Thursday, July 9, 2009
And onto a pocketful of push pins.
Elven push pins.
I am now sitting at my desk thinking mean thoughts about my ass, which is in turn thinking mean thoughts about me. I'd like to say the message in this story is: What Goes Around Comes Around but what I really think we could all learn from this is: Don't Fill Your Dress Pockets With Fucking Pushpins.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Friday, May 8, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
I am obsessed with Lost. I realize I'm about four years too late but goddamn if I haven't hopped onto the bandwagon caboose like a depression-era hobo. In the past week the inhabitants of my house (fondly dubbed "The Bordello") have watched the entire first season and we're working through the second. I dream about Lost, talk about Lost and rarely eat my meals without it playing in front of me. Some may think this is sad, but I have saved hundreds of dollars in bar tabs by staying home and curling up to Sawyer, Jack, Mister Echo & company.
Yesterday, sadness and bad moods swirled through the Bordello. We all had terrible days and wanted to wallow in self pity. Instead, we picked ourselves up by the bootstraps and invented
THE (unofficial) LOST DRINKING GAME! After dismantling the book case I have half- painted in chalkboard paint and unearthing a rouge half-piece of chalk, we had our rules board, and we all hunkered down for a long night of Island mysteries.
I have provided the list in case you too should find yourselves wanting to play. Keep in mind- these rules are based primarily on the first season, so feel free to add or subtract your own. Also feel free to not be selfish with your rules and post them in the comments.
-Sawyer makes up a nickname
-There is a close-up shot of Aaron the baby
-Any character shows up in anothers back story
-Jack does something doctor-y
-Charlie does or mentions heroin
-The Numbers are spoken or shown
---"Don't tell me what I can't do"
---"You don't know what I'm capable of"
---"The Others" (or if it's a slow game) "Them"
---"Fate" or "Destiny"
It's just too much fun.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Check out the slide show... this kid is going to be a serious lady (or man) killer.
*Should any government officials happen to read this post, I use the term "abduction" loosely. I'll probably just "borrow him for life," which, really, shouldn't raise any amber alert flags.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Morning Edition, April 1, 2009 ·
What began as one man's frustration is slowly turning into a more serious movement that merits our serious attention.
Several months ago, Adam Winter of Saginaw, Mich., grew more and more angry. He is a man who has two loves — pro football and animals — and as the Detroit Lions continued to lose games, Winter became increasingly upset that the magnificent lion should be associated with such a woebegone franchise.
When Detroit — that is, the Lions — finished this past season without a victory, Winter prevailed on his state senator to introduce a bill in the Michigan Legislature that would ban the Detroit franchise from exploiting the nickname of the lion. The rationale: It's unfair to insult a proud beast that is unable to defend its own good name.
In Glen Burnie, Md., Lauren Spencer heard about this and went to her state representative, asking that a similar bill be enacted in Annapolis, preventing the Baltimore baseball team from exploiting the brilliant oriole.
Spencer even wanted the bill to prevent the Baltimore franchise from using the bird's striking orange and black colors for its uniforms, but it was ruled that whereas the oriole itself should be protected from the damage to its reputation, orange and black were colors in the public domain and beyond any statute enforcement.
Similar bills were soon put in the hopper in Tennessee, where the noble grizzly bear has been insulted for years by the Memphis basketball team, and in Arizona, where the beautiful cardinal had become a figure of fun because of the disreputable football franchise. The recent surprise success of the Cardinals did, however, result in that bill's being temporarily bottled up in committee.
Moreover, now some devoted animal defenders from the Humane Society and PETA have formed an organization named STEAM — that's an acronym for Stop Teams Everywhere from Animal Mascots — with the intent of creating federal fish and wildlife legislation to halt all sports franchises from appropriating God's creatures as their nicknames.
As the organization's president, Constance Bloodgood, says, "This year's Detroit Lion is last year's Tampa Bay Devil Ray. No animal deserves to be associated with the potential ignominy of defeat. It's time for human beings to stop insulting all the beasts of the field."
I can only say, hooray. It's about time our animal friends had such protection from gratuitous injustice. And also ... April Fool!Commentator Frank Deford reports from member station WSHU in Fairfield, Conn
Friday, March 27, 2009
Although it saddens me that my bank account and liver will in no way benefit from this termination, your efforts have somewhat melted the iceberg that is my heart.
Many, many thanks and prease, keep preasing.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Here are my latest media clippings. Sigh. I'm really proud of my hard work in making the Snuggie a cultural phenomenon. I think we can all agree that millions of Americans would still be struggling to stay warm while knitting blankets if I hadn't so graciously stepped in and shined a spotlight on their plight.
America- you're welcome. Stay Warm, Stay Productive.
It seems EVERYONE is super famous today. Please notice the sad clown panda in the pink shirt. I like, know her.)
Unless it's in 3D.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
An artist couple (who clearly have no idea about the Current Economic Climate) have spent tens of millions of dollars building reverse aging apartments and homes around the world. They feature uneven floors, oddly placed windows and doors and spherical rooms. The point is not to kill the renters, but to challenge them to adapt to their new surroundings and think differently about space. Some guy has lived in one such apartment for two years. He's lost 20 pounds, no longer has allergies, and his wife regularly hits her head on the tiny door to the laundry room as she navigates her womanly duties in the Fun House from Hell.
I think the idea of this is really neat, but I break bones like this guy break dances , so I think uneven flooring and a dizzying array of color would put me in the most literal interpretation of a domestic abuse situation. I'd be walking into walls and not a fist.
The couple also dabble in high-end art. Like, art that takes ten years to complete and should sell for almost 20 million bones, but won't because no one has 20 fucking million dollars to give them.
The couple also got Ponzied by that dick Bernard Madoff, so now they have no money, no one to buy their art, and- assuming their calculations/theories are correct- an abnormally long time left to live.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Last week I also saw New Kids live (pics to come), watched Twilight and realized that in one week I will be moving to a new house...on crutches. I have impeccable timing.
I will post New Kids stuff later today. In the meantime I'm going to keep sitting here at work with my foot elevated and wrapped in ice until it's time to go home and pack.
In light of my recent injury, I think everyone should click on all my ads twice today. Namaste.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
I still have no clue what it's all about, and I find it outrageously self-indulgent, but it's slowly creeping up my daily routine of website checking.
I've only updated my status twice because I'm WAY more preoccupied with finding as many famous people as I can to follow. And by famous, I mean Kathy Griffin and MichaelK. And Shaq.
I really rebelled against joining Twitter. I had precious few friends on it, and I didn't realize you could follow anyone you wanted. I had the same issue with facebook at first too- I had no idea what the point was, or why you would want your face all over a website made from the residue of a stalkers wet dream. I now would contemplate giving my first born to the founders of facebook.
It's only day 2 of my new life as a Twitterer. I'm sure I'll keep the ol' brog updated as my obsession waxes and wanes- in terms of self-indulgent internet forums, preasebrog is still my best gal. At least here I have more than 140 characters to bore you with.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
I'm sure we've all recently squirmed uncomfortably at fmylife.com, the website devoted to giving poor, awkward saps an outlet to not feel as bad about themselves. As someone who often identifies themselves as a poor, awkward sap, I've thrown myself headfirst into devouring each post the way an aardvark would an ant farm. (yeah, I just unleashed an aardvark analogy. suck it.)
After reading about 30 pages of horrific stories, it occurred to me that I should post something. I figured a true FML reader would want to give back to the pathetic community...give the other schmoes a chance to cringe and giggle and immediately copy/paste the tale to their Twitter page.
Well, fuckmylife, they haven't posted a single effing one.
Which leads me to ponder two important questions: Who is this asshole that gets to not only read, but deny the FML stories, and also, am I living the ultimate FML?
Today, I realized fml has never and will never post my suggested FMLs. FML.
I have sent literal gold to these dickwads. My own father mentioned to me that I'm pretty lucky to be alive because I was $100 bucks away from being aborted. (Apparently his dad wouldn't loan him the rest.) HOW DOES THAT NOT QUALIFY AS AN FML?
All I can say is that the creators of this site are French, and that maybe that's the answer to my confusion. So while le FML frogs sit on their throne of judgement and money, I will sit at my desk, shove FREEDOM fries in my mouth and be grateful that my grandfather happened to be strapped for cash at some point in early 1985.
I know...I know. I fear change too. But I got bored at work, discovered that I can actually get paid to write this shit and went to town.
I'm willing to take suggestions on the new look. I can't figure out how to make it fancier, and I love fancy things, so if you possess this knowledge hit me with it.
Speaking of hitting, go ahead and Chris Brown the ads on the right side of the page. Mama makes some money each time you do.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Let me back up here. I'm going to magicallllly whisk you away to beautiful Hartford, Connecticut circa winter 2004. Imagine a younger version of my current self waking up, stretching, and as the blue birds pull back my white silk comforter, noticing a large, red circle on my arm. And then realizing I'm seeing it through one eye. Because the other one is sealed shut.
Yes. One morning I woke up with ring worm and pink eye.
"Where is the relevancy here?" you may wonder as you secretly make a note to never let me borrow your clothes or wrestling mat. Well my unfortunate one-two punch of conjunctivitis and whatever ring worm's medical nomenclature is inspired my floormates to start calling me High Five. As in, HI 5. Or...HI V.
Well the joke was on THEM last week as I stumbled into the Patient First in Glen Burnie, flanked by a 100-something fever and useless but delicious Luden's cough drops.
I sat in my little cubicle as a nurse came in and gave me a strep test (gag), a flu test (is it fucking legal to shove a q-tip that far into my brain?), drew blood (lucky me, I got the new nurse...always be weary when two people come to take your blood) and finally an x-ray (I'm super siked to see how much that useless test will cost me.) After a 20 minute wait, the doctor finally came in and said, "Well, all your tests came back negative, although your white blood cell count is pretty low. We like to see the count around 4.0 and yours is 2.9. I'll go run an HIV test you can go ahead and get dressed."
BOOM just like that. I tried not to panic, especially because last year a doctor told me I probably have a brain tumor because I checked "Occasionally" under the "Do you ever get headaches" question. (Uh, back off bitch I get hangovers like everrrryone else.)
After two days of freaking out and trying to recall if the last person I shot heroin with happened to mention a certain auto-immune disorder, I finally called back and was told my results were negative.
The morals of this story are simple. Don't go to Patient First in Glen Burnie; don't share needles, and leave me the hell alone if I haven't brogged in a few days.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
I found the course interesting, inspiring and entertaining... so you can imagine my surprise when I realized (quite far into the semester) I wasn't actually "enrolled," per se. Turns out you actually have to "go online" and "properly register" to be in a class. To be fair, I didn't realize that 'University of Maryland' is code for Nazi Germany. My B.
Undeterred, I continued to make the mile-long trek through College Park to class with my two roommates who, you know... belonged there. I turned in assignments and had an almost perfect attendance. Though I basically wasted my time, lost credits and prolonged my already...how shall I put this..."overdue" graduation, I did walk away with a few feathers in my cap.
I had planned on completing the 15 page final paper on post-modernism and some shit, but then I opened my freezer and saw I had a bottle of Kentucky Gentleman's finest and proceeded to get hammered and chain smoke in direct view of my registrationally-unchallenged roommates while they were writing their papers. BOOM. Totally scored an apathy feather. The second feather came during a in-class screening of Last Year at Marienbad. I was able to see through all the black and white surrealism and fixate on the sweet matchstick game, Nimm.
The characters play it throughout the whole movie, and if you've seen the film and played Nimm, one can assume that the game serves as a mirror of the plot; it is almost impossible to win or get what you want unless you go first. Or was it; if you play with matches you will catch on fire? Whatever, I said I wasn't actually enrolled.
Here is the site for Nimm...give her a whirl. I played for the 20 minutes leading up to this brog entry, and unless my work phone rings, I'll play until I beat this damn computer.
Good luck. And if you ever see a man in sunglasses pounding RC Cola with ridiculously attractive hands tell him Megan says hey and thanks for the 3 credits.
Monday, March 2, 2009
There were some awesome "altered" Snuggies like the ShamWow! Snuggie and Mardi Gras Snuggies and Star Wars Snuggies.
Good Ol' Lauren and Mitch earned second place for Best Snuggie for their interpretation of Octo-Mom and her sperm donor:
And I beat them out by one dollar (my prize is $26 and theirs is $25) as Jon-Benet Snuggie.
Unfortunately, at the end of the crawl I had on so much make up that I broke out in hives, took two Benedryl and woke up 12 hours later. Despite my poor form, Capt Larry's took me back under its eyepatch the next day by pumping me full of giant mimosas and friendship.
Here is the official Snuggie Bar Crawl site if you want to see more pictures from Saturday and other pictures from around this great nation. I take great comfort in the words of some robed-drunk we met this weekend; "The economy can't be that bad if we're at a Snuggie bar crawl"
Friday, February 27, 2009
It has also inspired me to use the power of scaring the shit out of people once I finally (dear god please) break into the ad industry. HumptyDumpty's image in the first commercial is forever burned into the insides of my eyelids. That's just good marketing.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Created by Train Horn
Apparently only people under the age of 25 can hear the sound on this site. I call bullshit. If you are over 25 and can hear it, please let me know. If you are under 25 and can hear it, I don't care because you're supposed to be able to anyway.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
The Best of Craigslist has crippled my productivity at work.
Read how this to see how some chick tried to cripple this dudes life.
Here is the link to see the Liquid City for yo'self. I apologize in advance for the inconvenience, but you may have to switch the view to satellite and scroll a bit to the left. Sometimes you have to make sacrifices to unearth the world's greatest water-logged hood.
(it's just north west of Los Llanos and Santa Cruz...but you didn't hear that from me.)
Friday, February 20, 2009
All of this changed when, at the tender age of 16, my father's stock broker and his sons came up for the weekend. Late bloomer that I was (am?) I was terrified, shocked and annoyed by this sudden installment of age-appropriate testosterone. Anyway, one of them tried to kiss me in front of my brother and sister, and then spent the weekend "rapping" Nelly's "Ride Wit Me" from the ski lifts. As a result of this, I memorized the song.
Many moons, serenades and boys later, I stumbled across this rendition of that fateful song. It's pretty amazing, and had this gentleman crooned it to me and not butchered it with his upper-middle class whiteboy beats, maybe things would have turned out differently.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Thursday, February 12, 2009
The museum boasts Beatle bobble heads, lunch boxes, rare albums, countless books, photographs and other crazy memorabilia and artifacts. Frank (the curator/ my friend's dad) even held a birthday gala for himself in the same room Lennon stayed in whilst he played Baltimore in the early 60's.
Beyond the awesome and bizarre stuff in there, it was really cool to see someone's lifetime passion so tangible. I mean, I guess he likes his kids and all and has put some time into them, but walking into that room is like stepping back in time. Everything is chronologically arranged and well-preserved, and whether you don't know much about the Beatles but dig them (like me) or your iTunes is riddled with 14 versions of "Sargent Peppers'" (like my date for the evening) you can appreciate the effort put into the space. You also learn a LOT about the band that you never knew you never knew, such as John Lennon's middle name, which happens to be Winston.
Here's the 02/09/09 Tour Group posing in the shrine:
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
With the Academy Awards approaching faster than the opening of Paris Hilton’s orange legs, I find myself being wholeheartedly swept up into all of the pre-show tomfoolery. I have seen most of this year’s nominated films, and can make good conjecture as to what the others are all about. For instance, I saw The Reader (FUCKING BRILLIANT), but did not see Changeling (thank jeebus). Kate Winslet is easily the best actress of our generation, and one of the greatest of all time. Angelina Jolie, on QUITE the other hand, is not. If I wanted to pay $12 to see her chewing scenery to a bloody pulp in period costumes I would watch the epically horrific Original Sin. However, I WOULD pay millions to see, yet again, her cunty prune face in the audience when Winslet has yet ANOTHER win*. And I hope this time my girl Kate forgets to thank her haughty ass, because Angelina Jolie as Oscar-nominated actress makes me feel violent. Dear Angie Jo- stick to playing overdosing lesbian supermodels and crazy bitches in 1960s looney bins- it’s what works.
*Adding insult to injury, Kate Winslet almost forgot to thank Morticia-Addams-cum-heroin-
I was alerted to this website today, and although it features the amazing, unparalleled Turbaconducken, the site is fucking gross. And embarrassing. I spent some time in the deep south, and when I wasn't crying (seriously) I was staring at 300lb babies shoving fried Snickers bars into their gaping, drooling pieholes, gizzards a-quiver.
Call me a Yank, but I'll stick to Diet Water.
Monday, February 9, 2009
(also, Katie, your hair called...it wants you to go back to NBC)
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Anygargoyle, I'm back at about 75% which is more or less homeostasis for me of late. I'd like to thank my family for giving me this bug and all the shivering, fever-induced hallucinations, vomiting and weight loss that accompanied it. I'd also like to thank them for giving me the genetic history to post this:
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
I don't know if it was the Ethipoian beer or the Ozzy, but about halfway through our feast the meal turned into a preasebrog/ fake mole/ bingo daupper photoshoot. (Although, I'm now remembering a discussion about Lauren's WPOC videoblog fan, which likely spurred into a series of preasebrog fanphotos.)
After discovering Katie's new tattoo, we used similar placement and eyeliner to create the first look.
We had to negotiate around Lauren's "leaving-her-arm-in-one-place-for-too-long hives" but I think the over all effect is pleasing.
Shameless prease prug II implemented mixed media: Green bingo daupper, Ethiopian headdress and eyeliner. It was at this point in the night that Lauren dropped the Disney AllStars on Ice bomb (which we will be attending- FOR FREE- this Thursday.) I kind of hate Disney (the people, not the princesses and shit) and I have an irrational fear of all things in costume. I can only imagine that adventure will be as well documented as this one, so stay tuned.
We had a lovely time dining on African cuisines. And then,
I FOUND TEN DOLLARS!!!
This morning I googled "Pink Flamingo Lawn" to
procure images of the celebrated lawn ornament. (It was for work.) While a few of the fowl showed their brightly-hued faces, I was also met with the image above.
I'm usually not a fan of these black-framed, cleverly-captioned photos that keep popping up everywhere, but this one was unexpected and made me laugh. As I clicked back over to Gchat to share my newfound mullet with a friend, I found I'd been bested:
Game. Set. Match. We both sent our soldiers into war(well,unknowingly to each other) at the exact same time, and clearly mine lost.
They will win.
Monday, February 2, 2009
The worlds oldest rodent saw his shadow today, thus scientifically ensuring another six weeks of winter.
I don't know much about Groundhog's Day. I know that this photo is incredibly awkward, and that sometimes you have to relive the same day over and over to figure out who you really are, and that Andy MacDowell is the woman of your dreams.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
The issue? The rough waters of the economy have finally begun rocking their weekend sailboats. Their situation is so dire that they formed a support group- Dating a Banker Anonymous- where they can sit and sip $15 gimlets and bitch about losing their time shares or thrice-weekly deep tissue massage. The article is both fascinating and insulting. It takes a real shithead to not only find it reasonable to complain about cutting back the Nanny's hours to 35 a week, but to then flaunt it in the Times.
I understand that it's difficult to assimilate to change, but I find it beyond reproach to rub the woes of your mild discomfort in the faces of laid-off workers and struggling families. Aw, your life is slightly less-than because your boyfriend is making less money and working twice as hard just so he won't lose his Wall Street gig? Boo fucking hoo. Here's a thought- why don't you get a job and stop whining while your meal ticket wakes up in a cold sweat to check the opening bell of the Japanese market.
Just read the article. You may find it funny, or you may read it and find yourself brogging a response in a fit of blind rage.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
And then I saw a sexual Ronald McDonald in repose with- I assume- a bottle of Chianti and perhaps some discount caviar.
I shouldn't have laughed at this and I certainly shouldn't have posted it. Jessica Simpson is obviously not fat or even relevant.
Monday, January 26, 2009
This British commercial is amazing. It can be risky, but some of the best advertising is "oddvertising"- juxtaposing two completely unrelated topics, images, etc to make the unfamiliar stick in your brain. Also unrelated: My University of Phoenix 'PhD in Advertising' glitter pens and certificate are being mailed this week.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Click here for more satelite images of the inauguration- they are all pretty trippy.
*I don't know what a cell cluster is but it sounded like something that might be real, and maybe look like the picture.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
I'll allow that that last statement didn't make much sense, but let's move on, shall we?
Today is the date my eyeballs have been straining to read off the bumpers of cars for four years now: 1/20/09. I think it is amusing that for years this date has been marketed- by us- as "Bush's Last Day;" a sentiment totally disregarding the future. Far before Mccain and Obama duked it out, the fact that it would be Bush's last day in office surpassed the "What Could Be's" and stopped cold at the "Get Him the Hell Out of Here's." Given the power of "1/20/09", I'm surprised we even bothered voting at all and didn't just appoint John Hamm or Harry Potter as King.
But we did vote, and it is the final day of Dubbya's tenure as Commander in Chief. Though I would love to witness history and all that jazz, you could not pay me to make the 45 minute treck to DC today. First of all, I hate crowds. Second of all, I hate the Human-to-Port-A-Pot Ratio, which is 800:1. (4 mil people, 5,000 shitters.) A perfectly respectable lady friend of mine is donning a pair of adult diapers in the event that she has to- you know, pee. While I respect her enthusiasm, as a general rule of thumb I won't go anywhere requiring me to throw a box of wipes into my purse.
cnn.com is asking all Inauguration-goers to send pictures of the event so they can compile the most detailed image of any moment in history. As if the cell phone towers won't be working to full capacity, cnn also requests that the images be sent as soon as possible. I'll try to post the compiled, layered image of 4 million grainy phone pictures here as soon as it is made available.
I'm now off to finish some work and go watch the Grand Show on the other side of campus. Enjoy watching this momentous occasion and don't forget to check out who Michelle is wearing and which celebrities get to stand on the actual stage while Obama performs.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
That being said, today should pan out to be a fantastic game, riddled with Yo Mama jokes, sick defense, Flacco's incredible eyebrows and a Ravens win.
The pre game analysis has put Pittsburgh as the favorite (bastards) but they also are projecting this game to be "a streetfight." With the exponentially higher number of convicted and accused felons, I think we all know who will come out victorious.
I'm going to tuck into my bucket of margarita and sigh contentedly at the beautiful Ravens posters I've hung in our windows and on the front door (I'll post pictures of my masterpieces later.)
Good luck, Ravens. And godspeed.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Scene: Two Ladies Lunching.
Coffee makes me sick so I have to drink tea. It’s like ordering bacon-wrapped filet mingon and getting a veggie burger!
Mmm. Mmhmm. Tea is coffee's poetry-award-winning, honor-student, Swarthmore-attending, fake monocle-wearing older brother.
Well, then certainly Coffee is tea's fun-loving sexy bitch of a little brother whom everyone loves but Tea just doesn't see why.
Oh, to be sure, to be sure.
And I suppose that would make Sanka Tea and Coffee's red headed, candy-corn toothed, psoriasis-having step brother?
Indeed, which means Frappacinno is coffee's chubby-but-designer-wearing, sassy gay cousin who moved to LA midway through community college.
You may be on to something there, Mrs. Clarion. Would you say that Starbucks is Coffee and Tea’s over-paid, long-haired bitter agent who charges too much and cares too little?
By George, Mrs. Jamestown, I would! And would you, in turn agree that Starbucks' Reduced-Fat Banana Cake is Coffee's drunken hook up, who’s good in the sack but is otherwise his I-swear-I’m-not-anorexic, wants-to-be-everything-to-everyone, needy and emotionally dependent ex-girlfriend?
A thousand times Yes! But if all of this is true, then by transitive property, Venti Peppermint-Spiced Extra-Whip Whole Milk Chai Latte with Red and Green Sprinkles and Four Sugars is Coffee's over-festive and portly aunt who comes to Christmas with her Chihuahua, her ugly-sweaters-with-bells- collection, her vibrator and her tears.
A mathematical certainty! Hahahahah her vibrator and her tears. Lets go get a croissant.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Oh, you like topical similes you say? Here are a few more to drive the point home.
No George Michael in the AD movie is like:
...G.O.B without his Segway or Magicians Alliance card
...Tobias without his jean short collection
...Lucille without her vodka
...Lindsay without her liberal agenda or vodka
...Maeybe without her rack
...Michael without his stair car
...George without his look-a-like paper mache heads
...Buster without his hook hand
I think I've made my case here.
Please Michael Cera, do the movie. Just say yes. Yes.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Oddly, my rigidly right-winged, farm-bred, Ann Coulter-loving father had the same idea. In the late nineties he had some sort of philanthropic seizure and went through Baltimore doing good deeds. He outfitted a homeless man he dubbed "Bo-Peep" in warm Carhart clothing and he gave homeless men and women gift certificates to go to a barber to get hair cuts and shaves for job interviews.
Though we were all surprised and supportive, I should mention that the Carhart clothes were covered in my dad's company's logo. Opurtunist that my father is, he would never let a kind gesture go unrewarded- thus Bo Peep became one of the first examples of a "walking advertisement" that I have ever seen.
My Dad and John Waters: Baltimore's most revolutionary minds.
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I just tried to log into facebook for some quality mid-afternoon stalking and the site is DOWN. Which means either someone googled google (a sure sign of the apocalypse- the world as we know it will cease to exist if this ever happens so PLEASE never do that) or my computer is being rude. It makes me uncomfortable to admit that my instant reaction to this facebook news was to update my status to see if it was just me who got hit with rejection...but, like, I can't.
I am terrified to think of a workday without facebook. It is my sun, it is my moon, it is my bastion of useless knowledge and amateur photography. O! evil gods of downed systems, how dare ye taketh away my ability to update my status and peruse the quotes of quasi-strangers! Without the fortification of my friends' witty comments, my wall will surely come crubmling down!
[Editors Note: In the time it took me to write that post Facebook dropped its iron curtain and let me back in. But whatever, it's not that big a deal.]
Monday, January 12, 2009
Friday, January 9, 2009
A primo example of this is the 2005 ass hat bomb Elizabethtown. Starring Orlando Bloom and Kirsten Dunst, the movie follows the main character Drew as he epically fails at his job causing his shoe company to lose one BILLION dollars. That same day his dad dies, and after ALSO failing at the worlds lamest suicide attempt he finds himself on a plane to (you guessed it) Elizabethtown, KY for the funeral.
Enter Kirsten. She plays a spunky, irresistible flight attendant with a wealth of deep, important one-liners. The two swap numbers, thus propelling their relationship into a long-distance, VERY short friendmance. Will they fall in love? Will she save him from himself? Will he finally see what's right in front of him?
Who gives a shit.
Because I had to suffer though it, I'll share with you some of the superb Cameron Crowe writing that made Elizabethtown sparkle and shimmer before our eyes.
Claire Colburn: I'm impossible to forget, but I'm hard to remember. (uhhhh what?)
Claire Colburn: I'm one of a kind. (buuut you just said...ok sure nevermind.)
Claire Colburn: Men see things in a box, and women see them in a round room. (I won't even touch that one)
Claire Colburn: I think I've been asleep most of my life.
Drew Baylor: Me too.
Claire Colburn: I don't know a lot about everything, but I do know a lot about the part of everything that I know, which is people.
Drew Baylor: Can you imagine an entire life wrapped up in a shoe? (BAHAHAHAHHAHAHA)
Claire Colburn: Sadness is easier because its surrender. I say make time to dance alone with one hand waving free. (It's like she can read my thoughts...)
Claire Colburn: Life cannot be so cruel that we don't deserve to be together... to eat. (poetic. compelling and rich.)
And my favorite:
Claire Colburn: I'm going to miss your lips. And everything attached to them.
I realize I can be cynical and that sappy movies aren't my favorite but come on. In case you haven't born witness to this travesty, the way that the Drew character tries to off himself is ludicrous. He tapes a butchers knife to an exercise bike thing and tries to stab himself to death.
What a turd. Anyway, the movie ends with Claire sending her sort-of-but-not-really-new-boyfriend on a soul-searching cross-country drive with his dads ashes, which he illegally spreads all over the place. Within the most elaborate scrapbook imaginable, she times his trip perfectly (because I guess she knows a lot about people and telling the future) and at one of the asinine places on her freakshow map- the worlds second biggest flea market-she plants little clues all over and he finds her in her little red hat and they kiss and the end.
[EDITORS NOTE: The thumbnail to this picture looked just like Flacco. Upon further review it appears to be Keanu Reeves but fuck it, it stays.]
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Which is why I tend to ignore the whole NYE Resolution thing. I prefer to always think I can't do or have something, that way when i DO get it, it's like a big surprise and I can blast some Destiny's Child and celebrate my "unexpected" good fortune/looks/whathaveyou.
This year was no different. A dear friend asked me what I had resolved to do for '09 and I said Nothing. Lose weight? Nothing. She then called me lame and told me her goal is to learn a new language and to ride a motorcycle.
We can't all be supergroovyjews.
Another friend explained that instead of choosing to subtract a bad habit, she was going to add a few new ones. She is going to work on being more straightforward and aggressive with men, which basically means '09 IS HER YEAR! (to get knocked up.)
I'm sure I'll turn down a few salt and vinegar chips in the name of it being a new year and all, but to be honest, I'm not that worried; odd years have been statistically more enjoyable than even ones for me. I have a few weekend trips planned, a full-time job, my cat is doing well, I have all three High School Musicals on DVD, plus my blog...
'09's gonna be great.
2...The Olypmic butterface (albeit champion of the world) posing with the crusty wax figure and the cheesedick reality star
D... The crusty wax figure who is riding on the coattails of her failed cheesedick son's reality tv career while posing with the olympic butterface.
(If you picked Michael Phelps then you win.)
I'm the worst. My New Years resolution/ Boxing Day promise is to bring you faithful, late breaking information NO MORE than three weeks past their relevancy expiration dates. (speaking of which, did anyone hear Brit's having a comeback!?!)
For me, 2009 began in a police invaded coat-check mosh pit at the Sheraton (true story), so I feel that either things can only get much, much better or far, far worse. Either way I'll find things to report.