Satanophobia, Chelonaphobia

My mom just called me from the car. She and her buddies are stuck on 95 s, road tripping to Durham to see the MD-Duke game. Yes, she has tickets.


I am totally caught off guard at the fact that my late-50s mother? Actually a 19 year old boy.

guilty as charged: proud screensifter

Seriously, I was completely unaware that the entire world reads the NYT the Internet in a similar fashion.




(I briefly thought about posting the several other versions of the "BBFC!" button that were created during yesterdays online powow, including a turquoise-and-purple version that somehow came about after I sent Kriston a file I forgot to convert to RGB. Look for it in the directors cut of the blogworld, or the liner notes, or whatever. Proud to be part of yr campaign, dude.)

hello, good morning, nice day, pleasure to see you

- Defenders of Stan #5 up now. Special cameos, yo.

- HIMYM is officially unfunny this season. Anyone I heartily recommended this sitcom to: I'm sorry. You can borrow my Season I DVDs, and then I'll go ahead and succumb to the public stoning. Or caning. Dealers choice.

- Forget Cheney/bomb news: Yay!

- It's almost the time of year when I start reallly pretending to care about basketball. It's a glorious few shorts months to hang around me. You can usually find me a a terrifically dumpy down-the-street bar where only 65 year old men and there wives hang out. My mom called me Sunday from the CP stands during the UNC game to report "I'm sitting behind a bunch of cursers! And everyone's gonna rush the floor! I think they get fined for that!" The giddyness in her voice was not unlike a toddler on a Jumbo Pixie Stick bender.

- Also re: sporting life, I have joined another vball team this season. Which means pretty much 3 of 5 weekday nights, I will be playing volleyball. I'm not sure how I feel about this. Magic 8ball says ask again later.

- PFork says Vol. 5/Seattle Burn to Shine soon to come. Gibbard, Vedder, Minus the Bear, the Long Winters, Harvey Danger, Kinski?

- Fun fact: The N thinks almonds are poisonous. Ask him about his almond evolution theory sometime soon. ALSO. We have a new member of the family. He lives in the laundry room. The N. is gonna teach me how to streetfight. Think Lloyd Dobler.

- Stores I referenced in an IM this morning: Bradlees, Jamesway, Walmart. I think only one of those three still even exist.

Okay, bye.

I even have the halting walk down.

If you were to ask me the presupposed question, "Are you still beating your wife?" I would, of course, reply that I have never laid a finger on her and then challenge you to a duel with swords or flintlock. Even with her black eye and burst blood vessel as damning evidence, I would accurately plead innocence and blame the dog who kneed her in the face.

However, if you were to ask, "Are you still drawing eyeballs on you palms and chasing your wife around the house like Pan's Labyrinth?" then I'd have to answer yes. Yes, I still am and she dislikes it very much.

henry rollins on care bears/ state of the monday

can't talk now. eye hurts. i think the (minor) injury has caused some (minor) brian damage, b/c i've been listening to weepy indie folk waltz-dirges all morning, specifically with lyrics about girls named Heather*. And mandolins. MANDOLINS(!)

* not that I don't love the several Heathers in my life. **

** but seriously, brain damage. paste-magazine-counting-crows-style-brain-damage. i keep just staring into space, all movements are exceptionally slow. maybe i'm just sleepy??? or bored??? maybe i have a concussion???? i can't even capitalize anything in this post???

.
.
.
.

brightside: my back feels better.

off to swallow some pills.

research

i've reached the end of the internet, and i've come to one conclusion: i am the only person who doesn't care about arcade fire tickets.





it's lonely over here.

dogfight

BD and I need to have a grownup sit-down discussion about misplaced anger and teenage aggression. Three times, at least, he has caused some decent facial injury to me (ref: here and, I don't know, anywhere else in this blog). This afternoon, I was laying on the floor, reading the paper, and he actually punched me in the eyeball. So I have a wicked broken blood vessel in my left eyeball. Call me Kano.

Okay, nevermind. I'll shut up until I have to get stitches.

* * *

I spent the weekend hibernating, my new thing is to refuse to leave the house/change out of sweatpants. I love my new thing.

I watched most of "Firefly" again for the 5th time, went on a few walks in the snow, watched The Departed, ate chinese food. This morning I came out of hibernation long enough to eat brunch with crazy southern women at the Grand Hyatt downtown (long story) and go to the Native American Museum with my dad "Hey. Wow. Look at the stuff us whiteys stole, now in glass cases." Thanks for the commentary, old man.

* * *

Oscars, quickly:

- The N is astounded at Djimon Hounsou's range. Paula Abdul & Ms. Jackson If Yr Nasty videos, annnnnnnd Amistead? Damn.

- KELLY LEAK. If Kelly Leak doesn't win something, I'll be so sad. And I never even saw Little Children.

- Also, Sandals commercials and the cover of "I Had the Time of my Life" by AFI or Sum 49 or something? Make me want to chop my own head off.

folkstyle, combat

I spent a lot of time at wrestling meets in high school, because volleyball and wrestling always practiced at the same time and therefore you had some sort of sweaty connection/sympathy for the dudes on the team, and I had a good friend who wrestled. Wrestling is an ugly kind of fascinating, if you can get past the insane eating disorders and unhealthy lifestyles competitive team culture cultivates. (Running for 4 hours wrapped in Glad bags and three levels of sweatsuits/ringworm/dehydrating yrself/bulimia just so you can drop a weight class by the next day? Nice.) That's a different post altogether, I guess.

Anyways: video. I kind of love this coach.

Missed Connections

Me – driving north on 395 in heavy morning traffic

You – riding shotgun in maroon pickup in front of me.

When that panel truck cut you off and your friend had to slam on the brakes and the 4x4 piece of lumber in the bed went through the back window and comically hit you in the head, I think we had a moment. I guess you were okay since we shared a smile.

Question: Do you think I could get the number of your trailer-hitch bull testicle dealer? I have a question about the new legislation.


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


Me – Walking the downtown streets in a blue cap

You – middle aged crone

Listen, lady, it was obviously windy out today. Do you think I took my hat off and threw it directly into your face on purpose? Plus, I apologized after chasing it into the street.

Question: I know a good trailer-hitch bull testicle dealer. You could put one on your fat ass.

Hmmm. I guess that’s not really in the form of a question.

also, the anna nicole judge? crying. on tv.

On Television:

S: so bai ling is a caricature of a real person right?

The G: is the worst actress ever?

S: she was awful

The G: and that episode last night made me want to slit my throat? NOTHING was REVEALED I HATE THEM

S: I think lost needs to stop going to commercial with that BOOM and blackness routine because they are no longer applicable. I used to yell when they would do that. noooo don't go to commercial now

The G: as the N said last night: "oh, great, now they have to fake suspense."

S: and now I"m like hahahahahahah you can't pretend suspense when there is none to begin with

The G: i found myself like, cutting my toenails. in the bathroom. not during commercial. just whenever assy Bai Ling and her Magikal tattoos were on

S: B and I worked on a crossword puzzle

The G: booooooooo

S: I have a gift

The G: a gift of STDs

S: I'm a tattoo artist who also does horoscopes. GIFT. THAT IS YOUR DRAMA? SERIOUSLY

The G: My gift is: I used to work at Miami Ink on TLC. Also: the best they could get was bai ling? seriously? what, no sandra oh? no lucy lu? no members of the joy luck club? nice going, lindelof or whoever.

S: my gift to you, Lost? you better be glad I don't have cable or tivo in my room because I'd be all over the food network while you were on

The G: it was Fruit Carving Challenge last night, and the Asian girl who was on it was a chef, and WAS STILL A BETTER CHOICE THAN BAI LING w/r/t acting.

S: hahahaha

The G: she cried. real tears, my friend. her fruit sculpture fell down. i saw no tears from BL . only tears from me as i cried AT her.

S: and I cried because of jack's 1980's sunglasses and bai ling's leopard print crimped hair extension?

The G: i cried at that one dress she was wearing. my eyes caught STDs through the screen. i was like "don't fall down. please lord. for all that is good an holy. manipulate gravity. dont let that tiny tiny dress fall" the N said- "Eww. She is shaped like.... a bag of antlers."

S: are we talking about the red dress?

The G: YEEESSSSS. ARRRGGGHHH

S: because that made me cringe

The G: i know
it hurt
the stds from her
radiating from that dress

S: were you willing her to stand perfectly still so nothing would flash or pop out

The G: yes
yes yes yes yes
dont walk down that alley
not cause its scary
but because i dont want you to walk
or move
at all

sometimes, always

Confession time:

I've now received two emails re: the Jesus and Mary Chain reunion @ Coachella, and my first reaction to both MJ and Drew was "wicked!" (You can even ask Drew, that is a straight quote. "Wicked." Who says "wicked?" I do, apparently.) After reviewing the playback tape (mp3, whatever) I have decided to officially not give a crap.

I have "Just Like Honey" downloaded and a busted-ass scratchy copy of Stoned and Dethroned in the trunk of my car somewhere, and honestly? I think that's all I'll ever need of the Reids. Apologies, boys. Carry on.

Once I saw three Hummer's parked outside, each more promotionally decorated than the last. Go Captian Morgans!

If my math is correct, yesterday was the District’s first Mardi Gras celebration in many a year without a spiritual and lubricated center. The last fake Hurricane was mixed, the last tit was flashed, the last drink was watered down and the last set of beads were tossed over the head of a bleary-eyed, dance floor moistened coed on April 31st of last year when Lulu’s shut its doors for good. And I mean really good because if you drive by now all you’ll see is stilts and dirt and those itty-bitty bulldozers.



If you somehow escaped Lulu’s vortex, you were either never a young 20-something year-old living in DC or you were way cooler than my raggedy-assed friends. I went once for someone’s birthday but got so blown beforehand that I made the limo pull over so I could boot on the shoulder of 66. By the time I got there, my heart rate was somewhere around 900 bpm and the only parts I remember are the bathroom and, I think, a Robbie Williams song.

But other people loved it, as evident by the lines on Mardi Gras/St Paddy’s and the crowds during the rest of the year. And it was the only bar in the city, as far as I know, named after an actual Mardi Gras queen – Lulu Auger was the wife of Ulysses “Blackie” Auger, the guy who owned Blackie’s steak mecca, and was the Queen in 1962. She even wrote a book about it.

There was something about that detail that made the bar almost endearing. Almost. It wasn’t a name concocted by some marketing firm to appeal to the Joe Francis-types. It drew those people and tons of Marines, for some reason, naturally. I didn’t actively scorn it, like I do with some other clubs, it was just there and we happily ignored each other.

And now it’s gone and soon to be forgotten* and a Walgreen’s is being built in its place. But I felt things couldn’t go out like that. Late yesterday afternoon, I hiked over and hung some beads and a sign. Sure, it’s a cheap tribute. But it’s still the only tribute the old girl is getting.



* While I was hanging the sign, which took longer then it should have, several people stopped and asked what I was doing and if I had any connection to the bar. One couple didn’t know the place had been knocked down and had taken the Metro into town so they could party. They asked me if I knew if it had reopened somewhere else or if there was another good place to catch some beads around there. I said I didn’t know and hustled off. Clearly, this city still has an appetite for a New Orleans-styled party central.

hoop dreams

Dear Dude Named Chris,

I am sorry I sent you the text message "Baby D: Arenas played better tonight then your boy Biggie will tomorrow. Meow Meow." I know that made absolutely no sense, seeing as you are a total stranger who I sent a text message to. From here on, I'll make sure to double-check my address book. But thanks for writing back! Twice!

* * *

We went to a Wizards game last night. Our seat location: sick. In between vague comments re: Washington's nonexistent defense, I ate cajun fries, sat next to a pleseantly drunk Jamaican man who loved himself some Etan Thomas and hated Ricky Davis, and texted my brother all about 2 dudes from my high school class sitting 20 feet away. Anyhoos. Yay, basketball.

Things in the newspaper that have gotten my goat: the third week of February 2007

Yesterday’s New York Times – Billy Bob Thorton Movies: Total Box Office in Millions.

1. Armageddon - $249.3
2. Chrystal – $83.5
3. Bad Santa – $65.9

Chrystal? How could I have never heard of a movie that made $83.5 million? That would place it between Flightplan and Saw II, two films I also didn’t see, but at least I was aware of their release. Could my Entertainment Weekly subscription have failed me? Again?

Nope. NYT goofed by 3 zeros. And no correction in today’s issue.

Current City Paper - Dirtfarm? That looks awfully familiar*.

Today’s USA Today – Snapshot: Percentage of US adults who read a single book in the last year: 35%.

35%? That can’t be right. But the Census Bureau says yep.

You know what, America? Fuck you. I don’t want to hear any more complaints about anything. There are only 83 million American adults who read a book last year. The rest of you? Fuck you. Seriously, fuck you and every complaint you have ever made about how anyone else lives there life.

*You know, cuz I invented crappy tributes and all.

I came across a cache of old photos/invitations to teenage parties

Questions to ponder:

1. Was there ever a time between 1990 and 1992 that I did not wear my hair in the world's stupidest looking French braid?

2. Was there ever a time between 1998 and 2003 that I wasn't drunk?


* * *

My weekend was pretty kick ass save for the fact that my neck and back are still so extremely broken I have taken to putting the front seat all the way back during my morning car commute. Lying down and watching the sky zoom by through the passenger side window is kind of fun. Makes you feel like a 7 year old again, because you don't exactly know where you are. Are we on the Memorial Bridge? Are we on 18th street? Do I have time for a catnap before my shoulder twinges me awake/we pull into the parking garage?

I spent my Saturday at a baby shower ("Guess the number of candies in the giant baby bottle!" D: "Let's see, I need to do some math. 23 candies down times...uh.... baby bottle? equals? uh. Equals me eating all of them. I love this game.") and my Saturday night drinking one too many beers, mostly because I was dehydrated. Never a good plan, it just leads to me repeating the same thing over and over again and being generally obnoxious. I'm sorry, Townhouse patrons.

Sunday we went walking in the snow and tried to get the dog to pull us across ice like some sort of hillbilly dog mush. It did not work. And then my mom called and wanted to know why every time she tried to buy Gnarls Barkley for her IPod she ended up with duplicate mp3s of Patsy Cline. OH. Also I watched Firefly and ate barbeque.

Also, my little bro just got into grad school. I'm glad one of us has some sort of future aspirations beyond consuming a 5-lb bag of gummy bears from Costco.

Did I mention my mom called asking about Cee-Lo and Dangermouse? Just thought that little tidbit was worth repeating.

ashy no more

okay hipsters. what do we think of charlotte hatherly? because I (WEIRDLY*) rather like the beginning of the song "behave", but then at about 1:50 i have to turn it off because that's when the hate begins to well and I start to cry.

this reminds me of a friend of mine who made mix tapes of only the parts of the songs she liked, leading to the most insane jumble of crap and repeated choruses and jarring sounds you'd ever heard. terrible, in kind of a great way.




* CH: kind of sixpencenonethericher-natalieimbruglia-letters to cleo-spicegirls-terrifying-eloans cartoon pink haired commercial girl-mashup in this video, and the video reminds me of "Cool World" (ugh?), all of which would usually lead to intense nausea on my part, and yet the song remains on my ITunes? Since I hadn't seen the video since now, I can't blame the captivation on eyeliner. Everyone knows eyeliner can be quite mesmorizing.

xfrench, t-shirt

- Jim Flora blog.

- $10 says at some point soon it's re-christened "Freezing Man".

* * *

I thought I had to spend my day writing a work article. I've been let off the hook on that, so it's on to more important research: HS STT reminiscin' and subsequent music lissnin'. And Girls Against Boys. Oh man. Whatever happened to them.

Also, what do I want for lunch?

They call it salmonella. Quite rightly!

So you think you’re a tough guy, huh.? Well, I just found that we have some of that poisonous peanut butter. At our house. In our cupboard. Potentially infecting our vanilla extract or our baking soda or our Craisins. I’m sure it’s possible with science. Apparently, any nonsense is.

Don’t believe me?

Lids of jars with a product code beginning "2111" can be returned to ConAgra for a refund, the company said.

Whammo! Right there – 2111-something-something. IN MY HOUSE! Where my wife sleeps and my dog plays with his squeaky octopus toy! Poison!

But I’m not going to take it back to ConAgra. First, I don’t know how. And second, I’m going to keep it and then feed it to my enemies when the come over for finger sandwiches and Lady Baltimore cake. Sure, they probably won’t die but they will think twice about pushing me into the pool at Christy’s birthday party back in 1989.

I will also not stop brushing my teeth with the juice from the bottom of Perdue chicken containers.

J'ACCUSE OR SOMETHING OR WHATEVER

My entire life is beginning to feel like one giant retarded cartoon version of The Fugitive. It was a one-armed man who sent you your mystery mail, blogoverse. OR AT LEAST THAT'S MY BEST GUESS.

Your "science" may wrongly point the finger, Mr. Veronica Mars, but true science will set me free. I demand fingerprinting. Or DNA testing.

(Also, from reviewing his extensive research, I've gathered the G.p. desparately needs some freelance work. Something, anything, to get his mind off the fair princesses. If you can be so kind as to send assignments his way.)

via kottke

rad