It appears as if someone has inserted a long thin sword through my temples and into my brain because i have the worst headache ever aroo! Josh and I attempted to go to the Heeb party but it was jammed with jews and my migraine was stronger than the desire to mix and mingle. For reals, it was worse than the drink-line at the mtv x-mas party. Two people recognized me outside the bar and that made me happy, but then we went into 11 (i was actually, albeit briefly, at 11's opening night party, and we declared way back then that it sucked) and it was wall-to-wall Heebs. after attempting to penetrate their jew-cy depths, we were thwarted and retreated. Josh said he thought they were on to him -- after all, as he said, he did slap a picture of his messiah on the back of their magazine and call it a new religion (comparative religion major, GO!)-- but I think it was just too much for the two of us, seeing as we prefer shooting electronic deer to actual socialization with anyone other than ourselves.
We, did, however, have a long and thoughtful discussion on the uses of mind-altering substances (josh was having a caiparinha and i was sipping a mojito) and the intentions thereof ... we both fall into the Alternative-Reality-Allows-for-the-Silencing-of-the-Constant-Anxious-Interior-Monologue-Thus-One-May-Allow-Oneself-to-Relax-and-Not-Feel-Guilty-About-Having-Fun camp, as oppsed to the seeking-great-new-heights or the numb-out-the-world or the bored-with-life camps. anyway. I have all these Great New Thoughts about these topics, but, I kid you not, my brain is about to split open and hurl grey matter all over my keyboard and my HappyHappyHappy sunlamp and the einstein/quanta illustration hanging over my desk, so i have to go lie down and put cold things on my eyes and think about lovely things like baby pandas.
ouch ouch ouch aroo!
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
Tikun Olam (or some other Hebrew phrase that surely must mean at least a little bit of what I intend it to mean)
... I'm going for a "full-circle" or "ourobouros" type of sensation here. My 2nd year at Camp Ramah (aka Jew Camp, to my longterm listeners), I had an awesome counselor named Esther (about whom I've written previously) who's totally stickin' it to the man as the voice of the NYC single Jewess. Esther (who was named Esther long before Madonna named herself Esther) is a proud-Jew, whereas I am much more of a self-loathing-Jew, and I admire her excessively for sticking true to the ol' Ramah ro-meh-mooooing type of spirit. Anyhoo. So Esther blogged about my blog in an entry called "Camper Gone Wild." It made me happy and I wanted to share. Plus, she called me a diva. Teehee, teehee.
Monday, November 15, 2004
I see your Schwartz is as big as mine
The battle's heating up.
I just got the physical hard copy of the new Heeb -- I'll scan the Schwartz page and post it tomorrow -- hiiiiiilarious.
who's going to the Heeb release party? If i'm all better -- see you there.
I just got the physical hard copy of the new Heeb -- I'll scan the Schwartz page and post it tomorrow -- hiiiiiilarious.
who's going to the Heeb release party? If i'm all better -- see you there.
The Bad Girl Jew
// so today's been largely about the whole Heeb thing. It's funny, to be back out there as a Jew -- I mean, I can never lay low as a Jew because of the whole schnozz and general outlook on life (neuroses schmeuroses), but there was a time when I was on stage all the time talking about being a jew, a jewish girl, specifically a bad jewish girl. I've heard of a comedy series here in NY called "Nice Jewish Girls Gone Bad" but I've never been to one of their events -- I'm assuming the premise is roughly the same -- the whole isn't-it-shocking-to-you-that-I-am-a-nice-jewish-girl-but-i-am-really-naughty-and-nasty. for some reason, that concept seems to be the basis for lots of performance art -- you'll see a lot more of that issue on stages across Manhattan than you'll see oooh-look-i-am-Episcopalian-and-i-am-a-bad-girl or even wow-i'm-so-bad-and-i-am-also-a-Lutheran.
A friend emailed me describing how he longed after Jewesses when he was in college, but that as he (and the ladies) got older (closer to marrying age), the Jewesses only wanted to date Jewish dudes so he was out of the running. And I know a lot of people up there on the Upper West Side who rock that j-date shit, and I know Jews who will only date other Jews, no matter what. I ain't like that. Religion doesn't matter to me, as long as you don't really have one. I'm not so into the Faith, if you catch my drift, although I'm okay with a general sense of anti-entropic-higher-order thing, if one likes that sort of idea.
And luckily, I don't really have parental pressure on the whole relationship jew-must-go-on tip. My parents, I believe, would be happy if I were to have a boyfriend at all, let alone if he were a Jew. Just as long as he's not into, like, making my whole family play sports, then we'll all get along fine.
Anyway. My e-conversation about jewesses got me to thinking about the whole thing again -- why is it so hard to name a Jewish sex symbol?
I will ask that again so that you can grok its deeper meaning:
WHY AREN'T THERE ANY JEWISH SEX SYMBOLS?
Okay, Okay, I'll give you Jon Stewart, and Sarah Silverman, and Zach Braff and maybe even Adam (maroon 5 yawn) Levine. But that's it? And there's only one sexy Jewish chick? okay, we can add in sarah jessica parker (although i say 'ew') but we are not considering Madonna. I can't think of any sexy Jewesses in pop culture from my childhood and adolescence and I'm hard-pressed to find them now -- when we look to popular culture and the cult-of-personality to find our role models of the sexualized gaze, who do we see? skinny hipped, tiny nosed non-Jews. Where are the ladies with the hips? The thighs? The hair? They're not on the screen -- they're not celluloid idols (ha, more like cellulite idols, she quips wittily, like she was trained), so they're like the anti-idealized-Barbie and therefore the notion of the sexy-Jew becomes appealing to anti-establishment sorts of people.
So I actually wrote about this phenomenon a few years ago in an article for penthouse.com, but then they went bankrupt and it never came out.
Thus, for the first time ever, I present:
Bex on the Bad Girl Jew:
So it’s three a.m. and I’m drunk. The TV is on; the remote is on my belly and I’m looking for eye candy. I come to my favorite channel – the free almost-porn station that broadcasts snippets of “dirty” programming interspersed with hours and hours of “Escort” commercials. There’s the blonde lesbian nipple-licking, the lick-the-boot Dom/Sub thing, and then … there it is. Just one of dozens of the “Asian Beauties” commercials, offering entrance into the most lovely and delicate of Forbidden Temples.
I hate these commercials. It’s not that Asian women aren’t beautiful – of course they are – but I hate the fetishization of an entire race. It’s not that I’m so self-righteous and holier-than-thou. I’m just jealous.
As of now, there’s no advertised and glamourized fetish of what appears to be a lust-inducing icon arousing men across the nation – the Bad Girl Jew. The Bad Girl Jew is Monica Lewinsky, proudly performing oral sex on a goyische President. The Bad Girl Jew is Lindsey Vuolo, the first openly Jewish Playmate. The Bad Girl Jew is talking to you at a bar on the Upper West Side and damn if she doesn’t look juicy. Those mothering hips, that luscious bosom – the Bad Girl Jew comes with conditions: the breasts are real, but so is the nose.
Everything you ever wanted to know about Jews and Sex but were afraid to ask …
The Bad Girl Jew phenomenon stems from the cultural and religious aspects of the Judaic approaches to sex. Shana, a twenty-three year old who prefers the label “naughty,” notes, “I was only told that I had to date Jewish boys. At camp, I was encouraged to fool around – as long as the boy was Jewish. Oh, and if I slept with a non-Jewish man, I wouldn’t be able to marry a cohen [High Priest].” Whereas Catholic school girls are instructed that sex is a sin, that lust is an offence, that unpure acts lead to damnation, Jewish girls learn that sex is a mitzvah -- a commandment (just as long as he goes to Hebrew School). [Update: "Shana" married a really neat Jewish guy named "Todd" last August.]
The Torah maintains that sex is only permissible between a husband and a wife, yet the halacha [Jewish Law] allows a couple to meet “at least once” before the wedding to ensure that they find each other physically attractive. The Talmud and Torah indicate that sex exists not just for procreation, but also for pleasure and for reinforcing the marital commitment. According to the Law, sex should only be enjoyed in a moment of happiness. (Sex must be blissful -- couples who are either drunk or arguing may not fornicate). “Selfish sex” (ignoring one’s partners passion) is illegal, as is using sex as a weapon (withholding or forcing intercourse to punish or manipulate a spouse). Throughout Judaic teachings, sex is portrayed as a joyous act of love – couples are actually encouraged to have sex whenever conception is impossible (e.g. during pregnancy or menopause). Furthermore, the law permits birth control (as long as a husband and wife follow the guidelines to be fruitful and multiply, producing at least one son and one daughter).
The Joy-of-Sex ideal is only partly responsible for the Bad Girl Jew phenomenon. The Talmud clearly states that sex is the woman’s right. The man is compelled by law to have sex with his wife regularly and to ensure that sex is always mutually pleasurable. A woman should not have to ask for sex – the man is instructed to watch for signs that his lover is randy and to satisfy her sexual needs. In fact, sex is one of a woman’s three basic rights: food, clothing, and fucking. To this degree, a man is not permitted to abstain from sex or to travel away from home for too long, thus leaving his wife alone and horny. Additionally, if a husband continues to ignore his wife’s sexual needs, the wife has absolute permission to divorce his sorry ass. It doesn’t matter whether a young Jewess spends her afternoons at Bat Mitzvah lessons or at the Gap – somewhere within the collective unconscious of Jewish culture lies the implicit encouragement for girls to be unashamed of their sexuality and desires. Not every girl becomes a Bad Girl Jew, but those who do are gleefully taking full advantage of their God-given rights.
The Yin-Yang of the Bad Girl Jew
Bad Girl Jews carry the intriguing psychological baggage of sexual un-repression combined with the stereotypically (yet true) Jewish neurosis. A Bad Girl Jew will fuck you on your first date, but she’ll call you every night for a month. A B.G.J. will fellate you for over an hour rather than admit she’s a failure. A B.G.J. will perform any number of sexual favors, but she expects to be complimented and thanked profusely. A B.G.J. is your sexual fantasy wrapped up in your worst nightmare – a high-maintenance, mildly obsessive nympho.
Bad Girl Jews are at once irresistible and annoying. The wild and luscious hair looks fantastic after hours with a blow-dryer or the right curl-enhancing product; that same mane is frightening after a day in the rain. That cleavage and those hips look great in jeans and a tee-shirt, but woe be unto you if your B.G.J tries on a button-down dress. The husky voice sounds amazing when she’s whispering into your ear, but you’ll be reaching for the Advil if she’s PMS-ing and shrill and nasal and hysterical. Bad Girl Jews are also notoriously intellectual – a B.G.J. will seduce you with her deconstructive insights into universal truths, but then she’ll psychoanalyze your collection of Transformers and your willy will wilt like a non-kosher hot dog.
A Bad Girl Jew offers a wild ride, but you’ve got to be prepared to hang on tight and adjust the lap strap. A B.G.J will lick your ear in a crowded elevator. She’ll linger just a little too long when she kisses your buddies goodnight. She’ll introduce you to her parents as “the man I’m fucking.” A Bad Girl Jew is rebelling against everything she thinks her the world. She will do everything within her power to prove that she is not a JAP from the suburbs. She’d do anything to prove that she’s not bourgeois. She’ll take your stereotypes and shred them, all the while longing for you to at least offer to pay for dinner. A Bad Girl Jew will get a tattoo and then laugh nervously as she boasts, “My mom hates this.”
----------------------
oh. i think I actually never ended this article. but now the NyQuil has kicked in and I fear the keyboard will once again turn into pebbles. I must away to bed.
A friend emailed me describing how he longed after Jewesses when he was in college, but that as he (and the ladies) got older (closer to marrying age), the Jewesses only wanted to date Jewish dudes so he was out of the running. And I know a lot of people up there on the Upper West Side who rock that j-date shit, and I know Jews who will only date other Jews, no matter what. I ain't like that. Religion doesn't matter to me, as long as you don't really have one. I'm not so into the Faith, if you catch my drift, although I'm okay with a general sense of anti-entropic-higher-order thing, if one likes that sort of idea.
And luckily, I don't really have parental pressure on the whole relationship jew-must-go-on tip. My parents, I believe, would be happy if I were to have a boyfriend at all, let alone if he were a Jew. Just as long as he's not into, like, making my whole family play sports, then we'll all get along fine.
Anyway. My e-conversation about jewesses got me to thinking about the whole thing again -- why is it so hard to name a Jewish sex symbol?
I will ask that again so that you can grok its deeper meaning:
WHY AREN'T THERE ANY JEWISH SEX SYMBOLS?
Okay, Okay, I'll give you Jon Stewart, and Sarah Silverman, and Zach Braff and maybe even Adam (maroon 5 yawn) Levine. But that's it? And there's only one sexy Jewish chick? okay, we can add in sarah jessica parker (although i say 'ew') but we are not considering Madonna. I can't think of any sexy Jewesses in pop culture from my childhood and adolescence and I'm hard-pressed to find them now -- when we look to popular culture and the cult-of-personality to find our role models of the sexualized gaze, who do we see? skinny hipped, tiny nosed non-Jews. Where are the ladies with the hips? The thighs? The hair? They're not on the screen -- they're not celluloid idols (ha, more like cellulite idols, she quips wittily, like she was trained), so they're like the anti-idealized-Barbie and therefore the notion of the sexy-Jew becomes appealing to anti-establishment sorts of people.
So I actually wrote about this phenomenon a few years ago in an article for penthouse.com, but then they went bankrupt and it never came out.
Thus, for the first time ever, I present:
Bex on the Bad Girl Jew:
So it’s three a.m. and I’m drunk. The TV is on; the remote is on my belly and I’m looking for eye candy. I come to my favorite channel – the free almost-porn station that broadcasts snippets of “dirty” programming interspersed with hours and hours of “Escort” commercials. There’s the blonde lesbian nipple-licking, the lick-the-boot Dom/Sub thing, and then … there it is. Just one of dozens of the “Asian Beauties” commercials, offering entrance into the most lovely and delicate of Forbidden Temples.
I hate these commercials. It’s not that Asian women aren’t beautiful – of course they are – but I hate the fetishization of an entire race. It’s not that I’m so self-righteous and holier-than-thou. I’m just jealous.
As of now, there’s no advertised and glamourized fetish of what appears to be a lust-inducing icon arousing men across the nation – the Bad Girl Jew. The Bad Girl Jew is Monica Lewinsky, proudly performing oral sex on a goyische President. The Bad Girl Jew is Lindsey Vuolo, the first openly Jewish Playmate. The Bad Girl Jew is talking to you at a bar on the Upper West Side and damn if she doesn’t look juicy. Those mothering hips, that luscious bosom – the Bad Girl Jew comes with conditions: the breasts are real, but so is the nose.
Everything you ever wanted to know about Jews and Sex but were afraid to ask …
The Bad Girl Jew phenomenon stems from the cultural and religious aspects of the Judaic approaches to sex. Shana, a twenty-three year old who prefers the label “naughty,” notes, “I was only told that I had to date Jewish boys. At camp, I was encouraged to fool around – as long as the boy was Jewish. Oh, and if I slept with a non-Jewish man, I wouldn’t be able to marry a cohen [High Priest].” Whereas Catholic school girls are instructed that sex is a sin, that lust is an offence, that unpure acts lead to damnation, Jewish girls learn that sex is a mitzvah -- a commandment (just as long as he goes to Hebrew School). [Update: "Shana" married a really neat Jewish guy named "Todd" last August.]
The Torah maintains that sex is only permissible between a husband and a wife, yet the halacha [Jewish Law] allows a couple to meet “at least once” before the wedding to ensure that they find each other physically attractive. The Talmud and Torah indicate that sex exists not just for procreation, but also for pleasure and for reinforcing the marital commitment. According to the Law, sex should only be enjoyed in a moment of happiness. (Sex must be blissful -- couples who are either drunk or arguing may not fornicate). “Selfish sex” (ignoring one’s partners passion) is illegal, as is using sex as a weapon (withholding or forcing intercourse to punish or manipulate a spouse). Throughout Judaic teachings, sex is portrayed as a joyous act of love – couples are actually encouraged to have sex whenever conception is impossible (e.g. during pregnancy or menopause). Furthermore, the law permits birth control (as long as a husband and wife follow the guidelines to be fruitful and multiply, producing at least one son and one daughter).
The Joy-of-Sex ideal is only partly responsible for the Bad Girl Jew phenomenon. The Talmud clearly states that sex is the woman’s right. The man is compelled by law to have sex with his wife regularly and to ensure that sex is always mutually pleasurable. A woman should not have to ask for sex – the man is instructed to watch for signs that his lover is randy and to satisfy her sexual needs. In fact, sex is one of a woman’s three basic rights: food, clothing, and fucking. To this degree, a man is not permitted to abstain from sex or to travel away from home for too long, thus leaving his wife alone and horny. Additionally, if a husband continues to ignore his wife’s sexual needs, the wife has absolute permission to divorce his sorry ass. It doesn’t matter whether a young Jewess spends her afternoons at Bat Mitzvah lessons or at the Gap – somewhere within the collective unconscious of Jewish culture lies the implicit encouragement for girls to be unashamed of their sexuality and desires. Not every girl becomes a Bad Girl Jew, but those who do are gleefully taking full advantage of their God-given rights.
The Yin-Yang of the Bad Girl Jew
Bad Girl Jews carry the intriguing psychological baggage of sexual un-repression combined with the stereotypically (yet true) Jewish neurosis. A Bad Girl Jew will fuck you on your first date, but she’ll call you every night for a month. A B.G.J. will fellate you for over an hour rather than admit she’s a failure. A B.G.J. will perform any number of sexual favors, but she expects to be complimented and thanked profusely. A B.G.J. is your sexual fantasy wrapped up in your worst nightmare – a high-maintenance, mildly obsessive nympho.
Bad Girl Jews are at once irresistible and annoying. The wild and luscious hair looks fantastic after hours with a blow-dryer or the right curl-enhancing product; that same mane is frightening after a day in the rain. That cleavage and those hips look great in jeans and a tee-shirt, but woe be unto you if your B.G.J tries on a button-down dress. The husky voice sounds amazing when she’s whispering into your ear, but you’ll be reaching for the Advil if she’s PMS-ing and shrill and nasal and hysterical. Bad Girl Jews are also notoriously intellectual – a B.G.J. will seduce you with her deconstructive insights into universal truths, but then she’ll psychoanalyze your collection of Transformers and your willy will wilt like a non-kosher hot dog.
A Bad Girl Jew offers a wild ride, but you’ve got to be prepared to hang on tight and adjust the lap strap. A B.G.J will lick your ear in a crowded elevator. She’ll linger just a little too long when she kisses your buddies goodnight. She’ll introduce you to her parents as “the man I’m fucking.” A Bad Girl Jew is rebelling against everything she thinks her the world. She will do everything within her power to prove that she is not a JAP from the suburbs. She’d do anything to prove that she’s not bourgeois. She’ll take your stereotypes and shred them, all the while longing for you to at least offer to pay for dinner. A Bad Girl Jew will get a tattoo and then laugh nervously as she boasts, “My mom hates this.”
----------------------
oh. i think I actually never ended this article. but now the NyQuil has kicked in and I fear the keyboard will once again turn into pebbles. I must away to bed.
Heeb Magazine's Battle of the Schwartzes heats up -- I'm a Big League Jew
Heeb Magazine: Battle of the Schwartzes
Lookyloo, I'm battling for Schwartz domination.
The new edition of Heeb magazine is out, and whomp, there I am -- pitted against Elaine Schwartz. Vote for me! Vote for me! I have a boa! Vote for me! I must trounce that schoolteacher's ass.
Just think -- this time, you can vote and maybe not feel like all-is-lost when the results come in. A vote for Bex is a vote for the blue states! Although I'm sure the other Schwartz is also blue. Jews tend to go blue.
I'm a Jew with the Flu who votes Blue!
Speaking of... I am still sickypoo and it sucks. Even watching tivo'ed episodes of CSI: Miami isn't making me feel better, and if Horatio can't penetrate my ickyness, then all is lost.
My friend Adam tells me that they now make Theraflu in dissolve-able strip form -- like those Listerine strips, but for the flu instead of fresh-breath. I can't wait til they make tequila strips -- all the buzz, none of the fuzz, yo.
Lookyloo, I'm battling for Schwartz domination.
The new edition of Heeb magazine is out, and whomp, there I am -- pitted against Elaine Schwartz. Vote for me! Vote for me! I have a boa! Vote for me! I must trounce that schoolteacher's ass.
Just think -- this time, you can vote and maybe not feel like all-is-lost when the results come in. A vote for Bex is a vote for the blue states! Although I'm sure the other Schwartz is also blue. Jews tend to go blue.
I'm a Jew with the Flu who votes Blue!
Speaking of... I am still sickypoo and it sucks. Even watching tivo'ed episodes of CSI: Miami isn't making me feel better, and if Horatio can't penetrate my ickyness, then all is lost.
My friend Adam tells me that they now make Theraflu in dissolve-able strip form -- like those Listerine strips, but for the flu instead of fresh-breath. I can't wait til they make tequila strips -- all the buzz, none of the fuzz, yo.
Sunday, November 14, 2004
Ah, Friendster messages from strangers
I have the flu, fo' reals, and my right hip isn't working right (damn you, lyme disease!) and we just watched Saved, which mostly sucked, and I need to do laundry but I can't move and I feel like poo. That being said, please enjoy one of the creepiest messages I've ever received via Friendster:
For the record, {Name Withheld}, i, too, love the condoms.
I LOVE THE CONDOMS! They're my fave band, ever.
it's my first try here ... i am [name withheld]..i am from Paris...i am a cute looking male.. I am in vaccations here for one month...and i met so many people in that city..but today it's really cold out...so i stayed home...So here is my cell [phone number withheld -- note: it was a 917 number. do visiting Parisians have 917 prefixes?]... my english is not perfect, so just smile, and don't be to fast talking on the phone ... I really like your picture .... And i know you can be lovely surprizz if you're enought open minded to call me...
I love
- seduction
- discretion
- smiles
- women legs, and heels
- the condoms
- chocolate
- complicity
- no taboo
- my family and friends back home
-and me right now, writting to someone
that i don't know..and to be honest, i did a lots of sexy things in my life, but i never met anyone from internet.
For the record, {Name Withheld}, i, too, love the condoms.
I LOVE THE CONDOMS! They're my fave band, ever.
Saturday, November 13, 2004
I Heart Matt Walsh and Ian Roberts
The shoot today was long and somewhat tense but pretty damn awesome. Matt and Ian did this fantabulous improv (in character as news anchors Lance Bottoms and Stryker Carlise, respectively) that made me laugh so hard I cried all my mascara off. They're rad. Coming soon to a times square jumbotron near you, and coming sooner (With audio) to a vh1 near you.
That's what i'm rocking about, 4-evuh.
The bad news is that i am sick as a dog. This SUCKS. Suckety suckfest 3k.
Speaking of which, Kelly and I saw Andre 3000 in Mark Jacobs while we were taking a cab home. He was frozen in the doorway, watching something on a wall screen. He was completely still -- Kelly thought he was a Mme. Tussaud's dummy. A dapper dummy! He was oh-so-sharply-dressed. We were excited -- an a-list celeb spotting! Hoorah, hoorah.
And now will take to my bed with a box of tissues and some tylenol cold. Send unchicken soup my way!
That's what i'm rocking about, 4-evuh.
The bad news is that i am sick as a dog. This SUCKS. Suckety suckfest 3k.
Speaking of which, Kelly and I saw Andre 3000 in Mark Jacobs while we were taking a cab home. He was frozen in the doorway, watching something on a wall screen. He was completely still -- Kelly thought he was a Mme. Tussaud's dummy. A dapper dummy! He was oh-so-sharply-dressed. We were excited -- an a-list celeb spotting! Hoorah, hoorah.
And now will take to my bed with a box of tissues and some tylenol cold. Send unchicken soup my way!
Friday, November 12, 2004
How The Somewhat Mighty Have ...
Wow. Howard Fenster, the guy who used to be the weird sidekick on the ol' Jon Stewart show on mtv? (the one i was supposed to be on, talking backwards, but then they cancelled the show?) He works at my gym now. Whoa.
Thursday, November 11, 2004
Swampety Swamp Swamp
Hey --
I apologize for the lack of soul-bearing / snark-making posts. We are SWAMPED in work. Happy news, however -- we're shooting the awesome Matt Walsh and Ian Roberts this Saturday for an upcoming promo campaign for Big in 04. If you're like-aged to me, then you remember them from their awwwwwwesome Upright Citizens' Brigade series on Comedy Central (and by 'awesome,' i mean 'definitely the first season'). You may also recognize Matt from Old School and the Daily Show and a zillion other things, and Ian portrayed the legendary Sparky "Spirit Fingers" in Bring It On. Despite the fact that we're working on the weekend, it should be pretty fucking rad.
Now THAT's what I'm rocking about.
I was walking home and Tom Petty came up on the ol' ipod -- would it be completely horrifically in bad taste to release a parody of "Even The Losers" called "Even Fallujah" ???
Baby, Even Fallujah ... gets lucky sometimes.
It just scans oh-so-well, yo. And I mean 'lucky' in a purely ironical sense, of course.
Heh. "Ironical." Heh heh.
Now that's what i'm ROCKING about.
Here's my latest fun game: get into the elevator with your ipod earbuds firmly lodged in your eardrums, and nod your head rhymically like you're listening to the hardest Lil Jon piece of crunk -- but, really, you're listening to "Goodnight Saigon" by Billy Joel!
I find this activity to be endlessly entertaining.
And now, today was yet again a roughie-toughie. I must go tuck myself. Into bed.
I apologize for the lack of soul-bearing / snark-making posts. We are SWAMPED in work. Happy news, however -- we're shooting the awesome Matt Walsh and Ian Roberts this Saturday for an upcoming promo campaign for Big in 04. If you're like-aged to me, then you remember them from their awwwwwwesome Upright Citizens' Brigade series on Comedy Central (and by 'awesome,' i mean 'definitely the first season'). You may also recognize Matt from Old School and the Daily Show and a zillion other things, and Ian portrayed the legendary Sparky "Spirit Fingers" in Bring It On. Despite the fact that we're working on the weekend, it should be pretty fucking rad.
Now THAT's what I'm rocking about.
I was walking home and Tom Petty came up on the ol' ipod -- would it be completely horrifically in bad taste to release a parody of "Even The Losers" called "Even Fallujah" ???
Baby, Even Fallujah ... gets lucky sometimes.
It just scans oh-so-well, yo. And I mean 'lucky' in a purely ironical sense, of course.
Heh. "Ironical." Heh heh.
Now that's what i'm ROCKING about.
Here's my latest fun game: get into the elevator with your ipod earbuds firmly lodged in your eardrums, and nod your head rhymically like you're listening to the hardest Lil Jon piece of crunk -- but, really, you're listening to "Goodnight Saigon" by Billy Joel!
I find this activity to be endlessly entertaining.
And now, today was yet again a roughie-toughie. I must go tuck myself. Into bed.
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
Once and for all, Ladies: Dr. Hager is ALREADY on the Food and Drug Administration's (FDA) Reproductive Health Drugs Advisory Committee.
Perhaps you've received the email about President Bush's plan to select Dr. W. David Hager to the FDA's Reproductive Health Drugs Advisory Committee. The email is scary; it's about how Hager's this total prolife Jesusfreak fundamentalist (true) who doesn't prescribe birthcontrol to unmarried women (true -- Time confirmed it) and who wants to revoke RU-486's prescription status. All of this SUCKS. But, ladies, please -- this email is OLD.
Dr. Hager was appointed to the committee in December 2002. In fact, he was just re-appointed this past June. He's ON THE FUCKING COMMITTEE already, people. Yes, it really fucking sucks. But sending on that email -- forwarding a petititon to the whitehouse asking Bush not to appoint Hager -- just makes us look stupid.
Check your facts, yo. I highly recommend snopes for all your urban-legend fact-checking needs.
Dr. Hager was appointed to the committee in December 2002. In fact, he was just re-appointed this past June. He's ON THE FUCKING COMMITTEE already, people. Yes, it really fucking sucks. But sending on that email -- forwarding a petititon to the whitehouse asking Bush not to appoint Hager -- just makes us look stupid.
Check your facts, yo. I highly recommend snopes for all your urban-legend fact-checking needs.
Nasa Cat, Nasa Cat, I Love You, Yes I Do
Check out this video of a kittycat in the vomit comet (the plane that flies parabolae to create weightlessness, simulating what it's like in space). Watch as they hurl the kitty against the wall! Gasp as the kitty freaks out! Marvel as the kitty lands on its feet!
And also, please take note that NASA seems to like women astronautesses who have black curly hair, Crista McAuliffe style.
And also, please take note that NASA seems to like women astronautesses who have black curly hair, Crista McAuliffe style.
A Modest Proposal
Can we please ask Tom Hanks to just stop with that i-am-pretending-to-be-a-grand-ol'-fella-from-what-i-imagine-the-1940s-sounded-like voice?
please?
please?
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
ASHCROFT JUST FUCKING RESIGNED!
Ashcroft and Evans are officially the first members of Bush's cabinet to resign.
Life could be looking up ... unless they appoint David Duke to fill Ashcroft's position.
"All you fascists are bound to lose" -- Woody Goothrie, via Billy Bragg.
Hip hip hip hooray.
Life could be looking up ... unless they appoint David Duke to fill Ashcroft's position.
"All you fascists are bound to lose" -- Woody Goothrie, via Billy Bragg.
Hip hip hip hooray.
Monday, November 08, 2004
Pepsi what?
Pepsi Holiday Spice -- I say, I say: whuuut?
I saw a spot today for Pepsi Holiday Spice, which I can only imagine tastes much like a Captain Morgan and Coke. I went to see my friend Michael Cerveris and his band rock out at Tonic once, and a guy at the bar asked for a "Captain and Coke." I'd never heard anyone order a rum and coke like that and I was utterly impressed with pirate-tude.
Arrrrgh, mateys, we be drinkin' Pepsi Spice this whole holiday season, I say unto you. Arrrrgh.
Speaking of spots, i lurf that Canon is using "Let the River Run" in their current campaign. "Let the River Run" is the best song to sing at full volume if you should find yourself depressed. I encourage each and every one of you to commit.
Pepsi Holiday Spice. Puh-leaze. It's bad enough that drinking Diet Coke with Lime makes your brain go, "Hmmm, this tastes like a gin and tonic except it's not." The brain-addlement that's sure to ensue from drinking Pepsi Spice (PepSpice?) might just be the key to guarantee distraction from post-election despair.
Either that, or lots of sex. I'll take what I can get. Bring on the Diet Pepspice, hooray!
"And most of all I'm scared of walking out of this room and never feeling the rest of my whole life the way I feel when I'm with you"
So I watched Dirty Dancing on Sunday, which is my most-fave guilty pleasure movie, the one I want to hate myself for adoring oh-so-much (i don't like it when i girl-out; i feel like it's a side of me that's better kept on the deep deep deep inside). But, i'm here to come clean: Dirty Dancing just might be my favorite movie.
Here's why:
Baby is an awkward-looking jewish girl who suffers from both a semitic nose and a lack of self-esteem pertaining to her sexyness and attractiveness. She's self-confident about her intelligence -- she's bound both for Mt. Holyoke and for glory, because she plans on joining the peace corp. And she totally idolizes her father, whom she believes to be the most righteous guy ever -- esepecially in contrast to her snotty sister and vapid mother. And she learns to unlock her hips and move her ass -- first, by crashing the staff kids' dirty dance party by carrying a watermelon, and then shocking the staff kids (and herself) by learning the intricate Mambo choreography to protect Penny and to save Johhny Castle. And, man! As Johnny teaches her how to dance, she gets sexier and sexier. She learns the art of seduction. She dresses skimpily. She realizes that she's awesome. And through it all, she stands up for that in what she believes, even when she must disappoint her beloved daddy.
Awkward Jewish girl learns to dance, figures out that she's sexy, falls in mutual love with the stunningly strong-armed and rugged man of her dreams (who can dance like a motherfucker!) and generally becomes a fantastically self-empowered paragon of excellence.
not to mention, she tells the guy that she's in love with him and then they dance, topless.
Oh, please. Could someone please sweep me into his arms and slow dance with me? And then can we lipsync Silvia and Mickey to each other?
And maybe we should go to a lake or a river. Because the best place to practice lifts is in the water.
Here's why:
Baby is an awkward-looking jewish girl who suffers from both a semitic nose and a lack of self-esteem pertaining to her sexyness and attractiveness. She's self-confident about her intelligence -- she's bound both for Mt. Holyoke and for glory, because she plans on joining the peace corp. And she totally idolizes her father, whom she believes to be the most righteous guy ever -- esepecially in contrast to her snotty sister and vapid mother. And she learns to unlock her hips and move her ass -- first, by crashing the staff kids' dirty dance party by carrying a watermelon, and then shocking the staff kids (and herself) by learning the intricate Mambo choreography to protect Penny and to save Johhny Castle. And, man! As Johnny teaches her how to dance, she gets sexier and sexier. She learns the art of seduction. She dresses skimpily. She realizes that she's awesome. And through it all, she stands up for that in what she believes, even when she must disappoint her beloved daddy.
Awkward Jewish girl learns to dance, figures out that she's sexy, falls in mutual love with the stunningly strong-armed and rugged man of her dreams (who can dance like a motherfucker!) and generally becomes a fantastically self-empowered paragon of excellence.
not to mention, she tells the guy that she's in love with him and then they dance, topless.
Oh, please. Could someone please sweep me into his arms and slow dance with me? And then can we lipsync Silvia and Mickey to each other?
And maybe we should go to a lake or a river. Because the best place to practice lifts is in the water.
i lost my frog
i lost my frog
i felt compelled to add a little sumpin sumpin to the saga of hopkin greenfrog.
him name is hopkin greenfrog
ps. i'll find my frog
fucking genius, along the 'all your base are belong to us' phenom --
someone found a note reading:
if I looking for frog
him name is hopkin green frog
i lost my frog
329 -3228
Love, Terry
P.S. I'll find my frog
Who took my frog
Who found my frog
2012 15th Ave. S
and then webbies worked their magic.
"him name is hopkin" = makes me tingly.
fucking genius, along the 'all your base are belong to us' phenom --
someone found a note reading:
if I looking for frog
him name is hopkin green frog
i lost my frog
329 -3228
Love, Terry
P.S. I'll find my frog
Who took my frog
Who found my frog
2012 15th Ave. S
and then webbies worked their magic.
"him name is hopkin" = makes me tingly.
Sunday, November 07, 2004
It's The End of The World as We Know It ... And I Feel Kinda Meh
So I went to see REM at MSG last Thursday with my awesome friend Gary. Other people wrote about it at the Murmurs message board, so you can rock that for details if you really want 'em. Blah blah, they opened with It's the End of the World As We Know It and Stipe took his pants down during the encore songs, but mostly I was in a state of REM-induced ecstasy and Gary kept providing champagne and it was a little bit blissfully blurry.
And then we went to afterparty which was actually at the restaurant thing (?) at MSG and it was sucky and I talked to Scott and he said that he and Ken would be at a bar downtown, so Gary and I went down there instead. Although I had enough time to once again surrender my dignity to Mike Mills and to go "BLuuuuurgh, Anderson Cooper, thanks for being part of vh1's Big in 04, blurrrrgh." And then Gary and I went downtown and ran into Eugene, who's also buddies with Scott, and I became inordinately inebriated in an attempt to pretend I was living in happier times and I am pretty sure I humiliated myself. And I know I had funny marks on my neck on Friday.
Yeah. So, then. Friday was pretty hard to handle, and poor Kristin had to deal with me getting excessively giddy (as I am wont to do when I'm overwhelmed) and I fell into nearly-hysterical puddles of giggles throughout the day about the following subjects:
* OH MY GOSS!
Once, Kristin and I were working on a spot and I started talking about my childhood speech impediments. I had all of them (couldn't handle R's or L's), basically, but a unique and almost endearing feature was my inability to pronounce initial 's' sounds and my consequential behavior: i just pretended they weren't there. So "I smell smoke" became "I 'mell 'moke!" And, "Look, a snake!" became "Wook, a 'nake!" I had to spend a lot of time playing "Repeat," in which I had to attempt to repeat and pronouce words correctly, and I apparently used to spend car-rides drawing my parkahood around my head and singing, "Oh my goss, I hiding in me hood!"
Now, to this day, I really like putting things on my head, a habit that I imagine dates back to the hood hiding era. But, more importantly, I'd like to introduce the world to the phrase "Oh my goss." Just say it out loud. Doesn't that feel awesome? Kristin and I were saying it in little girl voices, and then we worked it into our regular conversation, but then our editor Ray said it ... and Ray's "Oh my goss" was transplendent goodness.
{I also used to call cartoons 'raccoons,' and an oft-recited fambly tale concerns my anger at the television when we couldn't find the 'raccoon raccoon' (a cartoon about raccoons, natch) that I wanted to watch, and I became quite livid).
*PAGINAS
Okay, so I stupidly studied French in high school because I thought it would come in handy for my eventual philosophy major (Whoops) and so I took French even though most of my classmates took Spanish (which would have been a far wiser choice.) And my 8th grade French class was in the same classroom as a Spanish class that immediately preceded it, and everyday I'd sit in French class as Mme Salzman erased the Spanish on the board, and the board would always say something like "Pagina 16."
And so one day in Algebra, I asked a Spanish-studying friend if it was embarassing to always ask the Senora about the "Paginas" (rhymes with vaginas.) And they all laughed and laughed and laughed.
Que paginas (rhymes with vaginas)?
(In college, my friend Eric used to like to order Oranginas (rhymes with vaginas) at WesWings).
* A ROUGHIE-TOUGHIE
Last week, I described a particularly bad day as a "roughie-toughie." I'd really like people to start using that expression, if you please.
I'd also like to advocate use of the expressions:
"Now that's what I'm rockin' about" (courtesy of Mike)
and
"I like the cut of his jibe" (courtesy of Kelly)
(furthermore, for all you engineers and editors who refer to the need to finish at a particular time as having a 'hard out' {as in, "we can't work late, I've got a hard out at 6"} I'd like you, from this point forward, to refer to this particular circumstances as having a 'raging hard out.' Please. It would really amuse me to no end>
-----
Friday night, despite near-exhaustion, I went to Hammermania's gallery opening at Chashama (217 East 42, between 2nd and 3rd). The exhibition is pretty neat and you can see me hanging on the wall in a really cool multiple exposure that Andrew shot. And you can buy me for a lot of money. The photo thereof, that is. I'm pretty cheap.
And then we (me and josh 'n' the gang) went to Julep where we met up with some awesome ol' college buddies (greg and parr and nate)and tried to break the high score of the bar's erotic photohunt, but to no avail. a man told me I was hot and then slipped me his business card by using the maitre d' handshake. it was rather fucking entertaining, at the time, and we amused ourselves by slipping each other the dude's business card all night.
Saturday, Aaron and Claire came over and we went to see Sideways, which made me feel very old and grownup and existentially depressed, and it also really made me want a motherfucking glass of wine.
Today I watched Dirty Dancing, on which I will write an exegesis either tonight or tomorrow. And I had dinner with Manz, whom I haven't seen in far too long.
And hey, I'm listening to my old Bare Naked Ladies albums (just the first three, then I stopped liking 'em). I like the nostalgic rush that songs like "Brian Wilson" give me.
I want to Dirty Dance with the staff kids so fucking bad, it slays me.
And then we went to afterparty which was actually at the restaurant thing (?) at MSG and it was sucky and I talked to Scott and he said that he and Ken would be at a bar downtown, so Gary and I went down there instead. Although I had enough time to once again surrender my dignity to Mike Mills and to go "BLuuuuurgh, Anderson Cooper, thanks for being part of vh1's Big in 04, blurrrrgh." And then Gary and I went downtown and ran into Eugene, who's also buddies with Scott, and I became inordinately inebriated in an attempt to pretend I was living in happier times and I am pretty sure I humiliated myself. And I know I had funny marks on my neck on Friday.
Yeah. So, then. Friday was pretty hard to handle, and poor Kristin had to deal with me getting excessively giddy (as I am wont to do when I'm overwhelmed) and I fell into nearly-hysterical puddles of giggles throughout the day about the following subjects:
* OH MY GOSS!
Once, Kristin and I were working on a spot and I started talking about my childhood speech impediments. I had all of them (couldn't handle R's or L's), basically, but a unique and almost endearing feature was my inability to pronounce initial 's' sounds and my consequential behavior: i just pretended they weren't there. So "I smell smoke" became "I 'mell 'moke!" And, "Look, a snake!" became "Wook, a 'nake!" I had to spend a lot of time playing "Repeat," in which I had to attempt to repeat and pronouce words correctly, and I apparently used to spend car-rides drawing my parkahood around my head and singing, "Oh my goss, I hiding in me hood!"
Now, to this day, I really like putting things on my head, a habit that I imagine dates back to the hood hiding era. But, more importantly, I'd like to introduce the world to the phrase "Oh my goss." Just say it out loud. Doesn't that feel awesome? Kristin and I were saying it in little girl voices, and then we worked it into our regular conversation, but then our editor Ray said it ... and Ray's "Oh my goss" was transplendent goodness.
{I also used to call cartoons 'raccoons,' and an oft-recited fambly tale concerns my anger at the television when we couldn't find the 'raccoon raccoon' (a cartoon about raccoons, natch) that I wanted to watch, and I became quite livid).
*PAGINAS
Okay, so I stupidly studied French in high school because I thought it would come in handy for my eventual philosophy major (Whoops) and so I took French even though most of my classmates took Spanish (which would have been a far wiser choice.) And my 8th grade French class was in the same classroom as a Spanish class that immediately preceded it, and everyday I'd sit in French class as Mme Salzman erased the Spanish on the board, and the board would always say something like "Pagina 16."
And so one day in Algebra, I asked a Spanish-studying friend if it was embarassing to always ask the Senora about the "Paginas" (rhymes with vaginas.) And they all laughed and laughed and laughed.
Que paginas (rhymes with vaginas)?
(In college, my friend Eric used to like to order Oranginas (rhymes with vaginas) at WesWings).
* A ROUGHIE-TOUGHIE
Last week, I described a particularly bad day as a "roughie-toughie." I'd really like people to start using that expression, if you please.
I'd also like to advocate use of the expressions:
"Now that's what I'm rockin' about" (courtesy of Mike)
and
"I like the cut of his jibe" (courtesy of Kelly)
(furthermore, for all you engineers and editors who refer to the need to finish at a particular time as having a 'hard out' {as in, "we can't work late, I've got a hard out at 6"} I'd like you, from this point forward, to refer to this particular circumstances as having a 'raging hard out.' Please. It would really amuse me to no end>
-----
Friday night, despite near-exhaustion, I went to Hammermania's gallery opening at Chashama (217 East 42, between 2nd and 3rd). The exhibition is pretty neat and you can see me hanging on the wall in a really cool multiple exposure that Andrew shot. And you can buy me for a lot of money. The photo thereof, that is. I'm pretty cheap.
And then we (me and josh 'n' the gang) went to Julep where we met up with some awesome ol' college buddies (greg and parr and nate)and tried to break the high score of the bar's erotic photohunt, but to no avail. a man told me I was hot and then slipped me his business card by using the maitre d' handshake. it was rather fucking entertaining, at the time, and we amused ourselves by slipping each other the dude's business card all night.
Saturday, Aaron and Claire came over and we went to see Sideways, which made me feel very old and grownup and existentially depressed, and it also really made me want a motherfucking glass of wine.
Today I watched Dirty Dancing, on which I will write an exegesis either tonight or tomorrow. And I had dinner with Manz, whom I haven't seen in far too long.
And hey, I'm listening to my old Bare Naked Ladies albums (just the first three, then I stopped liking 'em). I like the nostalgic rush that songs like "Brian Wilson" give me.
I want to Dirty Dance with the staff kids so fucking bad, it slays me.
Saturday, November 06, 2004
Rome Wasn't Built in a Day
The Mountain Goats will make you sing along, goddamnit.
(Thanks to the of mirror eye for the mp3).
This was the last song of The Mountain Goats' incredible set and I think it's just lovely. And also, there is very little that I love more than a singalong hootenanny.
In fact, here's a list of my favorite things:
5. Spontaneous Production Numbers
4. Giddy Excitement
3. A Singalong Hootenanny
2. Science
1. Thinking
Okay, so it's true, I love Science and Thinking slightly more than I love a Singalong Hootenanny. And I think "Making Out" should be on that list somewhere, but I was trying to be discriminate.
"I like soup, and I like ice cream sandwiches, too. I like fish sticks, but I love you." -- that's a lyric from an old Bare Naked Ladies song (once I really loved the Bare Naked Ladies a whole lot; not so much these days, except in a nostalgic way). I don't eat ice cream sandwiches unless they're of the tofutti variety, and I sure as fuck don't eat fish, but I do love soup.
Sometimes I like to sing about all the things I love:
"I love soup and I love taking off my clothes and jumping into rooftop swimming pools, too. I like the wodge of Nestle Quik at the bottom of the glass, and I love Harold Ramis, too. I love Ghostbusters (1 and 2 but not really the cartoon) and I love sparkles and I love the handy-dandy science printer on CSI."
Here is a song about things I do not love:
"I don't like going to the doctor, nor do I like mean people. I also don't particularly care for crying babies, and I don't like ricotta cheese, not one whit. I really dislike homophobes and I am not really fond of my nose and I have very vitriolic feelings of incredible hatred directed at President Bush."
And I love singing along with John Darnielle about heading to D-land and peeling oranges and sharing slices with your father and being extra careful not to drip juice on the fine Corinthian leather, because Rome wasn't built in a day.
(Thanks to the of mirror eye for the mp3).
This was the last song of The Mountain Goats' incredible set and I think it's just lovely. And also, there is very little that I love more than a singalong hootenanny.
In fact, here's a list of my favorite things:
5. Spontaneous Production Numbers
4. Giddy Excitement
3. A Singalong Hootenanny
2. Science
1. Thinking
Okay, so it's true, I love Science and Thinking slightly more than I love a Singalong Hootenanny. And I think "Making Out" should be on that list somewhere, but I was trying to be discriminate.
"I like soup, and I like ice cream sandwiches, too. I like fish sticks, but I love you." -- that's a lyric from an old Bare Naked Ladies song (once I really loved the Bare Naked Ladies a whole lot; not so much these days, except in a nostalgic way). I don't eat ice cream sandwiches unless they're of the tofutti variety, and I sure as fuck don't eat fish, but I do love soup.
Sometimes I like to sing about all the things I love:
"I love soup and I love taking off my clothes and jumping into rooftop swimming pools, too. I like the wodge of Nestle Quik at the bottom of the glass, and I love Harold Ramis, too. I love Ghostbusters (1 and 2 but not really the cartoon) and I love sparkles and I love the handy-dandy science printer on CSI."
Here is a song about things I do not love:
"I don't like going to the doctor, nor do I like mean people. I also don't particularly care for crying babies, and I don't like ricotta cheese, not one whit. I really dislike homophobes and I am not really fond of my nose and I have very vitriolic feelings of incredible hatred directed at President Bush."
And I love singing along with John Darnielle about heading to D-land and peeling oranges and sharing slices with your father and being extra careful not to drip juice on the fine Corinthian leather, because Rome wasn't built in a day.
Sorry Everybody
Check out this website -- it's called "Sorry Everybody" and it offers dejected Americans the opportunity to apologize to the the rest of the world on behalf of the just-over-half of Bad America who voted for Bush. The site's author says:
Kristin and I were enjoying the photo gallery of people apologizing, and we took some cam-phone photos of ourselves holding signs but they just looked like poo, so I made this little collage once i got home.
I am so, so, so, so sorry.
Some of us -- hopefully most of us -- are trying to understand and appreciate the effect our recent election will have on you, the citizens of the rest of the world. As our so-called leaders redouble their efforts to screw you over, please remember that some of us -- hopefully most of us -- are truly, truly sorry. And we'll say we're sorry, even on the behalf of the ones who aren't.
Kristin and I were enjoying the photo gallery of people apologizing, and we took some cam-phone photos of ourselves holding signs but they just looked like poo, so I made this little collage once i got home.
I am so, so, so, so sorry.
Thursday, November 04, 2004
Looks like a drift to the right from the world we were born in
Billy Bragg's song "King James Version," off the "William Bloke" album:
"Looks like a drift to the Right
For the world we were born in.
But the horizon is bright
Yonder comes the morning "
I can't get that out of my head.
Must ... remember ... horizon ... looks ... bright.
President Obama, 08.
"Looks like a drift to the Right
For the world we were born in.
But the horizon is bright
Yonder comes the morning "
I can't get that out of my head.
Must ... remember ... horizon ... looks ... bright.
President Obama, 08.
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
I drew a map of Canada ... O Canada
Alas, it will not be easy-as-Canadian-goose-pie to move to Candadia.
Heck, a year-long wait sounds better than four years of hell.
For the record, on top of everything else about which I'm enraged, I am BUMMED that Florida passed the no-abortion-without-parental-consent bill. Because that means more terrified teenagers and that means more pre-Roe-v-Wade desperate measures like hangers and knitting needles.
Speaking of which, if Roe v. Wade gets overturned over the next four years, this ride is going to get even worse than it already is.
New America forever!
Heck, a year-long wait sounds better than four years of hell.
For the record, on top of everything else about which I'm enraged, I am BUMMED that Florida passed the no-abortion-without-parental-consent bill. Because that means more terrified teenagers and that means more pre-Roe-v-Wade desperate measures like hangers and knitting needles.
Speaking of which, if Roe v. Wade gets overturned over the next four years, this ride is going to get even worse than it already is.
New America forever!
"Kathy, I'm lost," I said, though I knew she was sleeping
And we walked off to look for Amerika.
once i met a woman from Saginaw. I asked if she'd ever taken four days to hitchhike from there.
FUCK YEAH
Who's moving to Canada? It's like the end of Fiddler, but instead of trekking out of Anatevka with all our worldly belongings, we'll be loading up the moving vans and taking over the Hollywood-in-exile film industry way up yonder in the sleeping giant to the north.
"A Distorted Reality is Now A Necessity to be Free"
My new friend Dustin is also a blogger and he captured the moment on film. As he says, "this was all of us when Rather first said that Bush had it. i caught it, but i wasn't sure anybody else had. He looked down at his notes, straightening the paper and said, very tentatively, i think the president has it... i took the picture because i felt that was it. i knew it."
So, there it is, captured for all eternity. a gaggle of miserable people refusing to accept the grim new reality.
Noah and I went home and smoked a lot. As Elliot Smith sings, "A Distorted Reality is Now a Necessity to be Free."
Motherfucking Dildo Shit
(that's what my mom always said when things were going wrong).
Holy fucking poo.
Let the riots begin --
red vs. blue
Old America vs. New Amerika.
"evangelical homophobic hating fucks" vs. "Human beings"
In other, less important ways: David Cross + Gideon Yago = CNN's Bill Hemmer.
Holy fucking poo.
Let the riots begin --
red vs. blue
Old America vs. New Amerika.
"evangelical homophobic hating fucks" vs. "Human beings"
In other, less important ways: David Cross + Gideon Yago = CNN's Bill Hemmer.
Monday, November 01, 2004
But You Don't Believe We're on the Eve of ... Reconstruction
alternate title: "It's Been A Bad Day, Please Don't Take my Picture."
So today was a roughie-toughie and so I'm allowing my brain to dally in pleasant pastures of imagination ... a world in which, let's say, Kerry wins the election and life becomes awesome.
Here's what I'd really like. I'd really like to meet a boy with whom I get along famously and we feel a mutual spark of attraction but we are also really interested in making a quirky little documentary that will ostensibly be about our travels through small towns across America and the unification that ensues when we sing folk songs with the old-timers, but which will also be about the development of our relationship and the deconstruction of the urban-rural dichotomy and how America functions. And thus we hit the road, Jack. And fall in love. And make an awesome movie with a kickass soundtrack, a few solid catchphrases, and philosophical weltanshaung that mixes pop culture with mythology and sociology.
That would sure be nice.
So today was a roughie-toughie and so I'm allowing my brain to dally in pleasant pastures of imagination ... a world in which, let's say, Kerry wins the election and life becomes awesome.
Here's what I'd really like. I'd really like to meet a boy with whom I get along famously and we feel a mutual spark of attraction but we are also really interested in making a quirky little documentary that will ostensibly be about our travels through small towns across America and the unification that ensues when we sing folk songs with the old-timers, but which will also be about the development of our relationship and the deconstruction of the urban-rural dichotomy and how America functions. And thus we hit the road, Jack. And fall in love. And make an awesome movie with a kickass soundtrack, a few solid catchphrases, and philosophical weltanshaung that mixes pop culture with mythology and sociology.
That would sure be nice.
Holy Shit! I Know a REAL, LIVE PUNDIT
viva la stereogum!
Color me fancy! I was just reading my new Wired (geek HEAT!) and realized I know a real pundit! Not a pop culture pundit, but, like, someone quoted in an ad! An ad for BOSE! A critically acclaimed product for the sort of people who take their audio seriously! And a quote from a non-acredited source just won't do! And so they must turn to Scott from Stereogum! THAT IS SO FUCKING RAD!
BOOM CHAKA LAKA, YES! See, I am a huge Scott Lapatine fan. He is hella rad and meme-initiating. I met Scott through my friend Adam, although coincidentally, Scott is friends with Jed who lives with my friend Josh. Many roads lead to Scott, and one of them used to culiminate in the smokers' area outside our office building, back when we both worked there and smoked. Anyhoo. Scott's blog, Stereogum, is pretty fucking paradigmatic and thus, I hoist my whisky and hot apple cider in his direction: For I am in awe of Scott Lapatine, and I think he rocks. Long may ye introduce the world to Arcade Fire whilst tracking the movements of la Brit and K-fed. Viva la Scott.
Color me fancy! I was just reading my new Wired (geek HEAT!) and realized I know a real pundit! Not a pop culture pundit, but, like, someone quoted in an ad! An ad for BOSE! A critically acclaimed product for the sort of people who take their audio seriously! And a quote from a non-acredited source just won't do! And so they must turn to Scott from Stereogum! THAT IS SO FUCKING RAD!
"Most consumers don't take full advantage of the available technology," says Scott Lapatine, author of Stereogum, a popular digital music weblog featured in the New York Post and Billboard magazine. "Listening to music on the subway is great, but who listens to headphones in their home? Getting your digital device hooked up to a stereo with high-quality speakers is the next logical step," according to Lapatine.
BOOM CHAKA LAKA, YES! See, I am a huge Scott Lapatine fan. He is hella rad and meme-initiating. I met Scott through my friend Adam, although coincidentally, Scott is friends with Jed who lives with my friend Josh. Many roads lead to Scott, and one of them used to culiminate in the smokers' area outside our office building, back when we both worked there and smoked. Anyhoo. Scott's blog, Stereogum, is pretty fucking paradigmatic and thus, I hoist my whisky and hot apple cider in his direction: For I am in awe of Scott Lapatine, and I think he rocks. Long may ye introduce the world to Arcade Fire whilst tracking the movements of la Brit and K-fed. Viva la Scott.
Costumes 4-ever
Eek! A mouse! And a superhero! And Jessica Rabbit! And another superhero. Oh, Halloween, ... How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. One one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Three one-thousand. Four one-thousand. Five...
Sunday, October 31, 2004
Happy Hooooaaaah
I apologize for the lack of posts. It's been Halloween for a million days now, and I, as Jessica Rabbit, am partied out. Too much raging. It started Thursday night at this kickass party my friend Jim art-directed, and then Friday was an all-day shoot for the Big in 04 image campaign (and MAN, there were so many cute boys around it was like hormonal overdrive -- phoooawr, as they say in the UK) and then the weekend, full of gym-going, pilates-attending, working, and more partying. So I am pooped. I promise, next week I'll be sparkly and fun. I will say that you should look forward to All Access: Wacky Celeb Families, that I shot last week, and 40 Most Shocking Hair Moments (that i'll be shooting tomorrow) and that, of course, the Big in 04 image campaign is going to kick serious ass. And that, woo! Velvet Revolver (ex-junkies), Maroon 5 (poppy jews), Black Eyed Peas (selling out for sex appeal), and Green Day (how much does their new album rock your world?) will be performing at Big in 04.
Also, scoop: my mom says there's an upcoming episode of the Simpsons on which Lisa develops an eating disorder. Apparently, Yeardley Smith shot an episode of the Jane Pauley show about this very special Simpsons episode. I am quite curious how they'll make this funny.
In other news -- if Bush were to win, would the US split into red vs. blue and would we be the america of, say, a William Gibson future? I am too not sober now to discuss, but let's talk about it tomorrow.
Also, scoop: my mom says there's an upcoming episode of the Simpsons on which Lisa develops an eating disorder. Apparently, Yeardley Smith shot an episode of the Jane Pauley show about this very special Simpsons episode. I am quite curious how they'll make this funny.
In other news -- if Bush were to win, would the US split into red vs. blue and would we be the america of, say, a William Gibson future? I am too not sober now to discuss, but let's talk about it tomorrow.
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Cephalod Camouflage is the MOST RAD FUCKING THING EVER!
Look, it's some coral -- holy shit, NO WAY, it's an octopus!
Noah and I were watching this Nova about Origins, and this episode was about Aliens and Are They Out There? It was a rather well-done program, although they never touched on any string/multiverse theory, but it gave us lots to think about, including relativistic generational longevity and its effect on mutational evolution vis-a-vis the timeframe of human intelligence.
But most radical of all was their segment on cephalops and how they've evolved into this super-smart beings who have amazing camouflage skills -- within seconds, their entire bodies change colors and patterns to blend in with their surroundings. It's orgasmically beautiful to watch, as one can see in this clip.
I love science more than anything else in the whole world.
The show made some very interesting points about the potential of life on other planets (like jupiter's moon, europa, which is covered in water) and of discovering new planets and the possibility that someday we will find intelligent life out there. It's just so sad that SETI is still scanning the sky for radio frequencies ... because when SETI was developed, Radio was about as far as we could think in terms of communication ... and now there's no money to rework the setups to reflect modern developments in methods of communication. However ... if one were to make the movie about a current SETI-esque search for life, I would sure hope they'd take future-thinking theories about information dissemination into consideration when designing their communication creation.
...
When I was a kid, I asked my dad if he believed in aliens and he said that he imagined there was a planet out there that was younger than ours, that perhaps right at that very second there were dinosaurs roaming the surface of that planet.
Of course, multiverse theory essentially implies that if you can think it, it *must* exist. I like that quite a lot.
But then, I love nothing more than to thing about quantum physics and cosmology. If you'll forgive me, I'm going to tuck myself in and think happy thoughts about quanta.
Noah and I were watching this Nova about Origins, and this episode was about Aliens and Are They Out There? It was a rather well-done program, although they never touched on any string/multiverse theory, but it gave us lots to think about, including relativistic generational longevity and its effect on mutational evolution vis-a-vis the timeframe of human intelligence.
But most radical of all was their segment on cephalops and how they've evolved into this super-smart beings who have amazing camouflage skills -- within seconds, their entire bodies change colors and patterns to blend in with their surroundings. It's orgasmically beautiful to watch, as one can see in this clip.
I love science more than anything else in the whole world.
The show made some very interesting points about the potential of life on other planets (like jupiter's moon, europa, which is covered in water) and of discovering new planets and the possibility that someday we will find intelligent life out there. It's just so sad that SETI is still scanning the sky for radio frequencies ... because when SETI was developed, Radio was about as far as we could think in terms of communication ... and now there's no money to rework the setups to reflect modern developments in methods of communication. However ... if one were to make the movie about a current SETI-esque search for life, I would sure hope they'd take future-thinking theories about information dissemination into consideration when designing their communication creation.
...
When I was a kid, I asked my dad if he believed in aliens and he said that he imagined there was a planet out there that was younger than ours, that perhaps right at that very second there were dinosaurs roaming the surface of that planet.
Of course, multiverse theory essentially implies that if you can think it, it *must* exist. I like that quite a lot.
But then, I love nothing more than to thing about quantum physics and cosmology. If you'll forgive me, I'm going to tuck myself in and think happy thoughts about quanta.
Monday, October 25, 2004
Q: How Do You Make A Hormone? A: Don't pay her.
Someone asked me today why women are so crazy and I replied, "Hormones." And then I realized: this boy doesn't menstruate! And he's more that likely rocking a natural endocrinological cycle, as opposed to the millions of us ladies taking the Pill!
And so, although I am currently enjoying the very few days of 'happy time" that my chemically determined 28-day-cycle affords, let me set you boys straight:
WE CAN'T FUCKING HELP IT.
Okay?
I don't know about the ladies with the natural cycles but I assume it's similar. However, as a precaution, I speak only on behalf of the pill-poppers:
There are these two or three pills that are like crazy Alice-in-Wonderland pills. They're like welcome-to-the-matrix pills. Most of the little pills sit in their little calendaric capsules and they're innocuous. But there are two or three zingers, like button-button-who's-got-the-button, those zingers -- much like Blondie, they'll getcha getcha getcha getcha.
When we take the ones that Mama gives us that don't do anything at all, life is more or less normal. But when we take the zingers? It's like we're living on a different astral plane, one on which things are to be taken very. very. seriously. In this universe, we must re-assess everything that passes through our frame of reference. Things are different, skewed. Nothing is as it seems and we can't do anything about it because even though somewhere in our minds we know that we are over-reacting, that small voice of logic is drowned out by the thunderous clamor of a million voices screaming out insanity. And the worst part about it is that all this crap is triggered by taking these stupid pills that cause little nano-squirrels to make our ovaries function on a very tight schedule. And in order to enforce this strict functioning-female vagenda, our wombs slough off their linings that then pour out of our vaginas.
I realize I could simplify this entire explanation with just one line:
There is blood oozing from our vaginas; please imagine how you would feel were you and your penis to be in a situation such as this.
And so, although I am currently enjoying the very few days of 'happy time" that my chemically determined 28-day-cycle affords, let me set you boys straight:
WE CAN'T FUCKING HELP IT.
Okay?
I don't know about the ladies with the natural cycles but I assume it's similar. However, as a precaution, I speak only on behalf of the pill-poppers:
There are these two or three pills that are like crazy Alice-in-Wonderland pills. They're like welcome-to-the-matrix pills. Most of the little pills sit in their little calendaric capsules and they're innocuous. But there are two or three zingers, like button-button-who's-got-the-button, those zingers -- much like Blondie, they'll getcha getcha getcha getcha.
When we take the ones that Mama gives us that don't do anything at all, life is more or less normal. But when we take the zingers? It's like we're living on a different astral plane, one on which things are to be taken very. very. seriously. In this universe, we must re-assess everything that passes through our frame of reference. Things are different, skewed. Nothing is as it seems and we can't do anything about it because even though somewhere in our minds we know that we are over-reacting, that small voice of logic is drowned out by the thunderous clamor of a million voices screaming out insanity. And the worst part about it is that all this crap is triggered by taking these stupid pills that cause little nano-squirrels to make our ovaries function on a very tight schedule. And in order to enforce this strict functioning-female vagenda, our wombs slough off their linings that then pour out of our vaginas.
I realize I could simplify this entire explanation with just one line:
There is blood oozing from our vaginas; please imagine how you would feel were you and your penis to be in a situation such as this.
Sunday, October 24, 2004
A Love that Would Look and Sound like a Movie
Just watched North by Northwest. And, although I thought the title came from Hamlet’s quotation about “"I am but mad north-north-west: when the wind is southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw,” it apparently refers to a compass direction that doesn’t even exist (thus enforcing the ‘fantasticality’ of the film, according to Wikipedia). However, like Hamlet, the movie is about assuming a false persona (Hamlet plays mad, Roger Thornhill plays George Kaplan) and I found it thoroughly engaging.
Anyhoo. More importantly, holy sweet jesus, I want to fall in love the way they do in the movies. When Cary Grant and Eva Marie Saint are mutually seducing each other in her private train chamber (and how much do I want to travel somewhere in a private train chamber … ) and they’re throwing overt entrendres at each other –
Sample dialogue:
I mean, GOLL DARN, that shit is so fucking hot. And then they do the whole almost-excruciatingly-long-buildup-to-finally-kissing thing, when they’re in each other’s faces for what seems like an eternity before they finally kiss?
WHO DOES THAT? Is anyone out there doing that? Do you people do that sort of thing, tease and flirt and banter and then draw out the actual moment of connection, like an elaborate mating ritual in which ‘foreplay’ refers only to what happens before you actually kiss each other?
All of which brings to mind, of course, the song “Clark Gable” by The Postal Service. (I know, I know, but suck it, okay? I think they’re awwwesome and I lurf the lyrics, bitch):
So, it comes down to this: no more of this sex in the city style behavior, oh New York and surrounding burrows (and, yes, that's intentional. i like to think that everyone who isn't in manhattan is in a rabbit den, it's true). fine, surrounding burroughs. Let’s take it back to when everyone dressed up for work and Grand Central Station was a sea of polished perfection. No more of this “casual encounter” craigslist crap, let’s have highballs and witty discourse (of the verbal variety). And please, please, please, let us prolong courtship and behavior and exchange love tokens and other frivolity.
But, then, perhaps I am overly romantic and filled with retrograde nostalgia for that sort of thing. After all, I am apparently unable to tell a jerk from a gentleman, so perhaps hawks and handsaws are way beyond me.
It's a cold war, but it's hot as hell.
Anyhoo. More importantly, holy sweet jesus, I want to fall in love the way they do in the movies. When Cary Grant and Eva Marie Saint are mutually seducing each other in her private train chamber (and how much do I want to travel somewhere in a private train chamber … ) and they’re throwing overt entrendres at each other –
Sample dialogue:
Roger: The moment I meet an attractive woman, I have to start pretending I have no desire to make love to her.
Eve: What makes you think you have to conceal it?
Roger: She might find the idea objectionable.
Eve: Then again, she might not.
I mean, GOLL DARN, that shit is so fucking hot. And then they do the whole almost-excruciatingly-long-buildup-to-finally-kissing thing, when they’re in each other’s faces for what seems like an eternity before they finally kiss?
WHO DOES THAT? Is anyone out there doing that? Do you people do that sort of thing, tease and flirt and banter and then draw out the actual moment of connection, like an elaborate mating ritual in which ‘foreplay’ refers only to what happens before you actually kiss each other?
All of which brings to mind, of course, the song “Clark Gable” by The Postal Service. (I know, I know, but suck it, okay? I think they’re awwwesome and I lurf the lyrics, bitch):
“I was waiting for a cross-town train in the london underground
When it struck me that i've been waiting since birth to find
A love that would look and sound like a movie”
So, it comes down to this: no more of this sex in the city style behavior, oh New York and surrounding burrows (and, yes, that's intentional. i like to think that everyone who isn't in manhattan is in a rabbit den, it's true). fine, surrounding burroughs. Let’s take it back to when everyone dressed up for work and Grand Central Station was a sea of polished perfection. No more of this “casual encounter” craigslist crap, let’s have highballs and witty discourse (of the verbal variety). And please, please, please, let us prolong courtship and behavior and exchange love tokens and other frivolity.
But, then, perhaps I am overly romantic and filled with retrograde nostalgia for that sort of thing. After all, I am apparently unable to tell a jerk from a gentleman, so perhaps hawks and handsaws are way beyond me.
It's a cold war, but it's hot as hell.
Total Fantrom
Holy shit, when I was out getting drunk, Ashlee Simpson was totally BUSTED on SNL.
Watch it here. That is so breathtakingly wonderful; I've never seen anyone accomplish all three feats of
1) being outed as a lip syncer
2) walking offstage during a live televised performance
as
3) one's band laughs with hysterical glee at one's misfortune.
And yet, watching her try to writhe suggestively, as, ahem, her 'band plays the wrong song,' I can't help but be filled with a whole lotta Fantrom. My friend Hunter coined the term -- it's slightly like schadenfreude, but with a lot more empathy -- it's that feeling you get when you feel empathic discomfort with the person who's going through a humilating or embarassing situation. Thus, watching little Ashlee is a fantrom-filled experience. As is watching a friend get dissed by the object of his or her affection, when someone drunkenly falls down in bar, or when someone's skirt is tucked into her thong.
Anyway. A brief recap on Radurday Night Part Deux: we went to Amy's birthday party at Botanica, and, holy sweet jesus, does anyone NOT watch baseball? We gave out lots of buttons to all the hipsters and semihipsters and then we decided to go hit the LES for additional button distribution. Because the buttons only work if people wear 'em, right? Not if they sit in a cardboard box in Josh's apartment, next to the beer distillery in the kitchen. Shit you not, dude brews his own beer. And we ran into Rick, who was walking home from watching the baseball game, and he had his dog, Lefty. Rick makes pickles. And so, when I introduced Rick to Josh, Josh said, "I'm a stickler for picklers." So for the rest of the evening whenever I looked at Rick, all I could think was: I'm a stickler for picklers.
So we went to a bar to give out more pins and we got along like a house afire with the bouncer and some kid smoking outside and everyone was happy about their new (free) Anti-Bush pin, and then we went into the bar (which SUCKED) and I asked this blond guy if he'd like a pin, and he said,
"I'm voting for Bush."
And I said, "Really???? (interrobang)" {I had no clue there were any Republicans on the LES, let alone hanging out at the Whiskey Ward). And I said, "Why?"
And he said:
"Because I'm rich."
And to that man, who is voting Republican because he is rich, I also say: You may be rich, but more importantly you are a dick. A total dick.
Ranting vitriolically about that fucker who clearly cares not for his fellow amerikans, we went to Welcome to the Johnson's, where lots of people wanted pins (i guess they're poor and therefore voting Democrat -- TAKE THAT, YOU RICH DICK!) and then Josh got tired and went home and then Rick drove me home and then I wrote a drunken email to my new friend Mike, which served only as a source of embarassment when I woke up this morning and realized I had sent a desperately lame email -- self fantrom.
Watch it here. That is so breathtakingly wonderful; I've never seen anyone accomplish all three feats of
1) being outed as a lip syncer
2) walking offstage during a live televised performance
as
3) one's band laughs with hysterical glee at one's misfortune.
And yet, watching her try to writhe suggestively, as, ahem, her 'band plays the wrong song,' I can't help but be filled with a whole lotta Fantrom. My friend Hunter coined the term -- it's slightly like schadenfreude, but with a lot more empathy -- it's that feeling you get when you feel empathic discomfort with the person who's going through a humilating or embarassing situation. Thus, watching little Ashlee is a fantrom-filled experience. As is watching a friend get dissed by the object of his or her affection, when someone drunkenly falls down in bar, or when someone's skirt is tucked into her thong.
Anyway. A brief recap on Radurday Night Part Deux: we went to Amy's birthday party at Botanica, and, holy sweet jesus, does anyone NOT watch baseball? We gave out lots of buttons to all the hipsters and semihipsters and then we decided to go hit the LES for additional button distribution. Because the buttons only work if people wear 'em, right? Not if they sit in a cardboard box in Josh's apartment, next to the beer distillery in the kitchen. Shit you not, dude brews his own beer. And we ran into Rick, who was walking home from watching the baseball game, and he had his dog, Lefty. Rick makes pickles. And so, when I introduced Rick to Josh, Josh said, "I'm a stickler for picklers." So for the rest of the evening whenever I looked at Rick, all I could think was: I'm a stickler for picklers.
So we went to a bar to give out more pins and we got along like a house afire with the bouncer and some kid smoking outside and everyone was happy about their new (free) Anti-Bush pin, and then we went into the bar (which SUCKED) and I asked this blond guy if he'd like a pin, and he said,
"I'm voting for Bush."
And I said, "Really???? (interrobang)" {I had no clue there were any Republicans on the LES, let alone hanging out at the Whiskey Ward). And I said, "Why?"
And he said:
"Because I'm rich."
And to that man, who is voting Republican because he is rich, I also say: You may be rich, but more importantly you are a dick. A total dick.
Ranting vitriolically about that fucker who clearly cares not for his fellow amerikans, we went to Welcome to the Johnson's, where lots of people wanted pins (i guess they're poor and therefore voting Democrat -- TAKE THAT, YOU RICH DICK!) and then Josh got tired and went home and then Rick drove me home and then I wrote a drunken email to my new friend Mike, which served only as a source of embarassment when I woke up this morning and realized I had sent a desperately lame email -- self fantrom.
Holy shit, it's the Rockafire Explosion!
The question, of course, is: do they still get animatronic groupies?
If I dress up as Mitzi Mozzarella for Halloween, will anyone get it?
If I dress up as Mitzi Mozzarella for Halloween, will anyone get it?
Saturday, October 23, 2004
Oh Happy Day, Calloo Callay, Now Let Us All Go Out and Play
Howdy folks! My bikini line is waxed and i open for business. I mean, ready to rumble. I mean, um, WOO! Josh and I will be pursuing another Radurday Night tonight (See previous post).
Last Wednesday I had the opportunity to wax snarkily on the 40 Most Awesomely Bad #1 Songs, and, of course, "We Built This City" was on the list. Now, those of you who are longterm readers know just how much i love this song -- not only can i deconstruct it at length, but i carefully crafted the perfect S.F. moment during which I drove (!) across the Golden Gate Bridge, blasting this song, sitting next to this awesome boy on whom I was crushing madly. I am no longer crushing on awesome boy, who has gone back to ex-girlfriend. But I am still in love with We Built This City. Snarking was difficult, but once I summoned the power, it was rather freeing. Spiritually and emotionally and physically, yo.
Now, I know this song like I know my fave masturbational fantastasies (a couch!) and thus, the lyrics are quite familiar to me. But, whilst writing an intended-to-be-smartly-titillating email to a new very-smart acquaintance of mine, I realized I wasn't so sure -- was it "Who rides the wrecking ball in two part guitar" or "who rides the wrecking ball in two chord guitar?" So I googled it.
And, if the results are interesting to anyone other than me, so be it. But I am personally amused beyond belief, thus I share.
Discrepancies Between the Lyrics, According to the Interweb, of "We Built This City:"
(we all know it's Marconi who plays the mambo, right? just checking.)
Who plays the mambo?
This website: Ma Coley plays the mamba
What about our guitars?
This website: Who rides the wrecking ball into our guitars
This website: Who rides the wrecking ball in two rock guitars
The "Ma Coley" website: Who writes the wrecking ball in two wild guitars?
I shall stop, lest I bore you from ever revisiting me. Well if you got the toco, well we just lost beat.
Last Wednesday I had the opportunity to wax snarkily on the 40 Most Awesomely Bad #1 Songs, and, of course, "We Built This City" was on the list. Now, those of you who are longterm readers know just how much i love this song -- not only can i deconstruct it at length, but i carefully crafted the perfect S.F. moment during which I drove (!) across the Golden Gate Bridge, blasting this song, sitting next to this awesome boy on whom I was crushing madly. I am no longer crushing on awesome boy, who has gone back to ex-girlfriend. But I am still in love with We Built This City. Snarking was difficult, but once I summoned the power, it was rather freeing. Spiritually and emotionally and physically, yo.
Now, I know this song like I know my fave masturbational fantastasies (a couch!) and thus, the lyrics are quite familiar to me. But, whilst writing an intended-to-be-smartly-titillating email to a new very-smart acquaintance of mine, I realized I wasn't so sure -- was it "Who rides the wrecking ball in two part guitar" or "who rides the wrecking ball in two chord guitar?" So I googled it.
And, if the results are interesting to anyone other than me, so be it. But I am personally amused beyond belief, thus I share.
Discrepancies Between the Lyrics, According to the Interweb, of "We Built This City:"
(we all know it's Marconi who plays the mambo, right? just checking.)
Who plays the mambo?
This website: Ma Coley plays the mamba
What about our guitars?
This website: Who rides the wrecking ball into our guitars
This website: Who rides the wrecking ball in two rock guitars
The "Ma Coley" website: Who writes the wrecking ball in two wild guitars?
I shall stop, lest I bore you from ever revisiting me. Well if you got the toco, well we just lost beat.
Thursday, October 21, 2004
And speaking of November 2nd
HAMMERMANIA - Women in Transition .... gallery opens November 2nd.
My awesome photog friend Andrew Hammer (not be to confused with my other awesome photog friend, who is Andrew Einhorn. Do I only know photographers named Andrew? Yup.) is having an exhibit of his newest works, entitled "Women in Transition." He does these really fabulous multiple-exposures and is a wonderful, wonderful artist. And I, ahem, happen to be the subject of some of these photos. So come out and rock out and check out the shizzy, yo.
My awesome photog friend Andrew Hammer (not be to confused with my other awesome photog friend, who is Andrew Einhorn. Do I only know photographers named Andrew? Yup.) is having an exhibit of his newest works, entitled "Women in Transition." He does these really fabulous multiple-exposures and is a wonderful, wonderful artist. And I, ahem, happen to be the subject of some of these photos. So come out and rock out and check out the shizzy, yo.
November 2nd Draws Nigh, But Not Soon Enough
Hi Ho, Kermit the Frog here. Remember in 3rd grade there was that joke about what’s green and smells like bacon? Kermie’s fingers.
I didn’t get it for many, many years – kinda the same way that I didn’t know what a blow job was til I was in sixth grade and had to pretend to laugh about jokes about them. Now I get it, and it was firmly explained to me that it was a misnomer because you don’t blow, you suck. Right.
So here’s what you should be watching on the current VH1 roster: all access awesomely badder girls, all access celeb showdown.
Here’s what you should be looking out for: awesomely bad songs of 2004, awesomely bad #1 songs ever, Britney Spears’ 20 Most Shocking Moments.
That’s me, with the chipmunk cheeks and a lot of eye makeup. Woo!
In other news, I’ll be participating in a Heeb Magazine storytelling event in December. And pick up the next Heeb as soon as it comes out for a pleasant surprise. Surprise!
I’m currently wishing I could hibernate for a few weeks; at least until allergy season is over and at least until November 2nd. The suspense is killing me. I’m such an optimist that I still believe that Amerika will wise up, that the evangelicals will listen to the facts, that the swing states will swing blue. The concept of a 2nd term with Bush makes me physically ill. So nauseated that I can’t even think about it, so it’s easier to imagine things working out for the better. And by ‘the better,’ I mean President John Kerry.
So here’s the question – what is the proper environment in which to watch election returns (not considering the high possibility of another recount situation)? In a party sitch, getting ready to celebrate as Kerry wins the electoral vote? Or in a ready-to-mourn situation, in case Bush gets re-elected? Thoughts?
I didn’t get it for many, many years – kinda the same way that I didn’t know what a blow job was til I was in sixth grade and had to pretend to laugh about jokes about them. Now I get it, and it was firmly explained to me that it was a misnomer because you don’t blow, you suck. Right.
So here’s what you should be watching on the current VH1 roster: all access awesomely badder girls, all access celeb showdown.
Here’s what you should be looking out for: awesomely bad songs of 2004, awesomely bad #1 songs ever, Britney Spears’ 20 Most Shocking Moments.
That’s me, with the chipmunk cheeks and a lot of eye makeup. Woo!
In other news, I’ll be participating in a Heeb Magazine storytelling event in December. And pick up the next Heeb as soon as it comes out for a pleasant surprise. Surprise!
I’m currently wishing I could hibernate for a few weeks; at least until allergy season is over and at least until November 2nd. The suspense is killing me. I’m such an optimist that I still believe that Amerika will wise up, that the evangelicals will listen to the facts, that the swing states will swing blue. The concept of a 2nd term with Bush makes me physically ill. So nauseated that I can’t even think about it, so it’s easier to imagine things working out for the better. And by ‘the better,’ I mean President John Kerry.
So here’s the question – what is the proper environment in which to watch election returns (not considering the high possibility of another recount situation)? In a party sitch, getting ready to celebrate as Kerry wins the electoral vote? Or in a ready-to-mourn situation, in case Bush gets re-elected? Thoughts?
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
Look! Kelly and Scott made the Observer!
The Bridal Bait 'n' Switch
Kelly (the "ohnson" of Schwohnson -- see below) and her prehusband, Scott, are featured in this story in the Observer (that pretty pink social tabloid) about planning to return their wedding gifts for clothes at Bloomie's.
The greatest thing about this piece is that they were CERTAIN they wouldn't be recognizable, but the authors give a complete description -- age, appearance, occupation. And, lemme tell you, their is only one couple that I know of in which the bride-to-be looks like Reese Witherspoon and is a 30yearold TV producer and the groom-to-be is a 41yearold TV editor with sal&pepper hair.
AWWWWWESOME.
Kelly (the "ohnson" of Schwohnson -- see below) and her prehusband, Scott, are featured in this story in the Observer (that pretty pink social tabloid) about planning to return their wedding gifts for clothes at Bloomie's.
The greatest thing about this piece is that they were CERTAIN they wouldn't be recognizable, but the authors give a complete description -- age, appearance, occupation. And, lemme tell you, their is only one couple that I know of in which the bride-to-be looks like Reese Witherspoon and is a 30yearold TV producer and the groom-to-be is a 41yearold TV editor with sal&pepper hair.
AWWWWWESOME.
It's Schwohnson!
It's Schwohnson, the Wonderteam! This photo was snapped while we were in the midst of I Love the 90s insanity. That's why Kelly looks like she wants to kill somebody -- she wanted to choose her bridal bouquet instead of promoting 1996.
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
Telemavision Update!
Blatant self-promotion:
I have shot all whole bunch of All Access shows recently, so watch 'em.
I'm shooting one about Britney Spears and her most shocking moments tomorrow, and then talking about the 40 Most Awesomely #1 Songs Ever.
I AM SO FUCKING EXCITED.
I hope to reveal that I always thought that Phil Collins was singing, "She seems to have an invisible tough shit; she reaches in and grabs right hold of your heart."
I have shot all whole bunch of All Access shows recently, so watch 'em.
I'm shooting one about Britney Spears and her most shocking moments tomorrow, and then talking about the 40 Most Awesomely #1 Songs Ever.
I AM SO FUCKING EXCITED.
I hope to reveal that I always thought that Phil Collins was singing, "She seems to have an invisible tough shit; she reaches in and grabs right hold of your heart."
Times Square Just Ain't What It Used To Be
I got out of the subway and all of a sudden every cop car in NYC pulled onto 42nd street. Either they're conducting some sort of pre-regime change terror drill, or else there's sumpin' sumpin' horrible going down at the lion king.
Monday, October 18, 2004
Why I Heart the New York Times
The New York Times endorses John Kerry for President and does it so fucking well, CHAKA KAHN!
Cogent, coherent, concise.
Please send to your undecided friends, (if you're still 'friends' after you find out they're undecided morons.)
Cogent, coherent, concise.
Please send to your undecided friends, (if you're still 'friends' after you find out they're undecided morons.)
Holy Fucking Bosox. / I have a wang.
Wow, I just watched some baseball.
That guy who just hit that homerun? He must feel very it's my butt.
Also. When Josh and I were wandering through the iglooes and the polar bears and the baby seals on the Upper East Side, a guy called out to me, "I have a wang!" And Josh and I said, "Very poetic."
And, thus, I present, the Wang Series.
Who's wang this is, I think I know.
His balls are in the village, though.
I have eaten
the wang
that was in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast
I saw the best wangs of my generation, destroyed by madness, starving, hysterical
I have a a wang, that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all wangs are created equal."
(heh. doykies!)
That guy who just hit that homerun? He must feel very it's my butt.
Also. When Josh and I were wandering through the iglooes and the polar bears and the baby seals on the Upper East Side, a guy called out to me, "I have a wang!" And Josh and I said, "Very poetic."
And, thus, I present, the Wang Series.
Who's wang this is, I think I know.
His balls are in the village, though.
I have eaten
the wang
that was in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast
I saw the best wangs of my generation, destroyed by madness, starving, hysterical
I have a a wang, that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all wangs are created equal."
(heh. doykies!)
Ah, the Interweb. ... Keep those cards and letters coming!
I'd like to direct your attention to this blog, by my new friend! He's the genius who put together the Talkatoo Cockatoo/Ashlee Simpson connexion. Fucking brilliant. And brilliant fucking, I'm sure. And, please, whilst you're surfing, visit Esther and her urban kvetch. Esther and I went to Camp Ramah (aka 'Jew Camp') and, while I have journeyed along an atheistic path, Esther has stayed true to the tribe. And she's totally sassypants and writes it, too.
In other news, please go see Team America, so then we can talk about it. I don't want to give anything away.
In still other news, I'd like to take this opportunity to answer some viewer mail. Keep those cards 'n' letters coming!
You want to know:
Is your real name Bex? Where do you come from?
My real name is not Bex, it's a much more biblical variant thereof. But no one would ever want to go see a performance artist named 'Becky Schwartz,' so I changed it to Bex. Besides, Becky was a boring, prudish teetotaler. Bex rox, hard. I was raised up in a little town in the dirty Jerz, where my parents lived until two weeks ago. Now they live in a luxury condo and they're macking it, yo. Go 'rents!
You want to know:
Are you single?
FUCK YEAH.
Or, perhaps that should read: no fucking.
You want to know:
Why are you on VH1? I'm funnier than you are.
Yes, this is probably true. But, ha ha, I am a viacommunist! And they know I'll usually wear something low-cut and that might keep a viewer there longer than three seconds.
You want to know:
Are you part of that awesome blog community?
I'm like a moth, circling around it, but continously banging my head on the harsh, glass globe.
In other news, please go see Team America, so then we can talk about it. I don't want to give anything away.
In still other news, I'd like to take this opportunity to answer some viewer mail. Keep those cards 'n' letters coming!
You want to know:
Is your real name Bex? Where do you come from?
My real name is not Bex, it's a much more biblical variant thereof. But no one would ever want to go see a performance artist named 'Becky Schwartz,' so I changed it to Bex. Besides, Becky was a boring, prudish teetotaler. Bex rox, hard. I was raised up in a little town in the dirty Jerz, where my parents lived until two weeks ago. Now they live in a luxury condo and they're macking it, yo. Go 'rents!
You want to know:
Are you single?
FUCK YEAH.
Or, perhaps that should read: no fucking.
You want to know:
Why are you on VH1? I'm funnier than you are.
Yes, this is probably true. But, ha ha, I am a viacommunist! And they know I'll usually wear something low-cut and that might keep a viewer there longer than three seconds.
You want to know:
Are you part of that awesome blog community?
I'm like a moth, circling around it, but continously banging my head on the harsh, glass globe.
Magic Wands + Magic Armadillos = RAD SATURDAY NIGHT. Rad + Saturday Night = Radurday Night!
They call it riding the magic train. Note, if you will, the awesome presence of both the magic wand and the magic armadillo. [note: identities of magical passengers are obscured because I told them I was taking their photo for the, ahem, 'photo essay in my brain.' But you guys rock! So I blurred out your eyes. But you're DO's, not DON'Ts, lest ye be afraid of your street cred and rep.]
Hooooee, doggies! Josh and I had a Radurday Night! We decided that all of our other social options didn't sound like fun so we decided to invent our own adventure.
The Rules:
1). The Players (Josh and Bex) were to meet at 9:30 at Shades of Green, bringing with them three (3) props that would determine the mission of the evening.
2). The Players would then journey to a previously unexplored region of NYC and attempt to have some fun.
3). Fun would be had at any and all costs, because it is a precious and rare commodity.
Thusly, upon arrival, our tools for the evening were revealed:
1 magic wand
1 magic armadillo
1 glowing blue 'ice cube' to be placed into clear alcoholic bevvies
1 pair of space-age sunglasses from Orlando
Several pre-stamped envelopes
1 giant post-it notepad
1 other prop that i no longer remember
And so! We decided that we would grant wishes to whomever needed wish-granting, especially encouraging people to write letters to their long-lost loves, telling them how they really feel. So we quickly tangented to Walgreens where we bought some chocolate (Because people love chocolate).
Another tangent: back at Wesleyan, Josh and I and our friend Eric once walked around the library during finals, giving candy to people studying. Most people were very wary and didn't grok why we were giving out candy. "Because studying is hard!" we'd say. "Keep your blood sugar up! Eat some chocolate!" But still, many people were suspicious. Except for those people who dug what we were doing. And they each got two mini candy bars instead of one. Because they understood that we were just giving out candy to people who might like some, yo.
And thusly! We tarried forth to the hinterlands, aka the Upper East Side; aka 'so far north there was fucking tundra and some of that northern lights shit,' and we rode the magical mystery train known as the "4." And upon opening our bags of chocolate, we piqued the attention of our fellow passengers. And we were both sporting our "Truth In, Bush Out" pins that Josh made, and some passengers said, "Hey, nice pin!" And so we said, "Thanks!" And then: "Would you like to make a wish?"
And, lo and behold, they DID. And so we asked them to rub the magic armadillo, as Josh waved the magic wand over their hands. And then we gave them anti-Bush pins. And then we gave them chocolate. And then they said that we were AWESOME! And then another girl didn't want any chocolate, nor did she want to make a wish (I guess she's real happy and shit), but she asked for an anti-Bush pin, and we gave her two! One for her friend! Or loved one!
And then we got to the Upper East Side, where we met some very Upper East Side people at some very Upper East Side bars. Unfortunately, there was some Yankees games and everyone was watching that fucking baseball shit that fucks with my CSI/tivo schedule. Fucking baseball! And I ain't even scored in months. But, we did go to a bar called Tin Lizzy that was like the college that we never went to -- fraaaaat-tastic! And we met a sausage factory -- oops, I mean a bachelor party. And we met some people who love them their baseball enough to wish on a magic armadillo in front of their baseball/beer buddies. Bitchin'!
But, it was so fridigly cold up North that we needed to return to warmer climes. We ventured into our lair, the Black Bear Lodge, where we shot some electronic deer and, I am pleased to say, I slayed my first triple buck. Oh, yes. Three electronic deer in one forest. HOT CHA CHA.
And it was all just a great Radurday Night. And we intend to do it again. So, if you see us -- I'm the one holding the glowing blue drink and the magic armadillo and the chocolates. Josh is on wand-duty. And, beware us. Because, lo, we are awesome.
Friday, October 15, 2004
I Heart "13 Going On 30"
"13 Going On 30" is such an awesome movie, I can't even begin to tell you.
But, okay. I shall try. Briefly, because it is late and I have work to do. And, I have been so profoundly affected by this movie's message of 'be awesome to each other' (I know! Just what Bill and Ted said!) and remember what it was like to feel, I will allow myself to at least attempt to feel.
I miss my childhood friends and the closeness we shared.
A lot.
Oh, fuckmycock, just watch this movie and tell me if it doesn't make you weep. I'd write more now but I am overcome with embarassing and prementstrual emotions of nostalgia and longing.
But, okay. I shall try. Briefly, because it is late and I have work to do. And, I have been so profoundly affected by this movie's message of 'be awesome to each other' (I know! Just what Bill and Ted said!) and remember what it was like to feel, I will allow myself to at least attempt to feel.
I miss my childhood friends and the closeness we shared.
A lot.
Oh, fuckmycock, just watch this movie and tell me if it doesn't make you weep. I'd write more now but I am overcome with embarassing and prementstrual emotions of nostalgia and longing.
Thursday, October 14, 2004
Bill O'Reilly and his Sex Falafel
Bill O'Reilly likes some hummus on his vagina.
The Smoking Gun has posted the transcript of plainriff Andrea MacKris's complaint against Bill O'Reilly. The very best bit is a snippet from a one-sided phone sex conversation in which O'Reilly states "... and then I would take the other hand with the falafel thing and I'd put it on your pussy."
Now, I know he meant the loofa-mitt that he was speaking about just a few minutes earlier, but what kind of DOOFUS confuses a "loofa" with a "falafel" ??? A loofa is a sea-sponge. A falafel is a fried ball of chickpea goodness.
And people take this man seriously? If you'll excuse me, I must go snicker quietly into my troglodyte. You know what I mean, that stuff that goes really with with pita.
The word of the day is: "Litany"
Blue litmus paper turns red when dipped into an acidic solution, like the vagina.
Schwoo - it's late but I promised to write in my little weblog, so ...
I've just returned from my pal Josh's pad in the Slope (such a civilized 'hood) where we ate some yummy 'fu and watched the 3rd debate. I also raped his itunes and finally replaced my Red House Painters album that I cracked when I stepped on it once, when I was really drunk.
Anyhoo!
I wish Bush would answer the "would you overturn Roe v. Wade" question, because he never gives a damn answer, just a lot of crap about a litmus test. Lemme tell you, buckaroo Bush, I don't want your damn litmus paper anywhere near my vagina, nor my womb. Blah blah blah, protect all children -- how about protecting the right to FUCKING CHOOSE, you idiot. For the record, though, the vagina is acidic, so blue litmus paper would turn red, and red litmus paper would stay red. Much like the color of one's labia.
Secondly. I superduper hope that the annoying glob of spittle affixed to Bush's lower lip will lose this election for him, much like Nixon's sweatyness.
Thirdly. I wonder how Mary Cheney feels about being the poster child for all people gay. All this 'marriage is between a man and a woman' hoohah is just so damn fence-straddling it makes me spit. I wish that Mary Cheney would just announce that she plans to gay-marry her girlfriend, and screw her daddy's discrimination. I wish anyone who wants to get gay-married can get gay-married.
And hey, watch "Awesomely Badder Girls" on VH1 tomorrow. Woo.
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
Cyber Self-Stalking
THIS IS THE 100TH POST ON THIS BLOG.
bring on the valium 'n' veuve, please.
Yo, so I was checking out who's been checking out this site and WHOA, SWEET JESUS, someone from nasa.gov has visited. (Fret not, I don't know who you random cybersurfers are, I just know the domain from whence you interweb surf). So, nasa.gov person, if you ever return, I'd like you to know that I am still entertaining dreams of being an astronaut, despite my limited differential calculus skills. I would also really like to be the first performer on the moon, if you can hook that one up. I am a very awesome lip syncer, fyi.
In the meantime -- greatest news story of the day:
Police Chase Blues Brother Impersonator
CRYSTAL, Minn. Oct. 12, 2004 — Police responding to a call of a convulsing Elvis Presley impersonator soon found themselves in a high-speed chase of another faux celebrity a man dressed as one of the Blues Brothers.
Crystal Police Capt. Dave Oyaas said the bizarre string of events began when officers were called to a veterans hall Monday morning to find a man dressed as Elvis Presley apparently in convulsions.
When the officers approached, Oyaas said the man suddenly jumped up and yelled, "Viva Las Vegas!" before singing show tunes.
At about the same time, two women said another man at the veterans hall dressed as John Belushi's character in "The Blues Brothers" had stolen their car and driven to a nearby airport.
The man led police on a high-speed chase around the airport before officers forced him to stop and arrested him.
"It's one of those things that you stop and scratch your head, and you think that 'Am I seeing what I think I'm seeing?'" Oyaas said.
Oyaas said charges pending against the men could include isorderly conduct, fleeing police and drunken driving.
The men had been drinking together at the VFW before police arrived. Blood tests will show how much, but Oyaas said, "I would venture to say quite a bit."
bring on the valium 'n' veuve, please.
Yo, so I was checking out who's been checking out this site and WHOA, SWEET JESUS, someone from nasa.gov has visited. (Fret not, I don't know who you random cybersurfers are, I just know the domain from whence you interweb surf). So, nasa.gov person, if you ever return, I'd like you to know that I am still entertaining dreams of being an astronaut, despite my limited differential calculus skills. I would also really like to be the first performer on the moon, if you can hook that one up. I am a very awesome lip syncer, fyi.
In the meantime -- greatest news story of the day:
Police Chase Blues Brother Impersonator
CRYSTAL, Minn. Oct. 12, 2004 — Police responding to a call of a convulsing Elvis Presley impersonator soon found themselves in a high-speed chase of another faux celebrity a man dressed as one of the Blues Brothers.
Crystal Police Capt. Dave Oyaas said the bizarre string of events began when officers were called to a veterans hall Monday morning to find a man dressed as Elvis Presley apparently in convulsions.
When the officers approached, Oyaas said the man suddenly jumped up and yelled, "Viva Las Vegas!" before singing show tunes.
At about the same time, two women said another man at the veterans hall dressed as John Belushi's character in "The Blues Brothers" had stolen their car and driven to a nearby airport.
The man led police on a high-speed chase around the airport before officers forced him to stop and arrested him.
"It's one of those things that you stop and scratch your head, and you think that 'Am I seeing what I think I'm seeing?'" Oyaas said.
Oyaas said charges pending against the men could include isorderly conduct, fleeing police and drunken driving.
The men had been drinking together at the VFW before police arrived. Blood tests will show how much, but Oyaas said, "I would venture to say quite a bit."
Set your tivos - CELEB SHOWDOWN drops MONDAY 10/18
Apparently, I am quite funny, and by 'funny' i mean "extremely snarky and obnoxious about celebrities whom I have never met."
All Access: Celeb Showdown
VH1 (duh)
Monday, 10/18
10/9C
All Access: Celeb Showdown
VH1 (duh)
Monday, 10/18
10/9C
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
Taking Matters into One's Own Hands
Two of my friends are currently enrolled in marriage class, where, i assume, they learn about what it's like to be married to each other. Or something. The bride-to-be tells me the classes are about communication, making important decisions, not being passive aggressive, all that stuff.
i wanted to take marriage class, too, but they wouldn't let me, seeing as i am not engaged to be married. Damn engage-ists.
so i was thinking about taking a class in pre-marital sex, but, alas, i didn't have a partner.
and the masturbation seminar was booked solid. they said it would be tight, but i tried to slip in. they were really dry and unwelcoming. i guess they just weren't in the mood.
ew, i just grossed out even myself.
i wanted to take marriage class, too, but they wouldn't let me, seeing as i am not engaged to be married. Damn engage-ists.
so i was thinking about taking a class in pre-marital sex, but, alas, i didn't have a partner.
and the masturbation seminar was booked solid. they said it would be tight, but i tried to slip in. they were really dry and unwelcoming. i guess they just weren't in the mood.
ew, i just grossed out even myself.
Monday, October 11, 2004
Great Minds Think Alike
my little brother Adam loves the Dell Monitors "it's my butt" phenom, too!
[all IM screen-names have been changed to preserve our identity's and our dignity. but not our youthful inhibition. we seem to have lost that.]
[it's a Murray. a Murray elan.]
Adam: i just saw the greatest commercial ever
Bex: eh?
Adam: it was for dell
Adam: these monitors
Bex: it's my butt?
Adam: yes!
Bex: i blogged about it
Adam: its his butt!
Bex: he is SO PROUD
Bex: that it's his butt
Bex: i couldn't stop laughing
Adam: i just love the intonation
Bex: same
Bex: it's my butt
Adam: its like "silly roommate! that is not a hand! that is the glory which is my butt!"
Bex: exactly
Adam: that is an awesome meme-virus
Bex: it's my butt
Adam: i just saw it, and i was like... that sums it all up
Bex: right?
Adam: i wish i could be so proud of my butt
Bex: ME TOO
[all IM screen-names have been changed to preserve our identity's and our dignity. but not our youthful inhibition. we seem to have lost that.]
[it's a Murray. a Murray elan.]
Adam: i just saw the greatest commercial ever
Bex: eh?
Adam: it was for dell
Adam: these monitors
Bex: it's my butt?
Adam: yes!
Bex: i blogged about it
Adam: its his butt!
Bex: he is SO PROUD
Bex: that it's his butt
Bex: i couldn't stop laughing
Adam: i just love the intonation
Bex: same
Bex: it's my butt
Adam: its like "silly roommate! that is not a hand! that is the glory which is my butt!"
Bex: exactly
Adam: that is an awesome meme-virus
Bex: it's my butt
Adam: i just saw it, and i was like... that sums it all up
Bex: right?
Adam: i wish i could be so proud of my butt
Bex: ME TOO
Thoughts Amassed Whilst Watching the Vote for Change Concert
Hot damn, Michael Stipe looks more and more like Pee Wee Herman every damn day.
REM's new single, "Leaving New York," is actually "Man on the Moon," only slower. But what's wrong is that we were willing to accept Man on the Moon back in the early 90s but we just don't want that sort of music right now.
Dude, Bruce Springsteen is fucking psyched to play "Man on the Moon" with REM.
I wonder if any of the kids there to see Death Cab care about REM? I was like, oh, these people don't want to hear REM, but then I realized that 'these people' were all aging GenX and so REM and Pearl Jam on the same bill is like the 1992 they never had.
Pearl Jam comes out, like: "All right, we'll play. But we're gonna be the NEW Pearl Jam, not the Pearl Jam you really want to hear, so we're playing some songs you've never heard of, oh, and Masters of War, by Bob Dylan."
Sho' nuff, they were booed as they left the stage.
Are you reasonably ready to be marginally entertained? Ladies and Gents, give it up for JAMES FUCKING TAYLOR!
Oh my gosh, it's the singing pigs, from the Muppets' version of "I Get Around" !!!
Oh, poo. It's only the Dixie Chicks.
REM's new single, "Leaving New York," is actually "Man on the Moon," only slower. But what's wrong is that we were willing to accept Man on the Moon back in the early 90s but we just don't want that sort of music right now.
Dude, Bruce Springsteen is fucking psyched to play "Man on the Moon" with REM.
I wonder if any of the kids there to see Death Cab care about REM? I was like, oh, these people don't want to hear REM, but then I realized that 'these people' were all aging GenX and so REM and Pearl Jam on the same bill is like the 1992 they never had.
Pearl Jam comes out, like: "All right, we'll play. But we're gonna be the NEW Pearl Jam, not the Pearl Jam you really want to hear, so we're playing some songs you've never heard of, oh, and Masters of War, by Bob Dylan."
Sho' nuff, they were booed as they left the stage.
Are you reasonably ready to be marginally entertained? Ladies and Gents, give it up for JAMES FUCKING TAYLOR!
Oh my gosh, it's the singing pigs, from the Muppets' version of "I Get Around" !!!
Oh, poo. It's only the Dixie Chicks.
Sunday, October 10, 2004
It's My Butt!
Has anyone seen this new spot, I think it's for SUPER MONITORS from Dell? It's these three dude roomies and one of them is incessantly channel-flipping so his buddy jumps on him and then their third buddy jumps in and the remote keeps flipping and then WHAM, they're mesmerized by this SUPER SHARP satellite image of Earth on some nova-type of channel and they realize they can see their own house because the image is so SUPER FUCKING SHARP?
So the hottie stoner roomie sticks his hand out the window and asks the other roomies how many fingers he's holding up, and they can see him on the SUPER FUCKING SHARP satellite image and then one roomie wrests control of the remote and starts watching cartoons and the stoner roomie goes, "How many fingers now?"
But the tv-watching roomie is watching cartoons and he's no longer looking at the S.F.S. satellite image and he goes, "Five," but he's wrong. Because, as the hottie stoner tells us,
"IT'S MY BUTT!"
Yes, he's sticking his butt out the window.
And just sounds so damn proud, so proud that he's sticking his butt out the window.
I am so happy for him, that's he's so proud of himself for thinking of such a clever way to utilize satellite technology and new awesome tv screen monitor things.
IT'S MY BUTT is the new slang for "I AM AWESOME."
Got it? Go forth and spread the meme.
Like you know how Jason (scary Jason with the hockey mask) goes ch-ch-ch-ch-ha-hah-hah?? Those Jason-movie people totally rocked that meme, they invented a little piece of vernacular shorthand. Like if you're in a scary situation, or a mock-scary sitch, you could go "ch-ch-ch-ch-ha-hah-hah" and everyone would grok, and it's some much more meaningful and resonant than if you were to say, "it's just like we're in a horror movie, guys, and right now is when that scary sound cue would come in!"
ROCK THE MEME.
So the hottie stoner roomie sticks his hand out the window and asks the other roomies how many fingers he's holding up, and they can see him on the SUPER FUCKING SHARP satellite image and then one roomie wrests control of the remote and starts watching cartoons and the stoner roomie goes, "How many fingers now?"
But the tv-watching roomie is watching cartoons and he's no longer looking at the S.F.S. satellite image and he goes, "Five," but he's wrong. Because, as the hottie stoner tells us,
"IT'S MY BUTT!"
Yes, he's sticking his butt out the window.
And just sounds so damn proud, so proud that he's sticking his butt out the window.
I am so happy for him, that's he's so proud of himself for thinking of such a clever way to utilize satellite technology and new awesome tv screen monitor things.
IT'S MY BUTT is the new slang for "I AM AWESOME."
Got it? Go forth and spread the meme.
Like you know how Jason (scary Jason with the hockey mask) goes ch-ch-ch-ch-ha-hah-hah?? Those Jason-movie people totally rocked that meme, they invented a little piece of vernacular shorthand. Like if you're in a scary situation, or a mock-scary sitch, you could go "ch-ch-ch-ch-ha-hah-hah" and everyone would grok, and it's some much more meaningful and resonant than if you were to say, "it's just like we're in a horror movie, guys, and right now is when that scary sound cue would come in!"
ROCK THE MEME.
Ambien Dreams and Stranger Things
So last Monday night I had a fever and I took some Nyquil and woke myself by screaming incoherently at a man named Brad who inexplicably had a jewfro and who wouldn’t stop asking me to be his friendster. I literally woke myself up by screaming “Jesus Fucking Christ, Brad, why won’t you leave me alone, why won’t you leave me the fuck alone?” And then I flung myself into pillows and wept, kicking and screaming and moaning, “Why, why, why won’t they all just leave me the fuck alone?” and then finally I fell back to sleep.
The Friendster thing – see, I’m a single girl in new york, and I’m always at least subconsciously looking for someone to have sex with, and so I feel like Friendster’s like this tuna-fishing boat, it’s just constantly trawling the seas of ny’ers and that’s why I have this photo up there where you can just barely see that I have absolutely disproportionately freakishly large nipples. But, you know, it’s not like I’m asking someone to come over and fuck me, it’s like I’m posting on Nerve or Craigslist – if we extend the ‘lots of fish in the sea metaphor,’ friendster is to trawling what Craiglist is to harpooning.
Friendster:Trawling :: Criagslist:Harpooning.
Josh pointed out:
Mary Kate:Ashley :: Barbara:Jenna
I think one can extend it to:
Mary Kate:Ashley :: Barbara:Jenna :: Ashlee:Jessica and perhaps even to Haylie:Hillary :: Nicky:Paris (if you want to break free from the confines of the twin paradigm, that is).
So, anyhoodles, this guy sent me a message using all the right jargon – deconstructive theory and appropriately hip indie music so I clicked on his photo and Friendster has these testimonial things where your friends can write about you, to tell the world how rad you are, and he has one testimonial, from this goth 16 year old, and it says “ {Name withheld} is a sweet man and a talented fencer. Ladies, Don’t let this one go by.” That’s all one can say about him, he doesn’t even merit a ‘great listener’ or ‘really unique’ or even a ‘he’s so awesome, once you get to know him’ … but only ‘he’s a talented fencer’ ?!?!? Interrobang!
Anyway. And then last night, I took some of this DXM stuff that my roommate bought so that we could trip out in Disneyworld – we didn’t actually take it, because we got some ‘shrooms so we did that instead, although we did spend a whole weekend trying to buy a chemist’s scale so that we could weigh out micrograms of research chemicals, but then we realized that doing unknown chemicals in Disneyworld might not be the best idea, especially because I am prone to vivid hallucinations and sometimes I laugh for hours on end.
Hallucinations, right – so I took this DXM stuff to help my coughcold and then I forgot that I took it and I took an Ambien because I couldn’t sleep and then I was im’ing with my friend Louis, bless his heart, and I totally tripped out and all of a sudden my keyboard was like in a cloud waterfall and I lost the ability to type and then suddenly my computer screen because a small village filled with peasants who trying to kill a terrible beast and I only I could save it, but the keyboard stopped being a keyboard and I think I wrote something like try to kill the beast, tiny ones, kill it dead, and then I think louis called because he was scared because I had typed “y y y y, we just need to burn her,” because I was trying to rally the wee ones and burn the evil bad womanvillain, and I tried to explain, but he probably thinks I’m a little woo woo woo.
Then someone from work sent an email about his approval manager and I misread it as approval manger and had this whole vision of little lord Jesus and a donkey and a sheep looking at all our expense reports.
On a different train of thought (All aboard, WOO WOO), I watched the 2nd prexy debate the other night and I really missed the little blinky boxes with the warning lights. I think those would be great if we had them all the time. Like in real life. Wouldn’t it be great if there were little light-up indicators when having sex? Especially with blowjobs? 2 more minutes, 30 seconds, 5 seconds. You’d be like, 5 seconds until he has an orgasm, and then you could conveniently move away before getting spattered. Speaking of orgasms – a friend of mine is taking Viagra and he told me he needs three pills just to get up in the morning.
Thank you, I’ll be here all week.
And speaking of the first prexy debate, just what was Bush scribbling?
The Friendster thing – see, I’m a single girl in new york, and I’m always at least subconsciously looking for someone to have sex with, and so I feel like Friendster’s like this tuna-fishing boat, it’s just constantly trawling the seas of ny’ers and that’s why I have this photo up there where you can just barely see that I have absolutely disproportionately freakishly large nipples. But, you know, it’s not like I’m asking someone to come over and fuck me, it’s like I’m posting on Nerve or Craigslist – if we extend the ‘lots of fish in the sea metaphor,’ friendster is to trawling what Craiglist is to harpooning.
Friendster:Trawling :: Criagslist:Harpooning.
Josh pointed out:
Mary Kate:Ashley :: Barbara:Jenna
I think one can extend it to:
Mary Kate:Ashley :: Barbara:Jenna :: Ashlee:Jessica and perhaps even to Haylie:Hillary :: Nicky:Paris (if you want to break free from the confines of the twin paradigm, that is).
So, anyhoodles, this guy sent me a message using all the right jargon – deconstructive theory and appropriately hip indie music so I clicked on his photo and Friendster has these testimonial things where your friends can write about you, to tell the world how rad you are, and he has one testimonial, from this goth 16 year old, and it says “ {Name withheld} is a sweet man and a talented fencer. Ladies, Don’t let this one go by.” That’s all one can say about him, he doesn’t even merit a ‘great listener’ or ‘really unique’ or even a ‘he’s so awesome, once you get to know him’ … but only ‘he’s a talented fencer’ ?!?!? Interrobang!
Anyway. And then last night, I took some of this DXM stuff that my roommate bought so that we could trip out in Disneyworld – we didn’t actually take it, because we got some ‘shrooms so we did that instead, although we did spend a whole weekend trying to buy a chemist’s scale so that we could weigh out micrograms of research chemicals, but then we realized that doing unknown chemicals in Disneyworld might not be the best idea, especially because I am prone to vivid hallucinations and sometimes I laugh for hours on end.
Hallucinations, right – so I took this DXM stuff to help my coughcold and then I forgot that I took it and I took an Ambien because I couldn’t sleep and then I was im’ing with my friend Louis, bless his heart, and I totally tripped out and all of a sudden my keyboard was like in a cloud waterfall and I lost the ability to type and then suddenly my computer screen because a small village filled with peasants who trying to kill a terrible beast and I only I could save it, but the keyboard stopped being a keyboard and I think I wrote something like try to kill the beast, tiny ones, kill it dead, and then I think louis called because he was scared because I had typed “y y y y, we just need to burn her,” because I was trying to rally the wee ones and burn the evil bad womanvillain, and I tried to explain, but he probably thinks I’m a little woo woo woo.
Then someone from work sent an email about his approval manager and I misread it as approval manger and had this whole vision of little lord Jesus and a donkey and a sheep looking at all our expense reports.
On a different train of thought (All aboard, WOO WOO), I watched the 2nd prexy debate the other night and I really missed the little blinky boxes with the warning lights. I think those would be great if we had them all the time. Like in real life. Wouldn’t it be great if there were little light-up indicators when having sex? Especially with blowjobs? 2 more minutes, 30 seconds, 5 seconds. You’d be like, 5 seconds until he has an orgasm, and then you could conveniently move away before getting spattered. Speaking of orgasms – a friend of mine is taking Viagra and he told me he needs three pills just to get up in the morning.
Thank you, I’ll be here all week.
And speaking of the first prexy debate, just what was Bush scribbling?
The World Mourns its Foremost Deconstruction Worker
Jacques Derrida, dead at 74.
Derrida is dead.
And one can't even deconstruct that sentence for hidden meaning.
Thanks, Uncle Jacques.
I hoist this protein shake to you, and today I shall deconstruct everything even more intensely than on a normal Sunday.
Derrida is dead.
And one can't even deconstruct that sentence for hidden meaning.
Thanks, Uncle Jacques.
I hoist this protein shake to you, and today I shall deconstruct everything even more intensely than on a normal Sunday.
Saturday, October 09, 2004
I Have Solved the "Mystery of the Bulge"
In Robert Heinlein's novel "The Puppet Masters," evil hosts attach themselves to their victims spinal columns, making an unsightly bulge between their shoulderblades.
You know it's important when the NYT talks about it -- Salon broke the story a few days ago, and amidst speculation of a radio-controlled so-called Prexy or perhaps Cheney crouching in a mens' room stall whispering feverishly into his cufflinks, I'd like to propose a different answer:
Bush done got an alien stuck to his spinal column, yo!
That means he's EEEEEEVIL.
Heinlein, as always, got it right.
About the book:
The USA is in the grip of malevolent invaders from another planet. They land at key points throughout the nation, attach themselves to human hosts and through them seize communications, industry and the government.
The protagonist and narrator is the working head of the operations team which must stop the invaders and which can trust no one...since the President, the Cabinet, key leaders may have already been taken by the Puppet Masters. The lead cannot even trust the commander of his team...his own father.
The Puppet Masters was published in 1951 in the early, haunting years of the Cold War. Fears that "secret" Communists would infiltrate the government are certainly expressed in this novel with the "alien invaders" serving as surrogates for imagined or real Communists. In a more immediate way, the novel is one of Heinlein´s early masterpieces, an "adult" novel written at a time when he was primarily occupied with the YA novels for Scribners which were important and influential. Appearing first in Horace Gold´s pioneering Galaxy Magazine. the novel has remained continuously in print, its premise, pace and furious conflict far outliving the Cold War and the Communist Menace.
Friday, October 08, 2004
I Lived in a Cake
This is my very bestest fave-o-ritest new piece of interweb awesomeness.
Llama Llama Duck.
Please, enjoy.
I am sitting at my desk with rivulets of mascara running down my face. Awwesome.
Llama Llama Duck.
Please, enjoy.
I am sitting at my desk with rivulets of mascara running down my face. Awwesome.
A new joke! A new joke! A new joke!
I wrote a joke in my mindhead!
Pretend I am a boy. Then I could say to you:
"There are so many hot women in my office. I am always hard at work."
Pretend I am a boy. Then I could say to you:
"There are so many hot women in my office. I am always hard at work."
I Lurf John Vanderslice THIS Much
I went to Southpaw last night (tout seule, my concert companion came down with some food poisoning due to some rancid Mexican) {Food, that is ... he did not (to my knowledge) eat a rancid Mexican} to rock out with John Vanderslice, who was performing on an awesome bill along with The Mountain Goats. The V-slice just makes me grin - his songs are so brilliant, his storytelling so intriguing, and his production so unique. Speaking of production, Scott Solter, who engineers all of John's albums, works wonders with the keyboard and the guitar and it was his BIRFDAY (and his twin flew all in the way in from LA to celebrate!). I got to spend some time hugging John after the show and he made me feel like a special person by calling me "My Bex" and generally making me feel like i'm a lot more glamorous and exciting than I normally feel. This was my first time seeing The Mountain Goats, and John Darnielle blew me away. BLEW ME AWAY. Go see this tour, stat.
So. See ya'll tonight at the Knitting Factory, after the debate?
So. See ya'll tonight at the Knitting Factory, after the debate?
Wednesday, October 06, 2004
NO COMEDY BY ME.
i suck.
sniffles and stuffyness. dudes and dudettes, I have unfortunately cancelled my gig tonight due to illness. please do go see all the other amazing comics. and come sing to me and bring me unchicken soup. i love you all, mean it.
b
sniffles and stuffyness. dudes and dudettes, I have unfortunately cancelled my gig tonight due to illness. please do go see all the other amazing comics. and come sing to me and bring me unchicken soup. i love you all, mean it.
b
Knick Knack Paddywack, I'm Trackbacking
So I added this Trackback thing and I've read the FAQs although I am not entirely sure I understand how it works and why. If anyone wants to explain it to me in layman's terms, I'd be mad stoked, yo.
Reported: NBC Nightly News Puts "ILIE" in Graphic
Subliminable information?
I love this shit so much. Watch the video here.
Have a really good day, Tom Brokaw, and may your evening hours bring joyful fellatio.
A MASSAGE FROM SUMNER REDSTONE
So i am delerious with cold medication, but i just got a corporate email from Papa Viacom himself, and the subject heading is, in all-caps (obvs) "MESSAGE FROM SUMNER REDSTONE."
AND i swear, you guys, these sinus meds are making me crazy. for a brief shining moment, i was SO STOKED because i thought that sumner redstone was offering free massages.
MASSAGE FROM SUMNER REDSTONE.
i mean, a massage is a massage, right?
and i bet a heated redstone massage would feel really nice.
AND i swear, you guys, these sinus meds are making me crazy. for a brief shining moment, i was SO STOKED because i thought that sumner redstone was offering free massages.
MASSAGE FROM SUMNER REDSTONE.
i mean, a massage is a massage, right?
and i bet a heated redstone massage would feel really nice.
George Dubya Bush vs. Andy Kaufman
Is it just me, or does the young Dubya eerily resemble the late, great Andy Kaufman?
The comparisons end there, friends. But wouldn't it be rad if on Friday, Dubya revealed that he actually is Andy Kaufman, and that he just successfully pulled off the biggest mindfuck of all time? And then, of course, hands the election over to Kerry/Edwards.
A girl can dream, can't she?
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
9:35pm "A Question of American Intelligence"
Some thoughts incurred while watching the Vice Presidential debate, all hepped up on cold medication.
Damn, Edwards is f-i-i-n-e in a goyish way, and Cheney looks like a gynecologist who dips his hands in ice-water before probing one's nether regions.
Putting the moderator in the power position at a small table with two guys makes her look a lot like a Dungeon Master.
When Edwards called out all the Republicans who are speaking out against the current administration's actions in Iraq, I totally wish all those Republicans stood up and shook their booties and went "Boo-YEAH!" I just wish that.
at 9:36pm on the ABC News coverage, Cheney's little box went black and he dropped out of the two-shot. I wanted Gwen to cut in with, "The vice president has been removed to an undisclosed location." But she didn't, and I scared the kitties by shouting "WHERE THE FUCK IS CHENEY?"
BEST. VICE-PRESIDENTIAL DEBATE MOMENT. EVER.
When Gwen Ifill directed a question to Cheney and he mumble-grumbled, faux sotto voce, that he thought the question should actually be directed at Edwards.
SECOND BEST.
When Edwards confronted Cheney on all this Halliburton stuffy and Cheney fakes humility and says, "I'm going to need more than thirty seconds" and Gwen Ifill responds sharply, "Well that's all you've got."
Boo-YEAH!
... and sometime during the last 20 minutes my mind wandered, and i found myself making a list of everyone i've ever had sex with, in chronological order.
for the record, i have shagged neither dick cheney or john edwards.
BOO-yeah.
Damn, Edwards is f-i-i-n-e in a goyish way, and Cheney looks like a gynecologist who dips his hands in ice-water before probing one's nether regions.
Putting the moderator in the power position at a small table with two guys makes her look a lot like a Dungeon Master.
When Edwards called out all the Republicans who are speaking out against the current administration's actions in Iraq, I totally wish all those Republicans stood up and shook their booties and went "Boo-YEAH!" I just wish that.
at 9:36pm on the ABC News coverage, Cheney's little box went black and he dropped out of the two-shot. I wanted Gwen to cut in with, "The vice president has been removed to an undisclosed location." But she didn't, and I scared the kitties by shouting "WHERE THE FUCK IS CHENEY?"
BEST. VICE-PRESIDENTIAL DEBATE MOMENT. EVER.
When Gwen Ifill directed a question to Cheney and he mumble-grumbled, faux sotto voce, that he thought the question should actually be directed at Edwards.
SECOND BEST.
When Edwards confronted Cheney on all this Halliburton stuffy and Cheney fakes humility and says, "I'm going to need more than thirty seconds" and Gwen Ifill responds sharply, "Well that's all you've got."
Boo-YEAH!
... and sometime during the last 20 minutes my mind wandered, and i found myself making a list of everyone i've ever had sex with, in chronological order.
for the record, i have shagged neither dick cheney or john edwards.
BOO-yeah.
blue drinks + Comedy Wednesday night
yay. even though i am sinus-infectionarriffic right now, i'm doing some funny Wednesday night at 10pm at Otto's Shrunken Head, as part of the NYC Underground Comedy Festival. It's a show called "2 Dollar Bill" (guess how much it costs to
get it?) and it's a whole lotta awesome.
OTTO'S SHRUNKEN HEAD
538 East 14th Street ( Btwn. Ave A & B)
212-228-2240
get it?) and it's a whole lotta awesome.
OTTO'S SHRUNKEN HEAD
538 East 14th Street ( Btwn. Ave A & B)
212-228-2240
Saturday, October 02, 2004
Stuck at home tonight? No hot date? Have a tv date with me!
VH1 All Access : Awesomely Badder Girls : Dig it Tonight at 11pm
I haven't seen this show yet, alls i can tell you is that we shot it the day i was leaving for Calimafornia for some long-overdue vacay and that I am tired and stressed and wearing a track shirt from my long-ago days attempting to throw the javelin for Glen Rock High School.
Check it on out, yo.
I haven't seen this show yet, alls i can tell you is that we shot it the day i was leaving for Calimafornia for some long-overdue vacay and that I am tired and stressed and wearing a track shirt from my long-ago days attempting to throw the javelin for Glen Rock High School.
Check it on out, yo.
Look, it's me and my bio. ME LURF TIKI BARS.
You can't throw a brick in this town without hitting one of 'em...
Yo, the Alternative Comedy Jam is now part of the 2 Dollar Show at my VERY FAVE TIKI BAR, Otto's Shrunken Head. 10pm, Wednesday October 6th. Watch comedians and buy me turquoise beverages bedecked with umbrellas and monkees and glowsticks.
PS -- Amidst the ever-changing tide of the NY bar scene, some of you may remember Otto's when it was called Barmacy and was themed like an old-fashioned apothecary. Barmacy was neat and shit, but they totally didn't have glowing blue bevvies.
Also, for the record, I would quite like to live in a tiki bar. With a real rock waterfall. And torches. And lava.
Speaking of, the CNN coverage of the Mt. Saint Helens fart was hi-laaarious. It was like the CNN reporter was begging the park ranger for some little juicy nugget of atrocity with which to terrify the amerikan viewing public.
CNN person: "Are you in any danger, being near the volcano?"
Park Ranger: "No, everything's pretty quiet right now. There's just a tiny cloud of ash."
CNN person: "But could you be in danger? Could something bad happen?"
Park Ranger: "Um, no, everything's fine."
This went on for quite a few more rounds.
I half-expected to hear
CNN Person: "If a terrorist were to drop a weapon of mass destruction into the volcano, then would we be in trouble?"
Like the end of "Armageddon" but in reverse.
Put your nuke down, flip it, and reverse it.
Yo, the Alternative Comedy Jam is now part of the 2 Dollar Show at my VERY FAVE TIKI BAR, Otto's Shrunken Head. 10pm, Wednesday October 6th. Watch comedians and buy me turquoise beverages bedecked with umbrellas and monkees and glowsticks.
PS -- Amidst the ever-changing tide of the NY bar scene, some of you may remember Otto's when it was called Barmacy and was themed like an old-fashioned apothecary. Barmacy was neat and shit, but they totally didn't have glowing blue bevvies.
Also, for the record, I would quite like to live in a tiki bar. With a real rock waterfall. And torches. And lava.
Speaking of, the CNN coverage of the Mt. Saint Helens fart was hi-laaarious. It was like the CNN reporter was begging the park ranger for some little juicy nugget of atrocity with which to terrify the amerikan viewing public.
CNN person: "Are you in any danger, being near the volcano?"
Park Ranger: "No, everything's pretty quiet right now. There's just a tiny cloud of ash."
CNN person: "But could you be in danger? Could something bad happen?"
Park Ranger: "Um, no, everything's fine."
This went on for quite a few more rounds.
I half-expected to hear
CNN Person: "If a terrorist were to drop a weapon of mass destruction into the volcano, then would we be in trouble?"
Like the end of "Armageddon" but in reverse.
Put your nuke down, flip it, and reverse it.
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