Wowzers! So the fabu cartoonist (who is apparently named Randy. Hi, Randy!)who drew the awesomely rad VH1-diss comic below linked to me somewhere and now I'm getting lots of visitors! Hi, Visitors!
If you shove the clothes off the red chair, there's a place for you to sit. It's all clean, I promise. And just fling the bras on the floor, that's where they usually end up.
Would you like a beverage? A snack? Some animal crackers, perhaps?
What shall we do together? Listen to some music? Listen to an embarassing song by me? Exchange foot rubs? Talk about quantum causality? SOUNDS GREAT!
I'm just going to go slip into something more comfortable, by which I mean I'm signing off to enjoy some more soup. I heart soup. And soup hearts my blocked sinii.
Monday, November 29, 2004
As a wannabe who's desperate for airtime ...
My brother Adam sent me to this website called "Something Positive", by R.K. Milholland. Today's comic is all about something very near and dear to me -- the vee's pop culture programming. This cartoon is funny because it's true, and the pain is a good kind of pain, like when you finally pull out a really loose tooth or when someone massages the knot out of your neck. As a promo producer, I'm happy that the two characters are watching the channel - ratings, woo! As a wannabe who's desperate for airtime, I'd like to say that although I am not even almost famous, I am still happy to be me. Like the more humanely proportioned Barbie-manque: happy to be me. albeit desperate for airtime. also desperate for some snuggles.
If I could be your cameraphone ...
I went out to get some vegan soup for lunch, and lo and behold, our Big in 04 snark was up on the big ol' jumbotron. This is part of a triptych about the year's most important choices:
Mary Kate or Ashley?
Jenna or Barbara?
Ashlee or Jessica?
There are three other versions, all of which touch on similarly hard-hitting topics.
Ah, yes. Here at VH1 we utilize jumbotrons to bring you the issues that matter.
(I took this photo with my cameraphone. I heart my cameraphone).
Upcoming Bexness
Woohoo! A brief blert of self-promotion:
Watch me on Awesomely Bad Songs of 2004 this Saturday, December 4th at 9:30pm on VH1!
Watch me on Britney Spears' Most Shocking Moments on Sunday December 19th (time TBD) on VH1!
And check it on out, we made the Village Voice's Holiday Preview. Check out their feature "Naughty and Nice -- Freaky Fun that Will Have you Feeling Festive.". They say:
Nothing is sacred at Heeb Storytelling, Heeb magazine's popular series where cabaret meets Catskills in seven-minute true-ish tales told by some damn funny Jews. The anti-silent-night show features original stories by Daily Show writer Eric Drysdale, VH1 DJ Bex Schwartz, humorist Peter Hyman, Michael "Soybomb" Portnoy, comedian Dana Kletter, literary rock stars One Ring Zero and more. What, you'd rather be stringing popcorn?
December 22 at 7, Joe's Pub, 425 Lafayette Street, 212.539.8778, joespub.com.
(Although I'm not a DJ, but I sometimes dream about playing one on tv. A VJ, I believe they would call that. Except we don't really show videos, so we don't have any VJs.)
(It would just be sooooo nice to be called a VJ because if one calls someone a VJ, it kinda sounds like one is calling that person a vagina.)
(You know how DJs are always trying to come up with the hottest DJ names? Like DJ Salinger or DJ Sweatpants or DJ Tanner or DJ Flash or DJ Syzygy? I would really like to be the first person to rock a VJ name. VJ Vagina.)
("Yo, yo, this is VJ Vagina kickin' it live from the VH1 Big in 04 Awards! Stick around for that Maroon 5 video, the one where the lead singer has sex with his skinny girlfriend and the other band members don't get to have sex but instead must cavort amidst fake trees. Yeah, boyee! I'm VJ Vagina and I'm keepin' it real.")
Watch me on Awesomely Bad Songs of 2004 this Saturday, December 4th at 9:30pm on VH1!
Watch me on Britney Spears' Most Shocking Moments on Sunday December 19th (time TBD) on VH1!
And check it on out, we made the Village Voice's Holiday Preview. Check out their feature "Naughty and Nice -- Freaky Fun that Will Have you Feeling Festive.". They say:
Nothing is sacred at Heeb Storytelling, Heeb magazine's popular series where cabaret meets Catskills in seven-minute true-ish tales told by some damn funny Jews. The anti-silent-night show features original stories by Daily Show writer Eric Drysdale, VH1 DJ Bex Schwartz, humorist Peter Hyman, Michael "Soybomb" Portnoy, comedian Dana Kletter, literary rock stars One Ring Zero and more. What, you'd rather be stringing popcorn?
December 22 at 7, Joe's Pub, 425 Lafayette Street, 212.539.8778, joespub.com.
(Although I'm not a DJ, but I sometimes dream about playing one on tv. A VJ, I believe they would call that. Except we don't really show videos, so we don't have any VJs.)
(It would just be sooooo nice to be called a VJ because if one calls someone a VJ, it kinda sounds like one is calling that person a vagina.)
(You know how DJs are always trying to come up with the hottest DJ names? Like DJ Salinger or DJ Sweatpants or DJ Tanner or DJ Flash or DJ Syzygy? I would really like to be the first person to rock a VJ name. VJ Vagina.)
("Yo, yo, this is VJ Vagina kickin' it live from the VH1 Big in 04 Awards! Stick around for that Maroon 5 video, the one where the lead singer has sex with his skinny girlfriend and the other band members don't get to have sex but instead must cavort amidst fake trees. Yeah, boyee! I'm VJ Vagina and I'm keepin' it real.")
Sunday, November 28, 2004
Uploading With Impunity
Hooray Hooray, Calloo Callay! My pal Allin taught me how metaphorically to fish today (as opposed to giving me a soy fish for one day). Now I know how to upload both with glee and with impunity.
So I thought I'd share just a few things.
Every year, I write little thirty-second songs for the "Big in ..." show we do over there at the Vee. It started with Big in 02, so this is my third year making these puppies. We want each song to remind you of a big song from the year, without actually being a direct parody/ripoff. I write 'em, Irv Johnson from Chameleon Sound Design makes 'em, and different animators create the visual components. So I thought I'd post this year's tracks -- I know that Poppa Viacom owns them, but I FIRMLY ACKNOWLEDGE THAT VIACOM OWNS THIS AND ALL MY INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY AND I AM POSTING THEM ONLY TO DISSEMINATE THE PROMOTIONAL ABILITY OF THE SONGS AND NOT FOR COMMERCIAL GAINS.
So. This one's called "Hey Big in 04" and it's inspired by the Black Eyed Peas' "Hey Mama."
And this one is called "Pieces of 04" and it's loosely based on Ashlee Simpson's "Pieces of Me."
And finally, for today's piece de resistance and also piece de damn fine cherry pie, I'd like to dig something out of the ol' collegiate treasure trove. When I was senior in college, I wrote and directed this massive theatre piece. I worked extensively with my sound designer, Timmy Jones. on creating this whole soundscape. One night, we were sitting in the Cafe discussing possible directions in which to go. I had a green apple sitting on the table, and we started riffing about how we couldn't think of any songs about apples. So we decided to make some. Timmy, and me, and our friend Greg, went to Timmy's dorm room and we set out some rules:
1) We put the apple on Tim's turntable so we could be inspired by its rotations
2) We set the timer for two minutes -- everyone was to have two minutes to write lyrics about the green apple
2.5) We only had two minutes to write -- no scribbling after the alarm went off
3) Then we'd read the lyrics and make music to go along with 'em.
So, Tim wrote a hiphop-y thing and Greg wrote an indie drum'n'bass song and I wrote something that i thought Laurie Anderson (if dirty) might write. I was thick in my Laurie Anderson phase back then. So we made songs out of everyone's lyrics. And so, I present in public (for the first time since we played it for the entire cast and crew of my show, 'Einstein Dreaming'), "Little Green Apples."
It's dated, fer sure. These lyrics were written in 1999, so they're not necessarily 'fresh' but I think they make a nice period piece of what it was like back then. Both for the world and for me. And keep in mind that the lyrics were written, spontaneously, in a grand total of two minutes. So they're rough. Anyhoo, that's me on lead vocals. Timmy on keyboard and sampling. And Greg on Germanic background vox.
Behold the uber-apple: "Little Green Apples."
And, yes, it's intentionally pretentious. 'Tentionally 'tentious. Written with wannabe-avant-garde tongue lodged firmly in cheek.
Hey, anyone else want to get together and write songs? They don't have to be about apples, but i do like it when they're dirty.
So I thought I'd share just a few things.
Every year, I write little thirty-second songs for the "Big in ..." show we do over there at the Vee. It started with Big in 02, so this is my third year making these puppies. We want each song to remind you of a big song from the year, without actually being a direct parody/ripoff. I write 'em, Irv Johnson from Chameleon Sound Design makes 'em, and different animators create the visual components. So I thought I'd post this year's tracks -- I know that Poppa Viacom owns them, but I FIRMLY ACKNOWLEDGE THAT VIACOM OWNS THIS AND ALL MY INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY AND I AM POSTING THEM ONLY TO DISSEMINATE THE PROMOTIONAL ABILITY OF THE SONGS AND NOT FOR COMMERCIAL GAINS.
So. This one's called "Hey Big in 04" and it's inspired by the Black Eyed Peas' "Hey Mama."
And this one is called "Pieces of 04" and it's loosely based on Ashlee Simpson's "Pieces of Me."
And finally, for today's piece de resistance and also piece de damn fine cherry pie, I'd like to dig something out of the ol' collegiate treasure trove. When I was senior in college, I wrote and directed this massive theatre piece. I worked extensively with my sound designer, Timmy Jones. on creating this whole soundscape. One night, we were sitting in the Cafe discussing possible directions in which to go. I had a green apple sitting on the table, and we started riffing about how we couldn't think of any songs about apples. So we decided to make some. Timmy, and me, and our friend Greg, went to Timmy's dorm room and we set out some rules:
1) We put the apple on Tim's turntable so we could be inspired by its rotations
2) We set the timer for two minutes -- everyone was to have two minutes to write lyrics about the green apple
2.5) We only had two minutes to write -- no scribbling after the alarm went off
3) Then we'd read the lyrics and make music to go along with 'em.
So, Tim wrote a hiphop-y thing and Greg wrote an indie drum'n'bass song and I wrote something that i thought Laurie Anderson (if dirty) might write. I was thick in my Laurie Anderson phase back then. So we made songs out of everyone's lyrics. And so, I present in public (for the first time since we played it for the entire cast and crew of my show, 'Einstein Dreaming'), "Little Green Apples."
It's dated, fer sure. These lyrics were written in 1999, so they're not necessarily 'fresh' but I think they make a nice period piece of what it was like back then. Both for the world and for me. And keep in mind that the lyrics were written, spontaneously, in a grand total of two minutes. So they're rough. Anyhoo, that's me on lead vocals. Timmy on keyboard and sampling. And Greg on Germanic background vox.
Behold the uber-apple: "Little Green Apples."
And, yes, it's intentionally pretentious. 'Tentionally 'tentious. Written with wannabe-avant-garde tongue lodged firmly in cheek.
Hey, anyone else want to get together and write songs? They don't have to be about apples, but i do like it when they're dirty.
Does He Like Butter Tarts?
I just learned how to post exciting things. And thus, I'd like to share with all of you my love for the joy known as Kidz Bop. Perhaps you've seen the late-night commercials when you were stoned or otherwise blurry -- it's little children singing contemporary Top 40 songs. Suggestive lyrics and all. It's truly horrifyingly terrific. Fantastically icky. I'm quite partial to the kiddies' version of "Wherever You Will Go" by the Calling, but I'd like to share this particular track, because it embodies all that is Kidz Bop bizarro-world.
"Steal my Sunshine," originally by Len, as performed by children. Children who beg you not to steal their sunshine.
Please don't steal their sunshine.
"Steal my Sunshine," originally by Len, as performed by children. Children who beg you not to steal their sunshine.
Please don't steal their sunshine.
Mmm, Sunday Morning Pop Tarts
Good morning, sunshine! I've been awake since forEVUH because there was a small tv crisis early this morning and my phone rang at an unholy hour. And so, I got out of bed and fed the kitties and starting playing with my 'puter. (That means 'computer,' not 'cooter,' you perv). Thus. I am wide away and bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and happily choreographing performance routines to pop songs.
You should see me do this interpretative chair-dance over-emote thing to "Pieces of Me." It thrills me to the core of my being. Imagine like the chairdance part of Flashdance (when she's getting wet - the Splashdance bit) but more about raw emotion and serious mugging than about a wet tee-shirt. there's a lot of hair tossing and head-rolling involved, though. Oooh. I just had a really great idea for a burlesque routine.
I have a serious soft soft for overly emotive teeny pop songs. For a really long time, I was obsessed with Britney's song "Everytime" -- that's the video where she almost drowns/commits suicide in the bathtub but Dorff saves her -- and I was superfine with that obsession. I got home early from the gym one night and the kids on my street were playing it on a boombox outside my kitchen window, and I was hooked. It's like the 2nd most-played song on this here 'puter (second only to that Rome Wasn't Built in a Day song I posted about a few weeks ago). And I am now mildly ashamed about how much I like that Kelly Clarkson song "Breakaway." The girly side of me just kvells and makes me want to wear a tiara and a tutu. I mean, come on! That song is fucking awesome. "Grew up in a small town ...dreaming of what could be and if I'd be happy..." AWESOME. I know it's horribly trite and it's by an American Idol but it's like the new "Total Eclipse of the Heart" -- let me belt out my girl-power (not the grrrrrl-power, but the tutu-wearing girl power) and hear me mewl.
Mewl.
It's nice to be mewling. Not like the infant mewling and puking in the nurse's arms, but instead the lover, sighing like a furnace, with a woeful ballad.
Chaka kahn! Gratuitous Shakespeare reference!
Anyway. So I've been reveling in awesome songs. For, like, h-o-u-r-s now. And I would like to say I think I've discovered the perfect song, and I would write about this song even if this blog weren't mutually linked by the person who wrote it. It's called "The Only Answer" and you can listen to it on the artist's website by clicking here.
I mean, holy shit. HOLY SHIT. Doesn't that just fill you with the best sensation ever? I mean, like I hear that song and all of a sudden it's warm and sunny and I'm like running up this beautiful hill to look out on a colorful village nestled in the foothills. And then, just as I am twirling around atop this hill, much like that rascally nun, Maria, I stop, with an ache in my heart, thinking of a boy I loved once who's gone. But then I start twirling again -- here's to the future! I have listened to this song 12 times in a row already. And I can't stop. It's the folky guitar combined with organ phenomenon -- I have a major soft spot, it's so soft it's like plasmatic -- for folky guitar + organ.
Anyway. This song kicks serious ass, yo.
And Mike Doughty's new stuff come out December 7th -- a day that will live in a newer kind of infamy. You can order it here (and you ought to do so). For those who may have downloaded his tracks earlier, Mike is offering amnesty via amazon.com. Oooh, towels.
You should see me do this interpretative chair-dance over-emote thing to "Pieces of Me." It thrills me to the core of my being. Imagine like the chairdance part of Flashdance (when she's getting wet - the Splashdance bit) but more about raw emotion and serious mugging than about a wet tee-shirt. there's a lot of hair tossing and head-rolling involved, though. Oooh. I just had a really great idea for a burlesque routine.
I have a serious soft soft for overly emotive teeny pop songs. For a really long time, I was obsessed with Britney's song "Everytime" -- that's the video where she almost drowns/commits suicide in the bathtub but Dorff saves her -- and I was superfine with that obsession. I got home early from the gym one night and the kids on my street were playing it on a boombox outside my kitchen window, and I was hooked. It's like the 2nd most-played song on this here 'puter (second only to that Rome Wasn't Built in a Day song I posted about a few weeks ago). And I am now mildly ashamed about how much I like that Kelly Clarkson song "Breakaway." The girly side of me just kvells and makes me want to wear a tiara and a tutu. I mean, come on! That song is fucking awesome. "Grew up in a small town ...dreaming of what could be and if I'd be happy..." AWESOME. I know it's horribly trite and it's by an American Idol but it's like the new "Total Eclipse of the Heart" -- let me belt out my girl-power (not the grrrrrl-power, but the tutu-wearing girl power) and hear me mewl.
Mewl.
It's nice to be mewling. Not like the infant mewling and puking in the nurse's arms, but instead the lover, sighing like a furnace, with a woeful ballad.
Chaka kahn! Gratuitous Shakespeare reference!
Anyway. So I've been reveling in awesome songs. For, like, h-o-u-r-s now. And I would like to say I think I've discovered the perfect song, and I would write about this song even if this blog weren't mutually linked by the person who wrote it. It's called "The Only Answer" and you can listen to it on the artist's website by clicking here.
I mean, holy shit. HOLY SHIT. Doesn't that just fill you with the best sensation ever? I mean, like I hear that song and all of a sudden it's warm and sunny and I'm like running up this beautiful hill to look out on a colorful village nestled in the foothills. And then, just as I am twirling around atop this hill, much like that rascally nun, Maria, I stop, with an ache in my heart, thinking of a boy I loved once who's gone. But then I start twirling again -- here's to the future! I have listened to this song 12 times in a row already. And I can't stop. It's the folky guitar combined with organ phenomenon -- I have a major soft spot, it's so soft it's like plasmatic -- for folky guitar + organ.
Anyway. This song kicks serious ass, yo.
And Mike Doughty's new stuff come out December 7th -- a day that will live in a newer kind of infamy. You can order it here (and you ought to do so). For those who may have downloaded his tracks earlier, Mike is offering amnesty via amazon.com. Oooh, towels.
Saturday, November 27, 2004
@Fanmail? From a Flounder?
My parents always say that: Fanmail? From a flounder?
I didn't get fanmail. Someone (someone without the balls or ovaries to reveal his or her name) signed my guestbook:
Wow, someone hates me! Well, hater, I'd just like to say: I love you, because I love everyone and I'm sorry your heart is two sizes too small. Hugs and kisses, hata!
Yikes! Something SCARY just happened. I opened my window to let my room cool down and all of a sudden, Klaus-the-kitty was outside on the fire escape! I grabbed his tail and hauled him back inside. Somehow, my screen window was open all the way! And I know it was locked before I left, because I never open the screen, because I'm scared that the kitties will jump outside and then all will be lost. So SOMEONE opened my screen! It was either
A) my landlords, who needed to get onto the roof for some reason, but why would they open our apartment when we are not home if they could just climb up the fire escape from their window!
B) a burglar who came into the house but did not take or touch a single thing!
C) An intruder who came it to make a mental blueprint so he can break back in and do mean and nefarious things to me -- I saw this exact story on CSI, I swear!
D) Magical gnomes who came to fix our shoes!
E) The Dreamblower guy from that Roald Dahl book!
F) A crazy intruder who came into the house to make a mental blueprint so he can break back in and do mean and nefarious things -- I saw this exact story on SVU, I swear!
Yikes.
I didn't get fanmail. Someone (someone without the balls or ovaries to reveal his or her name) signed my guestbook:
bex sucks [11/26/04, 10:53 PM] writes:For the record, I never claimed I was anything but ugly. I'd just like to think that I have at least mildly interesting hair, which I feel certain must elevate me to at least a skooch above ugly.
you are not funny AND you are ugly. i hate you. stop trying to be funny.
Wow, someone hates me! Well, hater, I'd just like to say: I love you, because I love everyone and I'm sorry your heart is two sizes too small. Hugs and kisses, hata!
Yikes! Something SCARY just happened. I opened my window to let my room cool down and all of a sudden, Klaus-the-kitty was outside on the fire escape! I grabbed his tail and hauled him back inside. Somehow, my screen window was open all the way! And I know it was locked before I left, because I never open the screen, because I'm scared that the kitties will jump outside and then all will be lost. So SOMEONE opened my screen! It was either
A) my landlords, who needed to get onto the roof for some reason, but why would they open our apartment when we are not home if they could just climb up the fire escape from their window!
B) a burglar who came into the house but did not take or touch a single thing!
C) An intruder who came it to make a mental blueprint so he can break back in and do mean and nefarious things to me -- I saw this exact story on CSI, I swear!
D) Magical gnomes who came to fix our shoes!
E) The Dreamblower guy from that Roald Dahl book!
F) A crazy intruder who came into the house to make a mental blueprint so he can break back in and do mean and nefarious things -- I saw this exact story on SVU, I swear!
Yikes.
Ride 'em, Cowgirl
Adam and I went to this country-western bar last night in the middle of NJ, and my superpal Justin (who coincidentally grew up in Watchung)met us there. We went on a Friday night because the 'rents go there all the time to eat dinner, and they'd noticed that Friday is ROCK night, and they know how I feel about the rock. Sadly, Country Line Dancing is Saturday night, so I missed partaking. But we did go for ROCK night, and the place was truly frightening -- as Justin put it, it was a bastion of red state-itude. The Rock was less that inspiring, but I did get to ride a mechanical bull for the very first time in my life. It was less sexy than I'd imagined -- you got to hang on to the bull with one hand, but in the other hand you had to clutch this garage-door-opener (ostensibly to tell the Operator you were still hanging on; if you let go of the button he'd stop the bull's bucking.) Before I got on, the Bull Operator said, "I'm not trying to hit on you, but it's just like sex: hang on and enjoy the ride." And then he told me to lean forwards when the bull's butt came up and lean backwards when the bull's head rose. It was not that easy. I fell off, twice, and was horribly disappointed in my lack of bull-riding skills, because I'd envisioned myself as quite the cowgirl, because I know how to hang on and enjoy the ride. So, alas, I was not a great bull-rider. But my inner thighs hurt today.
Thursday, November 25, 2004
Kickin' out the Fambly Jams here in Watchung
Yuppity yuppers, I'm here at the rents' new condo in Watchung, (Dirty Jerz). The jury is still out -- is "Watchung" the Law & Order noise, or is "Watchung" what the Beatles are singing in "Come Together" ? It seems to work both ways: The elite forces of the Special Victims Unit (WATCHUNG) vs. (WATCHUNG) doodle-y doo doo, Here come ol' flat-top.
We had a Thanksgiving dinner that couldn't be beat (hooray for vegetables) and there were no (overt) fambly fights this year. Hip hip hooray! Just the usual passive aggressive sniping and snippity-ness. And neurotic Jewhavior, but that comes with the territory.
I'm being anti-social by horking my dad's laptop so this is a short entry. All I ask, friends, is that you spend this Thanksgiving evening thinking about joining the Alice's Restaurant movement and walking into the draft office and singing, "You can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant" so maybe they'll think you're crazy or a faggot or perhaps (hopefully) part of the movement. The Alice's Restaurant movement, which represents basically everything I've ever idealized about the 60s -- except for littering. I'm not so into the littering. But, everything else.
So, enjoy your time on the group W bench, alongside the father-rapists and the murderers. That's what friends are for, after all.
Enjoy all your over-the-rivering and through-the-woodsing and fambly-or-friends time. I've got to go rock some pilates to make up for that extra helping of acorn squash.
We had a Thanksgiving dinner that couldn't be beat (hooray for vegetables) and there were no (overt) fambly fights this year. Hip hip hooray! Just the usual passive aggressive sniping and snippity-ness. And neurotic Jewhavior, but that comes with the territory.
I'm being anti-social by horking my dad's laptop so this is a short entry. All I ask, friends, is that you spend this Thanksgiving evening thinking about joining the Alice's Restaurant movement and walking into the draft office and singing, "You can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant" so maybe they'll think you're crazy or a faggot or perhaps (hopefully) part of the movement. The Alice's Restaurant movement, which represents basically everything I've ever idealized about the 60s -- except for littering. I'm not so into the littering. But, everything else.
So, enjoy your time on the group W bench, alongside the father-rapists and the murderers. That's what friends are for, after all.
Enjoy all your over-the-rivering and through-the-woodsing and fambly-or-friends time. I've got to go rock some pilates to make up for that extra helping of acorn squash.
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
Thankity Thank Thank Thankity Thank Thanks
You know the "Thumpety thump thump" part of the Frosty the Snowman song? That's how you ought to sing this post's title -- thankity thank thank, thankity thank thank, look at Frosty go...
We are knee-deep in the hooplah of the grunt work part of our job -- versioning 8 "Big in 04" spots starring Matt Walsh and Ian Roberts. So, let's go around the room and discuss for what we are thankful.
Let's start with Karl. Karl is thankful for a midwinter's surfing trip to Costa Rica. He will go there and see monkeys and sloths (but he can't bring me a sloth because it's illegal to import wild animals into Amerika.) Smuggle a sloth, Karl! Smuggle it all the way home, nestled beneath your shirt and let its slothwarmth fill you with love and joy. Let it nibble your man-nipples and titilate your innermost excitements. And then bring it to me so I can cuddle with it, because I bet a real-live sloth is a lot like one of those full-body pillows you can get at Bed, Bath and Beyond. I reckon the sloth would fall into the "Beyond" category, which is definitely the best aspect of the store. I like to go and look for spacejunk and meteors and comets and the souls of long-departed relatives -- all the things one might want from Beyond. Karl is also thankful that he worked a double last week so now he has extra moolah for his trip.
Kelly's turn. Scott (Kelly's pre-husband) interjects to say that Kelly is thankful that she got engaged this year, and yet Kelly remains suspiciously silent. In fact, just last night it became apparent that both Scott and I adore spicy food whereas Kelly is not so fond of the spice. Mayhaps I ought to marry Scott -- Kelly says we could do a reality show called "My Big Fat Obnoxious Writing Partner Who Stole My Fiancee." I would be the big fat obnoxious one, seeing as she has the pre-husband. Oh! This just in! Kelly LOVES Kiehl's samples because they are FREE and Kelly will love anything if it's free, even if it's a piece of poo. A FREE piece of Poo? Send it to the Kelster! Bring it on, yo. Kelly's fave word is "gratis." Kelly is also thankful for Starwich, our very most preferred new sandwich place. Yum! They make sandwiches with MONK CHEESE! Not, as you might think, cheese made of out of monks, but rather, cheese made by monks. And the secret ingredient is monk smegma. MONK CHEESE! MONK CHEESE! Kelly is also thankful for puppies and kitties -- nay, all baby animals. Babimals. Kelly is thankful that Scott is going to become a gourmet cook and apparently he's practicing and cooking and cheffing. He's such an effing cool chef! He does some effing cheffing! And he makes a mean pork chop. Heh. Scott makes a mean pork chop -- that sounds dirty.
Kelly would like you all to know that she is not thankful for the stupid fucks at Who Wants to be a Millionaire who denied them the chance to be on Who Wants to be a Millioniare, Couples edition. They were going to win a million dollars to pay for their wedding and I was going to be their lifeline, but, alas, the selection committee is apparently made of stupid fucks. STUPID FUCKS!
Kelly is also thankful that she is not a turkey. Except she is a turkey, but not a turkey you'd eat. Unless you like to eat blonde women. Then perhaps she would be that kind of turkey. Gobble gobble!
If the Hamburglar were a turkey, he would go: "Robble robble! Gobble gobble!"
If the Hamburglar were a turkey who liked telescopes, he would go "Robble robble! Gobble gobble! Hubble Hubble!"
Let's ask Scott, the afore-mentioned pre-husband! Scott, what are you thankful for? "I'm thankful for the World Champion Patriots" (not the missile or the people with the guns, but the football team. And who coaches that football team? Some dude who went to my college. AWESOME!) Scott is also thankful for the World Champion Red Sox. Scott apparently likes the Boston sports. Scott is also thankful for the Bowdoin College ECAC division champs -- i think that's a hockey reference. Kelly says, "If you actually start caring about hockey I will punch you in the face." And then Scott says, "I am thankful Kelly said yes. I would have been embarassed otherwise."
Scott Harrison, ladies and gentlemen, and his Big in 04 thanks list.
Oh dear. I am the last person in the room to go. So. Every year at the Fleisher fambly T-giving, we have to around the table and say what we're thankful for. About 8 years ago, my dad said, "Latex." I, too, am thankful for latex. It keeps the kids disease-free, doncha know. I am also thankful for extra-firm tofu, sparkly eye makeup, non-leather boots, and the sloth that Karl will smuggle to me. I am thankful for all my friends who love me despite my birth-control-pill-induced tumultuous mood swings and despite Oscar (my neurosis). I am thankful that even though I keep announcing that I am over the whole dating thing, I somehow keep this little flame of romantic hope that makes me think that someday I will have a cuddlebuddy who will love me even before I've straightened my hair in the morning. I'm thankful for my fambly, who somehow tolerate me in all my insanity. I'm thankful I'm going to LA next week. I'm thankful for my fave elliptical machine at the gym. And most of all, I am thankful that I don't have crabs.
Yet.
We are knee-deep in the hooplah of the grunt work part of our job -- versioning 8 "Big in 04" spots starring Matt Walsh and Ian Roberts. So, let's go around the room and discuss for what we are thankful.
Let's start with Karl. Karl is thankful for a midwinter's surfing trip to Costa Rica. He will go there and see monkeys and sloths (but he can't bring me a sloth because it's illegal to import wild animals into Amerika.) Smuggle a sloth, Karl! Smuggle it all the way home, nestled beneath your shirt and let its slothwarmth fill you with love and joy. Let it nibble your man-nipples and titilate your innermost excitements. And then bring it to me so I can cuddle with it, because I bet a real-live sloth is a lot like one of those full-body pillows you can get at Bed, Bath and Beyond. I reckon the sloth would fall into the "Beyond" category, which is definitely the best aspect of the store. I like to go and look for spacejunk and meteors and comets and the souls of long-departed relatives -- all the things one might want from Beyond. Karl is also thankful that he worked a double last week so now he has extra moolah for his trip.
Kelly's turn. Scott (Kelly's pre-husband) interjects to say that Kelly is thankful that she got engaged this year, and yet Kelly remains suspiciously silent. In fact, just last night it became apparent that both Scott and I adore spicy food whereas Kelly is not so fond of the spice. Mayhaps I ought to marry Scott -- Kelly says we could do a reality show called "My Big Fat Obnoxious Writing Partner Who Stole My Fiancee." I would be the big fat obnoxious one, seeing as she has the pre-husband. Oh! This just in! Kelly LOVES Kiehl's samples because they are FREE and Kelly will love anything if it's free, even if it's a piece of poo. A FREE piece of Poo? Send it to the Kelster! Bring it on, yo. Kelly's fave word is "gratis." Kelly is also thankful for Starwich, our very most preferred new sandwich place. Yum! They make sandwiches with MONK CHEESE! Not, as you might think, cheese made of out of monks, but rather, cheese made by monks. And the secret ingredient is monk smegma. MONK CHEESE! MONK CHEESE! Kelly is also thankful for puppies and kitties -- nay, all baby animals. Babimals. Kelly is thankful that Scott is going to become a gourmet cook and apparently he's practicing and cooking and cheffing. He's such an effing cool chef! He does some effing cheffing! And he makes a mean pork chop. Heh. Scott makes a mean pork chop -- that sounds dirty.
Kelly would like you all to know that she is not thankful for the stupid fucks at Who Wants to be a Millionaire who denied them the chance to be on Who Wants to be a Millioniare, Couples edition. They were going to win a million dollars to pay for their wedding and I was going to be their lifeline, but, alas, the selection committee is apparently made of stupid fucks. STUPID FUCKS!
Kelly is also thankful that she is not a turkey. Except she is a turkey, but not a turkey you'd eat. Unless you like to eat blonde women. Then perhaps she would be that kind of turkey. Gobble gobble!
If the Hamburglar were a turkey, he would go: "Robble robble! Gobble gobble!"
If the Hamburglar were a turkey who liked telescopes, he would go "Robble robble! Gobble gobble! Hubble Hubble!"
Let's ask Scott, the afore-mentioned pre-husband! Scott, what are you thankful for? "I'm thankful for the World Champion Patriots" (not the missile or the people with the guns, but the football team. And who coaches that football team? Some dude who went to my college. AWESOME!) Scott is also thankful for the World Champion Red Sox. Scott apparently likes the Boston sports. Scott is also thankful for the Bowdoin College ECAC division champs -- i think that's a hockey reference. Kelly says, "If you actually start caring about hockey I will punch you in the face." And then Scott says, "I am thankful Kelly said yes. I would have been embarassed otherwise."
Scott Harrison, ladies and gentlemen, and his Big in 04 thanks list.
Oh dear. I am the last person in the room to go. So. Every year at the Fleisher fambly T-giving, we have to around the table and say what we're thankful for. About 8 years ago, my dad said, "Latex." I, too, am thankful for latex. It keeps the kids disease-free, doncha know. I am also thankful for extra-firm tofu, sparkly eye makeup, non-leather boots, and the sloth that Karl will smuggle to me. I am thankful for all my friends who love me despite my birth-control-pill-induced tumultuous mood swings and despite Oscar (my neurosis). I am thankful that even though I keep announcing that I am over the whole dating thing, I somehow keep this little flame of romantic hope that makes me think that someday I will have a cuddlebuddy who will love me even before I've straightened my hair in the morning. I'm thankful for my fambly, who somehow tolerate me in all my insanity. I'm thankful I'm going to LA next week. I'm thankful for my fave elliptical machine at the gym. And most of all, I am thankful that I don't have crabs.
Yet.
the "Like a Virgin" mystery continues
So, Otis tells me that people continue to download my "Like A Virgin" wretched/retching-ness at astonishing rates. But no one knows from whence the hits come -- anyone know what's up? Did someone send out this link as part of their email list? Either as a "listen to this mangle" or else perhaps as a "wow, this girl, can really moan?"
It's true, I can moan. Like a fucking champ, yo. Just ask any of the dudes with whom I've been. Yeeks.
Anyhoo. I just had a lovely T-giving feast of Indian food (what??? not THOSE Indians? dang!) with my NY fambly of superfriends. I adore them so much. Awesome. We had a long talk about the disappearance of Mountain Time from our promos -- I personally think those states went red because they were fed up with being constantly confused about what time to watch tv. Because us blue staters in Hollywood and NY constantly make promos that ignore them, so they were like, "Fuck ya'll tv-makers, we hate being ignored and we hate being confused about tune-in times, so we're fucking voting for Bush just to smite you, so nyah nyah."
Oh, Mountain Time. How I want to save you.
I'm actually stoked for the T-giving this year -- my cuz Meredith and her hubby have a babee, so we're gathering at my aunt's house instead of at The Worst Restaurant In the World (tm) at which we've eaten faux T-giving for the past several years. Awesome. Even though it's only a segment of my extended fambly, my nuclear fambly will all be there (mom, dad, bex and adam) so that'll be nice.
So I'll be in the Dirty Jerz for a few days, and then back to the 'Point to feed the kitties because my roomie is in Amsterdam. OH YEAH (thus spake Kool-aid Man!) -- the hizzouse to mysizzelf. That means I can watch lots of CSI and L&O SVU, and, most importantly, I can run around in my skivvies. Anyone want to come over and indulge in Risky Business underwear-dancing avec moi? It's so fucking on, mofes.
Oh, and feel free to spend your Tofurkey day with VH1's "Awesomely Bad Thanksgiving" -- I'm in "Awesomely Badder Girls," on Thursday 11/25 at 3:30 EST, 2:30 central, 1:30 Mountain Time. I shot this puppy back in August, but I think it's a semi-rad show.
It's true, I can moan. Like a fucking champ, yo. Just ask any of the dudes with whom I've been. Yeeks.
Anyhoo. I just had a lovely T-giving feast of Indian food (what??? not THOSE Indians? dang!) with my NY fambly of superfriends. I adore them so much. Awesome. We had a long talk about the disappearance of Mountain Time from our promos -- I personally think those states went red because they were fed up with being constantly confused about what time to watch tv. Because us blue staters in Hollywood and NY constantly make promos that ignore them, so they were like, "Fuck ya'll tv-makers, we hate being ignored and we hate being confused about tune-in times, so we're fucking voting for Bush just to smite you, so nyah nyah."
Oh, Mountain Time. How I want to save you.
I'm actually stoked for the T-giving this year -- my cuz Meredith and her hubby have a babee, so we're gathering at my aunt's house instead of at The Worst Restaurant In the World (tm) at which we've eaten faux T-giving for the past several years. Awesome. Even though it's only a segment of my extended fambly, my nuclear fambly will all be there (mom, dad, bex and adam) so that'll be nice.
So I'll be in the Dirty Jerz for a few days, and then back to the 'Point to feed the kitties because my roomie is in Amsterdam. OH YEAH (thus spake Kool-aid Man!) -- the hizzouse to mysizzelf. That means I can watch lots of CSI and L&O SVU, and, most importantly, I can run around in my skivvies. Anyone want to come over and indulge in Risky Business underwear-dancing avec moi? It's so fucking on, mofes.
Oh, and feel free to spend your Tofurkey day with VH1's "Awesomely Bad Thanksgiving" -- I'm in "Awesomely Badder Girls," on Thursday 11/25 at 3:30 EST, 2:30 central, 1:30 Mountain Time. I shot this puppy back in August, but I think it's a semi-rad show.
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
We have killed Mountain Time
Oh, lo, ask not for whom the bell tolls, because the bell tolls for Mountain Time.
I have a mild obsession with Mountain Time, because when I was a child, promo spots always included Mountain Time -- "Don't miss the next episode of Diff'rent Strokes, at 3pm, 2pm central, 1pm Mountain Time."
As a kid, i thought Mountain Time sounded so incredibly awesome. Like, because people who live atop Mountains are so high in the sky that their time flows at a different rate than those of us who were living in suburban, flat New Jersey. I knew enough about Relativity and the twin paradox (and because my dad and I watched "Flight of The Navigator," which also dealt with the relative-passing-of-time issue (remember that movie? the stuff that dreams are made of? yo diggety, no doubt) to know that for people who are very far away, time flows at a different rate, relative to an observer on Earth.
Anyhoo. So I thought that people who lived on top of Mountains had their own time zone and I dreamed of someday perhaps living among them and watching cartoons two hours earlier. There's a story in Alan Lightman's "Einstein's Dreams" about a world in which time passes slower at higher altitudes so everyone seeks the highest heights to prevent time from flying by too quickly -- the higher one lives, the slower life progresses, so life can be treasured and savored and cherished to the fullest.
Ah, "cherish." Like in "Stranger in a Strange Land." I cherish you, reader.
(and when I wrote 'passing of time" it reminded me of my fave song, "This Must be the Place" -- and you're standing here beside me. i love the passing of time.)
Annnnnnnyhoodles... And then, one day, Mountain Time disappeared. Promos ended with "3/2 central." In fact, in my line of work, I deal with this on a daily basis, tagging spots for vh1 shows with "tonight at 9/8 central." But I never, ever throw to Mountain time -- EXCEPT when I'm doing :60 radio spots that will air in that elusive time zone.
And today, I was all set to tag these spots for Big in 04 (which airs Sunday December 5th at 9/8C) as Sunday at 7 (just for those radio-listeners in Mountain Time) and then I got the phone call:
"Kill Mountain Time."
(We didn't buy any ad time in Mountain Time, thus there was no reason to tag spots for those upper-altitude slow pokes).
But, I kind of felt a little gasp of despair, a slow exhalation of sadness, because I have been to London and I've been to France but I've never been to Mountain Time (nor have I ever been to me) and now I have killed Mountain Time. I have slain it, dead.
Alas, Mountain Time. I barely knew ye.
I have a mild obsession with Mountain Time, because when I was a child, promo spots always included Mountain Time -- "Don't miss the next episode of Diff'rent Strokes, at 3pm, 2pm central, 1pm Mountain Time."
As a kid, i thought Mountain Time sounded so incredibly awesome. Like, because people who live atop Mountains are so high in the sky that their time flows at a different rate than those of us who were living in suburban, flat New Jersey. I knew enough about Relativity and the twin paradox (and because my dad and I watched "Flight of The Navigator," which also dealt with the relative-passing-of-time issue (remember that movie? the stuff that dreams are made of? yo diggety, no doubt) to know that for people who are very far away, time flows at a different rate, relative to an observer on Earth.
Anyhoo. So I thought that people who lived on top of Mountains had their own time zone and I dreamed of someday perhaps living among them and watching cartoons two hours earlier. There's a story in Alan Lightman's "Einstein's Dreams" about a world in which time passes slower at higher altitudes so everyone seeks the highest heights to prevent time from flying by too quickly -- the higher one lives, the slower life progresses, so life can be treasured and savored and cherished to the fullest.
Ah, "cherish." Like in "Stranger in a Strange Land." I cherish you, reader.
(and when I wrote 'passing of time" it reminded me of my fave song, "This Must be the Place" -- and you're standing here beside me. i love the passing of time.)
Annnnnnnyhoodles... And then, one day, Mountain Time disappeared. Promos ended with "3/2 central." In fact, in my line of work, I deal with this on a daily basis, tagging spots for vh1 shows with "tonight at 9/8 central." But I never, ever throw to Mountain time -- EXCEPT when I'm doing :60 radio spots that will air in that elusive time zone.
And today, I was all set to tag these spots for Big in 04 (which airs Sunday December 5th at 9/8C) as Sunday at 7 (just for those radio-listeners in Mountain Time) and then I got the phone call:
"Kill Mountain Time."
(We didn't buy any ad time in Mountain Time, thus there was no reason to tag spots for those upper-altitude slow pokes).
But, I kind of felt a little gasp of despair, a slow exhalation of sadness, because I have been to London and I've been to France but I've never been to Mountain Time (nor have I ever been to me) and now I have killed Mountain Time. I have slain it, dead.
Alas, Mountain Time. I barely knew ye.
What's the Frequency, Kenneth?
Alas and alack, Dan Rather is retiring from his anchor position. I lurf him -- he's the one who safely got me through my y2k anxiety attack, as he and i sludged through the wee hours of January 1st, EST. It was 12am in Fiji and like 4am in New Jersey, but together, Dan and I went the distance and watched the Pacific Islanders celebrate as, thankfully, the Russian missile silos apparently remained intact. And then I watched New Year's come to several other time zones and finally went to sleep, content and smug that we weren't going to bite the big one, nuclear stylez.
I'm sorry about that whole 60 Minutes debacle, Dan. But you'll always be my number one news guy.
And now, my favorite lyric from "What's the Frequency, Kenneth?" ::
"Richard says 'withdrawal in disgust is not the same as apathy.'"
(Richard apparently being Richard Linklater, who directed, among other movies, one my very favoritest [Waking Life -- i know, i'm pretentious. you can suck it, clit-style.]
Anyhoo. And so, Dan Rather, I say unto you:
Withdrawal in disgust is not the same as apathy.
I wish those documents had been real and Bush lost the election, but at least you were attempting to fight the good fight. Do not go gently into that good night, Dan Rather.
I'm sorry about that whole 60 Minutes debacle, Dan. But you'll always be my number one news guy.
And now, my favorite lyric from "What's the Frequency, Kenneth?" ::
"Richard says 'withdrawal in disgust is not the same as apathy.'"
(Richard apparently being Richard Linklater, who directed, among other movies, one my very favoritest [Waking Life -- i know, i'm pretentious. you can suck it, clit-style.]
Anyhoo. And so, Dan Rather, I say unto you:
Withdrawal in disgust is not the same as apathy.
I wish those documents had been real and Bush lost the election, but at least you were attempting to fight the good fight. Do not go gently into that good night, Dan Rather.
Like A Really Off-Tempo Virgin
So, friends, the wonderful Otis Ball , of the Super Karaoke Fun TIme Band, informs me that his website is receiving an inordinate amount of traffic because my horrific rendition of "Like of Virgin" has been downloaded 400 times in the past week. Who's doing that, yo?
Here's some backstory:
Last Valentine's Day, our friend Kee (a loyal FMU listener) sent an email about this call-in Karaoke show on wFMU, wherein one could call in and sing a karaoke song LIVE on the radio. Now, I am not just a slut for attention, but I am also a karaoke dreamer and, as I was all alone last Valentine's Day because I thought I was dating this dude but apparently I was only really dating him in my head. Anyhoo, so it was a Saturday night and I was ostensibly working on my screenplay for my screenwriting class but really I was feeling sorry for myself that it was yet another February 14th and I was all by myself. And I emailed Otis and he said to call it at 9:15ish and then I'd be singin', live, on the radio. Ooooh! My first singing-on-the-radio! But, the weirdest thing happened -- when I started singing, the music dropped out. So I couldn't hear the band at all. So I was totally faking it. When I stopped singing, the band would come back over my phone, but as soon as I started making noise they dropped away again. So.
If you'd like to hear me mangle Madonna, rock this website and click on "Like a Virgin." It's probably not safe for work or for polite company.
Breaking news: Otis sent me a Direct Link of Bex Caterwauling badgoodoness to the song. Click at will, but don't say you haven't been warned.
Here's some backstory:
Last Valentine's Day, our friend Kee (a loyal FMU listener) sent an email about this call-in Karaoke show on wFMU, wherein one could call in and sing a karaoke song LIVE on the radio. Now, I am not just a slut for attention, but I am also a karaoke dreamer and, as I was all alone last Valentine's Day because I thought I was dating this dude but apparently I was only really dating him in my head. Anyhoo, so it was a Saturday night and I was ostensibly working on my screenplay for my screenwriting class but really I was feeling sorry for myself that it was yet another February 14th and I was all by myself. And I emailed Otis and he said to call it at 9:15ish and then I'd be singin', live, on the radio. Ooooh! My first singing-on-the-radio! But, the weirdest thing happened -- when I started singing, the music dropped out. So I couldn't hear the band at all. So I was totally faking it. When I stopped singing, the band would come back over my phone, but as soon as I started making noise they dropped away again. So.
If you'd like to hear me mangle Madonna, rock this website and click on "Like a Virgin." It's probably not safe for work or for polite company.
Breaking news: Otis sent me a Direct Link of Bex Caterwauling badgoodoness to the song. Click at will, but don't say you haven't been warned.
Oh, How Much Fun to be a Jew
Listen! It's Hey Ya, if Outkast were Jewish and wanted to sing a song about Hanukah!
Thank my dad for the forward, yo. He's a mad rad dad.
Today was the antithesis of a roughie-toughie. I might go so far as to call it a smoothie-woothie -- no crises, no feugos, nothin' but net, as they used to say in that ol' Nike spot. A hearty schwoo was felt by all.
And then I spent the evening having sober heartfelt conversation with a new friend who's quite simply one of the raddest people on this planet. I can't remember the last time I let all my walls down enough to speak truthfully and plainly without the intoxicating effects of too much tequila or wine. Usually, my dreggiest dregs only come up at the end of the evening and nobody remembers them the next morning -- tonight was a much-needed change of pace. Not only that, but I learned a new word that I intend to use several times a day and on as much t-vision as I possibly can. Are we ready, class?
The word of the day is: "mofe." As in, "I sprained my ankle and it fucking hurts like a MOFE!"
And the lesson of the day is: it is awesome to spend lots of time on a swingset with an awwwwwesome person, and it is even more awesome not to attack/kiss said person and then worry about whether said person will ever return one's phone calls. By repressing one's desire-to-kiss, one perhaps gains great strides in the development of intrapersonal relationships. As the Lady Alanis once sang, "You live, you learn." And then she sang all this goopy business about never-feeling-this-healthy-before, that gives me a quickening when I'm in the right mood. But then, of course, she also sang, "It's a black fly in your chardonnay."
Q: Hey, what's that black fly doing in your chardonnay?
A: The backstroke.
Thank my dad for the forward, yo. He's a mad rad dad.
Today was the antithesis of a roughie-toughie. I might go so far as to call it a smoothie-woothie -- no crises, no feugos, nothin' but net, as they used to say in that ol' Nike spot. A hearty schwoo was felt by all.
And then I spent the evening having sober heartfelt conversation with a new friend who's quite simply one of the raddest people on this planet. I can't remember the last time I let all my walls down enough to speak truthfully and plainly without the intoxicating effects of too much tequila or wine. Usually, my dreggiest dregs only come up at the end of the evening and nobody remembers them the next morning -- tonight was a much-needed change of pace. Not only that, but I learned a new word that I intend to use several times a day and on as much t-vision as I possibly can. Are we ready, class?
The word of the day is: "mofe." As in, "I sprained my ankle and it fucking hurts like a MOFE!"
And the lesson of the day is: it is awesome to spend lots of time on a swingset with an awwwwwesome person, and it is even more awesome not to attack/kiss said person and then worry about whether said person will ever return one's phone calls. By repressing one's desire-to-kiss, one perhaps gains great strides in the development of intrapersonal relationships. As the Lady Alanis once sang, "You live, you learn." And then she sang all this goopy business about never-feeling-this-healthy-before, that gives me a quickening when I'm in the right mood. But then, of course, she also sang, "It's a black fly in your chardonnay."
Q: Hey, what's that black fly doing in your chardonnay?
A: The backstroke.
Monday, November 22, 2004
'Mo Self Promo, Please
more ovaltine, please!
more emeraldine sneeze!
This is the cereal that's shot from guns! BOOM.
And this is where I let you know for which shows you ought to be looking on your Teeeevo. I don't know when they're airing because I don't even know what day it is, but please know that someday, soon, coming to a t-vision near you, watch me (please,) in:
All Access: Britney Spears' 20 Most Shocking Moments
All Access: 20 Wacky Celeb Families
Awesomely Bad Songs of 2004
Awesomely Bad #1 Songs Ever
40 Most Shocking Hair Moments of 2004
I'm a wee bit punchy. I couldn't sleep at all last night, and every time I drifted off, I would wake up an hour later with my jaw all clenched and painful. When I was in high school and my jaw would get bad, I used to suck on jawbreakers. And then in college when it would get really bad, I'd smoke a cigarette. And now I'm chewing on pens. Oral fixation? No doubt. Incredibly painful TMJ? You bet. And yet, it feels so much better when there's something in my mouth. Which means I often find myself in the situation of asking if anyone has anything I can suck on.
Hey, sexy? Got anything I can suck on?
I'm like a walking set-up, just insert punchline: HERE.
bump, set, spike, yo.
more emeraldine sneeze!
This is the cereal that's shot from guns! BOOM.
And this is where I let you know for which shows you ought to be looking on your Teeeevo. I don't know when they're airing because I don't even know what day it is, but please know that someday, soon, coming to a t-vision near you, watch me (please,) in:
All Access: Britney Spears' 20 Most Shocking Moments
All Access: 20 Wacky Celeb Families
Awesomely Bad Songs of 2004
Awesomely Bad #1 Songs Ever
40 Most Shocking Hair Moments of 2004
I'm a wee bit punchy. I couldn't sleep at all last night, and every time I drifted off, I would wake up an hour later with my jaw all clenched and painful. When I was in high school and my jaw would get bad, I used to suck on jawbreakers. And then in college when it would get really bad, I'd smoke a cigarette. And now I'm chewing on pens. Oral fixation? No doubt. Incredibly painful TMJ? You bet. And yet, it feels so much better when there's something in my mouth. Which means I often find myself in the situation of asking if anyone has anything I can suck on.
Hey, sexy? Got anything I can suck on?
I'm like a walking set-up, just insert punchline: HERE.
bump, set, spike, yo.
Sunday, November 21, 2004
With Six You Get Eggroll ...
With two, baloney!!!!!
FUCKMYCOCKS PART DEUX -- aren't those HP spots just so fucking rad? Nice use of the technology available, agency! And phantasmically wonderous choice of song (confidential to Adam: It's "Picture Book," by the Kinks (also performed by the Young Fresh Fellows).
I missed it???? (interrobang)
Sweet Mary mother of Jesus, and Sweet Joseph, cuckolded-by-God-husband-to-Mary and father of Jesus -- apparently, National Make Out Day was Friday and I missed it? FUCKMYCOCK, I despair, I despair. And to think, I was out and about Thursday night apres-midnight and could've at least attempted to start it off right, but noooooo, and then Friday I came home and collapsed, without kissing anyone. Tarnation (instant breakfast). I'm receiving conflicting reports, but it was either last Friday (11/19) or the Friday before that (11/12).
Alas and alack, I missed nationally sanctioning making out.
I would like to propose a raindate for those of us who missed out on the fun -- let's just extend it to a whole week, shall we? Starting right here, right now -- I hereby declare this upcoming week to be National Make Out or At Least Cuddle week.
I mean, in the holiday spirit and all.
Alas and alack, I missed nationally sanctioning making out.
I would like to propose a raindate for those of us who missed out on the fun -- let's just extend it to a whole week, shall we? Starting right here, right now -- I hereby declare this upcoming week to be National Make Out or At Least Cuddle week.
I mean, in the holiday spirit and all.
Holy fucking AWESOMENESS. Go see "Primer" post haste!
Please go see "Primer," please please please, so we can talk about it.
I had a very productive weekend involving working out, cleaning my house, getting errands done (new bra! woo!) and generally attempting to get my life in order. After successfully battling entropy for the weekend, I decided that I would reward myself by going to see Primer (which is only playing in NY at the Village East Cinemas -- take note!)
HOLY SHIT. It's the best mindfuck movie I've ever seen. It's also the only movie that successfully rocks the paradox of time-travel. It's so good. Soooooooooo good. I don't think anyone else in the theatre grokked it -- afterwards, everyone was turning to his or her partner and say "Huh?" As a solo moviegoer, I had no one to turn to, but that was okay. I held my own hand the whole time. It was lovely. If only I could sling an arm over my own shoulder, I'd be psyched.
Here's a helpful hint -- it's Primer prounced pry-mer, not prih-mer. Like in sci-fi books about alternate realities and ultraluminar travel? Earth (our Earth) is Earth prime. Like that.
Basically, when the movie really kicks into super high mindfuck gear, I experienced this sensation, this frisson that I like to call "the quickening." The quickening is this feeling I get when I'm experiencing so infinitely pleasureful that it feels like my heart is too large for its socket within my ribcage and it feels like its expanding and expanding and expanding. This often happens when I listen to particular songs: "I've Been High" and "Country Feedback," by REM, or "Mimi" by the Long Winters, or "Janine" or "Looks" by Mike Doughty, or "Disarm" by the Smashing Pumpkins. When it happens musically, it usually relates to a specific musical progression and often a swelling of an organ-line behind guitar. Am and Em chords tend to trigger it. It also happens when I watch movies ("City of Lost Children") or experience a bleshing moment of theatre (like during everything by the Improbable Theatre Company, or "House" by Richard Maxwell.)
"Bleshing" is a word coined by the Blue Man people to indicate the moment when the action on stage and the thoughts of the audience intertwine complicitly. It happens at the end of Blue Man when all the toilet paper happens, and it's something I strived for back in college when I was rewriting and directing "Offending the Audience."
Anyhoo. Back to the quickening: and it happens when I stumble across an idea or a realization that fits perfectly. The quickening happens when I read of new developments in string theory or nanotech. It happens when I see someone I love. It happens when things strike my funny fancy, like when Dana Carvey does his 'chopping brocolli' number or when the tortoise in "Three Amigos" goes, "Goodnight, Ned!"
Other Quickening moments:
* In Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind, when Clementine and the Jim Carrey character are making love under the blankets and Clementine tells the story about her ugly doll that she wanted to be beautiful and asks if she, herself, is ugly
* When Baby confronts Johnny in his bunkhouse
* The piano bridge of the Doors' song Crystal Ship
* the last, instrumental minute of Minus 5's "great news around you"
* The theme music and opening credits of Twin Peaks
* the part about the man who's going to make it rain in "fool on the hill"
* in Toys, when Robin Williams and Joan Cusack have on these virtual realities that make them feel like they're on a roller coaster
* Sinead's "The Last Day of Our Acquaintance"
* Chris in the Morning Stevens' philosophical interludes from Northern Exposure
* When I haven't listened to Leonard Cohen in a while, and then I wrap myself in his lyrics
* the song "American English" by Idlewild
* when my friends do things at the peak of their abilities and they're happy
* when someone to whom I'm attracted plays with my hair and/or rubs my neck. HOOOeeee. magic spot, yo.
Anyhoo. When do you go to see Primer, please pay careful attention to the voiceover, because there's an essential tidbit of information that is delivered in approximately 2 seconds of v/o, and if you miss it, you're lost.
I had a very productive weekend involving working out, cleaning my house, getting errands done (new bra! woo!) and generally attempting to get my life in order. After successfully battling entropy for the weekend, I decided that I would reward myself by going to see Primer (which is only playing in NY at the Village East Cinemas -- take note!)
HOLY SHIT. It's the best mindfuck movie I've ever seen. It's also the only movie that successfully rocks the paradox of time-travel. It's so good. Soooooooooo good. I don't think anyone else in the theatre grokked it -- afterwards, everyone was turning to his or her partner and say "Huh?" As a solo moviegoer, I had no one to turn to, but that was okay. I held my own hand the whole time. It was lovely. If only I could sling an arm over my own shoulder, I'd be psyched.
Here's a helpful hint -- it's Primer prounced pry-mer, not prih-mer. Like in sci-fi books about alternate realities and ultraluminar travel? Earth (our Earth) is Earth prime. Like that.
Basically, when the movie really kicks into super high mindfuck gear, I experienced this sensation, this frisson that I like to call "the quickening." The quickening is this feeling I get when I'm experiencing so infinitely pleasureful that it feels like my heart is too large for its socket within my ribcage and it feels like its expanding and expanding and expanding. This often happens when I listen to particular songs: "I've Been High" and "Country Feedback," by REM, or "Mimi" by the Long Winters, or "Janine" or "Looks" by Mike Doughty, or "Disarm" by the Smashing Pumpkins. When it happens musically, it usually relates to a specific musical progression and often a swelling of an organ-line behind guitar. Am and Em chords tend to trigger it. It also happens when I watch movies ("City of Lost Children") or experience a bleshing moment of theatre (like during everything by the Improbable Theatre Company, or "House" by Richard Maxwell.)
"Bleshing" is a word coined by the Blue Man people to indicate the moment when the action on stage and the thoughts of the audience intertwine complicitly. It happens at the end of Blue Man when all the toilet paper happens, and it's something I strived for back in college when I was rewriting and directing "Offending the Audience."
Anyhoo. Back to the quickening: and it happens when I stumble across an idea or a realization that fits perfectly. The quickening happens when I read of new developments in string theory or nanotech. It happens when I see someone I love. It happens when things strike my funny fancy, like when Dana Carvey does his 'chopping brocolli' number or when the tortoise in "Three Amigos" goes, "Goodnight, Ned!"
Other Quickening moments:
* In Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind, when Clementine and the Jim Carrey character are making love under the blankets and Clementine tells the story about her ugly doll that she wanted to be beautiful and asks if she, herself, is ugly
* When Baby confronts Johnny in his bunkhouse
* The piano bridge of the Doors' song Crystal Ship
* the last, instrumental minute of Minus 5's "great news around you"
* The theme music and opening credits of Twin Peaks
* the part about the man who's going to make it rain in "fool on the hill"
* in Toys, when Robin Williams and Joan Cusack have on these virtual realities that make them feel like they're on a roller coaster
* Sinead's "The Last Day of Our Acquaintance"
* Chris in the Morning Stevens' philosophical interludes from Northern Exposure
* When I haven't listened to Leonard Cohen in a while, and then I wrap myself in his lyrics
* the song "American English" by Idlewild
* when my friends do things at the peak of their abilities and they're happy
* when someone to whom I'm attracted plays with my hair and/or rubs my neck. HOOOeeee. magic spot, yo.
Anyhoo. When do you go to see Primer, please pay careful attention to the voiceover, because there's an essential tidbit of information that is delivered in approximately 2 seconds of v/o, and if you miss it, you're lost.
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