later, I am highly uninteresting today. Keep yourselves busy by catching up with R. Or, you could catch up with Blaire.. Dealer's choice.

("TITC" link via Sweetney)

Live blogging of AC repair II

11:27 - here he is.

Live blogging of the AC being repaired

8:05 - The guy's s'posed to be here between 8-9.

It Ends with a Westfall

Should the opportunity arise to run away with a band of gypsy carnies*, I've already got my particular brand o' GC's filofaxed away in my brain. Usually swarthy little dudes with mullets sporting bathroom-cleaning-bleach blond streaks do not impress, but when they play 25+ (I stopped counting) instruments in a variety of vaudevillian ways, then maybe hey! Being kidnapped and living in a madrigal-type covered wagon with them all wouldn't be too bad. Probably smelly, just because they are boys (not necess. because they are mod carnies) but I might learn to be okay with it. As long as I could bring along the husband and dog. I could sew costumes! Be the carnie merch girl!

I told K. that I imagine them stuffed, hanging out of windows of a beat up station wagon, playing all their many instruments as they roll down America's highways. Some of their music reminded me of TV's "Smelly Cat", played backwards, in New Orleans style swing. Living cartoons.

Transcript of a brief conversation with their drummer. I say "their drummer", but they had three people playing various percussion at one point, including what I think might be one of their dead uncle's urns or something, so your guess is good as mine:

Him: "Here. Have a promo CD."
Me: "Thanks. Wait, this isn't yours."
Him: "It's some band from New York, I think! It's at the front desk for free. So you can take it!"
Me, reading the back of the CD: "Uh, thanks?"
Him: "The back says they sound like Counting Crows. Like, Mr. Jones Counting Crows."
Some Other Dude in the Band: "Who listens to Counting Crows. PEOPLE WHO WANT TO KILL THEMSELVES?????"

In conclusion: If you ever have the chance to see Man Man live, I highly recommend.

* * *

Charles Bissell was okay, too.

* * *

Okkervil, as usual, was stupendous, even at the last legs of caring about their tour. They played my four favorite songs, fangirl likes. And all was well and I indoctrinated K. into the world of liking OR. All this despite almost putting a cigarette out in the eye of some ridiculous drunk underage, splitting smokes AND A BEER (note singularity) with four other friends and then whoo-hooin' and pseudo-moshing (at IOTA. for OKKERVIL.) Anyways, kid, yr hat was stupid and so was yr hemp necklace and yr girl's glitter tee.

Fact: I can't got to concerts any longer. I'm just too bitchy.

Other notes: The N. got loads of nice pics to send to family members. Travis is dating an adorable librarian with curly hair and a sweet smile who was flying home today. Next up for band comes Australia. Feelings seem to be that the Australian record label may/may not be run by a 15 year old out of his ma's basement. Sleeping on floors/no drivers/small clubs is so three years ago. Fame, it's knocking.


* Listen, I know. How many derogatory descriptions can I use in one post? I KNOW. I know.

cell love

you've got voice mail:

To sum up my time in the Denver airport: First, the cancelled and/or missed flight. Then, the overbooking. Then, the shuttle ride with several thousand smokey-drunk fellow United passengers trying to get to Philly. Then, A PLANE HIT A DEER. I'm at the hotel now. Whatever. Tequila and tonic?

My friends are now using Lost plotlines in real-as-life sitches.

Wrap up: Good weekend, lots of food, and adorable babies. Black Keys had three encores, my hamstrings were tight and I ended up leaning against the bar like an 85 year old with chronic hump-backness. We got a peck of apples yesterday, maybe I'll learn to make pie crust.

Okkervil River! Tonight! I'll be up front.

PS: I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. You know, as a career, I don't want to do that.

palate cleanser

Day off! Leftover barbeque, "Batman" on DVD, bed linens changed, and the dog has had even a bath - kind of smells like orange sorbert. I might start drinking beers in an hour or so. Not much else to report, except for that UR reports Fox is cancelling "Arrested Development" and replacing it with reruns of "Prison Break," so my faith in humanity has officially withered to the size of a tiny raisin.

You Think You Know, But You Have No Idea: Meat Eater

The N. says:
THE STUDIO IS PANICKING!
The G:
THE STUDIO IS PANICKING!
The G:
IT IS GOING TO FALL!
The N.:
Izam-san (male age 5)
The N.:
meat eater (likes small animals)


* * *

(PS: Not a good idea to send this to friends who have earphones on, turned up way too loud, who d then get a brain full of screaming and squealing. So, turn your volume to "low.")

Spoiler in pointe shoes

(Oh. Now I feel bad. Shannon had to be scrappy! Shannon had to manipulate her way through life! Shannon was, in effect, Cinderella! All Shannon wanted was to be a ballerina. Poor Shannon.

But listen, everyone should have seen that coming from the first five minutes. If there is anything to be learned from Sexy Teen Horror Movies, it's that you DON'T PUT OUT. Unless you want to die. Who's with me?)

shambolic performances

I grew up with lots of Mormons. I have been on several awkward dates with Mormons. After college, I briefly moved to a geographic locale composed 98% or so of LDS. I have been to a Mormon wedding (not in temple, natch), a Mormon funeral, and too many Mormon HS stake dances to count. I owned a BYU sweatshirt, and have read Under the Banner of Heaven.

I don't know why I just told you all that.

Oh! This. According to the Internet, the best quote from the movie "New York Doll" is from David Johansen: "And now the man who after this is going to sing some songs at the children's hospital to cheer them up... Morrissey." (via blurbomat)

I'm looking forward to seeing this. Even though I still haven't seen this, which I once predicted I'd be first in line for. Oops. Rock films, why do I sleep on you.

(PS: SHANNON GETS IT!!! Imagine me doing a slit-the-throat motion with my finger right now. Actually, I'm not sure, but a girl can dream. It'd be like junior high revenge on all those girls you knew in 6th grade PE. You knew the Shannons. You did.)

In Depth Virginia Governor's Race Analysis

The dog and I had to drag the G’s carcass out of bed this morning so she could vote and perform her sole civic duty of the year. (Mine too) I have to admit that I’m going to miss this year’s political season as it has been ever so intrusive. It felt like I had made two new, super-clingy friends. Ones that would send me things in the mail every day and call during dinner and 50 times on the weekends. And then, if they felt I was losing interest in our relationship, they would get their friends like George Allen and Mark Warner to call and remind me how great they are.

Being a responsible citizen, I did some research before I threw my vote away and spent ten minutes on the internets before going to the community center. But I wasn’t able to get anywhere deeper than judging them on their superficial characteristics. Again, it’s like having two new friends.

Whenever I heard Kilgore on TV or his robotic double called our house, all I could hear was this. Which is fine because every time I saw Kaine, all I could see was this.

Kaine’s eyebrow’s + Kilgore’s drawl + our dog + bow tie = endearing childhood memory

So, no matter who wins, our commonwealth’s highest official will now be known as Governor Huckleberry in the Pyggy household.

As for Mr. 4%, Russ Potts, I’d pictured him looking like the guy who ran the rival airline counter on Wings but was disappointed to see he looks just like your normal southern VA politician. Though, having him in the race has been helpful. Kilgore’s people called a few weeks and asked if I would be interested in canvassing in my neighborhood. Unwilling to give up any valuable lying-on-the-floor-listening-to-ipod time, I politely declined. But the guy had a script and kept pressing until I volunteered I was a Potts Man to the core. He got huffy, hung up and let me go back to my floor.

Also, the Post’s Kilgore profile last week offered one of those unexpected yet ordinary details about someone, like when you find out a college friend has an identical twin. In this case, it was that Jerry Kilgore has an identical twin. My initial reaction upon seeing Terry Kilgore’s picture was, “So how did they decide which brother gets the mustache?”, especially since I was under the incorrect assumption that the boys were the sons of country music songwriting legend Merle Kilgore and his fabulous 'stache. (They're not. I knew ol’ Merle wouldn’t have named his twins Jerry and Terry.) But then I found this old photo of Jerry.

Maybe the Brothers Kilgore flipped a coin because it looks like the bare upper lip for Jerry is a new development. The image consultant who shaved that off should get a cushy political appointment if he wins wins, like Ambassador to Foxfields.