28 February 2009

2 february: a revue

"aw, look at the little hebrew vegetable."

"full? phft! i could eat forever."

"when he sings, my prostate tingles with elation."

"it really warms my heart that when you see colossal mounds of snot, you think of me."

"i will stop at the penis."

"he played such a cad he almost made me like jennifer connolly, which is very hard to do given her eyebrows have intimidated me since kindergarten."

"it's going to be an infernal soiree of obligation."

"...the taste of disdain..."

"you can definitely tell that i'm about to start lady week. i ate a million chips with queso and jalapeno peppers last night, and later almost wept to some songs from the white album."

"for those of us who didn't make much to begin with, this whole bad economy thing is working out pretty well."

"would it be wrong to ignore a friend request on facebook because the person reminds me of someone who has raped me in my dreams?"

"i really do think he is going to turn out to be gay one of these days. call it a hunch. i just don't see how a man can love euro-pop, appreciate the male form, and spend an entire weekend not kissing me without ultimately being gay."

"it is sad that reading the onion for 45 minutes at a coffee shop in chicago made me more culturally aware than i have been in 3 years."

"it's like a tv movie put up on the big screen that we'll be watching on a tv."

"i'm against pre-marital sex, yes, BUT… it would almost be worth it just to scandalize the old cow."

"you're very silent in your underwear."

"my spellcheck keeps trying to change white house into whorehouse. is gmail trying to tell me something?"

"i was so hormonal yesterday. which explains the 10 mini hershey bars and why i started weeping on the walk home."

"for dramatic people, a day is like a decade."

"it smells like a chinese restaurant in here. and not a good chinese restaurant, but more like a chinese restaurant where their menu is select reheated asian-themed items by lean cuisine."

"so do you have chocolate chip pancakes most mornings then? how are you not the happiest girl EVER?"

"he brings Real Furniture to the picture."

"geez. i am like a wildcat on the savannah today! i want to eat meat!"

"i think if i eat any more roughage, my bottom will fall out."

"someday i would like to have that level of commitment with cheese."

22 February 2009

6 uh oh

i always thought men in eyeliner were kinda hot.

i should qualify that. no one i know needs to whip out their pencils and get to lining their eyes. and if eF were to jaunt into my makeup bag one day and saucily slap on some of my wet 'n wild jet black, it would undoubtedly send me into a downward spiral of fall 2000-esque homofear.

but once upon a time i was all young and madcap and shit and my angst was conveyed through black nail polish and i thought brian molko was my one true love. because brian molko was totally hot. he was 3 inches shorter than me and 20 pounds lighter with huge brown mud-puddle eyes and a voice that was 3 parts nails on a chalkboard, 2 parts angel. his songs begged someone, anyone- he wasn't particular- to come fuck him. he did drugs, was in a euro-punk/glam band and had an international reputation for leaving everyone he encountered orally pleased.

in his androgynous prime, he was the prettiest woman a man could be.

this is why i always thought men in eyeliner were kinda hot.

thank you, bono, for using your tour through the musical awards shows of the world to prove me wrong.

14 February 2009

3 vieveversarie!

if the annual photo shoot is any indication, this year's theme?
violence and bloodshed.

13 February 2009

8 3-1-1

approximately 10 days ago, our dear, incredibly awesome cook of a friend over at High Heels in the Kitchen (a.k.a. croftie—and yes, this entire post is intended to say, hey world, CROFTIE HAS A BLOG!!!) bread bombed me.

upon requesting a borrowed dvd, it was returned with a ziploc bag of what appeared to be sheep fat.

upon closer examination, it wasn’t. it was the end result of croftie’s ongoing experiments in amish friendship bread. a taped note explained this and outlined a ten-day plan that would result in The Best Bread Ever.

there was an era of really good bread in my youth. when my mum had gotten her first bread machine and, courtesy of kitchen aid, inherited a trove of recipes for breads we had never known. this lasted for about a minute- or at least until we all gained 10 pounds- then we got “healthy” and suddenly everything was filled with grains and rice and dried vegetables and the dessert breads disappeared from the table as fast as they had arrived, so that in my memory they’re combined into this lone loaf of pumpkin-banana-chocolate chip-cranberry-lemon poppyseed wonder. which, come to think of it, doesn’t really sound so wonderful, but in my head it is the bread of the gods.

so because i have this history with bread, i gave croftie’s amish friendship bread a go. that and 8 of the 10 days were simply “mash the bag,” and even i—a baker with an emotional inability to include all ingredients— can mash a bag.

what i had not quite counted on was this—that day 9 would fall on friday. not only friday the 13th but an NC friday.

in my enthusiasm, the thought had been, how irresistibly sexy will it be when i commemorate the day of love by leaping from the bed scantily clad and baking amish bread? if i had any sense, i would’ve had the wherewithal to focus on the real question, how the hell will i cart a bag of festering yeast through o'hare security?

09 February 2009

18 the train of thoughts

1. is this popmart?
2. bono looks HOT.
3. will eF look that hot when he's 48?
4. oh, bono is wearing eyeliner.
5. wait.
6. bono is wearing eyeliner?
7. shit.

07 February 2009

9 richard nixon breaks my heart

i think the best way to look at it is like this:

richard nixon was not jfk.

this is the fundamental truth with which richard nixon wrestled.

that he was a nobody. a kid with a shitty childhood and an inferiority complex the size of south america. a poor quaker with no pulitzer and no father with enough money to buy him one. a paranoid peon who was robbed of the presidency by perspiration. a sad, lonely man who climbed to the top only to fuck up all he had finally won.

he seems never to have been young. look back at the pictures. he was always worn down. the five o'clock shadow at 10 a.m. the gullies beneath the eyes. the trenches around the mouth. the man looked 60 when he was barely 35.

look at the kennedy debate- they are contemporaries. it was kennedy who lived every day at death's door and yet you can practically hear the death rattle in nixon's bitter arthritic bones.

he was a man who never fit in. anywhere. ever.

he belonged in an age where the ascension to power was more brutal. where it demanded bloodshed and deceit. he could've played hardball with henry viii. he would've poisoned the king's bastards.

but nixon was a thoroughly medieval man trapped in modern times.

a man living in the age of television who looked utterly horrid on tv.

it's a testament to the american dream that richard nixon could become president. it's a testament to the tragedy that was richard nixon that he blew it every fucking time.

perhaps my heart was softened by the blurb in time describing how he and jackie passed notes back and forth from their deathbeds. or the funeral, where all the living presidents looked embarrassed and sheepishly bored, shaken by the vivid reminder that one can rise from nothing and, all on one's own, plummet right back down.

there was something wrong in that. in their embarrassment and shame. some lack of the respect that, admittedly, wasn't due, but had been agonizingly, debasingly earned.

the man who had suffered a thousand political deaths was gone. this seemed somehow monumental.

and yet, nixon is not monumental. his only real contribution to our nation's history being that all subsequent unethical hijinx are automatically suffixed with "-gate."

he was tragically small.

he was not jfk.

nixon was nothing.

05 February 2009

12 we might just make it after all

dear mr. 20th century fox,

you are a bad, bad man.

we broke up, you and i. and i reconciled my poor, sad self to the idea that you, mr. 20th century fox, will always let me down. because at heart you are a wicked, dirty, rotten douche.

you never come through. you never live up to your promises. despite numerous press releases to the contrary, i have come to realize that you will never ever in my lifetime release the remaining seasons of the mary tyler moore show (the greatest sitcom ever made) on dvd. a simple fact that makes it entirely your fault that i will be forever reduced to a life in small spaces further cramped by crates of mtm vhs. never mind that i no longer possess a working vcr.

that may strike you as foolish, mr. 20th century fox. that i would cling to tapes i can no longer play just because i taped fucking baseball games over classic tv (not once. twice.) and am determined to guard my remaining home video systems lest the same fate befall me again.

you probably don’t need a vcr. hell, you probably burned all 172 episodes to dvd long long ago and have been secretly holed up in your home theater these past bazillion years watching chuckles bite the dust in hi-def. sick bastard.

and now you’ve gone and done it. you’ve announced that you will be releasing the mary tyler moore show. ALL SEVEN SEASONS. the COMPLETE show. as a BOXED SET. in MAY. 2009.

i’m quite sure everyone in my social circle just heaved a huge sigh of relief upon reading that, as they are all Sick To Death of my “20th century fox is a fucking bastard because he will not release the mary tyler moore show (the Greatest Show Ever Made) on dvd” sermon. a sermon i have been preaching for the last 5 years.

to put that in perspective, mr. 20th century fox, my friends who had weddings five years ago have built successful marriages and are having babies. i have spent those years waiting on a dvd boxed set.

five years i have wasted waiting on you. and now you say it’ll all be over in a mere 3 months.

so what are we to make of this? i’m no idiot, mr. 20th century fox. i’ve wizened in these harsh, mary tyler mooreless times. i know your commitment issues in and out and i refuse to believe you. because you are not a teller of truths. you are a bad, bad man.

remember the spring 2003 release of season 2? yeah, that didn’t happen. or the “going forward we will be releasing the seasons on a 6 month schedule” press release of December 2005? totally didn’t come true. and what about the printed insert (IT’S ON PAPER! IT HAS TO BE REAL!) in the season 4 dvd announcing season 5? nope.

honey, you lied. and a girl doesn’t forget.

so now you have put forth the tantalizing idea that my years long quest at dvd seasonal completion could come to an end.

mary in may? ha. i’ll believe it when i see it.