Traditionally, the Shenk-Valerio offspring sleep in Biz's room the night before Christmas, reading the aforementioned title aloud and then listening to a children's audiotape of A Christmas Carol. Last night, Matt instead brought his projector and we watched disc 2 of The Two Towers on the ceiling.
I was kind of disappointed.
This is called "aging."
Anyway, Santa came and was good as always. I now have enough cookware to last through 2039, easy, and some new slippers. At this point in the day we take breaks from one another to shower and play Mario Kart, etc., and I weigh the moral implications of ignoring the family in favor of my new West Wing DVDs (yessss) (family won) (but only because I'm a pussy).
Now it's time to think about my resolutions for the new year, which include finding a job in January and--here's the tricky part--keeping it for a whole year.
12.25.2006
12.22.2006
Boo Hoo Bye Bye
So... it's my last day at Christie's. What's next? I have no idea-- I am on the verge! Ok, that was a line from my eleventh grade play,* but it clearly applies here, no?
Anyway, here's where I'd get all mushy and talk about what I learned or freak out about my life ADD and general aimlessness, but honestly, I'm pretty glad to be leaving and excited for the changes coming in January. CK, I will miss our lunches!
*On the Verge
Anyway, here's where I'd get all mushy and talk about what I learned or freak out about my life ADD and general aimlessness, but honestly, I'm pretty glad to be leaving and excited for the changes coming in January. CK, I will miss our lunches!
*On the Verge
12.21.2006
D-U-K-E
Yes the Duke game is tonight. Go to Hell... Gonzaga...
Yes I will be there.
Yes I'm pretty sure I have my Game Day Wifebeater in the city, unwashable due to Magic Marker-based nature of its decoration.
Who the fuck did you come to see?
Yeah, that's right.
Yes I will be there.
Yes I'm pretty sure I have my Game Day Wifebeater in the city, unwashable due to Magic Marker-based nature of its decoration.
Who the fuck did you come to see?
Yeah, that's right.
12.19.2006
She's Back
The puppy-fur hat lady is back. Since she just came in to pick up rather than bid, it was the Casual Ensemble--knee-length coat covered in Chanel boucle, the hat still a full 2'x3', though, and topped with several dramatic onyx feathers.
I want to see Her Wardrobe.
I want to see Her Wardrobe.
12.17.2006
Yeah Shanghai Deluxe Corp
I had soup dumplings at Yeah Shanghai Deluxe Corp today. Dan and Ameet raved about the crack in their juicy little centers, but Alok and I, as we ate 24 of them, were all "meh."
Five hours later, they are all I can think about. AT ALL.
Five hours later, they are all I can think about. AT ALL.
12.14.2006
Do You Know Why Jack Welch Is The Greatest Leader Since The Pharaohs?
I don't. Alec Baldwin does, and shared it with us on 30 Rock, but I forget, or didn't hear, because I was laughing too hard.
I like that show.
It's much better than that Studio 60 POS.
They were filming across the street when I came back from lunch, and I stood and watched, because I am a famewhore.
Tina Fey's hair looked shiny.
It was sweet.
I like that show.
It's much better than that Studio 60 POS.
They were filming across the street when I came back from lunch, and I stood and watched, because I am a famewhore.
Tina Fey's hair looked shiny.
It was sweet.
Crazy Rich Crazies
Today: Jewelry from the Collection of Helene Arpels. There are some very large diamonds in that room. Also: The House Sale (rich people getting rid of their lesser furniture).
This means: crazies. Crazy Parade.
The first couple came in as I was arriving, a older gentleman in a fur-trimmed knee-length coat, leaning on a gold-topped cane, supporting his lovely wife, a tall woman in her own fur-trimmed floor-length coat, wearing a serious Kentucky Derby-size My Fair Lady-style wide-brimmed chapeau, covered entirely in what appeared to be puppy fur.
Jewelry.
This means: crazies. Crazy Parade.
The first couple came in as I was arriving, a older gentleman in a fur-trimmed knee-length coat, leaning on a gold-topped cane, supporting his lovely wife, a tall woman in her own fur-trimmed floor-length coat, wearing a serious Kentucky Derby-size My Fair Lady-style wide-brimmed chapeau, covered entirely in what appeared to be puppy fur.
Jewelry.
12.13.2006
Watch Me FLY!!!
Sophomore year, after "Drinking Like A Freshman Night," Pwd and I awoke groaning and went to brunch at Foster's. At Foster's, a pricey-yet-casual type of Martha Stewart/Barefoot Contessa hybrid place, I threw up, and Pwd wet himself. Toast of the town.
The night earlier, I had wrestled Bret, a 6'5" Christian, to the ground, and sat on him for no remembered reason. Pwd had wrapped himself in decorative paper and run for the second-floor Wayne Manor window, shouting, "Watch me FLY!!!"
Much like this animal from 125 million years ago, as depicted on the front screen of the NY Times online.
This is a great animal to be during drinking games.
The night earlier, I had wrestled Bret, a 6'5" Christian, to the ground, and sat on him for no remembered reason. Pwd had wrapped himself in decorative paper and run for the second-floor Wayne Manor window, shouting, "Watch me FLY!!!"
Much like this animal from 125 million years ago, as depicted on the front screen of the NY Times online.
This is a great animal to be during drinking games.
12.12.2006
I Was Right
Yes, I was right. As usual.
"But Meghan, you're right all the time," you say. "To what specific correct instance are you referring?"
Ah yes, sorry. Shortly before leaving LA, I kind of thought that Tim Urban was going to be on The Apprentice. And it's official! He is!
Jacob, who recaps the show on Television Without Pity, aka The Site That Has Gotten Me Through The Day For A Year And A Half Now And Which Is Also Occasionally Quoted In The New York Times, has already called him "deep-fried sex on a plate," which must make him feel good.
So this is actually to the surprise of no one; maybe someone bought his "I'm going to Europe and will be unreachable for two months even though I was available for email queries in Vietnam" schtick, but I hope it wasn't one of his pricey-ass tutors (I used to be one). And K. says the general tone of chatter in LA indicates that he went far on the show.
Does this entry make me a famewhore?
...
...
...
Shit.
Anyway, Tim is cool and I hope that his team won a lot so we don't have to see him sleep in tents.
"But Meghan, you're right all the time," you say. "To what specific correct instance are you referring?"
Ah yes, sorry. Shortly before leaving LA, I kind of thought that Tim Urban was going to be on The Apprentice. And it's official! He is!
Jacob, who recaps the show on Television Without Pity, aka The Site That Has Gotten Me Through The Day For A Year And A Half Now And Which Is Also Occasionally Quoted In The New York Times, has already called him "deep-fried sex on a plate," which must make him feel good.
So this is actually to the surprise of no one; maybe someone bought his "I'm going to Europe and will be unreachable for two months even though I was available for email queries in Vietnam" schtick, but I hope it wasn't one of his pricey-ass tutors (I used to be one). And K. says the general tone of chatter in LA indicates that he went far on the show.
Does this entry make me a famewhore?
...
...
...
Shit.
Anyway, Tim is cool and I hope that his team won a lot so we don't have to see him sleep in tents.
Under 14 Minutes To Alienate The Office For The Day; New Record For Bosses Besides David Brent/Michael Scott
So my manager, the one who sometimes eats half a banana and then leaves the banana carcass within my Smell Zone, gathered the office 'round at 9:13, for a lecture on closing the safe each night. Because last night, it was left open. By him.
"Team," he said, "in the end, it's about responsibility."
Nine days left.
"Team," he said, "in the end, it's about responsibility."
Nine days left.
12.11.2006
Oh Lady Luck, How You Love Me
Last night I went to see an experimental jazz ensemble at a bar called "Stain." Yes, I can see the chartreuse sneaking into your skin; cut it out with the envy already. Except perhaps not, because the bar had some excellent wines and stouts, and a kitten, and the music would have actually worked on the soundtrack to Stranger than Fiction (that's a good thing). Earlier that day I watched a new OC and, again... it was funny. All these negative harbingers coming to nothing. This morning you could swing your arms on the L, my Dunkin' Donuts coffee stayed hot longer than usual, and I only kind of need my scarf.
I'm thinking a twelve-room apartment will come by later today.
I'm thinking a twelve-room apartment will come by later today.
12.07.2006
I Totally Should Have Submitted "My Mattress" For Awards Consideration
From this year's Grammy website. The nominees:
Category 7
Best Pop Performance By A Duo Or Group With Vocal
(For established duos or groups, with vocals. Singles or Tracks only.)
* My Humps
The Black Eyed Peas
Track from: Monkey Business
[A&M Records]
* I Will Follow You Into The Dark
Death Cab For Cutie
Track from: Plans
[Atlantic Records]
* Over My Head (Cable Car)
The Fray
Track from: How To Save A Life
[Epic]
* Is It Any Wonder?
Keane
Track from: Under The Iron Sea
[Interscope Records]
* Stickwitu
The Pussycat Dolls
Track from: PCD
[A&M Records]
Wigfield
My Grandma Millie was a sweet lady. She liked LaBatt Blue, quilting, chicken a la King, and looking lovely. Have a shriveled black heart of tar? You'd still have trouble disliking Grandma Millie.
For some reason, I always called her Grandma Valerio. Impetuous child. Where were you, parents?
Anyway, Grandma Millie wore a wig in her later years, and the Most Adorable Baby Cousins On The Face Of The Freakin' Earth found it.
Millie lives!
For some reason, I always called her Grandma Valerio. Impetuous child. Where were you, parents?
Anyway, Grandma Millie wore a wig in her later years, and the Most Adorable Baby Cousins On The Face Of The Freakin' Earth found it.
Millie lives!
12.06.2006
Vertical Fidelious
I could easily make a Top 5 list of Things I Like About High Fidelity, The Contemporary Novel By Nick Hornby. Here, I'll do it.
1. Comprehensible stream of consciousness.
2. Appropriate and effective use of exclamatory punctuation.
3. Barry's recruitment into the band "Barrytown" due to his first name.
4. Incessant yet sparing use of Top 5 lists.
5. Identification with an irritating and immature protagonist that is still somehow uplifting.
It would be even simpler to compose a Top Five Things I Enjoyed About High Fidelity, The Film Starring John Cusack and Featuring Jack Black In His First Notice-Me Role, or even sub-divide it into Top Five Things I Appreciated About High Fidelity, The Film Starring John Cusack and Featuring Jack Black In His First Notice-Me Role, On The Film's Own Merits, Top Five Effectively Translated Moments From The Book To The Movie, and Top Five Bits I Preferred In The Adaptation, In Spite Of Myself (first on that one: making Laura, for absolutely no apparent reason, Danish).
So I suppose it makes sense that the producing powers that be wish to capitalize on America's proclivity towards Top Five lists: High Fidelity is now a Broadway musical, joining Jekyll and Hyde, The Color Purple, and… The Scarlet Pimpernel… as a possessor of the book-movie-musical Triple Crown. Maurbags got some free tickets, so we* saw it last night.
It wasn't bad. It wasn't awesome, and it had none of the appeal of the book/movie, but it didn't try to; it was a pretty different animal. The staging was unfocused but I was in love with the set, the female casting was terrible but the male chorus rocked it out, and the whole thing had a positive energy that took getting used to-- Hornby's Rob would never refer to Championship Vinyl as "the last real/best record store on Earth," but rather as a symbol of his downward mobility and depressive existence (blamed, of course, on an ex). Rob never did anything constructive to win Laura back--- he never got over her, wished her the best, and got on with his life, showing her he had changed enough for her to come back. In the book--and I want to say in the movie, but am I making this up?--she takes him back because she's too tired to find anyone else, but they end up happy anyway, eventually. And the DJ gig that Rob arranges "all by himself" in the musical? Laura arranges, pays for, and forces him to attend in the book.
I guess what I'm saying is that I didn't guiltily or increduously see myself in the show. I remember thinking throughout the movie--and I first saw the movie in high school, when the closest I'd come to heartbreak was Mike Romankiewicz ignoring me at a Chester party in the spring of 1999--"this is just like me! And I'm a girl!" Throughout the musical I just kept thinking--
"Aw, that's sweet---
--But that never happens."
*Yes, Roommate Maurbags, who works routine 14-hour days at the O'Neill, spent her night off at the theater.
1. Comprehensible stream of consciousness.
2. Appropriate and effective use of exclamatory punctuation.
3. Barry's recruitment into the band "Barrytown" due to his first name.
4. Incessant yet sparing use of Top 5 lists.
5. Identification with an irritating and immature protagonist that is still somehow uplifting.
It would be even simpler to compose a Top Five Things I Enjoyed About High Fidelity, The Film Starring John Cusack and Featuring Jack Black In His First Notice-Me Role, or even sub-divide it into Top Five Things I Appreciated About High Fidelity, The Film Starring John Cusack and Featuring Jack Black In His First Notice-Me Role, On The Film's Own Merits, Top Five Effectively Translated Moments From The Book To The Movie, and Top Five Bits I Preferred In The Adaptation, In Spite Of Myself (first on that one: making Laura, for absolutely no apparent reason, Danish).
So I suppose it makes sense that the producing powers that be wish to capitalize on America's proclivity towards Top Five lists: High Fidelity is now a Broadway musical, joining Jekyll and Hyde, The Color Purple, and… The Scarlet Pimpernel… as a possessor of the book-movie-musical Triple Crown. Maurbags got some free tickets, so we* saw it last night.
It wasn't bad. It wasn't awesome, and it had none of the appeal of the book/movie, but it didn't try to; it was a pretty different animal. The staging was unfocused but I was in love with the set, the female casting was terrible but the male chorus rocked it out, and the whole thing had a positive energy that took getting used to-- Hornby's Rob would never refer to Championship Vinyl as "the last real/best record store on Earth," but rather as a symbol of his downward mobility and depressive existence (blamed, of course, on an ex). Rob never did anything constructive to win Laura back--- he never got over her, wished her the best, and got on with his life, showing her he had changed enough for her to come back. In the book--and I want to say in the movie, but am I making this up?--she takes him back because she's too tired to find anyone else, but they end up happy anyway, eventually. And the DJ gig that Rob arranges "all by himself" in the musical? Laura arranges, pays for, and forces him to attend in the book.
I guess what I'm saying is that I didn't guiltily or increduously see myself in the show. I remember thinking throughout the movie--and I first saw the movie in high school, when the closest I'd come to heartbreak was Mike Romankiewicz ignoring me at a Chester party in the spring of 1999--"this is just like me! And I'm a girl!" Throughout the musical I just kept thinking--
"Aw, that's sweet---
--But that never happens."
*Yes, Roommate Maurbags, who works routine 14-hour days at the O'Neill, spent her night off at the theater.
12.05.2006
Cold... So Cold...
Have I ever shown you pictures of where I used to live?
That was the view from my private-yet-affordable roof deck in probably May, but possibly January. Who can tell?
Can someone explain to me why I left it for a city that is currently THIRTY-SIX DEGREES?
Additionally, in LA, should such miserable weather ever have occurred, there would have been an immediate Alias-watching, pot-smoking, chicken-roasting, Taboo-tinged "Fuck This Weather" warm-up gathering at the Krackhouse, rather than mere shrugging of "it's not that bad."
I miss California.
That was the view from my private-yet-affordable roof deck in probably May, but possibly January. Who can tell?
Can someone explain to me why I left it for a city that is currently THIRTY-SIX DEGREES?
Additionally, in LA, should such miserable weather ever have occurred, there would have been an immediate Alias-watching, pot-smoking, chicken-roasting, Taboo-tinged "Fuck This Weather" warm-up gathering at the Krackhouse, rather than mere shrugging of "it's not that bad."
I miss California.
12.04.2006
So Exciting
WHEW. It's been just so BUSY lately. Yes, the business has involved a lot of lying around and silently cheering through my hangover at the WGN Superstation's season two 24 marathon, but I have been occupied nonetheless. So busy I've barely blogged, but you're lying if you say you noticed; you and I both know you were too busy trolling Perez Hilton for Britney va-jay-jay shots. I didn't check the gossip sites all week and that's what I discovered on Friday. Three news cycles, and Brit has stopped wearing panties. Fascinating.
Anyway I saw Tenacious D on Friday. Live. In concert. They sang sweet melodies of gentle fucking love and it was awesome. A truly terrible comedian, complete with combover, told awful crude jokes to open and Dan and I slapped our knees while the rest of the audience booed. Once the D came on the air thickened and blued with smoke and I feel that most of the audience was confused, and thought they were at a Phish concert. Whatevs. I saw Jack Black finish with a Tommy medley and you didn't, so nyah.
Saturday brought Japanese tapas and Pwd's birthday party. Sunday brought Blue Hill with their chocolate bread pudding and tender succulent free-grazing (probably) voluntarily-slaughtered roasted baby cow mmmmmmmm.
Which brings us to today...
If I had one wish, it would be for shorter work weeks. Fuck world peace.
Anyway I saw Tenacious D on Friday. Live. In concert. They sang sweet melodies of gentle fucking love and it was awesome. A truly terrible comedian, complete with combover, told awful crude jokes to open and Dan and I slapped our knees while the rest of the audience booed. Once the D came on the air thickened and blued with smoke and I feel that most of the audience was confused, and thought they were at a Phish concert. Whatevs. I saw Jack Black finish with a Tommy medley and you didn't, so nyah.
Saturday brought Japanese tapas and Pwd's birthday party. Sunday brought Blue Hill with their chocolate bread pudding and tender succulent free-grazing (probably) voluntarily-slaughtered roasted baby cow mmmmmmmm.
Which brings us to today...
If I had one wish, it would be for shorter work weeks. Fuck world peace.
12.01.2006
EDDay
This day in 1999 was not a happy one.
Today? December 1st?
You honestly don't know what today is. Ah, I see, you went a normal high school.
December 1st. Early Decision.
This day in 1999, my mother got up, ran to the mailbox, put the little flag up even though she wasn't sending anything, and sat nervously staring out the sunroom windows, waiting to greet the mailman, or, if he happened to come on a bathroom break, to see he'd put the flag down and rush out to the driveway and carefully hold the envelope up to the light and think about steaming it open in the kitchen and eventually just ripping it open.
You know those movie scenes with 25-year-olds playing high school students tearing their envelopes and then reporting the news in a charmingly dramatic way, like, "I'm so sorry... THAT I WON'T BE HERE NEXT YEAR!"? Not so much. Parents called school to let us know, or letters waited on the kitchen counter, their tri-folds already rustling with the climate control, or were opened alone in the hallway while parents were at work.
Anyway, I and pretty much all my friends got deferred. It was rehearsal for the holiday concert that day, so we just kept taking turns going to the locker room and like, hugging each other, because our lives were kind of narrow and this was, to put it lightly, a big deal.
ANYWAY.
Those days are over. Early Decisions now come online, so last night my mother was at the computer at ten to eleven (actually, all day yesterday, "just in case"), nervously clicking "refresh" at ever possibility to reload, and called me shortly after midnight to tell me that yes, my brother had gotten in.
So Matt, my highly intelligent underachieving baby brother, you didn't really work for it, but hot damn, I am just so happy and proud!
Today? December 1st?
You honestly don't know what today is. Ah, I see, you went a normal high school.
December 1st. Early Decision.
This day in 1999, my mother got up, ran to the mailbox, put the little flag up even though she wasn't sending anything, and sat nervously staring out the sunroom windows, waiting to greet the mailman, or, if he happened to come on a bathroom break, to see he'd put the flag down and rush out to the driveway and carefully hold the envelope up to the light and think about steaming it open in the kitchen and eventually just ripping it open.
You know those movie scenes with 25-year-olds playing high school students tearing their envelopes and then reporting the news in a charmingly dramatic way, like, "I'm so sorry... THAT I WON'T BE HERE NEXT YEAR!"? Not so much. Parents called school to let us know, or letters waited on the kitchen counter, their tri-folds already rustling with the climate control, or were opened alone in the hallway while parents were at work.
Anyway, I and pretty much all my friends got deferred. It was rehearsal for the holiday concert that day, so we just kept taking turns going to the locker room and like, hugging each other, because our lives were kind of narrow and this was, to put it lightly, a big deal.
ANYWAY.
Those days are over. Early Decisions now come online, so last night my mother was at the computer at ten to eleven (actually, all day yesterday, "just in case"), nervously clicking "refresh" at ever possibility to reload, and called me shortly after midnight to tell me that yes, my brother had gotten in.
So Matt, my highly intelligent underachieving baby brother, you didn't really work for it, but hot damn, I am just so happy and proud!
11.27.2006
Sigh
The Post-War sale's over. And the Latin American sale. The Fucked-Up Shit That Meghan Loves And People Like The Wor... ohhhh, I'm not going to go there, however tempting it is. Whatever, the cool stuff's gone.
Right now it's the Sporting Paintings.
Pictures of dogs.
Dudes in red coats.
Sigh.
At the moment, I'm watching Sam Seaborn argue about school vouchers with Mallory McGarry even though she doesn't know he was taking the conservative side as opposition prep.
Siiiiiigh.
Right now it's the Sporting Paintings.
Pictures of dogs.
Dudes in red coats.
Sigh.
At the moment, I'm watching Sam Seaborn argue about school vouchers with Mallory McGarry even though she doesn't know he was taking the conservative side as opposition prep.
Siiiiiigh.
11.25.2006
11.19.2006
Ho Boy!
Text message: Go to nytimes right now. W in a full body pajama!
No, it wasn't a cruel joke. It was not a still from SNL or a cut scene from the White House Correspondant's Dinner. It was just... the President. In a full body pajama. There it was.
No, it wasn't a cruel joke. It was not a still from SNL or a cut scene from the White House Correspondant's Dinner. It was just... the President. In a full body pajama. There it was.
11.18.2006
If The Glove Doesn't Fit
From MoMA, late summer:
I bet he totally does another for the upcoming interview.
Kota Ezawa’s The Simpson Verdict (2002), a recent acquisition, is a single-channel DVD showing a three-minute digital animation of the television footage of O.J. Simpson in the courtroom as the jury foreman reads the verdict that ended one of the most infamous trials of the late 20th-century. Ezawa (German, b. 1969) uses the actual sound from the television broadcast, but renders Simpson and his lawyer, Johnnie Cochran, and all those present in the courtroom, in animation as the words of the verdict are being uttered, providing a grueling rendition of the tension that was filling the court room during those three minutes.
I bet he totally does another for the upcoming interview.
11.16.2006
11.15.2006
Turkeys Beware
I emailed home to see about Thanksgiving plans. Last year's Turkey Day was damn near sublime--- I stayed in LA and ate about a million pounds of delicious vittles at the Kwan Krackhouse. Our Twentysomething Thanksgiving began with bacon-wrapped turkey breast (kept the meat moist!)* and ended with Kings, although everyone was too full to get drunk.
But this year might be better. Mom emailed me back:
I was hoping you'd volunteer. I hand over the Visa and you do the rest!
Inner Kitchen Control Freak says yesssssssssssss.
*That sounds kind of dirty, no?
But this year might be better. Mom emailed me back:
I was hoping you'd volunteer. I hand over the Visa and you do the rest!
Inner Kitchen Control Freak says yesssssssssssss.
*That sounds kind of dirty, no?
11.14.2006
Serious Issues
Someone is eating a banana. Right next to me.
Actually, that's a lie. They ate most of the banana and then left it half-eaten in its putrid casing within three feet of my arm and therefore within four feet of my nose.
What am I supposed to do?!
Ok, actually, that was hyperbolic; I know what has to be done. I just don't know how. Somehow, I have to throw the banana away in another room without touching it or ideally letting it get any closer. I know, the first possibility is obvious: telekinesis. But I double-checked my powers and I still don't have any. Obvious answer two: a friend's telekinesis. But the only friend here I feel comfortable entrusting with my banana phobia works in Proposals, two floors away, and we both know his only power is the superprocessor where his liver should be, and he really needs that all himself.
So, I have to ask, do you have any telekinetic powers? Like really strong ones that can go across a few blocks (or coast-to-coast) without visibility? Or maybe you could ask a coworker? Because I'm not touching that shit.
Actually, that's a lie. They ate most of the banana and then left it half-eaten in its putrid casing within three feet of my arm and therefore within four feet of my nose.
What am I supposed to do?!
Ok, actually, that was hyperbolic; I know what has to be done. I just don't know how. Somehow, I have to throw the banana away in another room without touching it or ideally letting it get any closer. I know, the first possibility is obvious: telekinesis. But I double-checked my powers and I still don't have any. Obvious answer two: a friend's telekinesis. But the only friend here I feel comfortable entrusting with my banana phobia works in Proposals, two floors away, and we both know his only power is the superprocessor where his liver should be, and he really needs that all himself.
So, I have to ask, do you have any telekinetic powers? Like really strong ones that can go across a few blocks (or coast-to-coast) without visibility? Or maybe you could ask a coworker? Because I'm not touching that shit.
11.13.2006
Deep Thoughts
Today's deep thought courtesy of Gerhard Richter:
"I had nothing to say and was saying it."
Thank you, Mr. Richter, whose paintings I really like actually. This is my new Facebook quote. Or will be when I am on an unblocked server.
11.10.2006
DDDDDDDDDD
Why have I been so abnormally skippy these past few days? It can't just be the "ironclad" Spears pre-nup (thank you, thank you, Laura Wasser), or the Blue States Lose But Check It Out, They Won For Once! Hill win. Maybe my somewhat recent discovery of Dunkin' Donuts coffee?
Were you aware of this? That DD has possibly the best cup of American-style coffee outside of Chatham, NJ's T.M. Ward's "Judge Alito" blend offering? And I don't even have to ask for it by the name of my third-least-favorite federal judge.
But of course you were aware of this, because apparently, everyone knew about Dunkin' Donuts but me. Everyone I tell denies me the pleasure of bringing a surprising nicety into their world, because apparently everyone has been aware of the double-D for ages and eons and for some reason no one thought to tell me that a shitty doughnut chain uses excellent beans and really cool spill-resistant lids and never puts in too much sugar. I should be angered by this lie of omission, and yet I am not, because the eventual discovery was so delightful, and again, even though I was in the caffeinated Iron Age until early October, and also despise my new assignment at work, on which I am not permitted to use the Internet for personal use outside the lunch hour, like, I am temporary, you are not paying for my full attention and yet you for some reason expect it, life seems good this week.
So the Dunkin' on which America runs is not the tonic to my woes.
Yet it is not the source of my woes.
Let's not even get started on the Anthropologie clearance sale.
Were you aware of this? That DD has possibly the best cup of American-style coffee outside of Chatham, NJ's T.M. Ward's "Judge Alito" blend offering? And I don't even have to ask for it by the name of my third-least-favorite federal judge.
But of course you were aware of this, because apparently, everyone knew about Dunkin' Donuts but me. Everyone I tell denies me the pleasure of bringing a surprising nicety into their world, because apparently everyone has been aware of the double-D for ages and eons and for some reason no one thought to tell me that a shitty doughnut chain uses excellent beans and really cool spill-resistant lids and never puts in too much sugar. I should be angered by this lie of omission, and yet I am not, because the eventual discovery was so delightful, and again, even though I was in the caffeinated Iron Age until early October, and also despise my new assignment at work, on which I am not permitted to use the Internet for personal use outside the lunch hour, like, I am temporary, you are not paying for my full attention and yet you for some reason expect it, life seems good this week.
So the Dunkin' on which America runs is not the tonic to my woes.
Yet it is not the source of my woes.
Let's not even get started on the Anthropologie clearance sale.
11.08.2006
The Departeding
How could it be true? What could I have possibly done to be the beneficiary of such grace?
In the space of 24 hours, Britney leaves K-Fed and Donald Rumsfeld resigns?
I dance! I fly! I am Ferris Bueller in the German-American Pride Parade! Twist and shout, everybody!
In the space of 24 hours, Britney leaves K-Fed and Donald Rumsfeld resigns?
I dance! I fly! I am Ferris Bueller in the German-American Pride Parade! Twist and shout, everybody!
11.07.2006
Yessssssssssssss!
It's AMAZING how the news of impending divorce can brighten one's day.
Hope you enjoyed your CSI guest spot-based acting career while it lasted, Fed!
I got four e-mails about it simultaneously.
COME BACK, BRITNEY!!!!!
Hope you enjoyed your CSI guest spot-based acting career while it lasted, Fed!
I got four e-mails about it simultaneously.
COME BACK, BRITNEY!!!!!
O Citizenry!
It's Election Day! Oh, midtacular!
As I am a resident of nowhere, I'm not voting. I'm a terrible American. I know. It makes a real difference. I mean, I just looked at the Times online and saw the Republican gubernatorial candidate walking from the polls and realized I had not, until that moment, known who he was, or that a Republican gubernatorial candidate had existed, except in that logical, well, there must be one, kind of way. Who's even running against Hillary?
Who cares?
The main disappointment is that since I gave up my New Jersey citizenship, I gave up my one chance probably ever to have my vote count, to keep Menendez's seat out of Kean Jr.'s clutches. However, I will remind my parents to vote, and I feel that that counts.
I'm watching the returns with my friend The Keeper of the Tote Bags later on. His goal is to get so wasted he has to call in sick tomorrow morning. He worked through lunch yesterday to make up for the lost time.
He's not feeling very optimistic.
That's a Dukie.
As I am a resident of nowhere, I'm not voting. I'm a terrible American. I know. It makes a real difference. I mean, I just looked at the Times online and saw the Republican gubernatorial candidate walking from the polls and realized I had not, until that moment, known who he was, or that a Republican gubernatorial candidate had existed, except in that logical, well, there must be one, kind of way. Who's even running against Hillary?
Who cares?
The main disappointment is that since I gave up my New Jersey citizenship, I gave up my one chance probably ever to have my vote count, to keep Menendez's seat out of Kean Jr.'s clutches. However, I will remind my parents to vote, and I feel that that counts.
I'm watching the returns with my friend The Keeper of the Tote Bags later on. His goal is to get so wasted he has to call in sick tomorrow morning. He worked through lunch yesterday to make up for the lost time.
He's not feeling very optimistic.
That's a Dukie.
11.06.2006
Bore-at
Wouldn't it be awesome if the Borat movie had sucked and every headline could make puns on "Bor" and "boring?"
Right?
Unfortunately, it didn't. Borat will not be execute. You watch!
Right?
Unfortunately, it didn't. Borat will not be execute. You watch!
11.03.2006
THANK YOU
It is 4:15 PM. It is almost the end of the day. It is almost the weekend. If I really stretch out typing this, maybe it'll be the weekend by the time I'm done.
The Impressionist & Modern exhibition is up and is killer. That is good.
I hate my new department. That is bad.
When I came back from lunch, the manager said something I'm fairly certain was offensive and inappropriate in that borderline sexual-harassment way, but I couldn't *quite* make it out, and didn't want to ask, "I'm sorry, I'm fairly certain you just implied in a way that didn't really make sense that I was out making babies on my lunch break, which, by the way, did NOT RUN LONG, but... did you?"
Ok now it's 4:34. Good work, slowpoke.
It is mere hours from 9:00.
When I will see Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan.
4:39.
It isn't all bad.
The Impressionist & Modern exhibition is up and is killer. That is good.
I hate my new department. That is bad.
When I came back from lunch, the manager said something I'm fairly certain was offensive and inappropriate in that borderline sexual-harassment way, but I couldn't *quite* make it out, and didn't want to ask, "I'm sorry, I'm fairly certain you just implied in a way that didn't really make sense that I was out making babies on my lunch break, which, by the way, did NOT RUN LONG, but... did you?"
Ok now it's 4:34. Good work, slowpoke.
It is mere hours from 9:00.
When I will see Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan.
4:39.
It isn't all bad.
11.01.2006
Pop Quiz
Identify.
a) My brother and his preppy-ass friends terrorizing the suburbs.
b) Columbine!
c) A crew I could have seriously used on Halloween night, when I approached the parade from east rather than west, and subsequently took 75 minutes to cross 6th avenue, angrily texting anyone with a phone and Verizon that this would never have happened in LA.
a) My brother and his preppy-ass friends terrorizing the suburbs.
b) Columbine!
c) A crew I could have seriously used on Halloween night, when I approached the parade from east rather than west, and subsequently took 75 minutes to cross 6th avenue, angrily texting anyone with a phone and Verizon that this would never have happened in LA.
10.30.2006
iPod Dancer/Cat Burglar
The music was thumpin'!
My heart it was jumpin'!
The bar line was dumpin'
Wonder Woman's spirits down.
Her eyes were a rollin'
At the bartenders' lollin'
Hence a bottle of Stoli
(along with mixers and cups)
Got stolen away.
Who knew it was in us?
Halloween rules.
My heart it was jumpin'!
The bar line was dumpin'
Wonder Woman's spirits down.
Her eyes were a rollin'
At the bartenders' lollin'
Hence a bottle of Stoli
(along with mixers and cups)
Got stolen away.
Who knew it was in us?
Halloween rules.
10.28.2006
We Went To The Brewery Last Night And I Thought That I'd Found Heaven
Imagine that Prometheus and Epimetheus, after designing the men and the beasts, were brought out of retirement and requested to design bars.
Epimetheus, the impetuous and foolish demi-god responsible for wasting all the warm hides and superspeed on cats, would begin throwing light shows and throbbing beats about willy-nilly, adding platforms and dancing girls to top them. There would be a "tini" menu, and several bartenders would eschew shirts. (Epimetheus would create Marquee).
Prometheus would be left with a warehouse, some $3 beer tokens, and 12 card tables.
Much like he managed to make man out of dirt, with this chaff he would create Happy Hour At The Brooklyn Brewery.
Thanks, Prometheus.
Epimetheus, the impetuous and foolish demi-god responsible for wasting all the warm hides and superspeed on cats, would begin throwing light shows and throbbing beats about willy-nilly, adding platforms and dancing girls to top them. There would be a "tini" menu, and several bartenders would eschew shirts. (Epimetheus would create Marquee).
Prometheus would be left with a warehouse, some $3 beer tokens, and 12 card tables.
Much like he managed to make man out of dirt, with this chaff he would create Happy Hour At The Brooklyn Brewery.
Thanks, Prometheus.
10.27.2006
Gauntlet: Thrown
New goal is to have a job that I like by end of November. This frees up December to find a new place to live next year (goodbye, sweet undervalued doormanned Upper East Side sublease), and will provide all this useful information, like, "What can I afford?" and "What subway lines will be most convenient?" and "I don't have to move to Queens, do I?"
Anyway I'm transferring to a different department on Monday because... whatever, I am a temp. I don't care. I think I have rickets.
-
Today's review of The Times They Are A-Changin' was possibly the meanest I've ever read. Worse than last year's Barefoot in the Park, worse than 1998's The Capeman, worse than that Dorothy Parker review where she says some famous actress "ran the gamut of emotions from A... to B."
Ouch.
Anyway I'm transferring to a different department on Monday because... whatever, I am a temp. I don't care. I think I have rickets.
-
Today's review of The Times They Are A-Changin' was possibly the meanest I've ever read. Worse than last year's Barefoot in the Park, worse than 1998's The Capeman, worse than that Dorothy Parker review where she says some famous actress "ran the gamut of emotions from A... to B."
Ouch.
10.26.2006
Fire Drills, Grown-up Style
Evacuation drill today. Remember when they used to be called "fire drills" and you were supposed to leave everything behind?
1. I think it's now "evacuation" to cover anthrax et al, because auction houses are totally pissing off the devoted right now.
2. Like hell the Christie's bitches aren't going to save their Fendi handbags.
1. I think it's now "evacuation" to cover anthrax et al, because auction houses are totally pissing off the devoted right now.
2. Like hell the Christie's bitches aren't going to save their Fendi handbags.
10.25.2006
Tuesday Night Bleh
It's here. Some might call it "brisk" or "crisp," but I can no longer leave the house in just a sweater. Yeah, I need pants to go with it now. And a jacket. It's COLD.
In honor of winter, I have gotten sick. Yes. Sick. Ill. An incubus of viral and possibly bacterial plague. I stayed home last night hoovering soup and watching Friday Night Lights and Veronica Mars. Friday Night Lights, by the way, is really good, if less than optimal to watch while gagging on one's own snot. I think they film it with a Shakicam.
That was a pleasant image, wasn't it?
In honor of winter, I have gotten sick. Yes. Sick. Ill. An incubus of viral and possibly bacterial plague. I stayed home last night hoovering soup and watching Friday Night Lights and Veronica Mars. Friday Night Lights, by the way, is really good, if less than optimal to watch while gagging on one's own snot. I think they film it with a Shakicam.
That was a pleasant image, wasn't it?
10.24.2006
Meh
I don't understand fantasy sports. I'm sorry, from the description, I can't match the level of intensity males have about this with what it actually is. But I do not judge. I attempt to learn. I will sit a mile at someone's else's computer screen. I will gain perspective.
I will do Fantasy Congress (the game, not the The West Wing).
I actually got kind of excited about it.* I sent a big email out to all these people, ready for the Christie's server to crash beneath the weight of eager responses, and so far...
...I have two.
I am alone in dorkitude.
*And the weirdest part is that last week, before discovering fantasy Congress, I was like, they should totally do fantasy Awards Show Season, with your actors gettinng points for like, SAG awards and ISAs leading to a final valuation and trade before the Oscars, with post-season points added/detracted for number of mentions on E!'s Fashion Wrap. Seriously.
***UPDATE: THE LIST HAS GROWN TO SIX!!!
I will do Fantasy Congress (the game, not the The West Wing).
I actually got kind of excited about it.* I sent a big email out to all these people, ready for the Christie's server to crash beneath the weight of eager responses, and so far...
...I have two.
I am alone in dorkitude.
*And the weirdest part is that last week, before discovering fantasy Congress, I was like, they should totally do fantasy Awards Show Season, with your actors gettinng points for like, SAG awards and ISAs leading to a final valuation and trade before the Oscars, with post-season points added/detracted for number of mentions on E!'s Fashion Wrap. Seriously.
***UPDATE: THE LIST HAS GROWN TO SIX!!!
10.23.2006
I'm An iPod Dancer... but I'm a SLU--no, just an iPod dancer
Cragin suggested it, Jen seconded, and I think I'm going to do it. Foregoing "Naughty Nurse, But Like An Actual Naughty Nurse In Scrubs And Crocs Who Goes Around Slapping Asses" and "Jeffrey Sebelia," I have decided to be An iPod Dancer for Halloween. Yes, I'm going to slap on some black layers, braid myself a funky hairdo, and groove the night away with an empty playing card box painted white with little dials on it and maybe a glow stick inside, attached to Mem's broken white headphones. Awesome! And it'll be warm! Fantastic!
Except I can't DO anything with it, because the Saturday before Halloween, my long-lost cousin decided, is the perfect day to get married.
ARGH.
Except I can't DO anything with it, because the Saturday before Halloween, my long-lost cousin decided, is the perfect day to get married.
ARGH.
10.21.2006
My Really Good First Impression
Sometimes you know you're going to meet someone, and this someone is important to someone who is important to you. Like, maybe she gave birth to him. So, like, you brush your hair and attempt to present yourself as someone who is not a complete disaster and hopefully the rest will go okay.
In this spirit, I can now recommend that you really try to avoid her meeting you in the bathroom as you stare in fear at an overflowing toilet tank, the flusher thingy broken off in your hand, as toilet tank water surrounds your feet and refuses to stop. Scenes from Meet The Parents will start cycling through your head in a very unhelpful manner, and all your efforts to Disapparate, no matter how you try, just will not work.
On the up side: no small talk.
In this spirit, I can now recommend that you really try to avoid her meeting you in the bathroom as you stare in fear at an overflowing toilet tank, the flusher thingy broken off in your hand, as toilet tank water surrounds your feet and refuses to stop. Scenes from Meet The Parents will start cycling through your head in a very unhelpful manner, and all your efforts to Disapparate, no matter how you try, just will not work.
On the up side: no small talk.
10.20.2006
Shilling, Schiller's
Schiller's Liquor Bar advertises six kinds of wine: Red or White; Cheap, Decent, Good.
DK and I put our names down, were told it was a wait, and went down to a bar we'd passed earlier, noting the HAPPY HOUR TIL MIDNITE: $2 BUD LIGHTS. Several dollars later, we headed back. Another ten minutes. A few minutes after that I gave the captain the sad eyes and it appeared, three juice glasses and carafe of... what was it? Ah yes, the secert fourth varietal at Schiller's: Free.
So by the time we sat down, I was drunk.
By the time we left, I was still drunk.
Calamari, nachos, and fish and chips (and, okay, a carafe of Good) hadn't cured it, although I did feel a little barfy. I was drunk enough that when we went to his friend's apartment, which was, in retrospect, a pretty freakin' sweet place, I didn't immediately calculate the rent-to-square-footage ratio and start asking about his building amenities but instead flopped on the couch, declined a vermouth-cassis (was he serious? It did look tasty, though) and watched selected scenes from Match Point, guzzling water and providing omniscient narration in a variety of accents from across the British isles. It's a wonder no one killed me.
Cabbed it home. I think this weekend is going to be good.
DK and I put our names down, were told it was a wait, and went down to a bar we'd passed earlier, noting the HAPPY HOUR TIL MIDNITE: $2 BUD LIGHTS. Several dollars later, we headed back. Another ten minutes. A few minutes after that I gave the captain the sad eyes and it appeared, three juice glasses and carafe of... what was it? Ah yes, the secert fourth varietal at Schiller's: Free.
So by the time we sat down, I was drunk.
By the time we left, I was still drunk.
Calamari, nachos, and fish and chips (and, okay, a carafe of Good) hadn't cured it, although I did feel a little barfy. I was drunk enough that when we went to his friend's apartment, which was, in retrospect, a pretty freakin' sweet place, I didn't immediately calculate the rent-to-square-footage ratio and start asking about his building amenities but instead flopped on the couch, declined a vermouth-cassis (was he serious? It did look tasty, though) and watched selected scenes from Match Point, guzzling water and providing omniscient narration in a variety of accents from across the British isles. It's a wonder no one killed me.
Cabbed it home. I think this weekend is going to be good.
10.18.2006
On Tuna Salad
If anyone has tuna salad, keep it the fuck away from me.
I think I need a better job.
That's all.
I think I need a better job.
That's all.
10.17.2006
Federleazy Makes His Dramatic Debut; World Continues, Inexplicably
She has started in on the tote bags. AGAIN. O-5 THE TOTE BAG, WOMAN.
To distract her, I brought up last week's episode of the otherwise stupid bad boring bad reasonable-suspension-of-disbelief-beatdown of a ratings powerhouse CSI, guest starring Kevin Federline. I mean, after the success of Chaotic, serialized procedural crime drama is the next natural step, right? Dan taped it for me special, and it was off the heezy.
Check out the screen shots:
Okay, those are actually all candid shots I got off Go Fug Yourself. But, if you erase Bit Bit from the middle shot there, this is a fairly accurate recap of the performance. I think the only request made was that he remove his blingy earring.
Awesome.
(Nice fat DC post coming soon. One knows it was a good weekend when Tuesday morning comes around and one is still tired and mildly hungover. Go Redskins!).
To distract her, I brought up last week's episode of the otherwise stupid bad boring bad reasonable-suspension-of-disbelief-beatdown of a ratings powerhouse CSI, guest starring Kevin Federline. I mean, after the success of Chaotic, serialized procedural crime drama is the next natural step, right? Dan taped it for me special, and it was off the heezy.
Check out the screen shots:
Okay, those are actually all candid shots I got off Go Fug Yourself. But, if you erase Bit Bit from the middle shot there, this is a fairly accurate recap of the performance. I think the only request made was that he remove his blingy earring.
Awesome.
(Nice fat DC post coming soon. One knows it was a good weekend when Tuesday morning comes around and one is still tired and mildly hungover. Go Redskins!).
10.13.2006
Great Moments In Real Estate
P. came up to my desk, looking a little perturbed.
"Uh... yeah. Meghan, I have to go. Just so you know."
"You mean, like, to lunch?"
"No, I have to go home."
"Everything ok?"
"Well... my walls fell down."
Apparently, a reason things are cheaper in Brooklyn.
Happy weekend! I'm off to DC.
"Uh... yeah. Meghan, I have to go. Just so you know."
"You mean, like, to lunch?"
"No, I have to go home."
"Everything ok?"
"Well... my walls fell down."
Apparently, a reason things are cheaper in Brooklyn.
Happy weekend! I'm off to DC.
10.12.2006
Col. Valerio(bagG)
Had lunch with my former professor/mentor/friend today. I am his poorly behaved pseudo-protege, except not really. It's awesome. Anyway, we're discussing my future and its general murkiness, and finally he's like, "You can always join the Army. You could recruit. Go down to Duke. Colonel Valerio."
"Yeah, Colonel Valerio!" I reply. "Hey guys! The Army's awesome! I did Hoof 'n' Horn!"
"Colonel Valerio," my trusty comrade sighed. "It's like you're from Star Trek."
"Yeah, Colonel Valerio!" I reply. "Hey guys! The Army's awesome! I did Hoof 'n' Horn!"
"Colonel Valerio," my trusty comrade sighed. "It's like you're from Star Trek."
One's All You Need
> From: BackStage Access
> Date: Oct 11, 2006 1:33 PM
> Subject: PRESALE: Tenacious D at Madison Square Garden!
> To: xxxxxxx@gmail.com
>
> ------------------------------------------------------------
> To view an HTML version of this email, visit:
> [http://msgnyc.com/viewmsg.cfm?n35043s3010c13281115t2774]
> ------------------------------------------------------------
>
> PRESALE: Tenacious D on Friday, December 1 at
> Madison Square Garden!
>
> Tenacious D announce a date for Destiny! The platinum-selling comedic and
> musical duo Jack Black and Kyle Gass are starring in a new movie, Tenacious
> D in the Pick of Destiny which follows Tenacious D on their quest to become
> The Greatest Band on Earth!
>
> Tenacious D is coming to NYC on Friday, December 1 to play Madison Square
> Garden with special guest Neil Hamburger. This is a show not to be missed!
>
> As a member of Backstage Access, you can buy tickets Thursday, October 12
> @ 10:00am before they go on sale to the general public on Saturday, October
> 14 @ 12NOON.
>
Picture it:
2003. My last PWILD August trip. Somehow, a burned copy of Tenacious D becomes Default CD to the entire staff. Steev may or may not have distributed copies. An enterprising guitarist on basecamp learns the chords, so "Fuck Her Gently" may continue to ring throughout Pisgah National Forest. We teach it to 400 freshmen. For some reason, Enrique Iglesias's immortal ditty "Don't Turn Out The Light" is inserted on track 8, and we raise our voices in pop-Eurotechno on the drive home.
I love KG.
Me and KG. KG? That's me.
Yes we have tickets.
Fuck YEAH!!!
> Date: Oct 11, 2006 1:33 PM
> Subject: PRESALE: Tenacious D at Madison Square Garden!
> To: xxxxxxx@gmail.com
>
> ------------------------------------------------------------
> To view an HTML version of this email, visit:
> [http://msgnyc.com/viewmsg.cfm?n35043s3010c13281115t2774]
> ------------------------------------------------------------
>
> PRESALE: Tenacious D on Friday, December 1 at
> Madison Square Garden!
>
> Tenacious D announce a date for Destiny! The platinum-selling comedic and
> musical duo Jack Black and Kyle Gass are starring in a new movie, Tenacious
> D in the Pick of Destiny which follows Tenacious D on their quest to become
> The Greatest Band on Earth!
>
> Tenacious D is coming to NYC on Friday, December 1 to play Madison Square
> Garden with special guest Neil Hamburger. This is a show not to be missed!
>
> As a member of Backstage Access, you can buy tickets Thursday, October 12
> @ 10:00am before they go on sale to the general public on Saturday, October
> 14 @ 12NOON.
>
Picture it:
2003. My last PWILD August trip. Somehow, a burned copy of Tenacious D becomes Default CD to the entire staff. Steev may or may not have distributed copies. An enterprising guitarist on basecamp learns the chords, so "Fuck Her Gently" may continue to ring throughout Pisgah National Forest. We teach it to 400 freshmen. For some reason, Enrique Iglesias's immortal ditty "Don't Turn Out The Light" is inserted on track 8, and we raise our voices in pop-Eurotechno on the drive home.
I love KG.
Me and KG. KG? That's me.
Yes we have tickets.
Fuck YEAH!!!
10.10.2006
Logline Tuesday
Last time I did Logline Wednesday I came up with some largely secret-agent-based winners (I'm sensing a sale for The Three, a sexy thriller about bickering crime-fighting triplets who pose as one all-powerful Foe of Evil, two of whom must put aside their difference when the third is kidnapped by Demi Moore, any day now) (was that the title of the awful screenplay Charlie Kaufman's imaginary twin wrote in Adaptation? I think it was. Man, I hated that movie. Never mind, now my movie is just called Three, no The; it's totally different). This week I'm going for TV shows.
Why TV? Well, I love TV. You know this. But I think it's gotten kind of tame. What's the big edgy new show? Ugly Betty? Dexter? Backstage hilarity at Saturday Night Live? Throw in a unibrow and a sympathetic serial killer, and somehow it's the forefront of our Golden Age of Television?
Girl, please.
May I suggest:
Mindy
A richly textured portrait of a female statuatory rapist, struggling to keep her job as a middle school guidance counselor after being forced to register as a (repeat) sex offender. Find yourself cheering for Mindy as she fights prejudice and preteen/teens' constant, lascivious advances at every turn!
Baby Arm
Talkeetna has a problem: she just doesn't fit in. Not only is she the only American at her predominantly French high school; she also has a stunted left arm! Laugh harshly at Talkeetna as she struggles to pick up the Hello Kitty pencils her Gallic classmates scatter before her locker. Told from the POV of Guillaume, a half-French, half-Thai bully racked with self-loathing and a penchant for kicking Talkeetna in the boob.
Racists
[NB: Southern affiliates only].
Scatology
A hilarious romp through the life of Grandle, a lowly magazine staffer who loves to eat poo.
Why TV? Well, I love TV. You know this. But I think it's gotten kind of tame. What's the big edgy new show? Ugly Betty? Dexter? Backstage hilarity at Saturday Night Live? Throw in a unibrow and a sympathetic serial killer, and somehow it's the forefront of our Golden Age of Television?
Girl, please.
May I suggest:
Mindy
A richly textured portrait of a female statuatory rapist, struggling to keep her job as a middle school guidance counselor after being forced to register as a (repeat) sex offender. Find yourself cheering for Mindy as she fights prejudice and preteen/teens' constant, lascivious advances at every turn!
Baby Arm
Talkeetna has a problem: she just doesn't fit in. Not only is she the only American at her predominantly French high school; she also has a stunted left arm! Laugh harshly at Talkeetna as she struggles to pick up the Hello Kitty pencils her Gallic classmates scatter before her locker. Told from the POV of Guillaume, a half-French, half-Thai bully racked with self-loathing and a penchant for kicking Talkeetna in the boob.
Racists
[NB: Southern affiliates only].
Scatology
A hilarious romp through the life of Grandle, a lowly magazine staffer who loves to eat poo.
10.09.2006
Magnificent Jewels
They only provide non-dairy creamer for coffee in this office, which sucks. Coffee must always be made/purchased and creamed off-premises to ensure drinkability, which sucks. Productivity and morale dampened by shitty coffee is certainly unequal to the $10 they would have to spend weekly on half-n-half.
Anyway, maybe they cheap out on the creamer because of the Monday pick-me-ups, which today was going to the staff walkabout of Magnificent Jewels From The Collection Of Ellen Barkin's Gifts From Ron Perelman During Their Short Marriage And Kept In The Acrimonious But Profitable Divorce.
I thought I was late meeting everyone, so just proceeded to Gallery One. Man, those jewels are magnificent. They're so perfect they look plastic. I would totally spend $2 million on a plastic-looking ring.
Eyes wandering from the rocks, I saw a table of lox and mimosa. Fuck half-n-half! Yeeeeeeeeah smoked fish platter! As I shoved a delectable half-bagel of salmon and obviously full-fat cream cheese between my cheeks (too creamy), I looked around at the people. For some reason, the only staff at the walkabout were between 55 and 70. And for some reason, no one was squealing about the emerald bead necklace formerly belonging to Doris Duke, but rather looking at it critically, as if picturing it with various blouses at home.
Turns out I wasn't late for the staff walkabout, but rather crashed the VIP viewing. Why did I think they'd have staff lox when they don't have staff milk?
Anyway, maybe they cheap out on the creamer because of the Monday pick-me-ups, which today was going to the staff walkabout of Magnificent Jewels From The Collection Of Ellen Barkin's Gifts From Ron Perelman During Their Short Marriage And Kept In The Acrimonious But Profitable Divorce.
I thought I was late meeting everyone, so just proceeded to Gallery One. Man, those jewels are magnificent. They're so perfect they look plastic. I would totally spend $2 million on a plastic-looking ring.
Eyes wandering from the rocks, I saw a table of lox and mimosa. Fuck half-n-half! Yeeeeeeeeah smoked fish platter! As I shoved a delectable half-bagel of salmon and obviously full-fat cream cheese between my cheeks (too creamy), I looked around at the people. For some reason, the only staff at the walkabout were between 55 and 70. And for some reason, no one was squealing about the emerald bead necklace formerly belonging to Doris Duke, but rather looking at it critically, as if picturing it with various blouses at home.
Turns out I wasn't late for the staff walkabout, but rather crashed the VIP viewing. Why did I think they'd have staff lox when they don't have staff milk?
10.05.2006
Subjects of the Studio 60 "Crazy Christians" Sketch Are Real!
So... in exchange for not protesting at the funerals of five little girls executed this week, Psychotic Hatemongering Freakshow Christians, Inc., get an hour of airtime on Mike Gallagher's radio program.
Reread that. Slowly.
Shirley Phelps-Roper, daughter of Psychotic Hatemongering Freakshow Christians, Inc. founder Fred Phelps, who, I assume, is hellbound anyway for only halfway taking her husband's name, says "Those Amish people, everyone is sitting around talking about those poor little girls -- blah, blah, blah -- they brought the wrath upon themselves."
She is saying SIX-TO-TWELVE-YEAR-OLD GIRLS brought BEING SHOT upon themselves. By being AMISH. By being, in other words, NICE. And eco-friendly.
OH my dear do I hate freakish Christians. Hear that, freakish Christians? I hate you because you are freakish Christians, much as you hate gays because they are gays, and you will rot in hell, which for you, my non-friends, is the back room of Babylon from Queer as Folk: US, and you are all bottoms.
Don't reward them with radio time, people. Come on. We do not negotiate with terrorists. We capture and kill. Let them protest, and then dump flaming tar on them when they show.
Reread that. Slowly.
Shirley Phelps-Roper, daughter of Psychotic Hatemongering Freakshow Christians, Inc. founder Fred Phelps, who, I assume, is hellbound anyway for only halfway taking her husband's name, says "Those Amish people, everyone is sitting around talking about those poor little girls -- blah, blah, blah -- they brought the wrath upon themselves."
She is saying SIX-TO-TWELVE-YEAR-OLD GIRLS brought BEING SHOT upon themselves. By being AMISH. By being, in other words, NICE. And eco-friendly.
OH my dear do I hate freakish Christians. Hear that, freakish Christians? I hate you because you are freakish Christians, much as you hate gays because they are gays, and you will rot in hell, which for you, my non-friends, is the back room of Babylon from Queer as Folk: US, and you are all bottoms.
Don't reward them with radio time, people. Come on. We do not negotiate with terrorists. We capture and kill. Let them protest, and then dump flaming tar on them when they show.
10.04.2006
Bloaty Totey
So the girl who sits by me really wants a company tote bag. She found out, somehow, that my friend who works here is, like, the keeper of the company tote bags. But said friend cannot give out company tote bags willy-nilly, and said girl who sits by me cannot grasp this.
"So did you ask your friend about the tote bag? Sorry to be a pain, but can he get the tote bag? I know he isn't supposed to, but why can't I have a tote bag? Why won't he get in trouble in order to get someone he doesn't even know a stupid canvas tote bag? Tote bag? Tote bag? IF I CAN'T HAVE A TOTE BAG I AM GOING TO EAT YOUR SOUL."
I was talking to another girl, and was like, "Dude, she's kind of really attached to this tote bag thing."
"Yeah," she said, glancing nervously to the side. "Plus... I think she already has one."
Crazies.
"So did you ask your friend about the tote bag? Sorry to be a pain, but can he get the tote bag? I know he isn't supposed to, but why can't I have a tote bag? Why won't he get in trouble in order to get someone he doesn't even know a stupid canvas tote bag? Tote bag? Tote bag? IF I CAN'T HAVE A TOTE BAG I AM GOING TO EAT YOUR SOUL."
I was talking to another girl, and was like, "Dude, she's kind of really attached to this tote bag thing."
"Yeah," she said, glancing nervously to the side. "Plus... I think she already has one."
Crazies.
Meghan Faces Off With The Expectorator, Emerges Victor
I was leaning against a post, waiting for the 6, pondering the hygienic safety of leaning on said post, when he came and stood facing me. He was tall, buzzed, suited, and BlackBerried. I hated him on sight.
"That dude," I thought to myself, "is no friend of mine."
I thought further.
"Were we at a party, I would doubtless tell everyone he played for Duke lacrosse."
I probably would, too.
Mr. Lax continued flipping through his wireless communication device, cocooned from and oblivious to my gleeful spite. The years in Chappaqua had been good to him; his stay at home mom, kind. He read something that made him chortle. It made him chortle hard (probably some kind of sexually explicit email forward). It made him chortle so hard, he spat. On me.
I mean, what do you do? What do you say? How do you reprimand an obvious date rapist/banker type with a saliva retention issue?
I didn't say anything. I stared. I stared with curled nostrils, as if slowly realizing I had stepped in poo. I stared so hard he looked up, and turned rose pink.
"Shit," he said. "Sorry. Ha. Don't worry, I'm not sick."
I continued the stare. I have a pretty good stare. I allowed the stare to start morphing into The Meghan Killer Death Gaze, which I think Mr. Spittle noticed, because he began stammering.
"Really, I'm sorry, it was just... my friend... really, I'm really sorry. I'm sorry! I'M SORRY, JUST MAKE IT STOP!!"
I turned around as the train banged in.
Pussy.
"That dude," I thought to myself, "is no friend of mine."
I thought further.
"Were we at a party, I would doubtless tell everyone he played for Duke lacrosse."
I probably would, too.
Mr. Lax continued flipping through his wireless communication device, cocooned from and oblivious to my gleeful spite. The years in Chappaqua had been good to him; his stay at home mom, kind. He read something that made him chortle. It made him chortle hard (probably some kind of sexually explicit email forward). It made him chortle so hard, he spat. On me.
I mean, what do you do? What do you say? How do you reprimand an obvious date rapist/banker type with a saliva retention issue?
I didn't say anything. I stared. I stared with curled nostrils, as if slowly realizing I had stepped in poo. I stared so hard he looked up, and turned rose pink.
"Shit," he said. "Sorry. Ha. Don't worry, I'm not sick."
I continued the stare. I have a pretty good stare. I allowed the stare to start morphing into The Meghan Killer Death Gaze, which I think Mr. Spittle noticed, because he began stammering.
"Really, I'm sorry, it was just... my friend... really, I'm really sorry. I'm sorry! I'M SORRY, JUST MAKE IT STOP!!"
I turned around as the train banged in.
Pussy.
10.02.2006
What Was Probably Going Through My Teetotaler Cousin's Head When She Got Married In Vegas This Past Weekend
Wooooooooooooooooooooooooooo! Man, that tea was really good. Much better than that stuff we got in Utah. This sure is a long drive. I'm so happy we have Manufacturing Consent: The Political Economy of the Mass Media on tape to get us through. Hey, we hit Vegas soon!
Yeah, health insurance really is expensive.
What's that, honey?
Hm.
-
Oh well. Congratulations, cousins!
And Happy Birthday to me!
Yeah, health insurance really is expensive.
What's that, honey?
Hm.
-
Oh well. Congratulations, cousins!
And Happy Birthday to me!
9.30.2006
The Science of Brownie-Baking
This was supposed to be a much more interesting post. Maurizia and I had made elaborate plans for today, to ensure my last Saturday of 24dom would rival any I'd had at 22 or 23. We'd get up early, bake special brownies, let the special brownies cool, eat the special brownies, and head down to Deitch Projects for the last day of the Science of Sleep exhibit--four rooms of sets from the movie, plus a bonus room of creepy shit Michel Gondry made after getting dumped.
The sugar high would kick in just as we got there. It was so perfect. Then a parent showed up, and we were forced to wait. And wait. And leave.
As this dude demonstrates, it would've been better with special sugar.
Party tonight! Apparently a lot of people are happy I've cheated death this long, and are coming out to say so. I'm sure the booze has nothing to do with it.
The sugar high would kick in just as we got there. It was so perfect. Then a parent showed up, and we were forced to wait. And wait. And leave.
As this dude demonstrates, it would've been better with special sugar.
Party tonight! Apparently a lot of people are happy I've cheated death this long, and are coming out to say so. I'm sure the booze has nothing to do with it.
9.29.2006
Grey's Grey's Grey's
Yes, I got over my Grey's Anatomy hate ages ago, thanks in no small part to Izzy's Lazy Susan (who the fuck owns a Lazy Susan? Particularly a small one designed specifically for cakes? That is fucking awesome, people), but it was the hair that suckered me.
According to my friend J The Matchmaker, "There hasn't been hair like that since Uncle Jesse."
Like, okay, J, good job with the matchmaker thing, but let's keep opinions of John Stamos's hair circa 1991 to ourselves, yes?
Which left me pondering Patrick Dempsey, The Aging Rakishly Doctor With Great Hair or The Big-Hearted Vet Played By Chris O'Donnell Who's Aging Pretty Well Himself dilemma that was last week so thrillingly put to Meredith in a manner that was so blatantly female porn. Plus she so deftly sidestepped the predicted Kelly Taylor "I choose myself" BS by choosing BOTH, which was brilllllliance.
But if I were her, who would I choose? The hair or the heart?
I mean...
Sheperd would never tape a soap opera for me, and I'm pretty sure Finn would with only kind and mild laughter. These things are important.
But it is really great hair...
I totally forget where I was going with this.
According to my friend J The Matchmaker, "There hasn't been hair like that since Uncle Jesse."
Like, okay, J, good job with the matchmaker thing, but let's keep opinions of John Stamos's hair circa 1991 to ourselves, yes?
Which left me pondering Patrick Dempsey, The Aging Rakishly Doctor With Great Hair or The Big-Hearted Vet Played By Chris O'Donnell Who's Aging Pretty Well Himself dilemma that was last week so thrillingly put to Meredith in a manner that was so blatantly female porn. Plus she so deftly sidestepped the predicted Kelly Taylor "I choose myself" BS by choosing BOTH, which was brilllllliance.
But if I were her, who would I choose? The hair or the heart?
I mean...
Sheperd would never tape a soap opera for me, and I'm pretty sure Finn would with only kind and mild laughter. These things are important.
But it is really great hair...
I totally forget where I was going with this.
9.27.2006
More Star Trek
Today's email:
Hello All,
If you are planning on helping out on the upcoming Star Trek auction and would like to wear a Star Trek costume, please email B----- L------ no later than September 26th with your sizing information, i.e. male/female.
Thank you!
I'm not doing it, but I can smell your envy. The businessmen and their inner dorks are emerging from offices everywhere.
Hello All,
If you are planning on helping out on the upcoming Star Trek auction and would like to wear a Star Trek costume, please email B----- L------ no later than September 26th with your sizing information, i.e. male/female.
Thank you!
I'm not doing it, but I can smell your envy. The businessmen and their inner dorks are emerging from offices everywhere.
9.26.2006
Beam Me Down
What kind of auction has media tie-ins?
Oh right. 40 Years of Star Trek.
From today's email:
"We are exhibiting a selection of Star Trek in the Concourse now through October 3rd. We have three exhibits: the south end near Sea Grill, the center in front of Starbucks, and the north end near Rock Center Café. We have also worked with Rock Center Café to create specialty drinks throughout the viewing that include Romulanpolitan, Spokatini and Klingon Crush, among others."
I really can't wait for the exhibit to open. I really can't wait for the fans to arrive.
Oh right. 40 Years of Star Trek.
From today's email:
"We are exhibiting a selection of Star Trek in the Concourse now through October 3rd. We have three exhibits: the south end near Sea Grill, the center in front of Starbucks, and the north end near Rock Center Café. We have also worked with Rock Center Café to create specialty drinks throughout the viewing that include Romulanpolitan, Spokatini and Klingon Crush, among others."
I really can't wait for the exhibit to open. I really can't wait for the fans to arrive.
9.25.2006
What Matt's Affection Style Says
I was flipping through Cosmopolitan (don't ask, I was bored), and what did I see?
Everyone's favorite squirrel, Matt Isbell!
Yes, you ladies and gays, you are jealous of that lucky model bitch in his embrace.
Or are you jealous of meeeeee?
(No, no, he was just a drinking buddy).
Everyone's favorite squirrel, Matt Isbell!
Yes, you ladies and gays, you are jealous of that lucky model bitch in his embrace.
Or are you jealous of meeeeee?
(No, no, he was just a drinking buddy).
Craigslist: My Boon, My Bane
I found my old apartment in LA on Craigslist. It was the only place I looked at. It was a mile from the beach, it allowed pets, there were two patios, it had 30-foot ceilings. There was a gas fireplace. There was parking. There was a washer and dryer. When I blanched at a year-long lease, the landlord looked at me funny. Why would I ever leave?
So things aren't quite as simple in New York. To just give myself some options, and because pushing shipping instructions isn't exactly taxing my time, I've been perusing the List once again.
It's harder in New York.
More educational, too.
I HAVE LEARNED THAT NO MAN/WOMAN WHO TYPES IN ALL CAPS WILL EVER BE A ROOMMATE OF MINE.
I have learned that a number of men will offer rent in exchange for fellatio. Perplexingly, this rent is often advertised as "free."
I have learned that there are apparently neighborhoods like "East Williamsburg" and "South Park Slope" that suspiciously look like they are actually in Gowanus.
I think my weekend was good enough to make up for the current apartment headache. I am a lucky girl.
So things aren't quite as simple in New York. To just give myself some options, and because pushing shipping instructions isn't exactly taxing my time, I've been perusing the List once again.
It's harder in New York.
More educational, too.
I HAVE LEARNED THAT NO MAN/WOMAN WHO TYPES IN ALL CAPS WILL EVER BE A ROOMMATE OF MINE.
I have learned that a number of men will offer rent in exchange for fellatio. Perplexingly, this rent is often advertised as "free."
I have learned that there are apparently neighborhoods like "East Williamsburg" and "South Park Slope" that suspiciously look like they are actually in Gowanus.
I think my weekend was good enough to make up for the current apartment headache. I am a lucky girl.
9.22.2006
Pokes Apparently Much More Valuable Than Previously Thought
Yahoo might buy Facebook for $1 billion. The scandal last year was that Mark Zuckerberg would only sell for $2 billion, but I have a two-degree separation from the Facebook staff meeting where the $2 billion figure was discussed, and guess what!
They only wanted $1 billion in the first place. The $2 billion thingy? It was a LIE. A lie!
I know, I know, Business Swami Meghan, where was she when Amaranth needed her?
They only wanted $1 billion in the first place. The $2 billion thingy? It was a LIE. A lie!
I know, I know, Business Swami Meghan, where was she when Amaranth needed her?
9.20.2006
Learnedings
Okay, in addition to the estimated market value of Vulcan ears, I've been reading a bit
a) about Amaranth
b) of the OED Online
--proving to myself, further, a) that finance makes no sense. This dude at Amaranth helped the company lose $5 billion in a week? And it's still in business? What are these companies? What do they do? From pictures, these companies are desks, fattish dudes, four-screened computers, and bad carpet. Where are their gold bricks and/or contract killers? Five billion? Maybe it was a typo. Seriously, how do you piss away even one billion? That's a significant portion of a fighter jet! That's Cambodia! This guy lost the equivalent of the majority of Central Asia! I have no idea what I'm talking about! I actually do understand this more than I'm letting on; don't worry. It took a lot of reading on DealBreaker, but I think I got it. The exclamatory thoughts are just a product of decompartmentalization. Maybe this is what happens in Dana's book. I hang out with too many finance people. See what you've done to me, finance people? This time three months ago I would've thought DealBreaker a Sex and the City term and Amaranth a mere imaginary flower, reputed never to fade, but no, I must learn new things to keep up with the conversation.
The OED, though, now that's good stuff. I finally learned the differences between egomania, megalomania, and monomania. Egomania, by the by, is defined as "morbid egotism," and because a lesser-known definition of "morbid" is "of a flesh tint," calling someone an egomaniac could just mean that you think their subconscious is peach. Isn't that funny? I'm going to use that sometime. I bet it'll make people like me.
I just copped to reading the dictionary at work.
I think this post makes me look unbalanced.
I'm going to help this lady get her $45,000 flatware now.
I bet she married an energy trader.
a) about Amaranth
b) of the OED Online
--proving to myself, further, a) that finance makes no sense. This dude at Amaranth helped the company lose $5 billion in a week? And it's still in business? What are these companies? What do they do? From pictures, these companies are desks, fattish dudes, four-screened computers, and bad carpet. Where are their gold bricks and/or contract killers? Five billion? Maybe it was a typo. Seriously, how do you piss away even one billion? That's a significant portion of a fighter jet! That's Cambodia! This guy lost the equivalent of the majority of Central Asia! I have no idea what I'm talking about! I actually do understand this more than I'm letting on; don't worry. It took a lot of reading on DealBreaker, but I think I got it. The exclamatory thoughts are just a product of decompartmentalization. Maybe this is what happens in Dana's book. I hang out with too many finance people. See what you've done to me, finance people? This time three months ago I would've thought DealBreaker a Sex and the City term and Amaranth a mere imaginary flower, reputed never to fade, but no, I must learn new things to keep up with the conversation.
The OED, though, now that's good stuff. I finally learned the differences between egomania, megalomania, and monomania. Egomania, by the by, is defined as "morbid egotism," and because a lesser-known definition of "morbid" is "of a flesh tint," calling someone an egomaniac could just mean that you think their subconscious is peach. Isn't that funny? I'm going to use that sometime. I bet it'll make people like me.
I just copped to reading the dictionary at work.
I think this post makes me look unbalanced.
I'm going to help this lady get her $45,000 flatware now.
I bet she married an energy trader.
Lobes Of Spock's Friend
I'm temping at this auction house, preparing for a big, big sale.
40 Years of Star Trek. It isn't until November but the pandemonium is already brewing.
Example: Vulcan ears (2). (Not Leonard Nimoy's).
Upper estimate: $1500. They are PIECES OF FOAM. They look like partially decomposed goldfish, like you went on vacation for a month and forgot to give Stephen and Steven their special pellets, and returned to find them belly-up and bloated. And they are two months rent. SWEET.
Ooh, I hear sirens outside. George W. Bush? Mahmoud Ahmadinejad? Could be anyone!
40 Years of Star Trek. It isn't until November but the pandemonium is already brewing.
Example: Vulcan ears (2). (Not Leonard Nimoy's).
Upper estimate: $1500. They are PIECES OF FOAM. They look like partially decomposed goldfish, like you went on vacation for a month and forgot to give Stephen and Steven their special pellets, and returned to find them belly-up and bloated. And they are two months rent. SWEET.
Ooh, I hear sirens outside. George W. Bush? Mahmoud Ahmadinejad? Could be anyone!
9.19.2006
Fashion Day
CK "I Never Update My Blog" Swett works full-time where I'm temping, and invited me today to the Valentino sample sale.
$8000 gowns are still a bit out of my reach (although, all things considered, it's a bit of a steal), but then we passed the Atlas Apartments, sleeping space to the wonders of Project Runway!
Yes, in a totally unscripted and spontaneous moment, CK caught me unleashing my inner Andrae.
$8000 gowns are still a bit out of my reach (although, all things considered, it's a bit of a steal), but then we passed the Atlas Apartments, sleeping space to the wonders of Project Runway!
Yes, in a totally unscripted and spontaneous moment, CK caught me unleashing my inner Andrae.
Week In Asian Stereotypes
Previously, on The Week In Asian Stereotypes:
Team Asia wins the first logic-based challenge on Survivor.
Breaking:
Thai military spokesman apologizes for any inconvenience caused by coup.
So smart! So polite!
If I were home I'd follow this with a picture of Dennis with boxers on his head.
Team Asia wins the first logic-based challenge on Survivor.
Breaking:
Thai military spokesman apologizes for any inconvenience caused by coup.
So smart! So polite!
If I were home I'd follow this with a picture of Dennis with boxers on his head.
9.18.2006
I Think I Saw The President
It's UN Week, meaning 80% of New York streets are blocked off and the commuters are very cranky. Seriously, they've been keeping the blue barricades in piles on every corner, and the temptation to steal one is sore.
I think I saw the President, or rather looked in his direction through a blacked out limo window. I have no evidence it was actually him; it might have been a decoy motorcade, or a SafeRide for the twins. In any case, a bike cop almost ran me over on 6th Avenue to protect the free world, or for no reason at all.
I think I saw the President, or rather looked in his direction through a blacked out limo window. I have no evidence it was actually him; it might have been a decoy motorcade, or a SafeRide for the twins. In any case, a bike cop almost ran me over on 6th Avenue to protect the free world, or for no reason at all.
My College, My Soul
Quote of the day, regarding Harvard and Princeton abandoning early admission:
Tell that to Kent Place girls, buddy. I remember spreading two different applications across the lounge floor senior year, the "Early Decision" box checked on both.
"Which should I send?!" I polled. "Which should I send? It would be really nice to get in early, since if I apply to my whole list that's like 14 schools."
It bears noting that I was not alone.
Many of the presidents said one of their goals would be to instill in high school seniors a sense that which college they attended did not determine the course of the rest of their lives. “It’s not God’s judgment on your soul,” Dr. Weisbuch of Drew University said.
Tell that to Kent Place girls, buddy. I remember spreading two different applications across the lounge floor senior year, the "Early Decision" box checked on both.
"Which should I send?!" I polled. "Which should I send? It would be really nice to get in early, since if I apply to my whole list that's like 14 schools."
It bears noting that I was not alone.
9.17.2006
Drinking Is More Than Just Fun
Binge drinkers, gather round: Dennis has brought important breaking news to my attention.
What about those who visit a bar more than once a month? Maybe it's a typo and they actually meant once a week.
Drinkers earn 10 to 14 percent more money at their jobs than nondrinkers and men who drink socially, visiting a bar at least once a month, bring home an additional 7 percent in pay, according to a new Reason Foundation report by economists Bethany Peters, Ph.D., and Edward Stringham, Ph.D.
What about those who visit a bar more than once a month? Maybe it's a typo and they actually meant once a week.
9.13.2006
O Bank Card, O Bank Card!
Wherefore Art Thou Bank Card?
Deny thy owner and refuse thine cash,
Or, if thou'st been eaten, be but fill'd with joy,
For I cancelled you real fast.
From Shakespeare's Lost Verses, Hyperion 2007. ed. Harold Bloom.
Or, if thou'st been eaten, be but fill'd with joy,
For I cancelled you real fast.
From Shakespeare's Lost Verses, Hyperion 2007. ed. Harold Bloom.
9.12.2006
FYI
For some reason, The Young and the Restless is just awesome today. There's drug-induced temporary epilepsy, a three-week pregnancy represented by a five-month bump, exes of exes getting it on, break-ins, and six-year-old Noah telling Phyllis not to bother being nice to him, since he's sure she and his daddy won't be married that long.
And karaoke! As a vengeance device!
Awesome.
And karaoke! As a vengeance device!
Awesome.
9.11.2006
Five Years
I tuned out all 9/11 coverage about five years ago, on, say, Sept. 15th. I lost all taste for cable news and buried myself in linguistics and Cold War cinema for three months.
Then I looked at my Times today.
The Black Riders, swooping into town. I can't help but think that the Bushes, somewhere, know that without this big mass death and advisers who were so adept and willing to exploit it, they'd be back in Texas. Good lord I hate them.
Then there are also pictures like these--
Which make me think about the thirteen cars that were left at the Chatham train station that night, because their owners never came back.
I suppose there are people worse than the Bushes.
Then I looked at my Times today.
The Black Riders, swooping into town. I can't help but think that the Bushes, somewhere, know that without this big mass death and advisers who were so adept and willing to exploit it, they'd be back in Texas. Good lord I hate them.
Then there are also pictures like these--
Which make me think about the thirteen cars that were left at the Chatham train station that night, because their owners never came back.
I suppose there are people worse than the Bushes.
9.10.2006
Goings On
So... new things in my life...
Oh lordy, I totally, totally left you hanging, didn't I? I gave you that whole Chris Adrian spiel and never followed up. Well, wait no longer. Part One of The Children's Hospital is intense, poetic, and a total tease. I am simply scratching to get at the rest of it.
Okay, so that's dispensed with.
Elsewhere on the Front of Pretentious Literary Minds, Schmaury and I today spent a collective $380 on The Coast of Utopia tickets. I even went to Lincoln Center to get them, thereby avoiding an additional $66 in handling fees. Here's where I'd describe the theatrical event, but my understanding of the plot is kind of vague. It has something to do with Russian history, it's eight hours, and I'm sure there will be lots of intelligent puns. Have you ever wondered how Tom Stoppard might blog? Find out.
Oh lordy, I totally, totally left you hanging, didn't I? I gave you that whole Chris Adrian spiel and never followed up. Well, wait no longer. Part One of The Children's Hospital is intense, poetic, and a total tease. I am simply scratching to get at the rest of it.
Okay, so that's dispensed with.
Elsewhere on the Front of Pretentious Literary Minds, Schmaury and I today spent a collective $380 on The Coast of Utopia tickets. I even went to Lincoln Center to get them, thereby avoiding an additional $66 in handling fees. Here's where I'd describe the theatrical event, but my understanding of the plot is kind of vague. It has something to do with Russian history, it's eight hours, and I'm sure there will be lots of intelligent puns. Have you ever wondered how Tom Stoppard might blog? Find out.
9.08.2006
Gallery Trawling
Brie invited me out gallery hopping. If I've learned nothing else from Sex and the City, it's that art openings are crawling with rich douchebags just begging to buy you (or your friend and therefore you because that's just how y'all roll) sushi. I threw on a ratty t-shirt, $400 shoes*, and jumped right in.
All the cool kids were there.
There were pictures of dead pigs and fetal cows, oversize Polaroids of spotty losers rescanned and digitally printed.
Molly kind of explained how giant Polaroid cameras work, something I'd been pondering since seeing the 4'x7' Chuck Close collage prints. Apparently you don't have a huge version of the regular Polaroid with a button you have to jump on, as I'd previously assumed, but "kind of work inside the camera."
One guy peed all over the stairs.
And then someone bought us sushi.
*Original retail. I paid $29.
All the cool kids were there.
There were pictures of dead pigs and fetal cows, oversize Polaroids of spotty losers rescanned and digitally printed.
Molly kind of explained how giant Polaroid cameras work, something I'd been pondering since seeing the 4'x7' Chuck Close collage prints. Apparently you don't have a huge version of the regular Polaroid with a button you have to jump on, as I'd previously assumed, but "kind of work inside the camera."
One guy peed all over the stairs.
And then someone bought us sushi.
*Original retail. I paid $29.
9.06.2006
My Mattress
I purchased my bed in LA from the room's former occupant--mattress, box spring, frame, and feather mattress cover with marshmallow-like consistency that likened sleeping to curling up in a bowl of whipped cream. It was $100.
I like mattresses.
Anyway, I ran out of time when I moved and didn't sell the bed. I just dismantled it and left it in the garage, and Saint Roommate said she'd mail the featherbed.
She did so the other day, and let me know that shipping was $40. Also, Salvation Army wouldn't come and get my bed, but the dump would for another $25.
This is how I know I'm getting poor, because in the early Citibank days I would've been like, whatever, and sent off a check.
But Meghan can't go throwing money about willy-nilly, because she is currently unemployed at the level where she just spent the morning overcoming her people phobia to make alumni network cold calls, which if you know her at all you know was very difficult, but seriously, it's getting kind of embarrassing.
So I posted on Craigslist.
And sold the bed for $40, to a chick in LA with a truck.
I am crafty.
I am far too excited about this considering I net -$35
I need a job.
I like mattresses.
Anyway, I ran out of time when I moved and didn't sell the bed. I just dismantled it and left it in the garage, and Saint Roommate said she'd mail the featherbed.
She did so the other day, and let me know that shipping was $40. Also, Salvation Army wouldn't come and get my bed, but the dump would for another $25.
This is how I know I'm getting poor, because in the early Citibank days I would've been like, whatever, and sent off a check.
But Meghan can't go throwing money about willy-nilly, because she is currently unemployed at the level where she just spent the morning overcoming her people phobia to make alumni network cold calls, which if you know her at all you know was very difficult, but seriously, it's getting kind of embarrassing.
So I posted on Craigslist.
And sold the bed for $40, to a chick in LA with a truck.
I am crafty.
I am far too excited about this considering I net -$35
I need a job.
9.04.2006
Very Exciting Development
Saint Roommate forwarded my mail to the Jersey house, and it included my McSweeny's Quarterly Concern, Issue 20.
It just so happens that a few months ago, with Quarterly Concern 18, I encountered the emerging writer Chris Adrian and grew quickly, in equal measures, obsessed and perplexed. He writes like an antisocial pastoid with bad glasses and light, prematurely thinning hair, who might sputter into his beer the one night his colleagues take pity and invite him out to the bar, fractioning the tab, scaring off the ladies, and effectively sealing his lifelong coin-collecting bachelor fate. It's fantastic. I can't get enough.
That part is par; more perplexing is that Chris Adrian published a story in The New Yorker and a novel with Random House in 1997, after his stint at Iowa and prior to starting medical school, because most people follow their MFAs with MDs, right? The 1997 Adrian was good-looking and in interviews easy and intelligent (I'm not wild about 1997 Adrian). The writing resembles the current work the way Hemingway relates to Whitman, which is to say, oh engineering types, very little. It all suggests a highly dramatic, sensorially delicious breakdown sometime in the last nine years between med school, a pediatrics residency, and his current Bostonian divinity school studies. Maybe even a drug-induced religious awakening!
I'm getting away from myself. I read "The Stepfather" and "A Better Angel" and loved them and have been salivating over the prospect of a whole entire book of Chris Adrian's totally ethereal yet grounded ramblings for months. And today, when I opened the 20th issue of McSweeney's Quarterly Concern, I found Part One of The Children's Hospital, Chris Adrian's book to be released in October, taped to the back.
Yesssss.
It just so happens that a few months ago, with Quarterly Concern 18, I encountered the emerging writer Chris Adrian and grew quickly, in equal measures, obsessed and perplexed. He writes like an antisocial pastoid with bad glasses and light, prematurely thinning hair, who might sputter into his beer the one night his colleagues take pity and invite him out to the bar, fractioning the tab, scaring off the ladies, and effectively sealing his lifelong coin-collecting bachelor fate. It's fantastic. I can't get enough.
That part is par; more perplexing is that Chris Adrian published a story in The New Yorker and a novel with Random House in 1997, after his stint at Iowa and prior to starting medical school, because most people follow their MFAs with MDs, right? The 1997 Adrian was good-looking and in interviews easy and intelligent (I'm not wild about 1997 Adrian). The writing resembles the current work the way Hemingway relates to Whitman, which is to say, oh engineering types, very little. It all suggests a highly dramatic, sensorially delicious breakdown sometime in the last nine years between med school, a pediatrics residency, and his current Bostonian divinity school studies. Maybe even a drug-induced religious awakening!
I'm getting away from myself. I read "The Stepfather" and "A Better Angel" and loved them and have been salivating over the prospect of a whole entire book of Chris Adrian's totally ethereal yet grounded ramblings for months. And today, when I opened the 20th issue of McSweeney's Quarterly Concern, I found Part One of The Children's Hospital, Chris Adrian's book to be released in October, taped to the back.
Yesssss.
9.01.2006
Confirmation
I know some of you were very upset by last week's reporting on the Sudden Decline Of Jared Leto's Beauty (which has been happening for quite some time; it's like that line in the The Sun Also Rises when Jake explains he went bankrupt gradually and then suddenly. I mean, did you see Panic Room? No? He had cornrows and a disfiguring burn. These are signs). But, perhaps you thought I was lying. After all, I proffered no photographic evidence, or even a firsthand account, of his eyeliner and general greasiness, and denial is a powerful drug.
Deny THIS.
via GFY
He looks like a cast member from the current Sweeney Todd revival, which I saw last night and thought thoroughly excellent, if probably confusing to someone who hadn't, say, memorized the original cast recording and seen a VHS of the 1979 Hal Prince West End production and was therefore able to extrapolate that the little white box symbolized the specialized barber's chair with the lever that drops its victims directly into the bakehouse, as I had.
But however much I loved the show, some people belong in a gothic Victorian London, and some people don't. You, Mr. Leto, are not among the former.
Deny THIS.
via GFY
He looks like a cast member from the current Sweeney Todd revival, which I saw last night and thought thoroughly excellent, if probably confusing to someone who hadn't, say, memorized the original cast recording and seen a VHS of the 1979 Hal Prince West End production and was therefore able to extrapolate that the little white box symbolized the specialized barber's chair with the lever that drops its victims directly into the bakehouse, as I had.
But however much I loved the show, some people belong in a gothic Victorian London, and some people don't. You, Mr. Leto, are not among the former.
8.30.2006
I Am A Bad Friend
Brie: Ahhh, this guy just texted me, he's like a totally awkward Dalton boy.
MB: Ooh, I bet he knows Yaf!
Brie: I'll ask. (texts) Yeah, he knows him. He asks why.
MB: Ooh, tell him your friend is carrying his unborn child.
Brie: Okay! (furious texting) Can we give details?
MB: Totally! (suggests a multitude of semi-plausible details supporting phantom pregnancy, creating probable shitstorm amongst the Dalton '00 crowd and parents and particularly Yaf's mother)
I... I am such a bad friend.
MB: Ooh, I bet he knows Yaf!
Brie: I'll ask. (texts) Yeah, he knows him. He asks why.
MB: Ooh, tell him your friend is carrying his unborn child.
Brie: Okay! (furious texting) Can we give details?
MB: Totally! (suggests a multitude of semi-plausible details supporting phantom pregnancy, creating probable shitstorm amongst the Dalton '00 crowd and parents and particularly Yaf's mother)
I... I am such a bad friend.
8.28.2006
JBR: BREAKING NEW
Despite Dennis's 2001 party and recent celebratory edition of Blackout Thursday: JBR's Killer Has Been Found!, I am saddened to report that JonBenet's murder remains unsolved. The Colorado authorites will not indict John Mark Karr, insisting that he is merely a pedophiliac nonmurderous psycho, and they can't lock him up for that.
I hope that if they ever actually crack the case Dennis will have already moved to New York, so we can have the party here.
I hope that if they ever actually crack the case Dennis will have already moved to New York, so we can have the party here.
It's A Gray Day
My temp lady's on vacation, Roommate Alexis has a week until school starts, and Roommate Farva's sketchy cash-paying job relies mostly on e-mail. Take three restless roommates without responsibilities and add a rainy gray day. What might you get?
Possibly Meghan spending a slightly embarrassing chunk of the morning making hash browns in several small batches of steadily improving quality. Or that Roommate Alexis getting very excited about The Price Is Right. Or perhaps all of us watching Uncle Buck while on the exercise bike/doing crunches/blogging etc.
Uncle Buck. John Candy's alive and Macauley Culkin's adorable. Life is great!
Possibly Meghan spending a slightly embarrassing chunk of the morning making hash browns in several small batches of steadily improving quality. Or that Roommate Alexis getting very excited about The Price Is Right. Or perhaps all of us watching Uncle Buck while on the exercise bike/doing crunches/blogging etc.
Uncle Buck. John Candy's alive and Macauley Culkin's adorable. Life is great!
8.27.2006
Mother's Sunday
Fade in on MEGHAN. 24, blonde with roots, looks as though the trip from bed to floor might wind her. She lies in bed. A clock reads 8:58 AM.
A phone RINGS:
(music) DOO--doodoo---DOO--do--dododo--DOO-dodo-DOO---doododo----
MEGHAN
Hi Mom.
MOM (o.c.)
Hi. Have you left yet?
MEGHAN
No, in a minute. Where are you?
MOM
So I'm at mile eleven, I'll be done in 20.
MEGHAN
Okay, I'll be out in a sec.
Transition to MOM, early fifties, running the New York City Half-Marathon. On her cell phone.
The title of this little short is The Apple Has Fallen So Unfortunately Far From The Tree, Fitness Wise. Sundance, anyone?
8.26.2006
Cain, Pain, And A Song For Jordan Catalano
Speaking of Cain, you know who I love? Project Runway 3's Kayne Gillespie.
I think he has cheek implants.
Anyway, last night we went to Cain, the meatpacking starfucker place down in Chelsea, where the go-go girls wear loincloths and you can smoke inside. Apparently, we had just missed Jared Leto.
"Yeah, we were just like, sitting with him."
Jared Leto?! Jared Leto. My seventh grade self sighs from within. Yeah, there's the gout. The 62 pounds he recently gained and shed for some movie with Lindsay Lohan. And yes, there are the movie roles featuring disfigurement, his refusal to wash his hair, and rumors that he dated Scarlett Johansson. But it's Jordan Catalano! It can't be that bad.
"Um," they said. "He was wearing eyeliner."
Oh, Red. Needs some shelter from the storm, indeed.
I think he has cheek implants.
Anyway, last night we went to Cain, the meatpacking starfucker place down in Chelsea, where the go-go girls wear loincloths and you can smoke inside. Apparently, we had just missed Jared Leto.
"Yeah, we were just like, sitting with him."
Jared Leto?! Jared Leto. My seventh grade self sighs from within. Yeah, there's the gout. The 62 pounds he recently gained and shed for some movie with Lindsay Lohan. And yes, there are the movie roles featuring disfigurement, his refusal to wash his hair, and rumors that he dated Scarlett Johansson. But it's Jordan Catalano! It can't be that bad.
"Um," they said. "He was wearing eyeliner."
Oh, Red. Needs some shelter from the storm, indeed.
8.24.2006
Interlude
Okay, we interrupt the regularly scheduled programming because I am still on hiatus-- but I was in the same room as Jon Stewart last night. And even though I wasn't very close to him, and didn't get any pictures to later Photoshop myself and a romantic Hawaiian vacation backdrop into, I thought you should know that Jon Stewart and I BREATHED A LITTLE BIT OF THE SAME AIR.
Okay, aaaaaaaaaand... we're back.
Okay, aaaaaaaaaand... we're back.
Classic Blotto
8/1/2005: 36 Hours In Vegas
Day 1
So we left the office a little after 8, 3 hours after we were supposed to have arrived. No matter. We had several bottles of vodka-Orangina, a rented Uplander minivan, and a treasure map to the only two sure-win slot machines at the MGM Grand (you must go before noon).
Arrive in Vegas at 12:30. Check in to our Deluxe rooms at the vaguely Chinese-themed Imperial Palace.
Challenge: Differentiate between the Standard and De-luxe accommodations. Justify your answer. Do not use the relative ugliness of the bedspreads and/or curtains.
Exhibit A:
Exhibit B:
The latter part of the challenge is tricky, no?
Wonder at the Imperial's "Dealertainers," who dress as Rod Stewart and Liza Minelli et al., to sweeten your mood as they take your chips.
Head towards the Bellagio and meet up with Mark and Mari, who are driving from D.C. to Berkeley and just so happen to be around. Gamble. Drink. Win money. Lose money. Win money. Lose money. Head to Paris, with its ceiling painted to resemble the springtime sky. Obliviate to the time. Play nickel slots to attract cocktails, and experience great excitement when my machine goes apeshit.
"Keep going! Keep going!"
"You're going to win like $1200!"
"Holy crap!"
"Keep going!"
The machine stops, and I cash that shit out. $38.25.
Leave Paris.
Day 2
Why does every casino have such hideous carpeting?
Heat. Intense heat. Window-shop at the designer shops and witness dudes and their trophies in action. See the Prada shoes gifted to Kristy. There will be no such present for me on this trip. Adore a yellow Dolce t-shirt encrusted with rhinestones, spelling out "I Heart Collagen." Look at price tag; move on. Pool. Overheat. Nap. Primp. Depart for "Little Buddha" at the Palms, but 1/3 of the entourage begins fighting and we lose our table. Go instead to the Excalibur buffet, ditch 1/3 of the entourage, meet up with the Duke kids, and this is where the logic begins to crumble. The Vegas drug had taken its hold.
"You put money on red," says Carolyn at the roulette table. "If you win, you double your money. If you lose, you double your bet."
T. had given me similar logic for blackjack. Satisfied with the advice of two smart kids, I join in the betting, and then we begin to lose, and lose, and lose. Then we switch colors and lose some more. Mari and I are shaking a little. Tommy pulls me away. I am not made for luck games. Clearly, we must go play poker. I nudge Tommy on the way.
"What's a straight again?"
Oh, the men at our poker table found us amusing. Who is this blonde girl with the gold tube top and loopy pigtails? Surely, she should walk away, because she is about to give us mucho money in chips!
Fifteen minutes into our $3 limit table, I'm up ~$100. The men start saying something about Ben Affleck, and Mark notes that one is a Nevadan Tal Hirshberg. We play a bit longer, and I walk away.
That's entertainment.
8.23.2006
Classic Blotto
7/28/05: I Am Marla Frimmons
Marla Frimmons, with her gold-tone necklaces and Bayonne "I'm from Jersey and whaddya gon' do about it?" attitude, arrives at the exclusive Yuke University, ready to kick up a shitstorm.
The Frimmons family--Marla and her father--pulled their 1998 Ford Crown Victoria into Yuke's Ebrington Hall parking lot on its fine and swarthily Augustian moving day. Marla exited the vehicle, taking in the campus. The stone halls! This utopia--this--Mecca--of learning! Of knowledge! There for the plucking, if she would only reach out her hand! She did reach out her hand, and pushed a strand of hair, stiff with VO5 aerosol spray, off her forehead.
"I'm sweating fucking balls here Pops." She looked around more.
The grass! The absolute green of it! How ever did they keep it so bright, so verdant! The sidewalks of Bayonne had nothing on this, with their black spots of ground in gum, and glass shards glinting like mica.
Marla released a dainty pied from her three-and-a-half inch Candies wedge heel, and dragged a rhinestoned toenail through the succulent blades.
"This grass is gonna give me a fuckin' rash," she said.
A rash. A rash. A Yuke rash. A badge of honor, the Yuke Rash.
A well-built young man in a "Welcome to Yuke" t-shirt bumped her elbow with his dolly.
"Sorry," he said, looking at her a bit too long.
"Yeah, I bet," Marla snorted. "Look where you're fucking going."
The young man was confused. He pushed back his thatchy hair and stared at this, this... freshman! This nobody who dared use Fuck Padaloodie on him, a respected sophomore, an almost brother of DeltaOmiWhatticon!
He smiled at her, real easy.
"Yeah, yeah," Marla said. "Take a fucking picture."
And then Marla Frimmons kicked Yuke's dusty ass.
(I know he invented New Journalism and all, but I Am Not Charlotte Simmons).
The Frimmons family--Marla and her father--pulled their 1998 Ford Crown Victoria into Yuke's Ebrington Hall parking lot on its fine and swarthily Augustian moving day. Marla exited the vehicle, taking in the campus. The stone halls! This utopia--this--Mecca--of learning! Of knowledge! There for the plucking, if she would only reach out her hand! She did reach out her hand, and pushed a strand of hair, stiff with VO5 aerosol spray, off her forehead.
"I'm sweating fucking balls here Pops." She looked around more.
The grass! The absolute green of it! How ever did they keep it so bright, so verdant! The sidewalks of Bayonne had nothing on this, with their black spots of ground in gum, and glass shards glinting like mica.
Marla released a dainty pied from her three-and-a-half inch Candies wedge heel, and dragged a rhinestoned toenail through the succulent blades.
"This grass is gonna give me a fuckin' rash," she said.
A rash. A rash. A Yuke rash. A badge of honor, the Yuke Rash.
A well-built young man in a "Welcome to Yuke" t-shirt bumped her elbow with his dolly.
"Sorry," he said, looking at her a bit too long.
"Yeah, I bet," Marla snorted. "Look where you're fucking going."
The young man was confused. He pushed back his thatchy hair and stared at this, this... freshman! This nobody who dared use Fuck Padaloodie on him, a respected sophomore, an almost brother of DeltaOmiWhatticon!
He smiled at her, real easy.
"Yeah, yeah," Marla said. "Take a fucking picture."
And then Marla Frimmons kicked Yuke's dusty ass.
(I know he invented New Journalism and all, but I Am Not Charlotte Simmons).
8.22.2006
Classic Blotto
6/14/2005: I Have A Problem
Dennis is obsessed with Ami Sushi.
"AMI SUSHI!!!", right after "Wanna do a shot?", could be his catchphrase.
He took me to experience the Ami Sushi last night.
Wait, hold on, you might be asking. Why this emphasis on Dennis and Ami Sushi? Did Dennis consume an ill-prepared and therefore deadly fugu, leaving the 5' 3.75" Meghan to physically carry his 6' 7" frame to the UCLA Med Center, in a feat of God-and-adrenaline-given strength? Or perhaps Meghan and Dennis performed a dine-and-dash! Or did they leave the restaurant, get lost, and ask for directions from a random guy who turned out to be Harvey Keitel?
No; you show touching faith in me. Like so many of my anecdotes, this one's headed straight up my ass.
Ami Sushi is very good, but it is not very popular. The waiters stand about, shouting Japanese greetings to all who enter before returning to their chat sessions, or calculating exactly how little they're making in tips on empty tables. I should not be alarmed, Dennis assured me. It's just on a dead street. It's still good.
Dennis is my reality-TV enabler. His TiVo has changed my life. With Dennis I watched Keenyah bloat on bagels and lose the America's Next Top Model title to Naima. With Dennis I mulled over how Rob and Amber kicked everyone's ass on The Amazing Race until some very obvious producer intervention screwed them over. With Dennis I experienced the subversive joy of watching 3 consecutive episodes of American Idol in 12 minutes! We are not picky: we watch Strip Search and Kept, and even made it through the second episode of Britney and Kevin: Chaotic (but no more--even we have limits. Actually, Dennis might still watch it. I'm not sure).
Anyway, since Dennis is a reality-TV connoisseur, one might expect that when a true G-list limited-run E! reality series personality enters Ami Sushi, Dennis would be the one to kick me under the table and start making faces.
But he wasn't. When Princess Ann Claire entered Dennis's beloved Westwood eatery, I was. And then it got worse: I listened in on her conversation, filed away her tete-a-tete with the waiter ("And is the sushi prepared with any oil or fat?"), and lost my inner battle to refrain from listening to her accent and glance periodically her way.
Come ON.
The show was on during my unemployment period, but... come on. Love Is In The Heir? Are you kidding? It doesn't even have the "I was so stoned I couldn't change the channel" watchability factor of Gastineau Girls. I have a problem. Like Kirsten on The OC,** I'm admitting it. I look to a higher power to guide me through.
When we rose to leave, I heard one last snippet from the budding country western singer/peripheral Iranian royal:
"I'm really starting to focus. I have to invest in my career. Now that people" and here she cocks her head, ever so slightly, in my direction, "recognize me."
I am so embarrassed.
"AMI SUSHI!!!", right after "Wanna do a shot?", could be his catchphrase.
He took me to experience the Ami Sushi last night.
Wait, hold on, you might be asking. Why this emphasis on Dennis and Ami Sushi? Did Dennis consume an ill-prepared and therefore deadly fugu, leaving the 5' 3.75" Meghan to physically carry his 6' 7" frame to the UCLA Med Center, in a feat of God-and-adrenaline-given strength? Or perhaps Meghan and Dennis performed a dine-and-dash! Or did they leave the restaurant, get lost, and ask for directions from a random guy who turned out to be Harvey Keitel?
No; you show touching faith in me. Like so many of my anecdotes, this one's headed straight up my ass.
Ami Sushi is very good, but it is not very popular. The waiters stand about, shouting Japanese greetings to all who enter before returning to their chat sessions, or calculating exactly how little they're making in tips on empty tables. I should not be alarmed, Dennis assured me. It's just on a dead street. It's still good.
Dennis is my reality-TV enabler. His TiVo has changed my life. With Dennis I watched Keenyah bloat on bagels and lose the America's Next Top Model title to Naima. With Dennis I mulled over how Rob and Amber kicked everyone's ass on The Amazing Race until some very obvious producer intervention screwed them over. With Dennis I experienced the subversive joy of watching 3 consecutive episodes of American Idol in 12 minutes! We are not picky: we watch Strip Search and Kept, and even made it through the second episode of Britney and Kevin: Chaotic (but no more--even we have limits. Actually, Dennis might still watch it. I'm not sure).
Anyway, since Dennis is a reality-TV connoisseur, one might expect that when a true G-list limited-run E! reality series personality enters Ami Sushi, Dennis would be the one to kick me under the table and start making faces.
But he wasn't. When Princess Ann Claire entered Dennis's beloved Westwood eatery, I was. And then it got worse: I listened in on her conversation, filed away her tete-a-tete with the waiter ("And is the sushi prepared with any oil or fat?"), and lost my inner battle to refrain from listening to her accent and glance periodically her way.
Come ON.
The show was on during my unemployment period, but... come on. Love Is In The Heir? Are you kidding? It doesn't even have the "I was so stoned I couldn't change the channel" watchability factor of Gastineau Girls. I have a problem. Like Kirsten on The OC,** I'm admitting it. I look to a higher power to guide me through.
When we rose to leave, I heard one last snippet from the budding country western singer/peripheral Iranian royal:
"I'm really starting to focus. I have to invest in my career. Now that people" and here she cocks her head, ever so slightly, in my direction, "recognize me."
I am so embarrassed.
8.21.2006
Rerun Season
Gentle reader, it has hit bottom. My last post was one word over and over and--I know; you saw it. You weren't fooled. And then the five before that were all blog-referential except for of course the MEGOONKWAN post for which I will never apologize. And I hate blog-referential blogging. Blog-referential bloggers are down there with My Baby Pooped Today bloggers and My Boyfriend Is So Awesome bloggers (except, of course, for my blog-referencing blogger friends who know who they are and that of course I am not speaking of their highly readable blog-referencing or love-life detailing blogspots). So when I blog about blogging, I am actively hating myself. I don't like it.
So today I was like, okay, I'm going to pull my blog out of this fucking blogorrheic sepsis to which it has succumbed. I will move forward with Blogger Beta and at the same time back, perhaps to the Golden Age of Miss Blotto's Almanac, back when it was just Miss Blotto and I worked at Cut + Run and would casually edit my snark between work orders for five hours, honing and coaxing it into Tom Wolfe parodies and whatnot and I had yet to discover the photo or link features that can often stand in for good thought. I cracked my bones and sat down to type.
And yet... nothing.
And I have so much material! I could write about the baby cheetah show I watched at someone's random house in the Berkshires this past weekend, for instance. I could write about Roommate Alexis and her daily insistence that our pet beta fish has its period. Our building also has a bald she-midget with stump hands. This is how bad it is, people. I can't think of anything funny to say about a follicly, digitally challenged little person who also has a dog that looks just like her.
So I'm taking the rest of this week and possibly the next off. I'll repost some golden oldies sporadically to get you through your workdays. It's summer hiatus. If Lost can do it any damn time it likes, so can I.
So today I was like, okay, I'm going to pull my blog out of this fucking blogorrheic sepsis to which it has succumbed. I will move forward with Blogger Beta and at the same time back, perhaps to the Golden Age of Miss Blotto's Almanac, back when it was just Miss Blotto and I worked at Cut + Run and would casually edit my snark between work orders for five hours, honing and coaxing it into Tom Wolfe parodies and whatnot and I had yet to discover the photo or link features that can often stand in for good thought. I cracked my bones and sat down to type.
And yet... nothing.
And I have so much material! I could write about the baby cheetah show I watched at someone's random house in the Berkshires this past weekend, for instance. I could write about Roommate Alexis and her daily insistence that our pet beta fish has its period. Our building also has a bald she-midget with stump hands. This is how bad it is, people. I can't think of anything funny to say about a follicly, digitally challenged little person who also has a dog that looks just like her.
So I'm taking the rest of this week and possibly the next off. I'll repost some golden oldies sporadically to get you through your workdays. It's summer hiatus. If Lost can do it any damn time it likes, so can I.
CoffeeCoffeeCoffee
CoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeeCOFFEEcoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffee coff ee coffee
It's day two.
This is bad.
It's day two.
This is bad.
8.18.2006
MEGOONKWAN Rules The World
For immediate release:
MEGOONKWAN has taken over Planet Earth. This web-based sensation, originally created as a platform to online stalk Model4Christ in as creepy a manner as possible, has revealed incisive truths about Our World and has been thus deified.
MEGOONKWAN HAS EATEN YOUR SOUL.
MEGOONKWAN has taken over Planet Earth. This web-based sensation, originally created as a platform to online stalk Model4Christ in as creepy a manner as possible, has revealed incisive truths about Our World and has been thus deified.
MEGOONKWAN HAS EATEN YOUR SOUL.
And So To Temp
Today I've been mangling the phone system here in TempWorld. I'll be here all next week, so I'll be sure to pick it up by next Thursday.
Remember last time I temped? I'll give you a hint: it involved microdermabrasion and inquiries as to the definition of "collating." I seethed silently and discovered Great Books Online.
This office has free lunch, but they block all subsidiaries of gawker.com, and I'm not sure it's an even trade. What did cubemonkeys do before the Internet? Was productivity way higher, or did they just spend way more time staring into space?
Perhaps I'll look for some jobs...
Oh, and I'd like to nominate Dennis for least appropriate party theme of the aught so far. Puts the Nuclear STD Explosion to shame.
Remember last time I temped? I'll give you a hint: it involved microdermabrasion and inquiries as to the definition of "collating." I seethed silently and discovered Great Books Online.
This office has free lunch, but they block all subsidiaries of gawker.com, and I'm not sure it's an even trade. What did cubemonkeys do before the Internet? Was productivity way higher, or did they just spend way more time staring into space?
Perhaps I'll look for some jobs...
Oh, and I'd like to nominate Dennis for least appropriate party theme of the aught so far. Puts the Nuclear STD Explosion to shame.
8.16.2006
2 Things
1. I switched to the new Blogger Beta version, so if you're viewing the page on Safari it might look weird. And I have to redo the link list. It should look better soon.
2. I'm watching Jurassic Park on AMC right now. Anyone else think Spielberg got real dinosaurs for this thing? How else can special effects from 1993 still look this good?
2. I'm watching Jurassic Park on AMC right now. Anyone else think Spielberg got real dinosaurs for this thing? How else can special effects from 1993 still look this good?
8.14.2006
Bleh
Has the blog been really boring lately? It has. It's okay. I know you thought it; don't feel guilty. I already know.
But come on-- in this time of rather (okay, relatively) massive life-change, shouldn't the blog be chock full of fancy-free, or at of least frantic messages, like "CAN'T BLOG MUST FLY WRITE MORE LATER OMG"?
Yet despite having moved three hours into the future, having left some very good friends in Pacific time, despite living in someplace unlike any other place on Earth, life just doesn't seem that different. And it's very different. It just doesn't feel that way.
I registered at the temp agency today and will soon commence a series of mind-numbingly boring positions at any number of worthless companies, furtively accessing manuscripts from my semi-legal FTP server until things become so mentally excruciating that I just break down and, in a final act of desperation, convince someone to hire me full-time (it's my MO). Most people bite the bullet before the bullet leaves Wal-Mart; for me, the dumb hick has to load the gun and fire it before I can gnaw on metal.
Anyway, I've been writing more (like, non-blogorrhea writing that maybe possibly with the grace of God and many random people whose names I've only begun to gather you could someday read on an actual page) with all the unclaimed time, and that's probably why entries have been sparse and picture-heavy. And you know what? For that, I most definitely don't apologize.
But come on-- in this time of rather (okay, relatively) massive life-change, shouldn't the blog be chock full of fancy-free, or at of least frantic messages, like "CAN'T BLOG MUST FLY WRITE MORE LATER OMG"?
Yet despite having moved three hours into the future, having left some very good friends in Pacific time, despite living in someplace unlike any other place on Earth, life just doesn't seem that different. And it's very different. It just doesn't feel that way.
I registered at the temp agency today and will soon commence a series of mind-numbingly boring positions at any number of worthless companies, furtively accessing manuscripts from my semi-legal FTP server until things become so mentally excruciating that I just break down and, in a final act of desperation, convince someone to hire me full-time (it's my MO). Most people bite the bullet before the bullet leaves Wal-Mart; for me, the dumb hick has to load the gun and fire it before I can gnaw on metal.
Anyway, I've been writing more (like, non-blogorrhea writing that maybe possibly with the grace of God and many random people whose names I've only begun to gather you could someday read on an actual page) with all the unclaimed time, and that's probably why entries have been sparse and picture-heavy. And you know what? For that, I most definitely don't apologize.
8.13.2006
A Post For Courtney Graham
I was listing my severely curtailed television allowance to one of the new roommates when she squealed. Was it out of fear that I'd get her addicted to Battlestar Galactica? No. It was at Veronica Mars, because she and her friend met Sheriff Lamb last night.
Sheriff Lamb claimed to be 27 (lie). He claimed to be single (lie). He claimed to have no children (veracity unclear). He then tried to bed this friend-of-the-new-roommate, preemptorily refused any kind of condom use in said bed, and got kicked to the other side of the mattress.
They're going out again tonight, but see, now she's done her Google search.
I really, really want to go spy.
Sheriff Lamb claimed to be 27 (lie). He claimed to be single (lie). He claimed to have no children (veracity unclear). He then tried to bed this friend-of-the-new-roommate, preemptorily refused any kind of condom use in said bed, and got kicked to the other side of the mattress.
They're going out again tonight, but see, now she's done her Google search.
I really, really want to go spy.
Re-Sighting
First, the disturbing news that I saw yet another table of Scientologists, this time in the Union Square station, hawking free stress tests and copies of Dianetics. I thought Scientology never took hold here due to the greater relative intelligence and savvy of New Yorkers as compared to Angelenos. Yet, there were people taking the free stress tests. NEW YORKERS. BACK AWAY SLOWLY. IF YOU DON'T LOOK AT IT, IT CAN'T HURT YOU.
In other news, Finn DeTriolio was at Pwd's party last night and it took my companion and I, Sopranos enthusiasts both, a full twenty minutes to pin it. I'm kind of ashamed.
In other news, Finn DeTriolio was at Pwd's party last night and it took my companion and I, Sopranos enthusiasts both, a full twenty minutes to pin it. I'm kind of ashamed.
8.11.2006
Pop Quiz
Okay, which picture was taken at 15th and Prospect Park West?
And which on the WB lot in Burbank, CA?
(Okay, I know it's fairly obvious, but still... those set builders don't fuck around).
And which on the WB lot in Burbank, CA?
(Okay, I know it's fairly obvious, but still... those set builders don't fuck around).
8.10.2006
The Egg and the Grass
Narni wonderful Narni was in town, so I made the trek to Park Slope for some non-Hollywood brekkie.
Park Slope. Home to the writer-dad, pushing the tot around Prospect Park in a MacLaren (if the book sold) or generic stroller (if it didn't), lost in thought, deciding whether Protagonist has to die or when to call his agent. Really, Park Slope just makes me think of The Squid and the Whale, and therefore divorce in the eighties, and how I haven't been to the natural history museum in like, forever, and why on Earth Kevin Kline and Phoebe Cates allowed their young son to take a part in which he was always jacking off and wiping jizz on lockers. Good movie, though.
Good park.
Park Slope. Home to the writer-dad, pushing the tot around Prospect Park in a MacLaren (if the book sold) or generic stroller (if it didn't), lost in thought, deciding whether Protagonist has to die or when to call his agent. Really, Park Slope just makes me think of The Squid and the Whale, and therefore divorce in the eighties, and how I haven't been to the natural history museum in like, forever, and why on Earth Kevin Kline and Phoebe Cates allowed their young son to take a part in which he was always jacking off and wiping jizz on lockers. Good movie, though.
Good park.
8.09.2006
Do You Feel Out Of Control?
My first real "I live in LA" moment, aside from the first time I saw a celebrity--okay, Bijou Phillips-- get drunk and trip on herself, was when I went to my car and found a leaflet.
"ARE YOU CURIOUS ABOUT YOURSELF?" it asked.
Indeed, I recognize that self-awareness and introspective searching are among the tenets of humanity, separating us from the dogs. Of course I'm curious about myself! I read on.
DIANETICS MAY HOLD THE ANSWER.
And then I stopped.
Every city has its specific religious pamphleteers. New York has Jews for Jesus and the Seven Nations of the Brother of the Sons of Israel. SLC, LDS. Los Angeles, the Scientologists.
Worlds are colliding, my friends!
For on my way to the S shuttle between Times Sqare and Grand Central this evening, I passed two tables staffed by white-shirted, earnest Ritalin nonusers surrounded by heaps of a certain paperback science fiction novel and white plastic machines with a detachable stylus.
FREE STRESS TEST, the sign claimed.
Kids, the Scientologists have arrived.
"ARE YOU CURIOUS ABOUT YOURSELF?" it asked.
Indeed, I recognize that self-awareness and introspective searching are among the tenets of humanity, separating us from the dogs. Of course I'm curious about myself! I read on.
DIANETICS MAY HOLD THE ANSWER.
And then I stopped.
Every city has its specific religious pamphleteers. New York has Jews for Jesus and the Seven Nations of the Brother of the Sons of Israel. SLC, LDS. Los Angeles, the Scientologists.
Worlds are colliding, my friends!
For on my way to the S shuttle between Times Sqare and Grand Central this evening, I passed two tables staffed by white-shirted, earnest Ritalin nonusers surrounded by heaps of a certain paperback science fiction novel and white plastic machines with a detachable stylus.
FREE STRESS TEST, the sign claimed.
Kids, the Scientologists have arrived.
8.07.2006
McCarren Pool Party
I found my camera battery charger! And went to the McCarren Pool Party with Clobot!
It featured a dodgeball tournament.
And hipsters.
Welcome back, camera battery charger.
It featured a dodgeball tournament.
And hipsters.
Welcome back, camera battery charger.
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