Hot off the Gothamist tip train: SVUtines!!
According to Gothamist, or G'ist, as I like to call it in my mindhead: "Brandon Bird, a favorite artist of ours, has created SVUtines, Law & Order: Special Victims Unit Valentines. You can see where Bird's affections are, with the inclusion of Stephanie March - and not Diane Neal - and with an amazing BD Wong card. There are ten cards in a pack, with each pack costing $10 (plus $5 shipping). Buy them here!."
These are fantastic, especially if you're like me and you harbor a longstanding girl crush on Mariska Hargitay (who plays Detective Olivia Benson -- read her fake blog right here!).
A little while ago, Josh and I becamse obsessed with all these L&O characters' blogs -- we thought perhaps they were written by NBC interns (I mean, the cadence is soooo NYU media studies junior) but then we realized they were just written by supafans, which, although still interesting, is less thought-provoking than picturing interns writing blogs for fictional people in between making copies and getting coffee.
But, for your amusement, please enjoy these L&O-based "blogs":
Captain Cragen
Detective John Munch
Detective Alexandra Eames
Detective Mike Logan
Detective Carolyn Barek
Detective Robert Goren
ADA Casey Novak
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Monday, January 30, 2006
Wendy Wasserstein, We Hardly Knew Ye
I am saddened by the passing of Wendy Wasserstein. Not only is she my mother's favorite playwright, but the first thing I ever directed was a scene from "The Heidi Chronicles." And to this day, I still say "For real, not Farina," and wistfully wish someone would rescue me from a boring party or awkward situation by pretending to be on a boat. You get what I'm talking about if you read the play.
My mom interviewed Wendy when I was a kid and there was a photo of my mother and Wendy on our fridge for my entire life in that house. My friends all assumed she was my aunt, or at least a close friend of my mom's. Spiritually, I think my mom felt like she and Wendy were really good friends.
I only met Wendy one time -- I was walking on the upper west side with my friend, Brooke, and we ran into Wendy and her friend. Wendy was lovely and sweet, and even though I'd outgrown my fondness for her plays (at this point, I thought her woe-is-me overprivileged characters were just pathetic; i was a starving artist and didn't really have time for that shit), I was so honored and excited to meet her. Now that I'm older and not so starving, it might be time to revisit Wendy's works.
We'll miss you, Wendy Wasserstein.
My mom interviewed Wendy when I was a kid and there was a photo of my mother and Wendy on our fridge for my entire life in that house. My friends all assumed she was my aunt, or at least a close friend of my mom's. Spiritually, I think my mom felt like she and Wendy were really good friends.
I only met Wendy one time -- I was walking on the upper west side with my friend, Brooke, and we ran into Wendy and her friend. Wendy was lovely and sweet, and even though I'd outgrown my fondness for her plays (at this point, I thought her woe-is-me overprivileged characters were just pathetic; i was a starving artist and didn't really have time for that shit), I was so honored and excited to meet her. Now that I'm older and not so starving, it might be time to revisit Wendy's works.
We'll miss you, Wendy Wasserstein.
I Am a Lucky Cowboy, Let Me Tell You Why
So I ganked this photo from my buddypal Lianne's blog. My friend Tom and I wore cowboy hats to the Deva show and then went to Lianne's birthday party. Unfortunately, Tom is very tall, and the person taking this photo (of Lianne, Tom, and giant-head Bex) cropped his cowboy hat out of the frame. So I drew a fauxhat for Tom.
I think this fauxhat makes him look like the mayor from an oldsytimesy movie. Teehee. My friends in my office right now say the fauxhat makes Tom look like Night Court era John Larroquette .
Saturday, January 28, 2006
Burning Down the House
Firstly: I am all a-okay, my roomie is a-okay and our kitties are a-okay. And our apartment is FINE, save for some water damage (our bathroom is now the swamp we always dreamed it would be!) and some boluses (boli?) of ceiling. The apartments on the two floors above us, however, are not fine, and, judging by the sound of the apparent destruction above my head, are being gutted right now.
I went uptown last night to see a play by my friend Kenan. As I approached the theatre, my cell phone vibrated and I had a message from my roomie. It was quite calm and composed, considering the circumstances:
"Hey, Bex? It's me. Uh, our apartment is on fire."
I called him back, and he assured me that he'd pulled the kitties out and given them to our friend Smith, who jumped into a cab and took them back to his apartment so they wouldn't have to be in the cold. I jumped back on the subway (at 8 o'clock, the subway was sure to be faster than a cab) and the whole ride was a blur: I know I was listening to the Monkees, but I was numb, and I didn't want to think about the possibilities.
I do recall, however, allowing a brief bubble of self-concern to break the surface, and here's what I was worried about:
1) My computer -- not the object itself, but all the writing stored on the hard drive
2) My passport -- I'm supposed to go away in two weeks and what if it burnt up and I couldn't go?
3) My birth control pills -- what if they were destroyed and I couldn't take them and then my ovaries went haywire?
4) Battlestar Galactica -- OH MY STARS, what if our tivo were destroyed and we missed an episode?
Other than that, I tried to zen out about losing all our material goods. And I realized we never actually got the renters' insurance we'd discussed. As you can see, even in a state of shock, I clearly had my priorities straight: Writing, vacation, ovaries, Balactica.
I got off the subway and there were six or seven fire engines on the streets around my apartment. The buildings inhabitants (aka "our neighbors") were all huddled on the south side of our corner, and there were firemen (I'd say "firepeople" but I only saw dudes) everywhere. There didn't seem to be any flames engulfing the building so I started to calm down. My roomie told me how he'd arrived home after work just as people were shrieking and freaking out, and he'd pushed past them to get into our apartment, staying low so as to avoid the smoke, and pulled the kitties out from under my bed. Smith arrived at around the same time, so my roomie handed the kitties off to him, and both Smith and the kitties were in his apartment in the East Village.
We waited for a few hours while they continued doing whatever they were doing -- we lated found out there was a grease fire on the 3rd floor and the people threw water on it (NO! SMOTHER A GREASE FIRE! DO NOT THROW WATER ON IT!) and they'd freaked out and ran away and then the fire destroyed their entire apartment. We also have many bed-ridden invalids in our building, and the firemen broke windows and destroyed doors to get them out. Apparently the fire spread to the rest of the floor, and between the actual fire, the broken windows and doors, and the firehoses, there's lots of mess and unhappy people. But everyone's okay! One of the grease-fire guys burnt his hands, but no one was severely injured and everyone got out okay.
Eventually, they let us back in the building. The hallways and stairways were flooded and there was broken glass everywhere. We did a quick assessment of our apartment, and aside from the water-damage and drips, all was well, aside from the stench of smoke, the soot and the drenching of the bathroom. We jumped into a cab and picked up the kitties, brought them home and then started to kind of decompress.
Later on, I'll tell you about how our building is run by the Russian mafia, and our encounters with them, but we are all well and good, albeit shaken up. When I was kid, we went to see "Batteries Included" and apparently someone flicked a cigarette onto our lawn, and we returned to fire engines and a scorched front lawn. The firepeople (There might have been women on the squad, I dunno) put out the fire just as it reached the foundation, and our house and kitties were fine, except for the stench of burnt zoysia grass. But I was really, really scared for a long time about my house burning down. And so it was hard to sleep last night, because I was kind of once again scared about my house burning down.
And, oh man, we are so lucky. So so so so so lucky. And we are SO getting renters' insurance on Monday, and you should, too. Holy shit, you should. When your apartment building almost burns down, you definitely realize these things.
I went uptown last night to see a play by my friend Kenan. As I approached the theatre, my cell phone vibrated and I had a message from my roomie. It was quite calm and composed, considering the circumstances:
"Hey, Bex? It's me. Uh, our apartment is on fire."
I called him back, and he assured me that he'd pulled the kitties out and given them to our friend Smith, who jumped into a cab and took them back to his apartment so they wouldn't have to be in the cold. I jumped back on the subway (at 8 o'clock, the subway was sure to be faster than a cab) and the whole ride was a blur: I know I was listening to the Monkees, but I was numb, and I didn't want to think about the possibilities.
I do recall, however, allowing a brief bubble of self-concern to break the surface, and here's what I was worried about:
1) My computer -- not the object itself, but all the writing stored on the hard drive
2) My passport -- I'm supposed to go away in two weeks and what if it burnt up and I couldn't go?
3) My birth control pills -- what if they were destroyed and I couldn't take them and then my ovaries went haywire?
4) Battlestar Galactica -- OH MY STARS, what if our tivo were destroyed and we missed an episode?
Other than that, I tried to zen out about losing all our material goods. And I realized we never actually got the renters' insurance we'd discussed. As you can see, even in a state of shock, I clearly had my priorities straight: Writing, vacation, ovaries, Balactica.
I got off the subway and there were six or seven fire engines on the streets around my apartment. The buildings inhabitants (aka "our neighbors") were all huddled on the south side of our corner, and there were firemen (I'd say "firepeople" but I only saw dudes) everywhere. There didn't seem to be any flames engulfing the building so I started to calm down. My roomie told me how he'd arrived home after work just as people were shrieking and freaking out, and he'd pushed past them to get into our apartment, staying low so as to avoid the smoke, and pulled the kitties out from under my bed. Smith arrived at around the same time, so my roomie handed the kitties off to him, and both Smith and the kitties were in his apartment in the East Village.
We waited for a few hours while they continued doing whatever they were doing -- we lated found out there was a grease fire on the 3rd floor and the people threw water on it (NO! SMOTHER A GREASE FIRE! DO NOT THROW WATER ON IT!) and they'd freaked out and ran away and then the fire destroyed their entire apartment. We also have many bed-ridden invalids in our building, and the firemen broke windows and destroyed doors to get them out. Apparently the fire spread to the rest of the floor, and between the actual fire, the broken windows and doors, and the firehoses, there's lots of mess and unhappy people. But everyone's okay! One of the grease-fire guys burnt his hands, but no one was severely injured and everyone got out okay.
Eventually, they let us back in the building. The hallways and stairways were flooded and there was broken glass everywhere. We did a quick assessment of our apartment, and aside from the water-damage and drips, all was well, aside from the stench of smoke, the soot and the drenching of the bathroom. We jumped into a cab and picked up the kitties, brought them home and then started to kind of decompress.
Later on, I'll tell you about how our building is run by the Russian mafia, and our encounters with them, but we are all well and good, albeit shaken up. When I was kid, we went to see "Batteries Included" and apparently someone flicked a cigarette onto our lawn, and we returned to fire engines and a scorched front lawn. The firepeople (There might have been women on the squad, I dunno) put out the fire just as it reached the foundation, and our house and kitties were fine, except for the stench of burnt zoysia grass. But I was really, really scared for a long time about my house burning down. And so it was hard to sleep last night, because I was kind of once again scared about my house burning down.
And, oh man, we are so lucky. So so so so so lucky. And we are SO getting renters' insurance on Monday, and you should, too. Holy shit, you should. When your apartment building almost burns down, you definitely realize these things.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Today is Ioulios Appreciation Day
Admittedly, I'm ripping off "Appreciation Day" from Liam, but since it's all in the spirit of appreciation, I'm sure he won't mind.
Check out my nicest superfan, Ioulios!
He coined a term about me! He says:
"I have coined a new word: BexessionTM. This may be defined as a persistent, adoring fascination with Bex Schwartz. (Hey, I googled it, no hits, so it's mine!) I have also started using the adjective Bexalicious, which when used having Bex Schwartz as point of reference, is a close synonym of scrumptrillescent, only better. ;-)"
Well, if that don't make a girl feel swell. Thanks, Ioulios! I'm all a tizzy, basking in the warm glow of your internet fondness. Everyone should tell him what a nice person he is.
Check out my nicest superfan, Ioulios!
He coined a term about me! He says:
"I have coined a new word: BexessionTM. This may be defined as a persistent, adoring fascination with Bex Schwartz. (Hey, I googled it, no hits, so it's mine!) I have also started using the adjective Bexalicious, which when used having Bex Schwartz as point of reference, is a close synonym of scrumptrillescent, only better. ;-)"
Well, if that don't make a girl feel swell. Thanks, Ioulios! I'm all a tizzy, basking in the warm glow of your internet fondness. Everyone should tell him what a nice person he is.
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
PANDAS HUMPING!
Oh my goodness gracious, these pandas are having sex. According to Reuters, "Five-year-old giant panda Chuang Chuang (R) and his four-year-old partner Lin Hui mate for the first time at the Chiang Mai zoo in northern Thailand January 17, 2006. The pair were donated to Thailand by the Chinese government."
It's a damn good thing they tell you that the male Chuang Chuang is on the right, otherwise you wouldn't know that the female Lin Hui is taking it from behind.
This stunning image of mindfuckitude was contributed by Josh. The following discussion ensued:
JOSH: PANDAS! HUMPING! OMFG PANDAS DOING IT!!!!
BEX: get the fuck out
JOSH: PANDAFUCKING!!!!! HOT BEAR-ON-BEAR ACTION! PANDAS! HAVING SEX!
BEX: holy fuck
JOSH: is your mind TOTALLY TOTALLY BLOWN by the sight of pandas MAKING SWEET ENDANGERED LOVE!?
BEX: i am aghast and in awe
JOSH: this is like that poster (our mutual college friend) had, where i thought the hippos were kissing, but they were fighting -- only sort of the opposite... i am shocked to find out that pandas actually HAVE SEX.
BEX: it does rather look like she's sitting in his lap
JOSH: oh, she's sitting in his lap alright ... that's a panda lap dance
BEX: teehee
JOSH: that is some HOT PANDA SEX you are looking at ... look at that lazy fuck, making her do all the work. next he'll be like "yeah, that was cool. get me some bamboo if you get up to pee or whatever."
BEX: "and fetch me a marlboro red"
JOSH: which is why pandas are endangered -- such heavy smokers
BEX: stupid pandas
JOSH: just sex and drugs, all day long ... nature's delinquents
BEX: so cute and so dumb
JOSH: sweetly retarded, really
So there you have it, folks. A photo of pandas making sweet, sweet, sweet love. For masturbatory fodder only, I'd assume.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
THUNDERSNOW!
Dear me, they're forecasting THUNDERSNOW for tonight. THUNDERSNOW!
THUNDERSNOW!!!!!!!!!!!!
Word?
Word.
Chicks and Giggles was KICKawesometastic tonight.
Word.
THUNDERSNOW!!!!!!!!!!!!
Word?
Word.
Chicks and Giggles was KICKawesometastic tonight.
Word.
Monday, January 23, 2006
Meet my Blogchild
Dig: it's Don't Eat This Blog! This is a sliver of the internets by Kit, who wrote to me and asked if I would be his blogmother, which is a new(ish?) type of meme circulating through the blogoverse, wherein one cites (or, as the kids say, "gives props to") the person who inspired one's blog. According to Neologasm (grizzate word, bteedubs,):
And thusly, I, the blogmother, apparently begat Kit and his blog. And now I get a pair of sparkly wings and a magical wand and the power to turn pumpkins into coaches and ladyflowers into pumpkins.
That ladyflowers-to-pumpkins jokes comes from a joke my best friend told me when I was eight, and, admittedly, I didn't understand it til much later:
Cinderella begged her fairy godmother to let her go out one night, and her fairy godmother said, "okay, Cinderella, you can go out and have a magical evening but you must be back before midnight or else I shall turn your ladyflower into a pumpkin."
And Cinderella promised she'd be back on time, and she went out and she had a swell time. And the next night, she once again begged her fairy godmother to let her have a magical night out on the fairytale town, and the fairy godmother said, "okay, but if you are not back by midnight, I will turn your ladyflower into a pumpkin."
And Cinderella made it in by 11:59 and she was just barely safe, by the skin of her vagina dentata (i just made that last bit up).
And the next night, one more time, Cinderella begged her fairy godmother for a swell night out, and the fairy godmother said, "All right, Cinderella, one last time, but you must be home by midnight else I shall change your ladyflower into a pumpkin."
And Cinderella whisked out into the night, and midnight rolled around and she wasn't home. And she wasn't home by 1am and she wasn't home by 3am and she wasn't home by 5am, and she finally rolled in around 9 o'clock, all disheveled and crumpled.
And the fairy godmother said, "Well, Cinderella, I don't know what kept you out so long, seeing as I turned your ladyflower into a pumpkin at midnight!"
And Cinderella smiled smugly and said, "I met Peter, Peter."
As of January 8, 2006, Google is teeming with references to blogfathers (677,000 hits), blogmothers (52,800 hits), and blogparents (287 hits), as well as variations on the theme -- blogmother-in-law, fairy blogmother, etc. Blogcestor, my off-the-cuff coinage above, actually gets 13 Google hits. These days, it's harder to coin a word than you might think.
And thusly, I, the blogmother, apparently begat Kit and his blog. And now I get a pair of sparkly wings and a magical wand and the power to turn pumpkins into coaches and ladyflowers into pumpkins.
That ladyflowers-to-pumpkins jokes comes from a joke my best friend told me when I was eight, and, admittedly, I didn't understand it til much later:
Cinderella begged her fairy godmother to let her go out one night, and her fairy godmother said, "okay, Cinderella, you can go out and have a magical evening but you must be back before midnight or else I shall turn your ladyflower into a pumpkin."
And Cinderella promised she'd be back on time, and she went out and she had a swell time. And the next night, she once again begged her fairy godmother to let her have a magical night out on the fairytale town, and the fairy godmother said, "okay, but if you are not back by midnight, I will turn your ladyflower into a pumpkin."
And Cinderella made it in by 11:59 and she was just barely safe, by the skin of her vagina dentata (i just made that last bit up).
And the next night, one more time, Cinderella begged her fairy godmother for a swell night out, and the fairy godmother said, "All right, Cinderella, one last time, but you must be home by midnight else I shall change your ladyflower into a pumpkin."
And Cinderella whisked out into the night, and midnight rolled around and she wasn't home. And she wasn't home by 1am and she wasn't home by 3am and she wasn't home by 5am, and she finally rolled in around 9 o'clock, all disheveled and crumpled.
And the fairy godmother said, "Well, Cinderella, I don't know what kept you out so long, seeing as I turned your ladyflower into a pumpkin at midnight!"
And Cinderella smiled smugly and said, "I met Peter, Peter."
Adieu to my Fave Skating With Celebs Pair
Alas! A heartbreaking elimination on tonight's Skating with Celebrities, or as I like to call it: Celebs on Ice! (You should automatically add reverb in your head whenever you say that, by the way: CELEBS ... ON ... ICE!)
So I appreciate that Jillian Barberie actually can skate (doesn't that seem against the rules, though?) and I like that she has a bohunk of a skating partner -- John Zimmerman, hubba hubba! And I like seeing how Nancy Kerrigan hasn't lost the baby weight and how Dave Coulier might be a good hockey skater but he's stymied by the toepick. But, most of all, I love Todd Bridges and Jenni Meno. Todd is a formerly-troubled-child-star-made-good and Jenni has the impossible-to-believe traits of being a wonderful skater who has no sense of rhythm. And I totally thought they were the dream team. And they tried so hard, but poor Todd slipped and fell and now they are gone and I miss them already.
Although, truth be told, this show and the Dancing with the Stars ones are so weighted in favor of celeb chick / pro skater-dancer. Because the dudes do all the lifting and throwing in both cases, so celeb chicks look like they have all these hot tricks, but they're really just supported by their pro dudes. And then when the celeb dudes skate or dance, the pro ladies look all graceful but they don't do fancy throws or lifts because the celeb dudes just don't know what they're doing (although, man, did you see Todd Bridges lift Jenni? It was a total lifts-are-better-in-the-water moment and my heart sang for them). Anyhoo - my point is that celeb chicks look flashier than celeb dudes because pro dudes make their partners look better than the pro chicks do. SIGH SIGH MCSIGH! Ah, the injustice.
And yet, I will still continue to tivo Celebs on Ice diligently, because the show combines my two most favoritest things: figure skating and famous people. Yum!
So I appreciate that Jillian Barberie actually can skate (doesn't that seem against the rules, though?) and I like that she has a bohunk of a skating partner -- John Zimmerman, hubba hubba! And I like seeing how Nancy Kerrigan hasn't lost the baby weight and how Dave Coulier might be a good hockey skater but he's stymied by the toepick. But, most of all, I love Todd Bridges and Jenni Meno. Todd is a formerly-troubled-child-star-made-good and Jenni has the impossible-to-believe traits of being a wonderful skater who has no sense of rhythm. And I totally thought they were the dream team. And they tried so hard, but poor Todd slipped and fell and now they are gone and I miss them already.
Although, truth be told, this show and the Dancing with the Stars ones are so weighted in favor of celeb chick / pro skater-dancer. Because the dudes do all the lifting and throwing in both cases, so celeb chicks look like they have all these hot tricks, but they're really just supported by their pro dudes. And then when the celeb dudes skate or dance, the pro ladies look all graceful but they don't do fancy throws or lifts because the celeb dudes just don't know what they're doing (although, man, did you see Todd Bridges lift Jenni? It was a total lifts-are-better-in-the-water moment and my heart sang for them). Anyhoo - my point is that celeb chicks look flashier than celeb dudes because pro dudes make their partners look better than the pro chicks do. SIGH SIGH MCSIGH! Ah, the injustice.
And yet, I will still continue to tivo Celebs on Ice diligently, because the show combines my two most favoritest things: figure skating and famous people. Yum!
Is Someone Near and Dear to You Anonymously Referenced in an Article in Today's New York Post?
Oooh, it's the first ever Blind Item on Planet Bex!
In today's Post article about downtown comedy in NYC, entitled "Inside Jokers," there's a blurb about The Shark Show that reads:
The Shark Show
* What you missed: Breast puppets. "Battle of the Shark Show Stars," ending with a bloody nose and an empty 12-pack. An episode of "Fraggle Rock" directed by playwright Clifford Odets.
* What you will see: "Battle of the Funny Bands" is slated for March. "Iron Comic" comes this June.
* Feels like: Verbally and visually PG-13, but 1980s PG-13, not pansy '90s PG-13.
* Sounds like: An "intellectual" quiz where contestants have to identify if the topic is about John Paul (pope), Jean Paul (Sartre) or Jean-Claude (Van Damme).
* Looks like: Hipsters and hip replacements.
* What you need to know: Saturdays, 8 p.m., Mo Pitkin's, 34 Avenue A. $8.
Question: How does all this pertain to me?
Hint hint: I have performed at The Shark Show many times. I have never received a bloody nose, nor was I ever in an Odets-directed episode of "Fraggle Rock."
WOO!
In today's Post article about downtown comedy in NYC, entitled "Inside Jokers," there's a blurb about The Shark Show that reads:
The Shark Show
* What you missed: Breast puppets. "Battle of the Shark Show Stars," ending with a bloody nose and an empty 12-pack. An episode of "Fraggle Rock" directed by playwright Clifford Odets.
* What you will see: "Battle of the Funny Bands" is slated for March. "Iron Comic" comes this June.
* Feels like: Verbally and visually PG-13, but 1980s PG-13, not pansy '90s PG-13.
* Sounds like: An "intellectual" quiz where contestants have to identify if the topic is about John Paul (pope), Jean Paul (Sartre) or Jean-Claude (Van Damme).
* Looks like: Hipsters and hip replacements.
* What you need to know: Saturdays, 8 p.m., Mo Pitkin's, 34 Avenue A. $8.
Question: How does all this pertain to me?
Hint hint: I have performed at The Shark Show many times. I have never received a bloody nose, nor was I ever in an Odets-directed episode of "Fraggle Rock."
WOO!
All Access: Show us Your Tats
Oh boy, another new episode of All Access premieres at 9/8c tonight! I kinda forgot I shot this one, but it's called Show Us Your Tats and it's about celebtattoos. As in: tattoos on celebs, not tattoos of celebs.
Also: if you love listening to my non-dulcet tones, VH1 is rebroadcasting "VH1 and Self Magazine's 100 Most Wanted Bodies" this Thursday from 3-8pm. I do voiceover for the whole shebang, all 5 hours of it.
Also: if you love listening to my non-dulcet tones, VH1 is rebroadcasting "VH1 and Self Magazine's 100 Most Wanted Bodies" this Thursday from 3-8pm. I do voiceover for the whole shebang, all 5 hours of it.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Chicks and Giggles Tuesday Night
Chicks and Giggles
Upstairs at Mo's -- Big show! Big room!
Mo Pitkins
34 Ave. A between 2nd and 3rd
8 PM
FREE! (Not even a drink minimum, yo!)
With:
Claudia Cogan (UCB)
Margot Leitman (Best Week Ever)
Sara Schaefer (...is Obsessed With You, VH1)
Lianne Stokes (Brutal Honesty)
Jen Dziura (Host, Williamsburg Spelling Bee)
Bex Schwartz (VH1)
Jess Wood (Get Wood)
Special Musical Guest Bari Koral
Hosted by Carolyn Castiglia
I'm a Cowboy, Howdy Howdy Howdy!
My friend Tom and I went to see Deva last night. Deva is a chick-fronted Devo cover band, and they do synchronized dance moves, and although they did not play "Gates of Steel," the show was still topnotch. Tom and I like to go in costume to events whenever possible, so we wore cowboy hats and went as Cowboy-era Devo. Hot cha cha!
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
The New York Times is SOOOOOO Helpful
So it seems that the ol' Grey Lady is embracing the magic of hypertexting within its online articles. Which is fine. What's weird is which words (or names) they choose to hypertext. In today's article about Nixzmary Brown's funeral, they chose to give us handy links to two people: Joel Klein (NY Schools Chancellor) and Jesus Christ (supposed son of god).
Check this on out:
"Joel Klein, the school chancellor, was there, as was Linda Gibbs, a deputy mayor. Before Communion was received, Mr. Klein walked over and embraced the young girl's grandmother, Maria Gonzalez. It was a long embrace and they patted each other on the back.
It was a fitting day for a funeral, people said - a raw, cold, penetrating day. The wind blew fiercely; it blew off people's hats. "That's Jesus Christ crying," Awilda Cordero, a family spokeswoman, said about the rain."
Thanks, New York Times. That Jesus Christ reference totally confused me, but you and your lovely hypertext cleared it right on up. Does he work in the same building as Joel Klein? I mean, they're both Jews, right?
Check this on out:
"Joel Klein, the school chancellor, was there, as was Linda Gibbs, a deputy mayor. Before Communion was received, Mr. Klein walked over and embraced the young girl's grandmother, Maria Gonzalez. It was a long embrace and they patted each other on the back.
It was a fitting day for a funeral, people said - a raw, cold, penetrating day. The wind blew fiercely; it blew off people's hats. "That's Jesus Christ crying," Awilda Cordero, a family spokeswoman, said about the rain."
Thanks, New York Times. That Jesus Christ reference totally confused me, but you and your lovely hypertext cleared it right on up. Does he work in the same building as Joel Klein? I mean, they're both Jews, right?
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Best "Photoshop Phriday" Post on Something Awful Ever
According to the head quippers at Something Awful, an artist named Daemonus created this image in response to the call for photoshopmadness on the topic of "The Grown Up World of Richard Scarry."
Brillz, Daemonus, just brillz.
Novacaine (for the soul. Before I sputter out).
So I went to the dentist this morning to get a filling replaced and they gave me the novacaine and all that, but as soon as they started drilling to get the old, broken filling out, it hurt like a mofe! So they gave me more of the 'caine. And now my left mouth is totally numb. The numbness part is midly fun, but the problem is that I can not:
a) smile
b) enunciate
and, durstest of all
c) blot my lips to properly smear and smudge my lip gloss. AROO!
Despite the numbness/improperly-applied-lip-gloss sitch, I am excited to introduce you to today's Word of the Month:
nutter.
They use this word a lot in the UK, but we don't use it here often enough. It means a crazy person. But, I think we shoud reappropriate and use it to describe those people in our lives who are crazy-in-a-good-way; the kinds of people we want to affectionately label as wacky. Like, the kinds of people who might wear costumes to non-costume parties, or the types of people who bust out into spontaneous production numbers whilst walking down the street, or the type of people who eat vegan soup every single day.
Example: "Did you see Bex and Tom? They're the first to arrive at this party, and, get this, they're wearing cowboy hats! They're such nutters!"
Use it three times and it's yours, kids.
a) smile
b) enunciate
and, durstest of all
c) blot my lips to properly smear and smudge my lip gloss. AROO!
Despite the numbness/improperly-applied-lip-gloss sitch, I am excited to introduce you to today's Word of the Month:
nutter.
They use this word a lot in the UK, but we don't use it here often enough. It means a crazy person. But, I think we shoud reappropriate and use it to describe those people in our lives who are crazy-in-a-good-way; the kinds of people we want to affectionately label as wacky. Like, the kinds of people who might wear costumes to non-costume parties, or the types of people who bust out into spontaneous production numbers whilst walking down the street, or the type of people who eat vegan soup every single day.
Example: "Did you see Bex and Tom? They're the first to arrive at this party, and, get this, they're wearing cowboy hats! They're such nutters!"
Use it three times and it's yours, kids.
Monday, January 16, 2006
Sexy for God
So, mybuddypal Renee and I were working on this promo and we kinda wanted to mock all those HBO epic-montage promos, the ones that are all turgid and over-emotional and use words like "thought-provoking" and "life-changing" in fancypants graphic treatments. And we knew we needed a killer song, one that urged to listener to hold on to every moment (of celebreality). (Tongue substantially lodged in cheek throughout, of course.)
So we chose this song, "Every Moment," by this Christian singer, Joy Williams. And we loved the song oh so much, that we decided to stick with the track even after Joy Williams made us remove all the slightly-naughty imagery, like a shot of Adrienne Curry and Chris Knight in the hot tub, or a pixelated nipple from Surreal Life. Such imagery does not support Joy's morals, and Joy's morals must be protected at all costs.
And we've been mildly obsessed with Joy Williams and her Christian sensibilities ever since. In fact, sometimes I find myself about to do something dirty and I wonder, "What would Joy WIlliams think of this? Would she allow this image to accompany her music in a promo on VH1?" And then I try to do whatever I think Joy would make Joy squeal and say, "Oh no, that is way too dirty to go along with my wonderful song, 'Every Moment'".
I should add, we edited out the middle verse of the song because it's all about god.
So now we are learning all about Joy because we found her page on Myspace! Where we've learned all about her influences (The Killers! Fiona Apple!) and her personal life (she's married! and she calls him her "Huz!") And I listened to her new songs that are conveniently located on her myspace page, and they're all ... kinda sexy? Sexy for god? Really?
And then I was thinking that if Whoopi Goldberg in Sister Act could turn "I Love Him" into a song about Jesus, then one could conceivably take any love song and transform the love for a person into love for Jesus, although it's slightly squirm- inducing to imagine singing a Lil Kim song to Jesus, but I suppose it could be done. Kids today and their Jesus music, I tell you. It's like anything is all right, no matter how faux-orgasmic it may sound, as long it's a faux-orgasm (forgasm?) for Jesus.
So we chose this song, "Every Moment," by this Christian singer, Joy Williams. And we loved the song oh so much, that we decided to stick with the track even after Joy Williams made us remove all the slightly-naughty imagery, like a shot of Adrienne Curry and Chris Knight in the hot tub, or a pixelated nipple from Surreal Life. Such imagery does not support Joy's morals, and Joy's morals must be protected at all costs.
And we've been mildly obsessed with Joy Williams and her Christian sensibilities ever since. In fact, sometimes I find myself about to do something dirty and I wonder, "What would Joy WIlliams think of this? Would she allow this image to accompany her music in a promo on VH1?" And then I try to do whatever I think Joy would make Joy squeal and say, "Oh no, that is way too dirty to go along with my wonderful song, 'Every Moment'".
I should add, we edited out the middle verse of the song because it's all about god.
So now we are learning all about Joy because we found her page on Myspace! Where we've learned all about her influences (The Killers! Fiona Apple!) and her personal life (she's married! and she calls him her "Huz!") And I listened to her new songs that are conveniently located on her myspace page, and they're all ... kinda sexy? Sexy for god? Really?
And then I was thinking that if Whoopi Goldberg in Sister Act could turn "I Love Him" into a song about Jesus, then one could conceivably take any love song and transform the love for a person into love for Jesus, although it's slightly squirm- inducing to imagine singing a Lil Kim song to Jesus, but I suppose it could be done. Kids today and their Jesus music, I tell you. It's like anything is all right, no matter how faux-orgasmic it may sound, as long it's a faux-orgasm (forgasm?) for Jesus.
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Grey's Anatomy Just Had a Hermaphrodite Named Bex
In tonight's episode!
Thus spake the blurb:
A Bex! On the t-visual! I've never heard of another Bex on tv except as in reference to David Beckham, but I think they spell that "Becks" and just pronounce it like "Bex."
And a hermaphrodite to boot! Who was raised as a girl but kinda wants to be a boy. Hooray, "Grey's Anatomy," for popularizing the name. Maybe it'll break the top 100 babynames next year, and then I'll be forced to call myself "Madison" to be unique. Heh.
PS - I don't like the man at all, but I kind of want to start saying, "Neato Kableato, Alito!" except that it'll only be full of ironic derision if he's not confirmed.
Thus spake the blurb:
Begin the Begin
Izzie seems to be getting over Alex when she shares an undeniable chemistry with Denny Duquette, a patient who's awaiting a heart transplant, and George treats Bex, a young teen hermaphrodite.
A Bex! On the t-visual! I've never heard of another Bex on tv except as in reference to David Beckham, but I think they spell that "Becks" and just pronounce it like "Bex."
And a hermaphrodite to boot! Who was raised as a girl but kinda wants to be a boy. Hooray, "Grey's Anatomy," for popularizing the name. Maybe it'll break the top 100 babynames next year, and then I'll be forced to call myself "Madison" to be unique. Heh.
PS - I don't like the man at all, but I kind of want to start saying, "Neato Kableato, Alito!" except that it'll only be full of ironic derision if he's not confirmed.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
Thursday, January 12, 2006
Crumbbums
I made the horrible mistake of watching the premiere of Crumbs on ABC. I watched it because
a) i had a migraine and I didn't feel like lowering the top half of my body off my bed and down to the floor to grope for the remote beneath the bed
and
b) i've had a thing for Jane Curtin ever since she ripped open her shirt to reveal her bazongas and shouted, "Try these on for size, Connie Chung!" whilst hosting Weekend Update.
But the show is dreadful. Poor, poor, Jane, trying to make a silk purse out of the sow's ear that is "Crumbs." It's a dreadful premise, full of lame jokes and recycled double takes. And even though it also stars the Vice President from the last season of 24, he is just trying too too hard to be funny. The writing stunk, the coverage stunk, the acting is painful. Please don't watch it, not ever.
Long live the sitcom / the sitcom is dead.
Le sigh, le sigh.
Or maybe it's just that sitcoms are funny when you're 8 and once you're a growedup they stink to high heaven. I haven't watched a comedy on tv since "Arrested Development" but I gave up on that one after an entire storyline led to the reveal that the mysterious "Mr. F" was actually Rita, the Charlize Theron character, because Rita was classified as a "Mentally Retarded Female," or MRF. Mr. F = MRF = who uses the word retarded anymore? Yuck.
Although, here's something funny on tv - we watched a Nova called Isaac Newton's Dark Secrets which features a learned scholar discussing Newton's explorations into alchemic and talking about the "sworded whore" and the "minstrel blood of the swarded whore" and the way he says "whoooorrrrrrrre" is well worth the tivo'ing of the Nova.
a) i had a migraine and I didn't feel like lowering the top half of my body off my bed and down to the floor to grope for the remote beneath the bed
and
b) i've had a thing for Jane Curtin ever since she ripped open her shirt to reveal her bazongas and shouted, "Try these on for size, Connie Chung!" whilst hosting Weekend Update.
But the show is dreadful. Poor, poor, Jane, trying to make a silk purse out of the sow's ear that is "Crumbs." It's a dreadful premise, full of lame jokes and recycled double takes. And even though it also stars the Vice President from the last season of 24, he is just trying too too hard to be funny. The writing stunk, the coverage stunk, the acting is painful. Please don't watch it, not ever.
Long live the sitcom / the sitcom is dead.
Le sigh, le sigh.
Or maybe it's just that sitcoms are funny when you're 8 and once you're a growedup they stink to high heaven. I haven't watched a comedy on tv since "Arrested Development" but I gave up on that one after an entire storyline led to the reveal that the mysterious "Mr. F" was actually Rita, the Charlize Theron character, because Rita was classified as a "Mentally Retarded Female," or MRF. Mr. F = MRF = who uses the word retarded anymore? Yuck.
Although, here's something funny on tv - we watched a Nova called Isaac Newton's Dark Secrets which features a learned scholar discussing Newton's explorations into alchemic and talking about the "sworded whore" and the "minstrel blood of the swarded whore" and the way he says "whoooorrrrrrrre" is well worth the tivo'ing of the Nova.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Ah, Project Runway. You Do A Girl's Heart Good
Spoiler alert!
Oh, sweet sweet Dirty Diana, I am sad to see you go. How I loved you and your science-nrrrrd gimmicks. But, alas, Marla the almost-Seahag dragged you down into the salty brine, and truth be told, your outfit sizzucked. Bleeech.
And next week -- they're designing a FIGURE SKATING outfit? For Sasha Cohen? Interrobang!!!! What a dream come true! I heart you, Project Runway.
END SPOILER ALERT! (kinda, but I must warn you that I'm still going to talk about Figure Skating)
Because, between your Figure Skatin' love and the upcoming awesomeitude of Fox's "Skating with Celebrities" (Complete with the dream team of Nancy Kerrigan and Dave Coulier) (and you just know someone's going to break an ankle), and then the fact that I feel like I am already coming down with a slight case of Olympic Fever -- man oh man, this is a banner year for being a Figure Skatin' Fan.
HAPPY HAPPY JOY JOY JOY.
Oh, sweet sweet Dirty Diana, I am sad to see you go. How I loved you and your science-nrrrrd gimmicks. But, alas, Marla the almost-Seahag dragged you down into the salty brine, and truth be told, your outfit sizzucked. Bleeech.
And next week -- they're designing a FIGURE SKATING outfit? For Sasha Cohen? Interrobang!!!! What a dream come true! I heart you, Project Runway.
END SPOILER ALERT! (kinda, but I must warn you that I'm still going to talk about Figure Skating)
Because, between your Figure Skatin' love and the upcoming awesomeitude of Fox's "Skating with Celebrities" (Complete with the dream team of Nancy Kerrigan and Dave Coulier) (and you just know someone's going to break an ankle), and then the fact that I feel like I am already coming down with a slight case of Olympic Fever -- man oh man, this is a banner year for being a Figure Skatin' Fan.
HAPPY HAPPY JOY JOY JOY.
Monday, January 09, 2006
King Schlong and The Island of HORRID STUPIDITY
Ah, movies.
I'm a day late and a dollar short on this one but "The Island" directed by Michael "Me Know How Blow Things Up Real Good" Bay can fuck me. Yuuuuuuuuch. First of all, you'd NEVER have to remove the clones from their vegetative state. (Duh. Heinlein got that one right ages before some hack screenwriter decided it would real dramatical-like if the clones were conscious.) And second of all - why would you have them wear white? It's so hard to keep clean, especially with all that bacon they love eating. Dress 'em in rainbow colors and give them shiny shiny blocks with which to play -if they're 3 year olds, let 'em be three year olds and give them appa juice and aminal crackers and nappytimes. And, geez louise, the 2nd half of that movie is entirely unwatchable. Holy crap. Holy crapitude. Someone should sillyslap Michael Bay many times.
Secondly: King Schlong! Oh, my dear sweet Boring Smurf of Smurfitudinous Retching. Yick. Sure, the CG is swell (Except in those wide shots of the natives and occasional wide shots of Kong, that ol' softy-who-knows-who-to-sign-"Beautiful.") And the dinosaurs are fantabulous. But Jack Black, whom I normally adore, is dreadfully miscast and misdirected. And the story is soooo repeated beat, repeated beat, repeated beat. And it's all telegraphiced from miles away, iconic American story or not. And it's such a cruel story that there's no wonder in it, just frustration and astonishment at the ignorance of the people in charge. A lot like this country, actually. Someone can write a thesis on that one -- King Kong as the wounded American Soul of the Mid-Oughts. But even if someone had the rigorous academic discipline required to research and write such a thesis and could publish it and make the rounds of the morning talk shows and get three minutes to gaze in rapture at Katie Couric's legs and scaryscary plasticmask face -- why, even if that person could share his or her views with the grumpypants, bleary-eyed coffee-drinking wretches watching the today show and then the people revolted in the streets, screaming, "No, no, 'twill not be the airplanes and neither the beauty that slays ME," -- even if that revolution were to happen, King Kong would still be boring, way too long, and not a particularly good movie (except that it's pretty to look at and there are brontosauruses).
(Brontosauri redeem an awful lot, but not that icedancing scene.)
(And I also really, really, really love icedancing so that's saying a fuckload).
(A fuckload is bigger than a bushel yet smaller than a peck).
And while I'm ranting, I also just saw and detested "Wedding Crashers." Because it was mean mean mean Mcmean. Whereas "The 40 Year Old Virgin" was earnest earnest earnest and thusly I liked it muchly.
And while I'm all hot and bothered -- OH MY STARS. Balactica is gonna kickawesome ass this season.
I'm a day late and a dollar short on this one but "The Island" directed by Michael "Me Know How Blow Things Up Real Good" Bay can fuck me. Yuuuuuuuuch. First of all, you'd NEVER have to remove the clones from their vegetative state. (Duh. Heinlein got that one right ages before some hack screenwriter decided it would real dramatical-like if the clones were conscious.) And second of all - why would you have them wear white? It's so hard to keep clean, especially with all that bacon they love eating. Dress 'em in rainbow colors and give them shiny shiny blocks with which to play -if they're 3 year olds, let 'em be three year olds and give them appa juice and aminal crackers and nappytimes. And, geez louise, the 2nd half of that movie is entirely unwatchable. Holy crap. Holy crapitude. Someone should sillyslap Michael Bay many times.
Secondly: King Schlong! Oh, my dear sweet Boring Smurf of Smurfitudinous Retching. Yick. Sure, the CG is swell (Except in those wide shots of the natives and occasional wide shots of Kong, that ol' softy-who-knows-who-to-sign-"Beautiful.") And the dinosaurs are fantabulous. But Jack Black, whom I normally adore, is dreadfully miscast and misdirected. And the story is soooo repeated beat, repeated beat, repeated beat. And it's all telegraphiced from miles away, iconic American story or not. And it's such a cruel story that there's no wonder in it, just frustration and astonishment at the ignorance of the people in charge. A lot like this country, actually. Someone can write a thesis on that one -- King Kong as the wounded American Soul of the Mid-Oughts. But even if someone had the rigorous academic discipline required to research and write such a thesis and could publish it and make the rounds of the morning talk shows and get three minutes to gaze in rapture at Katie Couric's legs and scaryscary plasticmask face -- why, even if that person could share his or her views with the grumpypants, bleary-eyed coffee-drinking wretches watching the today show and then the people revolted in the streets, screaming, "No, no, 'twill not be the airplanes and neither the beauty that slays ME," -- even if that revolution were to happen, King Kong would still be boring, way too long, and not a particularly good movie (except that it's pretty to look at and there are brontosauruses).
(Brontosauri redeem an awful lot, but not that icedancing scene.)
(And I also really, really, really love icedancing so that's saying a fuckload).
(A fuckload is bigger than a bushel yet smaller than a peck).
And while I'm ranting, I also just saw and detested "Wedding Crashers." Because it was mean mean mean Mcmean. Whereas "The 40 Year Old Virgin" was earnest earnest earnest and thusly I liked it muchly.
And while I'm all hot and bothered -- OH MY STARS. Balactica is gonna kickawesome ass this season.
Friday, January 06, 2006
Balactica Returns TONIGHT!
Oh boy, oh boy, my beloved Battlestar Galactica returns tonight!
It's been a rough hiatus, and without the joys of ANTM and Project Runway (Lost, by the way, can officially suck it), I don't know if I could have made it. But the wait is over! T-minus 14 hours til BALACTICA RETURNS!
It's been a rough hiatus, and without the joys of ANTM and Project Runway (Lost, by the way, can officially suck it), I don't know if I could have made it. But the wait is over! T-minus 14 hours til BALACTICA RETURNS!
Thursday, January 05, 2006
There's No Place like Celebreality
I'd just like to toot my own horn -- toot, toot! TOOT! TOOTIE MCBOOTIE! But I'm just oh so happy with the glam rock musical celebreality spots we did.
Damn Good
I think that, as a nation, we should replace "Not bad" in our vernacular with "Damn good!"
How was your drive?
DAMN GOOD!
How are those crab cakes?
DAMN GOOD!
How was that place where you ate by the thing we went to once?
DAMN GOOD!
In exciting news, the internets have re-connected me with my longlost friend, Deni Bonet. She rocks an electric blue violin, and we met when she was playing songs like "Nightswimming" with R.E.M.
How was your drive?
DAMN GOOD!
How are those crab cakes?
DAMN GOOD!
How was that place where you ate by the thing we went to once?
DAMN GOOD!
In exciting news, the internets have re-connected me with my longlost friend, Deni Bonet. She rocks an electric blue violin, and we met when she was playing songs like "Nightswimming" with R.E.M.
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