Friday, August 27, 2004

Much like Led Zeppelin ...

I'm going to Calimafornia. To max and relax. And shag some members of hot young Hollywood. Teasing, teasing.

Anyhoo, watch out for the evil Republicans -- I'm totally pussying out and running away to Los Angeles, so please do some non-violent ass-kicking on my behalf...

And while you're at it, PLEASE go to see "I'm Gonna Kill The President" -- it's probably the best thing i've seen in years. Agitprop, Commedia Dell Arte, theatrical wonder. Totally go see it. NOW.

So. Love you, mean it, kiss kiss, hug hug. We'll rock when I get back on the 6th.

Thursday, August 26, 2004

The Spree! The Spree! Such glee!

My pal Ricky, the Harpist-extraordinaire for the Polyphonic Spree, invited me to rock tonight's gig at Irving. and so, yo -- i suspended my cynicism and my hipstertude and my deconstruction and i shook my booty with pure abandon and wonder and i didn't care who gave a fuck because i was happy, oh my goss, i was really and truly happy.

paul simon was there. he's, like, as tall as the hobbits.

as was robin goldwasser, one of my faverave people in the whole world. know her, friends, and love her.

I am a big dork, and, yes, REM is my fave band always 'n' forever

Apparently, I am quoted (albeit mis-genderedly) in this book: Reveal: The Story of R.E.M

My super rad and genius friend Ken called last night from Athens (GA, not Greece) to tell me that I'm quoted in this book about REM -- the author cites an article I wrote about Tuatara (Peter Buck and Scott McCaughey and other brilliant musicians) and, while i am pleased as punch to be in print, the author apparently calls me "Mr. Bex Schwartz."

I am a chick, yo. I gots two titties. And a vagina, yo.

So, rad, quote me because i love the REM, but at least let the world know i've got me a clit and some labia.

Monday, August 23, 2004

Poor Paul Hamm

Poor Paul Hamm.

He had to sit through ten minutes of vitriolic Athenian booing in outrage over the judges' fucked-up scoring of the Russian legend gymnast Alexei Nemov because they gave him a motherfucking 9.725. And he's the Sexy Alexei, yo. Does sex appeal stand for NOTHIN' in the Olympics? Sheesh.

So then poor Paul Hamm he housed the Russian legend gymnast Alexei Nemov dude with a 9.872 and everyone boos the judges for awarding him a 9.872.

They booed! They hate him! THEY HATE HIM! They hate him because he's so damn good.

Alas. How many of us feel his pain?

Paul Hamm -- we salute your skills. We salute your bland American A&F-esque good looks. We salute the fact that the gymnast who went right after you did this flip-twist thing in mid-FUCKING-air during the high bar and he tied with you even though you did not do a flip twist thing in the mid-FUCKING-air. We salute you having to defend your gold medal for the all-around thing. We salute that we just saw two gymnasts fall off the high bar but that Italian guy rocked the tie-breaker so you get a silver -- oof, that's gotta hurt. Regardless, Paul Hamm. We salute your wholesomeness.

We would just like to know, if there were any truth to the rumor that you continue to receive such unearned high scores because you have been orally pleasuring the judges? Because, were this rumor to be true, we would like you to describe your technique.

Because then we'd like to analyse it. In slow-motion. And lots of instant replay.

Again, we ask only to clarify if there could possibly be any merit to the Paul-Hamm-isn't-just-awesome-at-the-vault, he's-awesome-at-naughty-things-too rumor floating across the interweb.

Just wondering.

We salute you nonetheless.

Because, Paul Hamm -- we feel your pain.

Although we are sad that the Gymnastics portion of the Big O is over. We look forward, however, to some artistic ribbon-twirling.

Even Though We're Fine and Dandy, We're Not Candy

psa, originally uploaded by starbexxx.

Today's New York Times reports that Tylenol has come out with yummy minty-fresh "Cool Caps" -- Tylenol that's been coated with a tasty veneer of candy-like scrumtiousness. Apparently, the "flavor burst" makes it easier to swallow the pills.

When I was but a wee one watching tv all my myself, I was constantly terrified by a PSA that ran during my cartoons. It featured blue felt-like puppets who were supposed to be singing pills. They would sing, "Even though we're fine and dandy, we're ... not ... candy." And the PSA was supposed to teach us that, while pills might be pretty to look at and they might live in pretty little bottles, we weren't supposed to gobble 'em up like so many Pacman power pellets. This was a mildly confusing message, seeing that Triaminic tasted just like an orange lollipop (lip-smackingly good!) and my baby aspirins were grape-esque and my special extra-fluoride vitamins were either orange or cherry or grape. So even though those pills DID taste like candy, I knew that there surely must exist real pills -- SCARY pills -- that were fine and dandy but were, decidedly, because they were singing about it, that they were not, absolutely not, no way Jose, they were not candy.

Even though they were fine and dandy.

I'm not sure exactly why I was so terrified by the singing pills, except that I think they were all dancing around a pill bottle marked with the universal symbol for poison and I think that I knew that poison was scary and so perhaps my three-year-old brain somehow decided that pills were poison and that they would kill me. The bad pills, anyway. The fine and dandy ones. This puppety-pill-poison-phobia is probably why I was physically incapable of swallowing pills until I was 13 or so; I would chew my antibiotics even when my mom tried to hide them in Twinkies (to this day, the smell or sight of a Twinkie nauseates me).

It haunts me, O, it haunts me still.
This is serious (serious)
We could make you delirious (delirious)
You should have a healthy fear of us (fear of us)
Too much of us is dangerous (no, no, no, nooooo)
Doctors tell the pharmacy (pharmacy)
Types of pills that you will need (you will need)
And he knows the harm that we can (we can be)
If we're not taken carefully (no, no, no, nooooo)
We're not candy (believe us)
Even though we look so fine and dandy
When you're sick we come in handy
But, we're not candy (ooooh, no)

In retrospect, I think that I had a healthy fear of the pills not just because they were dangerous but also because I asked my mom what "delerious" meant and I think she told me that it meant you were crazy and had to be locked up. Sigh.

And so, friends, even though there's minty-fresh Tylenol, it ain't candy.

Saturday, August 21, 2004

Rabid Otter Attacks 6-Year-Old Boy Swimming In Lake

This just in -- Rabid Otter Attacks 6-Year-Old Boy Swimming In Lake


River otters are cute and wonderful and they have little hands with which they eat mollusks.

Plus, The Long Winters are the River Otters of Rock! Now they will forevermore have to defend their self-appointed animal totem.

A Universal Humorjoke Just for You

Once upon a time, a frog decided that he wanted to upgrade to a luxury lilypad. So, he went to his local bank and waited on line to see a teller. Finally, he got to the front of the line. He glanced at the teller's nametag and then made his pitch.

"Miss Black," he said, "I'd like to borrow some money."

"Please, call me Patty," she replied. "What do you have for collateral?"

The frog reaches into his fannypack and pulls out a little kitschy statuette of Jesus helping some lucky little girls with their gymnastics routines. The teller takes the statuette and peers at it intensely.

"I don't know about this," she says. "I'll have to ask my supervisor. Please, follow me. He's in his office right now."

Patty leads the frog down a long hallway. She knocks on a heavy mahogany door.

"Come!" booms the the boss.

Patty approaches the boss and whispers in his ear. The boss thinks for a moment, then stands and throws an arm around the frog's shoulders. He claps Patty on the back, declaring:

"It's a knick-knack, Patty Black! Give the frog a loan!"

Friday, August 20, 2004

Signs of Superstardom?


If one's pot delivery guy says, "Hey, I saw you on TV!"

Does that mean one is officially almost-quasi-semi-famous?

And then when he says, "I didn't know you were rich and famous!"

What is the polite response? Does gesturing mutely to one's apartment in the bumblefuck regions of Brooklyn serve as a proper reply?

And should one have said, "Please don't tell the tabloids I'm a stoner...." (?)

Or would the headline "Sometime Basic-Cable-Talking-Head Smokes Weed" jumpstart one's career?

Saucy Cod!

menu2, originally uploaded by starbexxx.

Working for Viacom is awesome, because they don't just serve cod, they serve saucy cod! Because here at MTV Networks, we like sass and snark. And saucy cod. But not just any saucy cod. Oh, no. Here, amongst the glitz and glam, we get SAUCY COD SENSATION. It's sweeping the nation.


Briefly: NBC is airing two campaigns that rock Randy Newman's "I Love LA."

One spot promotes Joey, the 94%-guaranteed-to-suck sitcom about Joey Tribbiani's move to LA where he'll live in constant wonderment amongst visits from his sister (Drea De Matteo).

The other spot promotes NASCAR, the race thing in which cars drive very quickly around an ellipitical path and sometimes they blow up. Although it seems that NASCAR events are shown on Fox, I'm pretty sure it was a co-branded NBC/NASCAR thing.


i guess we all love LA, don't we?


Anyhoo. Randy totally just bought four new cars. Ah, how i lurf him.

God, Not Drugs!

So-Called President Bush Rallies Wisconsin; takes questions from crowd, including one pious Youth Minister.

YOUTH MINISTER: I'm a local youth minister, recently hired. And one of the things -- two of the things we've talked about today are enemies and freedom. And I believe that the enemy that we need the greatest freedom from right now happens to be Satan, and it's the enemy that we also don't necessarily always see. There's so many people who are being attacked on every level. A lot of those people are youth that are in our middle schools and our high schools. And I was just wondering how we can do more for faith-based initiatives for children, before they're drug addicts?

THE PRESIDENT: Yes. I appreciate you saying that. Look, well, first of all, it's for me to call upon people such as yourself to interface with children early, before it's too late. You answered the question by your actions. But in terms of reducing demand for drug -- you ask a specific issue on drug use, for example. We've got a collaborative effort with faith-based groups, community groups, neighborhood groups all aimed at sending the same message you're sending. And it's a kind of universal effort necessary to say to a child, drugs will destroy you. And it's working, frankly. We've reduced drug use by 11 percent in three-and-a-half years -- it's not "we," it's community groups have done so in three-and-a-half years. (Applause.)

You're right, there needs to be a positive message sent to our youth. There also needs to be a focused effort on helping the drug addicts who consume most of the drugs. A percentage of -- a relatively small percentage of the people consume most of the drugs, and that's why I'm working with Congress to fund a drug recovery program, of which an integral part of that will be a faith-based initiative. And the way it works is, is a person gets a voucher that he or she can redeem at the program he or she chooses that meets her own, or his own needs. And that includes the ability of faith-based programs to become involved, as I told you, with helping people change their hearts and, therefore, change their lives

Hey. It's me again. See. I was a mild Jew who kinda felt drawn to the tenets of Buddhism and then one night I ate some mushrooms and sat by a campfire and grokked it all out; at least to the extent that one can grok it all out when one is completely at ease and relaxed. Oh, and on mushrooms. And I, like so many before me, had the 'we-are-one' epiphany, and because i am a riot nrrrrd, i interpreted that to mean that quantum physics held the keys to the universe; that we are all connected because we are vibrating quanta; that violence and war and hate were all meaningless concepts because we are all one and thus: all you need is love.

And faith means having belief in that for which you have no empirical evidence. and i thought, i don't like that. gimme the evidence, man. show me the science.

so some people go the God route, and some people go the Science route and I reckon there's lots of other Routes that ya'll should feel free (oh, yeah, right? we're all free. woo!) to share ...

Anyhoo. So the drugs made me think: God is the most silly, funny, laughable, Wow, we are no more advanced, really, than the primitive peoples who came up with the concept of God -- because sometimes there are things we just can't explain and once it was: drought, illness, earthquake (qu'est-ce-que c'est? It's GOD, gosh darn it!) and now it's like: depression; nuclear war; the current political climate (DAMN YOU, GOD!) and so when we don't grok something we say it's "GOD."And then i thought: "stop the widening," which was a billboard campaign across the smaller roads of Maine. But, anyway. So i was on LOTS OF DRUGS and i was thinking that GOD WAS A DUMB-ASS CONCEPT.

i dunno. i'm just saying, from my pool of empirical evidence: a lot of stoners i know are atheists or agnostic and don't practice organized religion and kinda don't really accept the concept of God, i mean, didn't you looooove the Matrix?

Are the Godpeople afeared that the godless heathens using drugs might undermind the Godpeople's stronghold on this country? (Like, according to the Prexy, God says: abortion is bad. God says: homosexuals can't marry. Gos says: stem cells -- BAD. God says: bless Amerika).

Then I say, BRING IT. and let your imaginary friend -- oops, i mean, GOD, convert the heathens.

Thursday, August 19, 2004

Hi, my name is Bex, and i talk backwards.

Right. So, I often forget that i'm a mutant. A mutant Superhero, of course, but a mutant nonetheless. Manz and I went to rock karaoke tonight at the R Bar, and after some mildy successful forays:
1) I Don't Like Mondays - Boomtown Rats // over-emotional and on-key. YAY!
2) Working in a Coalmine -- Devo // possibly my bestest 'oke ever, because it's staccato and low
3) Romeo & Juliet -- Dire Straits // very emotional, because i played Method and thought of this boy on whom I have a ferocious crush but he doesn't live in NYC and thus strong emotions are easy to summon.
4) We Didn't start the Fire -- Billy Joel. // BUT, BACKWARDS.

i realized i could speak backwards in 6th grade -- we were playing this word game in which one had to try to find the longest word that read as two real words when read both forward and backwards.

as in, you'd say: "A winged mammal and a soft drink"
and the answer would be: "bat and tab."

i wanted to win. (incidentally, here's the longest I've ever found:
"strung out and a sweet treat after a meal" --
dessert and stressed.

Anyhoo, so we were walking home from Clara E. Coleman Elementary school and singing "We Didn't Start the Fire" and i was thinking about the game and then the lyrics started coming out backwards. And thus, a wondrous party trick was born-ed-ed.

So. My roomie DESTESTS Billy Joel (BJ) (heh heh. would you give BJ a BJ? totally. with ball-licking) and he wasn't there so i was like, "Yay, i'm SO doing We Didn't Start the Fire!" And Mandy said, "Do it backwards."

And so I did.

And it felt good. Damn good. Almost as good as nipple-pinching.

So, friends, what I've learned -- I'm a lot happier when i'm a mutant freak.

Wednesday, August 18, 2004

The Rate of Redundancy Rises Rapidly

From today's Page Six :

"BRITNEY Spears is going retro. For her upcoming "Greatest Hits" album, the pop tart is recording a remake of Bobby Brown's '80s hit "My Perogative."

The whole Britney-doing-Bobby-Brown doesn't really bother me.

But ... Britney's Greatest Hits? Her first single ("Baby, One More Time") was released in 1998.

That was six years ago. A six-year-old career is now long enough to warrant a Greatest Hits album? I have underwear that's older than Britney's career. The skirt I'm wearing today is older than Britney's career. There are packets of duck sauce in my parents' refrigerator that are 3 times as old as Britney's career. And no one's giving them a greatest hits album.

Until now. And, now: the moment for which we've all been waiting -- Packets of Duck Sauce's Greatest Hits!

Sweet and Sour and Such a Heartbreaker
Spareribs? (More Like Not Enough Ribs to Go Around)
I Wanna Be All Over You like Scallions in the Fried Rice
I Am A Versatile Condiment
Soy Sauce, Soy Bomb
Steamed or Fried
So Hungry Two Hours Later (feat. Fat Joe)
Bok Choy, Yo
General Mao vs. General Tso
The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down

You could be the next Stephen Dorff!

Are you a boy between the ages of 18 and 40? Are you "big bodyguard type?" Then what are you doing wasting time on the interweb? Get thee to Los Angeles (picking up a couple of keys) (don't touch my bags, if you please, Mr. Customs Man) and try out for Britney Spears' NEW VIDEO!!!!!

Just think. You, too, could rescue Britney from a botched suicide attempt.

Thanks to Defamer for the heads up.

Tuesday, August 17, 2004

This Spot Tickles Me Pink

elephantsperm, originally uploaded by starbexxx.

Yes, Slate is already all over this, but I wanted to share. Apparently, this spot only runs during shows known to cater to the stoner demographic.

It's just that ... there's something oddly disturbing when the female elephant gently brings the Skippy Peanut Butter Bar to orgasm, as she sucks the ejaculatory fluid (oops, I mean "creamy peanut butter") from the Trunk+Bar phallus.

Mmmmm. Peanut butter. Mmmmmm.

Sweet Dreams are Made of This

I made this! In my fantasy headworld, sometimes I look like this. (I actually made this for a purpose: Ah, corporate cubicle culture... We have a "Birthday Board" that features a picture of each aging VH1 employee on the date of his or her birth. I comped this together for my birthday glory next month).

((Tell your PDA or PA to remind you: my berfday is September 20th)).

Bex and Shaggy -- alas, our friend Velma was nowhere to be seen

Just wanted to share -- this is a photo of me and my friend Shaggy at a swell party on the Hudson. Shaggy works at Nutmeg, which is my fave place to do audio. I don't remember who took this photo, but I do remember that right afterwards I entered into a battle-to-the-death with my friend Rob over who is the greatest trivia master of all time. We were supposed to duke it out last week, but Rob cancelled. Because he fears the devastating defeat, yo.

Monday, August 16, 2004

My eardrums are bleeding

Such atrocities ought never to be committed.

News of the Weird

Thanks to Air France, we now know that a torso can't fly on its own.

In other, slightly more disturbing news, "grunge" is out and "preppy" is in. Thus spracht The New York Times style section. Read this and weep.

Sunday, August 15, 2004

Wescentric Fun

A little nostalgia

I think this might be universally funny ... or else this is a completely pointless post. At dinner, we were reminscising about collegiate humor and everyone fondly recalled the day when our two fearless comedic leaders decided to nickname (nearly) everyone on campus.

I dunno, kids. I think this is outrageously funny.

But maybe you had to be there.

Saturday, August 14, 2004

Easy Dreams at the End of a Chain-Smokin' Day, Easy Dreams At the End of the Day

NBC rocked that Opening Ceremonies as if they thought that every set of eyes in America was glued to their coverage. And they chose to end the thing with Simon and Garfunkel's new single, "Citizen of the Planet?" Which is a total up-with-people imploring-for-peace type of song. It features the rhetorical question device so common (and tasty!) in 1960s protest folk-rock.

"Citizen of the Planet" features such sentiment as: "Who are we to demand / That the leaders of the land / Hear the voices of reason and peace?" The answer? You! Me! We are all citizens of the planet! and the people have the power! Who are we to demand anything of our leaders? We're the motherfucking citizens of the planet, by golly. (Emanci-motherfucking-pater of the slaves, yeah yeah yeah).

So, wait. This mega ratings-whore ended with a peacenik hippie-dippie song by a couple of Jews with receding hairlines?

Doesn't all of this feel an awful lot like 1971?

[Via abstract dynamics via this official one]

Anyway. I'm going to start looking for the summer of love. And, drat it! I was just in San Francisco and I didn't see it. Dang!

"I'm empty and aching and I don't know why."

Yup. That's why I'm walking off to look for Amerika. A time when Amerika was spelled with a "K."

Citizen Of The Planet

I am a citizen of the planet
I was born here
I’m going to die here
Come what may
I am entitled by my birth
To the treasures of the earth
No one must be denied these
No one must be denied
Easy dreams
At the end of a chain-smokin’ day
Easy dreams at the end of the day

Who am I to believe
That the future we perceive
Lies in danger and the dangers increase
Who are we to demand
That the leaders of the land
Hear the voices of reason and peace

We are the citizens of the planet
We were born here
We’re going to die here
Come what may
We are entitled by our birth
To the treasures of the earth
No one must be denied these
No one must be denied
Easy dreams at the end of a chain-smokin’ day
Easy dreams at the end of the day

Who am I to deny
What my eyes can clearly see
And raise a child with a flame in his heart
Who are we to believe
That these thoughts are so naïve
When we’ve all disagreed from the start

We are the citizens of the planet
We were born here
We’re gong to die here
Come what may
We are entitled by our birth
To the treasures of the earth
No one must be denied these
No one must be denied
Easy dreams at the end of a chain-smokin’ day
Easy dreams at the end of the day

Friday, August 13, 2004

I'll Give You Symbolism, Bob!

The Olympic torch looks just like a spliff.

The reefer's bad, man. stay off it. it's a killer.

It's Like the Instructions on the Back of a Box of Toothpicks

I'm so glad NBC is providing commentary on the artistic events, not just the athletic ones. Opening ceremonies: a runner strides gainfully around the stadium as an announcer reads off a list of every city that's hosted a Summer Olympics, and in what year. The reader doesn't announce a city for "1916" and the runner dramatically stumbles and pauses. Right: easy read -- 1916, WWI, no Olympics, a global tragedy. And Bob Costas actually comments, for those people who may have missed it at home, that the runner has "symbolically stumbled."

Thanks, Bob.

Because I was so sure that he REALLY stumbled. And the announcer was startled that he could be such a schmuck and trip during the fucking Opening Ceremonies and that's why she didn't say "1916."

He didn't really stumble????

Motherfucker cocksucker!

Ah. It was SYMBOLIC.

Thanks, Bob. I look forward to your comments over the next two weeks -- will you mention, perchance, that the Olympic rings are a SYMBOL of global unity? That soft focus human interest stories are SYMBOLIC of ancient Greek mythology? Will you tell me that the Americans who are going to say shit like "God Bless America" when they win and salute the flag and the rest of the world just might boo when the American anthem is played -- would you say such a phenomenon would be, oh, SYMBOLIC?

just wondering.


And some children's tylenol, ma.


Holy shit, I hear those first sweet strains of that Olympics theme song and my knees get all rubbery. Who will be the Kerri Strug of 2004?

Less dope for the athletes means more for me!


The Olympics are boring when the 'roid fiends aren't shattering world records.

Aw shit, man.

The Wrens.

If I could fuck the anthropomorphized physical manifestion of a band's music, I would tell this anthropomorphized version of the Wrens to ride me hard and put me away wet.

just wanted to share.

Michael Shelley has a Beeeeyoutiful Penis.

Truly, madly, deeply:
(O, my friends)
The truth is out there.

But act now! Supplies are going fast! Limited availability.

Tonight, many electronic deer were slain in the name of truth, culture-jamming, and therapeutic (but not whislt 'in therapy') energy diversion. When they go down, it breaks your heart and masturbates your libido.


Die, electronic deer. Die in anguish as we bemoan the lack of efficacy in protesting. Wherefore art thou, o non-partisan culture-jamming? Let's fuck with the bad guys? There are millions of anarchists ready to do that. Fuck with the good guys? But they're ... us ... only they still care. But it's so easy to mindfuck the liberal and so hard to mindfuck the conservatives because the conservative mind is obtuse and impenetrable and logic can't penetrate the numbness.

The fake wedding ring -- friends, what say we? Vis a vis last night's ringcheck chataqua, what does the left-hang ring-finger band say? Does it say, "I'm safe, I'm not flirting with you?" Or does it day, "I'm safe, feel free to flirt." Or does it instantly diametrically oppose "sleazy." Is married the antithesis to sleazy?

Just wondering.

Beware, Macy's! Avast, we pirates shall pillage, seeking faux-registation for the sheer adventure of getting to wave the registration gun through yonder treasures!

Just for fun. How many times can we register? Will we have to wear costumes like the Canal Street spies? Sounds rad, sounds plaid, sounds like Oh Dad, Poor Dad, Mama's Hung You in the Kitchen and I'm Feeling So Sad.

Thursday, August 12, 2004

First against the wall when the revolution comes, eh?

He's Queer, He's Outta Here.

New Jersey governor Jim McGreevey resigned today, announcing that he's a gay Amerikan who's been conducting an adulterous affair with another man.

Way to stand up for your self, Jimbo. Nice statement. Glad to see you're so full of self-esteem. Resigning from political office because you're gay is really such a positive move for gay rights. Especially these days, when gay people are enjoying so many more rights and privileges than ever before. You and the California Supreme Court ought to feel SO PROUD OF YOURSELVES for spreading the word of equality across this country.

McGreevey, you're a big ol' pussy.

Oh Lord, why hast thou forsaken me?

The "IT" item for the autumn.

Look, bucko. The Baby Jesus just wants some lovin'. Just like the rest of us. Is that so wrong? IS IT? This would be so very yawn except for the fact that it's so very beautiful and truthful -- and, hey, while you're at, why not explore the compelling ramblings of Dr. Andrew Miller and his The Pastor's Corner? I'm sure you'll agree with him that Paedobaptism is "Wack." Finally, the lyrics to "Baby Got Baptism!" Thanks, Dr. Miller.

Oh, and please: visit JUST 4 KIDZ where the "z" is for "Zealousness" 'cause Jesus wants us to be hot for Him, not lukewarm.
NOTE: Roll your mouse over Lamuel for a nugget of sheer audio joy.

And finally, don't miss their proposed redesign for the American flag.

And oldie but goodie that I wanted to share

Weight Watchers recipe cards, circa 1974

Sometimes I am sad. During those sometimeses, I like to read the recipe cards from Weight Watchers (circa 1974).

If anyone wants to come over and make some of these glorious dishes, that would just be radtastic.

And then could we cuddle? Nothing gets me hotter than Mackerelly!


Wednesday, August 11, 2004

Tom Cruise just totally hit on Jon Stewart

Oh, man. I swear I just witnessed Tom Cruise macking on Jon Stewart during the celebrity interview segment of tonight's Daily Show. And, I swear, I would have read homoerotic subtext into the moment despite the recent explosion of HeteroUncleTom'sCabining preceeded only by page 6's Tomfoolery, and, oh, yeah, the NotGayTomahawk that was chopping merrily away a few years back. Anyhoodles. Tom awkwardly remarked that he and Jon's son have the same birthday -- July 3rd -- and while Jon was riffing on ribbing his son about not living up to Tom's own successful life despite their sharing a date of birth, Tom stated, "You don't wear a wedding band." And Jon slid right on over it like a high school sophomore thinking nasty thoughts about her chemistry teacher whilst sitting on a smooth plastic chair.

Now. For Tom to use valuable airtime to comment on Jon's lack-of-wedding-band status means a number of things.
1). He did the ringcheck within the first minute of the interview.
Now, most people over the age of, say, 25 are quick on the ringchecking uptake:
Option A: Cute guy! Ring? Damn. Flirt casually without being too suggestive.
Option B: Cute guy! No ring! Booyeah! Lean forward and reveal cleavage, mention loudly that you find the female bartender to be really hot and oh, how she reminds you of this threesome you once had in college.
BUT -- ring checks tend to occur when the prospective ring-bearer or ring-lacker could be someone to fuck. No one ringchecks the scary old man who does their laundry. But everyone's ringchecking that guy, I think his name is Rick? Jack? Jake? Something like that? He's that successful but bohemian guy who does something in the industry. He keeps it real, yo.
So. Tom ring-checked Jon because he wants to have sex with him.

2). Tom overtly said, out loud, not tacitly, "You don't wear a ring." After extensive research, I've concluded that a person only says, "You don't wear a ring" when he wants to have sex with the person to whom he is saying "You don't wear a ring." I give you proof, from some of the esteemed writers of fanfic on the interweb:

Katherine Gilbert's "Homecoming":
"Nikita smiled gently at him. He really was quite attractive--nice body--not overly built, hair just long enough to still be considered professional, and eyes . . . Nikita stopped, her face getting a little pale. His eyes were too much like Michael's--in the few times his were gentle; Tim's had none of the hundred-yard stare to them that Michael's could get, of course, but they were deep and liquid. You could drown in them. Nikita looked away. She had suffocated too often in Michael's to be able to look in eyes like that for very long. Her next view gave her no solace, however. Across the park, under a tree, a couple was picnicking. They were obviously infatuated--kissing and touching each other frequently, oblivious to the world around them. Nikita sighed. She had to get out of here.
She looked back at Tim and smiled. "I'm sorry. I have to go. I promised to meet my husband for lunch, and I'm almost late."
Tim looked surprised. "Oh! I'm sorry. I didn't know you were . . . Well, I mean . . . you don't wear a ring."
Nikita gave a half-smile, as she rose. "We're still saving up for one."

Someone's deceptively quantum-physics esque "It's all Relative"
"Sally stopped mid-munch and looked up. "Uh, actually, Jack, that is a small detail I might have neglected to mention." She sat back in her chair, and Jack did the same. "I am married, and it just so happens, his name is Jack, too." She smiled wanly. "Isn't that a coincidence?"Jack was quiet for a moment. He glanced at her left hand. "But you don't wear a ring. What's wrong with your husband that he lets his beautiful wife out in public without letting people know she's taken?"She cocked her head and looked at him with a surprised expression. "You think I'm beautiful? My mama always said my mouth was too full for my face and that I therefore missed true beauty."

S.X. Meagher's "I Found My Heart in San Francisco"
You're married?" he asked, quite surprised that this young woman would be attached. "You don't wear a ring." Taking her hand in his, he traced his thumb over her bare ring finger, just to make his point.

My point (and if I wear a hat, you can't really see it): One only says "You don't wear a ring" when one wants to get jiggy in a bad way with the person who is not wearing a ring.

Well. I'm not saying, but I'm saying.

Tom luvs Jon. Tom luvs Jon. Tom luvs Jon.

And if you want to sue me for slander, Tom, bring it.

I notice your lawyer doesn't wear a ring.

Please pass the mustard

What if we all started using the word "mustard" in place of the non-office-email-appropriate "bastard," (Or, um, ahem, "b@$tard)? You are such a mustard! This project is such a mustard. I will finish up this mustard tomorrow, I have to go home now to watch CSI. Don't be such a mustard!

That way, we won't offend children who don't have married mommies and daddies (or married mommies & mommies or daddies & daddies).

I hate offending the children, yo.

But I love throwing the hate at babies!

Pardon me, do you have any grey poop-on?


Larynxes Separated at Birth?

Am I hallucinating (currently, that is), or do Thom Filicia and Napoleon Dynamite have the exact same voice?

Check out the Pier One spot where Thom reveals that he's just had a party in that very room!!! and compare the voiceover to those current Napoleon Dynamite spots in which Napoleon reveals that they're re-released the film with an additional footage.

One and the same, I tell you.

Uncanny. It's like how Avril's Sk8r Boi is just Duran Duran's "Hungry Like the Wolf."

Someone mash that shit up, yo.

Tuesday, August 10, 2004

Statty McStatStat

Dig: the wonderful Milo taught me how to put a meter thang on this blog so I can Big Brother all of you. heh heh heh. Are you watching A2Z Nick and Jessica right now? I eat body lotion. Are you watching A2Z Pammy up next? i out myself as a jew. how can you go wrong? Tomorrow I'm interviewing Peter Cincotti for a "Sessions at AOL" thing. He is jazzy and smooooove. That's what the kids say, anyway. Smoooove.

If I were a tampon manufacturer, I'd be sure to put "Now, SNEEZEPROOF!" on the side of the box.

Today I learned that the giant squid has a ginormous, 4-foot-long penis that's capped with a cartilage-esque tip that the boy squid uses to rip holes into the female squid's arms for spermatophore-depositing purposes. Squid sex is totally rad, yo. Plus, "Architeuthis Dux" would be an awesome name for a band.

Sometimes the girl squid fights back and slices off some of the boy squid's arms.

But squids have oh-so-many arms.

Isn't reproduction funny?

Monday, August 09, 2004

Is this an insult or a compliment?

A friendly observer wrote in to inform me that someone on the vh1 message boards has called me a zagnut. It says "BEX IS A ZAGNUT."

What, pray tell, is a zagnut? According to this website:

Well. I've been called worse. I'm actually quite fine with being labeled a crunchy peanut butter and toasted coconut bar -- that sounds scrumptious. Then people would bite me all the time. And, really, if I were to be any tasty combo of fattening yummyness, peanut butter and coconut sounds dreamalicious. Eat me, indeed.

Remind me to tell you about my new fave instafetish - being bitten whilst tied to tourist attractions. I think it could be a whole new category of sexuality.

In other news -- Emilio writes to say that he did not coin the phrase "brag of nature" -- in fact, John Milton said it and I failed to identity the source. some former English major I am. Thanks, Emilio! do you have a brother named Charlie?

An anonymous mama writes in to say that her son Teddy likes the intro cartoon that Peter Bernard created for the old Planet Bex website. Thanks, Baby Mama! Thanks, Teddy! I normally despise children but I will make an exception for you, young Teddy!

I was just informed that a2z guns and roses is going to rock your ass on august 17th at 10pm. set those tivos now. Here's VH1's a2z page for your bookmarking convenience -- right, because there's nothing more important than the scheduling of our next celebrity-fawning outpouring of alphabetized banality

Sunday, August 08, 2004

We just want to dance here but they just stole the stage

Hoop De Hoo, friends and neighbours! I have returned from a week on the other coast where I was communing with videogame characters. Note to all: we will know AI is a success when it takes direction. Nyah on computerized people, nyah nyah nyah. But beyond the games we call video -- much fun was had and gleeful yelps did ring, yay and verily, hencely forth from weird Atlantis-like pyramid building to the barking sea lions on the bay. Yelp of glee! Bark of horny sea mammal! Gleeful yelp! Horny sea mammal bark! Yelp! Bark! Yark! Belp! Alas, it all runs together. Whoa ho, ha ba ti wa, so is life. Needless to say, as with many Amerikan cities, a.c.a.t. All Cliches Are True. My fambly is the sort to cite literary aphorisms at each other, and one can barely squeak out the words "San Francisco," before everyone says, "You know {dramatic intellectual pause}, Mark Twain said the coldest winter he ever spent was a summer in San Francisco!" This little literary tidbit can also be worked in subtly, "It's true what Mark Twain said ... {dramatic pause, waiting for listener to nod in agreement. When he plays along by quizzically raising an eyebrow} -- the coldest winter ever IS the summer in San Francisco!" Or it can be used to dramatic effect: "Holy shit! Mark Twain was fucking-a right!"
(awkward beat)
"You know, about the whole summer in San Francisco thing?"
(bar patrons resume conversations)
"Never mind."

But with San Francisco, indeed, a.c.a.t. It was cold and it was foggy. And sheeit, those are some hills. And I briefly glimpsed Ghiradelli square from a cab. I saw the Golden Gate Bridge through the fog.

See, the last time I was in San Francisco, it was the past January at Universal Studios in Florida. We cruised swiftly through New York and strolled through Martha's Vineyard but inadvertently wandered through San Francisco on the way to the Men In Black Institute. San Francisco in Universal studios had a Golden Gate Bridge peeking through the fog. I glimpsed Ghiradelli square.

In fact, we could see San Francisco even when we were waiting on line to learn how to shoot aliens. It was very hot, waiting to learn how to shoot aliens. We had to check our bags in special alien-shooting-lockers before we were allowed to report for training at the Men In Black institute and so we didn't have any toys to play with. One of my friends ate some tofu jerky for sustenance. This particular brand of tofu jerky reeked to high-holy heaven of some faux-meat enzyme. The remains of the stinky tofu jerky were tossed to the seagulls. And, oh. If only tofu seafulls had arrived to eat the tofu stinky meat. But we were pretty sure they were real seagulls. Unless they were robot seagulls who were trying to escape from the robot Jaws that we'd left back in Martha's Vineyard. One can never really tell in a themepark.

Needless to say, we had no toys and, sadly, we were out of prailined soynuts. Luckily, I had a map. And so even as we scorched in the pre-alien-shooting heat, we could point dreamily at the certain-to-be-more-comfortable climate zones around us. Jurassic Park? Too hot, and it smells like dinosaurs. And the music gets frightening after a while: It's Jurassic Park. Like no other park. There are dinosaurs there that you can see. And the lost island? Well. Poseidon was just kinda grumpy this year and he made all of us nauseated and there were mosaics that made one's stomach turn, forcing one to backswallow the Waffle House grits climbing up one's throat. And toon land was freaky and superhero world, while idelogically ideal, was too full of ... bad guys. And New York was just like home and Martha's Vineyard was too weirdly New England inbreeding weirdness and so San Francisco just seemed so right. And besides, as well all know, it was sure to be cooler there. The coldest winter and all that. And then someone realized that as long as were going to hit a nearby land, why not just go back to Norway, because Norway was certain to be refreshing this time of year. And for a brief shining moment, it made perfect sense that one could escape that broiling waiting-to-shoot-aliens heat br driving a few miles to Norway. The Norway in EPCOT. Oh so close to the desert sun of the M.I.B. institute in Universal Studios.

And there was also a lizard. And was it a themed lizard? Or was it a real lizard?

That question, my friend, has driven lesser men to the drink. But it can't make them water! Ba dump dump.

But anyway.

Anyhoodles. Back on this happy coast and autumn has prematurely come to Brooklyn. Spent the day wallowing in the peerless loathing of religion-induced self-loathing at my friend Aliza's wedding. Oh, those wacky Jews. My primordial-ooze brain goes, "Oooh! The Hora! AWESOME!" and the frontal lobes go, "Let's find something in the other room to be PHENOMENALLY interesting right now," the 'other room' often being either the bathroom or the inside of one's handbag.

Anyway. I drove over the Golden Bridge while blasting the greatest song ever on a CD I'd brought for that precise moment. (some might disagree. I say they can suck it.). It was rad. A dream come true. And now I can die in peace.

And hey, all you lovelies who have been sending such nice messages: keep those cards and letters coming. You rock. And you make me feel special.

Note: Let's bring back the adjective "Spesh." That's your assignment for this week: use "Spesh" five times.