Monday, December 29, 2008

The brighter the lights, the more I want them in black and white

My Little Attic Tree

I don't have much to say today. I'm done with Christmas, and getting everything ready for New Years. I've avoided reading anything about resolutions or plans for 2009, because there's no reason to bring down my self-esteem, no matter how temporary the effect is. NYE is my favorite holiday, because it's a time for having a really good uninhibited spectacularly silly good time. But in order to achieve that zen like state of awesomeness, preparations must be made, both physical and emotional. First, take the time off from work. Spend money like you're proposing to someone. In a way you are, you're seducing the new year into spending the night, maybe calling you the next day, maybe having your babies. Second, do not think about what you should be doing to yourself for the next 12 months. Instead, focus on what you'd like to be doing to yourself right now, and only for the next 24 hours. Reward yourself for surviving the past year and all the incompetence that came with it.

So I'm off work, and I'm going to Baltimore to get nasty drunk at a Wu Tang concert. I will send you pics, maybe. In the meantime, have these from my holidays...

You know how some girls take pictures of all their friends every time they go out? Well, I now find myself taking pictures of all the inanimate objects and scenes I want to remember.


Polish people love bread for every holiday. We stock up on carbs in the winter for hibernation.

The Best Fruitcake In the World, Monk Fruitcake.

Eggnog ice cream on apple pie is very very good. Especially because eggnog ice cream tastes like rice pudding, so it's like two major desserts in one!

This is probably an iconic picture of Dad. Because of the slippers, not the TV.

And Mom makes the pierogis. Lots and lots of pierogis. She also complains when I take normal pictures of her, so she gets a blurry action shot.

That is not my house by the way. That is the Magical Castle of Christmas Spirit that appeared on my street sometime shortly after Thanksgiving.

And the neighborhood children have been mysteriously disappearing. But the neighborhood nutcracker and stuffed polar bear population seems to have skyrocketed.

Saturday, December 27, 2008

I would like a Radioactive Pork Dumpling. Please.

Also it's possible I may decide to devote my life to collecting Digimon figures...

I know my friends will support my new lifestyle choice, even if it means listening to me debate the merits* of MetalGreymon vs. Kyubimon.

*Cuteness levels

Friday, December 26, 2008

This no laptop thing is killing me. Examples:

I attempted to call someplace the other day...only I have no phone books.
I wanted to go to a bar yesterday....hmmm where can I find ones that are open?
I made awesome eggnog ice cream yesterday and took pictures...that you can't see because I can't upload them at work.
I need to buy a bra.
I need to get the hell out of dodge for New Years, but have no way to mapquest, buy a hotel room, get concert tickets.
I watched 4 straight hours of Star Trek the Next Generation yesterday.

All of this is a serious arguement for getting a phone with internet. Or an eye implant.

Edit: I thought of all the horrible things that could happen to me without internet access at home.

1. I could have a plumbing disaster where all my pipes burst and I'm locked in my house, and since I can't call a plumber, locksmith, or someone with a crowbar, I drown.

2. I buy a new face cream without researching it, and it turns out I'm horribly allergic, and I'm blinded.

3. I try to go to Baltimore for New Years Eve with no map of the city, and I get very very lost, and drive straight into a gang war. And I die.

4. Overdraft fees.

5. Paris Hilton dies in a freak plastic surgery accident involving embalming fluid and chihuahua stem cells, and I know nothing about it.

Wednesday, December 24, 2008

Love in the Oven

I'm sorry, were you looking for the perfect Christmas present?

It comes in mint green. And the gas version is only 4300. Only 4300.
*needs drink*

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Well, my laptop is down for the count right now, beat to the bush, drowned in the channel, ect. So there you go. That's why I haven't told you about the christmas lights show, or the meyer lemon tart I made, or my inability to burn sugar properly, or the strange dream I had where I was kidnapped and taken to Korea for some unknown and secretive government purpose.

It has nothing to do with the three bottles of Barefoot Bubbly I bought. Or my sudden fascination with tongue twisters. Nothing at all.

Anyway, hopefully I'll be back in action by the weekend, we'll see. It's either something horrendously small, or I need a new laptop. Lets all cross our fingers for the former, shall we?

Sunday, December 21, 2008

I woke up this morning with "Old Fashioned Love Song" stuck in my head. I'm hoping to slip on the ice, brain myself, and hopefully the resulting concussion will take care of this for me.

Saturday, December 20, 2008

Support your local musicians...or they will burn your house down

Yesterday morning I looked outside my bathroom window, and saw my driveway completely covered in a thick viscous slush, while the freezing rain poured down and collected in little ponds amongst the ice, and I thought to myself "well, this will be fun to drive in."

Oh, and it was.

But the promised sheet of ice covering NE Ohio like the next Destruction of Man never appeared, and I made it to work fine. I would describe my driving style that morning as "turtle on laxative". I even ventured out afterwards, to meet up with Cleveland Bachelor in Collinwood and check out the Music Saves Christmas Show, picking my way through the frozen ice ridged footprints and not slipping even once! Despite my famous lack of balance and coordination! It was a fucking holiday miracle.

The show started with the Real Dogs, from Akron, who were pleasantly punkie and fun. Which is exactly how I feel everytime I go slumming around Akron, so it fit. They were very Akron.

Next was New Body Type, and they were my favorites that night. Despite the lead singer's white belt and pageboy haircut, he had a great voice for the poppy Decemberist-like songs. Then he let the other guy sing, and that guy just belted it out with the uncanny tone of Jim Morrison. You couldn't tell by looking at him certainly, but the man has darkness in his soul. Their lyrics were intelligent and cute, and they sang a song about some bloke named Nigel, and all in all it was exactly the stuff this girl falls for. So I felt appropriately guilty for my snarky white belt condemnation.

Good Touch Bad Touch were next. They had me, until they lost me with all the distortion. And finally National Suicide Day, Lawrence's new band. As CB predicted, they built us up with this prozac happy shit and then smacked us down like a dog with a newspaper to the nose. I didn't get to stay for the whole set, cause I had to go home and sleep a little bit anyway. But very classic rock wailing blues crying for your woman and the salvation of mankind sort of thing.

So there you go, great show for five dollars. I made it home safely, albeit obnoxiously. If you had been in the car with me, you would have been treated to a great offtune version of Let It Be about 6 times on repeat. But luckily you were not.

Friday, December 19, 2008

Burger King markets Men's fragrance

It's called Flame, and you can learn all about it at the website Fire Meets Desire

Trust me that you want to hit the spray button at least three times.

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Top Chef Recap: Christmas is a season for forgiveness. And judgement.

So on my way home from work today, I heard an NPR story about something wicked in South Africa. Like, remember how AIDS is a big problem in Africa and all? Well, part of the drug therapy treatment they prescribe regularly to victims is a drug called Sustiva, also known as Efavirenz. This drug has been known to cause night terrors in a portion of its users, because Sustiva is a hallucinogenic drug. So now there's a problem, a catastrophe if you will, because so many people are dealing this as a recreational drug. They grind it up and use it with weed (though I'ma little vague on how? snort, shoot, smoke?). Also, people buy it to have unprotected sex, because they think it protects them from HIV. The AIDS activists and doctors in the area are crazy up in arms about this, because if the government decides to schedule this drug due to its epidemic misuse? Then it severely limits what kind of effect they can have on AIDS in Africa. It sets back their efforts by a decade. I totally just made up a decade cause it sounds good. But its REALLY bad anyway.

I was telling C. about this, and also the beauties of the downtown Cleveland Public Library (which she's never been in and I haven't for years...)* while last week's Top Chef played in the background. And you might ask what this has to do with Top Chef?

Well, it's the holidays. Or as Padma calls it, "Happy Christmas!"**
So it's time for thinking about others; people with diseases, people starving, people laboring under the delusion that they have any culinary talent at all. Also catastrophes.

Tonight's episode starts with several soul searching revelations from contestants, as they putter about their natural habitat. Old Goil realizes she should "keep it simple", because obviously cooking meat is like the hardest thing ever. Gene feels he "dodged a bullet." S. states it is because he is a gutterpunk, and therefore familiar with bullets and their avoidance. Stefan aka White Balls carves angry faces into helpless watermelons (which is horribly cute), while Hosea learns the benefits of product placement. Cancer and Sidekicks in the same frame? Priceless.

Then they go to the Quickfire and look who comes in? The new Queen of the Recession, Martha Stewart. She strolls in with a copy of her new book under her arm, the miniature cover Martha smiling like an evil tiny twin growing from her torso. Snoop Dogg's favorite boo challenges the cooks (yes, I used that term on purpose) to create "one pot wonders". Cause, you know, home cooks are used to cooking with their arsenal of twenty, thirty calphalon. I'm not sure I've ever used more than one pot in a meal. I am dishes-phobic. It's a limitation, I understand that. But tonight, it makes me a "One Pot Wonder".

As the cooks begin their challenges, I contemplate the unspoken massacre of scallops that has occurred in the last ten years due to the growth of "foodies". Eck. I will never get to be a foodie. Old Jersey Goil made a cauliflower puree which she advises are great for kids cause they are like mashed potatoes but instead the kiddies get veggies, and my Irish/Polish ass is all like, aren't potatoes veggies? See, a foodie would know better.

So Martha loves White Balls: The Revenge, and his "chanterelles". She loves Hosannah and his Paella. I wonder if Hosannah has ever spent late nights in the kitchen, making paella, and contemplating the Inquisition? He-Man's blond locks are powerless against Martha's one note condemnation, "pungent". Old Jersey Motherfucking Goil decides to work the Snoop Dogg angle and wear her BASEBALL HATE BACKWARDS in a blatant attempt to appeal to Martha's jungle fever. Martha's genius criticism to Gene? "I thought it could be much more delicious.". Old Jersey Motherfucking Beyotch Goil wins, because she can cook meat.

C. mention that she has seen S. and M. get completely trashed all day, and manage to grill perfect pieces of lamb while shooting roman candles at each other. So how hard can it be?

Hr bloody swath through the next generation's nightmares complete, Martha departs, and a revolution against her erupts in the room I'm in. While the Last of the Gays stands on screen, quietly and bravely trying not to cry because she's lost to Ms. Meat four times now, S. jumps up from the couch and screams "I'll cut off my penis, deep fry it, and eat it if she wins!" Our group hatred against Old Jersey Motherfuckin Beyotch Botox Goil is swelling to an intensity that must, at the very least, cause her psychosomatic boils.

S. picked up some sausages from Chef's Choice Meats in Berea for tonight, and the owner gave him a Great Lakes Christmas Ale Sausage that he just created. So we sample that at this time in the evening, halfway through a bottle of Shiraz and a giant box of Milwaukee's Best. The sausage is good, overly seasoned like the beer, but spicy sweet. It's a very fruity sausage. The bratwurst is great too. I guess Great Lakes will have it on their menu, and the Beer Engine already sells his meats. Also he carries those awesome local glass bottles of chocolate milk? And gives refills.

Show's back on, so on to the main course. Tonight's challenge is "The Twelve Days of Christmas", and I like it. I secretly want to do 5 Golden rings, with pineapple, but Gene beats me to it. Also, he's on the show, and I'm not. Immediately, everyone starts spouting bullshit justifying their particular dishes. "Piper's piping? Let's smoke everything!" Which is exactly what Hosannah does, smoking out the whole kitchen. Fabio the Quietly Storming European writes some story about his dish (he's a poet, a seeker). But the real climax is coming....

In the middle of the night, the evil Grinch Colicchio sneaks into the kitchen where all the little boys and girls have stacked and prepped their dishes, and OPENS A FRIDGE. Actually, one of the morons left it open overnight, but surprisingly, no one blames anyone. You'd expect some sort of guilty confession, but it seems that everyone is feeling so guilty about their general loserness, they forget to be divas. Anyway, Hosannah and Sally get screwed by the fridge mishap. Which allows the producers to create an absolutely sickening moment, where they play Christmas music in the background while all the cooks step in and help their friends save Christmas!

Oh, but really they're saving the AIDS Benefit! See how this all comes full circle? Is it bad that during that NPR story, I was really thinking about how available Sustiva was?
Natasha Richardson, looking like a rich man's Jennifer Coolidge, announces that the guests will pin their AIDS ribbons to the chef's board whose dish they adored. S. thinks this is perverse, and also that Kenneth Cole looks like Steve Gutenberg.

This whole episode is like a Sweet Valley high book. I could try to explain all the ins and outs, but really who gives a fuck? I didn't give a fuck while I was reading the book. There's some shit about Hosannah making Leah jealous with a vacuous socialite (let's all notice that HE doesn't live with HIS girlfriend). Leah has some hearts on her hand, which I'm guessing Hosannah drew on her at some point. Michelle Bernstein holds no truck with the empty nonsense issuing from Richardson, and Colicchio can't stop staring at her breasts.

"You put the lime in the coconut, you drink it all up", and it looks like Gene's a goner. The coconut and lime completely covered the fish huh? who could have guess that? Hosannah wins, in a Holiday Miracle. Then the producers decide not to send anyone home, because they all showed such Christmas Cheer by helping out their comrades after the Great Fridge Disaster of 2008. BUT

Tom Colicchio comes into the waiting room, after giving the cooks sufficient time to get drunk on cheap wine, and he's like "we're looking for amazing food here guys" "you don't win with deviled eggs" and "we wish we could just butcher you all and make some nice curries, at least then your existence wouldn't be a total waste."

So next week's challenge? Cook whatever you want, no limitations, we just need to see if you actually know how to cook or if Tom is going to commit seppuku.

*Also mentioned is how it really annoys me that people are always describing mushrooms as "earthy". I mean, it's time for a new adjective already. And as I say this, c. exclaims that she was just thinking the exact same thing. Seriously. Earthy.
** Zombie! Only zombies say "happy christmas".
The Faint was awesome. AWESOME. Lots of sweaty happy people dancing in purple and blue lights. When they come back, if they don't die in the great Utah flood, make sure you go. You can't NOT like the Faint. Unless you have a SCAB where your heart should be. A hard brittle scab.

Also, meet the new member of my family...

The Panasonic Lumix DMC-FS5P-K 10.1MP Digital Camera with 4x Wide Angle MEGA Optical Image Stabilized Zoom (Black)

Camera Love.
Now, Top chef love.

Also, I just got a 50$ parking ticket for parking at the end of my own parents' driveway. Only I wasn't off the sidewalk, because they have a terrible driveway. So Officer Simone got me. Seriously, why don't they just move him to Parma? There are much better things to be doing in the Denison neighborhood besides sidewalk control.

Oh well, nothing is going to break my camera love.

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

If China can do it, so can we!

A little bit of that "can do" Cleveland spirit...

We are now the face transplant capital of the US.

Let the "people in Cleveland are ugly" jokes begin. But really, it should be "people in Cleveland are bad ass face-moving mofos who also eat steel." Note: find out our ranking in "face-eating"

Also, from Food Junta, a line I intend to live by this winter...

"a bag of corn in the freezer is not a bad step toward building a better kitchen"
Since yesterday marked my official "stepping out of the house", and since today I go back to work finally (to probably about 300 diaries and 37 voicemails...*cringe*), there is a good chance you may see me soon somewhere. And since I am still coughing like a bad impression of glaciers cracking monk spines*, with a volume that makes me wonder if I have so much lung capacity why can't I sing? Then when you see me out and about, and you hear this wondrous amazing soul crushing cough, PLEASE say something to me about it. Because it's far more embarrassing to have you not acknowledge I am sick, then to have you make merciless fun of me in my digustingness. Thank you.

*S. threatened to take me squirrel hunting because apparently I now bark like a large male squirrel in rut. Awesome.

Saturday, December 13, 2008

Oh my god, STILL sick.
For those of you that don't see me in real life, I've been sick for THREE WEEKS now. Basically, I got sick the day after I got a flu shot, which they give out for free at work. We all line up in the cafeteria and off the clock nurses stick us with efficiency. I've been getting flu shots for years, to no ill effect. But the day after this one, I woke up full of snot and with a pounding sinus headache. And it has been getting progressively worse for three weeks. Until Thursday, when I just couldn't take it anymore, and I called off work. And here I am, Saturday, and something in my body is changing...

-For instance, I can now purr. In the back of my throat.
-Also, my skin is much clearer, and stronger. I used to get a red snout anytime I touched a tissue, and sickness would cause my cheekbones to become pimple farms. Now I'm porcelain, even the sensitive nostrils area.
-I don't need as much sleep, I seem to be able to function fine on less and less. I feel confident I will reach the point of needing no sleep sometime in the next few days.
- I smell different.
- cold medicine has stopped having any effect on me, even for fun.
- I crave salt.
- I watched Little Women on TCM twice in a row last night, first the black and white version with Katherine Hepburn and then the technicolor one with June Allyson. Then I pictured Jo and Professor Baer having sex.

I'm not saying there's any need to worry at the moment, only pointing out that the flu shot seems to have concealed some secret government formula to turn me into a German.

Friday, December 12, 2008

Also Betty Page is dead.

Some may remember her for the ball gag, others for the garters. Me personally, I will always be grateful for the bangs. Also, the smile. Why don't girls smile like that anymore in pictures?

Of course, now that she's dead, we no longer need her permission to start cloning...
I'm home sick again today. Yesterday I puttered, today I coagulate.

Speaking of coagulation, I wish I had some Cream of Wheat. I wish there was a service I could call to deliver me Cream of Wheat, and menthol tissues, and hot chocolate. Oranges and cranberry juice were great ideas yesterday, but they're COLD, and my throat is in shock right now from the avalanche causing hacks I've been perfecting. My throat needs a blanket.

Also, I started looking at wall decals, and if I don't get better soon, my apartment will be covered in birds. I'm ordering olive...

But now I keep seeing other things I want too, like this:

I know I don't NEED a lemur...but look at him! He's a lemur!

If you're thinking "there's no way Bridget would cover her house in stickers just because of too much cough syrup", you are sadly mistaken.

Also, lets talk shower curtains. Do I get this one?

Or this one?

Alright, I need to watch some good old fashioned tv.

Thursday, December 11, 2008

Hero of The Day

Seen on Callahan's Cleveland Diary today....

Sheriff orders deputies not to evict

"HAMILTON: A sheriff in Southwest Ohio has ordered deputies to ignore eviction orders when people have nowhere else to live.

Butler County Sheriff Richard Jones says evictions in winter weather and during an economic recession are heartless and those cases should be sent back to the courts and resolved some other way.

Jones on Tuesday ordered deputies to ensure that people have shelter before they're forced out of their homes. He also sent a letter to Gov. Ted Strickland asking him to issue a state order to stop forced evictions for at least the winter months.

The sheriff could face court action if a bank or landlord challenges his refusal to honor a court-ordered eviction. Jones says he will face any consequences of his order."

According to PolicyMatters Ohio, in 2007 Butler County was the tenth busiest county in Ohio feeding the foreclosure vultures, with 2,783 filings. A number which looks like a puny 5th grader compared to Cuyahoga's 2007 total of 14,946, however Butler's foreclosure rate from 2002-2007 grew by 68.3%. Because it's in NOWHERE OHIO. Nobody lives there. If you've ever been to Middletown, you have forgotten about it three minutes after you left it. So in a community where nobody lives? 2700 is a lot of houses.

But that isn't really the point. Those are just some numbers I looked up out of curiosity. I've actually spent a lot more time in Butler than I realized, looking at the city list, and believe me, I wouldn't want to be homeless in Hamilton.

What this guy is doing is saying "hey, if these people have nowhere else to go, don't kick them out into the street, we'll find someplace for them to go before we change the locks". They're still going to have to go, it's just a matter of having some shelter first. Which is the human thing to do.

And as a renter in Cuyahoga County, where the threat of finding out you live in a foreclosed house is a very real and imminent thing, I can appreciate the gesture. What if I was 80 and had no family? That's really who he's targeting here.

So here's to Sheriff Richard Jones, I hope they don't cut your head off for this.If anything, you deserve a raise for actually doing what your job description entails, protecting your people.

Also, you know, FUCK the American Auto Industry, you fucking asswads who spent the last two decades perfecting TRUCKS. And FUCK you, Bank of America, who can't be bothered to use any of their bailout money to actually, you know, BAIL ANYONE OUT. 1931 called, it wants to know where the strike line forms.

Edit: I've been told by several unnamed adversaries that finding people places to keep warm is the opposite of "human", that in fact kicking people out in the snow is a far more human action. Fair enough. From now on, whenever I use the word "human" as a description of a compassionate action, please just substitute "gay".

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Top Chef Recap - Can You Say Spooge on TV?

Tonight, Top Chef is a narrative about redemption and love. Or maybe its about how when you're fucked once, you're always fucked, cause your mother was right and your unholy ass will never win at anything. Or maybe its about how wearing loud prints will get you a ring.

We start off the episode with a touching insight by MethHead McBangsies, who ponders what she calls her "awakening". "This is a huge wake up call," she says, while staring soulfully from under her unkempt mop. A wake up call she will fail to hear, much like (one supposes) the time her boyfriend broke up with her for doing too much coke off that Korean pop star's balls.

Speaking of balls, we then learn that European Cock 2 (The Great White Balls) has a crush on the Last of the Gays, and makes her creepy little gifts, like pants for her stuffed animals. Perhaps implying that all her little friends are actually male, and therefore she must like males, and therefore she must kiss him. This leads to lots of "hey, do you know what LESBIAN means?" comments, and laughing at White Balls behind his back. It's what he gets for wearing that damn California flag t-shirt all the time, which reminds me of that horrible album cover by that horrible band that I hate.

But enough soul-searching....on to the Quickfire. Padma dresses up as Heidi, and ushers the contestants through a palate test, brandishing bisques and curries in which they must identify ingredients or climb the Alps. We learn, surprisingly, that some of the chefs (okay, one) believe Danny has brains. But no, Danny has no brains, he loses. He-Man has crabs on the brain, and his wink becomes a full on nervous tic. He loses. The Withered Vagina somehow manages to induce angry yelling in all of us watching, I don't even know why she loses, we hate her so much. And the battle comes down to the baldies versus the Monster from Fraggle Rock (henceforth known in this post as The Muppet). The White Balls are castrated as Hosannah wins mightily, and then receives his victory hump from Leah Who Has No Nickname Cause She's Boring. The White Balls are angry, and pronounce that they "don't give a shit about any of these people". Oh White Balls, neither do we, neither do we.

In sweeps breezy Gayle, looking young, refreshed, happy? Oh, she's getting married! S. suggests the groom is perhaps a Giant Twinkie. But love and sex agree with Gayle, and the elimination challenge is to cater to her wedding shower, populated by 45 of her closest "strong, beautiful women" friends. All of whom presumably either went to high school with her, or are interns at Food and Wine and want to parlay this invitation into a Bravo Reality Show of their own, since print is dead. They divide the sacrificial lambs, ie chefs, into 4 teams. Listen to how witty! Something Borrowed, Something Blue, Something Old, and Something New! Cute, Gayle, very cute. Now we're just humiliating them for fun.

On Something Borrowed, the Last of the Gays forces Sally from Nightmare Before Christmas to play the good Indian and make her some damn yogurt sauce. The Withered Vagina is made kitchen wench again, and her only task is to cook the lamb. Turn that spit Bitch. Sally also shows off her creepy Indian mental skills, and hypnotizes everyone into working on their plate assembly line, a skill she obviously learned from the Nike factory.

Something Blue ignores any kind of creativity at all, and makes sea bass with denture friendly corn. S. remarks that it looks like a rock on a bed of cat vomit.

Something Old is He-Man, White Balls, and Hosanna, so they whip together some heirloom tomato crap and then spend the rest of the time comparing the translucency of their skin.

But its Something New that really rots the fish here, with something called a deconstructed cooked sushi roll? The Latin King makes bad rice and serves it anyway! Top Chef Cardinal Rule #10 Motherfucker. Danny of Questionable Facial Hair garnishes the sauces on the plate and says "a little spooge here, a little spooge there" or something to the spooge effect. He definitely said spooge, people. The entire room I'm in goes silent out of shock and also, maybe, just a little, respect. And we learn that when the Muppet is separated from her Doozer, they have a "call and response" they use to find it each other.

Muppet: "Hoody?"
Doozer: "Hoo!"

So Deconstructed Mexican Sushi is a bust, and curses Gayle to an unhappy marriage, and she cries and cries and cries because her entire shower is ruined and her life is ruined and Jeremy will totally leave her in twenty years for a food blogger.

While introducing his dish, Fabio the Stinky European tells all the 45 "strong beautiful" achingly single Bryn Mawr graduates that they are beautiful, and they all blush. Which prompts C. to tell a story about how one time she went a shower and the girls there started shit over the fucking stripper, cause he kissed them all on the cheeks and gave them all his cards. Lesson? Girls can be dumb. M. shows us a phone forward he got showcasing a girl with three tits, and order is somewhat restored.

Meanwhile, in the background, Hosannah is making Leah his Mary Magda, to the sure dismay of their poor signifs back home. Their children will have horrible overbites.

So Withered Vagina wins AGAIN, just for making meat. Like, the simplest meat in the world. And Daniel of the Unfortunate Run In with a Beard Clipper Wielding Maniac goes home.

One more down, oh god, only one more down. Even Tom says "If I could send three of you home at once, I would". Please do it Tom. Just Do It.
Today's question of the day was "Will taking a darvoset at work make me more or less productive?"

A large underground cavern is solidifying in my lungs, my alveoli are being coated slowly with limestone drippings.
And somewhere, lost at the bottom of this raw primordial world, is a rather large dog. I imagine him to be a rottweiler - german sheperd mix. Very cute, but with territorial issues, thyroid problems, nervous. And he has been barking all day, more and more insistently every hour. Have you ever seen a dog get so upset and bark so much that he actually throws up? Or throws himself against the stalactites so hard he draws blood?

The answer to today's question was "just knock the dog out already. fuck."

Also, reading Kingtycoon tonight, I find it funny that some of the people I would miss most if they were completely out of my world, blog and all, are people that I don't even think about whether or not I like them, or whether they like me. Like, it's a moot point, the whole "friend" thing. But I appreciate what they are. So you know, M., JERE, Ergo, Sholanda, Ludic Kid, and multiple others....I appreciate you. Even if personal contact might make us tear our eyes out...or create black holes...or lead to the accidental deaths of people we don't even know...

Monday, December 8, 2008

What the hell is this shit about no Sunday liquor in Tremont?

The problem with Sunday brunch has always been that wandering hungover and dead into a crowded place where you're sardined shoulder to shoulder with people who look like they actually showered and then waiting 40 minutes to get your food and twice as long for a refill on your coffee is possibly the least fun experience in the world. Even more so now that you can't smoke in bars.

So your choice becomes 1)wake up early and go to breakfast before the churchies get there, or 2) stay home, watch bowling, and forgo breakfast altogether.

Mostly, I have opted for the latter.

Yesterday though, we went to the Tremont Tap House for brunch. This place trips me out cause I used to spend so much time in Trinka's, and it's weird to go in there expecting a pool table and Joe, only to find a "casual gastropub". However the back door still has that evil little stone step, so the danger of cracking my tipsy head against the pavement is still imminent. Even though we went around 12:30, there were plenty of tables. We sat at the bar, and the bartender was super prompt. We both got the Steel Cut Oatmeal, which came with cute little sides of raisins, cream, and brown sugar. I love oatmeal. Mom used to make it all the time before school, not the crappy instant kind, but actual oats cooked and creamed and buttered. She probably remembers me hating it. But god do I love it now. Also, I remember peanut butter toast and hot chocolate before school too. I need to start eating like that again in the mornings. Anyway, the oatmeal was great, and it paired well with the Pyramid Apricot I was drinking, and I've been wanting more ever since.

Then we made a hurried trip to see Let The Right One In at Cedar Lee. I loved this movie. It was SO cute and SO sweet, and So beautiful. It's a wonderfully chilly Swedish-colored film about a little boy and the little vampire girl he falls in love with. What is it about Artic Circle vampires that's so much more sympathetic and so much scarier than the regular American vampire? Maybe I'm just predisposed to Nordic monsters because Grendel was one of my first loves. Anyway, I really enjoyed this, it goes on my list of favorite "monsters are your friend" movies.

Next we headed back to Tremont for A Cookie and A Cupcake, which we had spotted on our way to the highway. I didn't even know we had finally gotten a cupcake bakery in Cleveland, but then again, the cupcake thing has been trendy for at least five years, so I guess the appropriate lag time for Cleveland fashion was there. Snarky trends aside, cupcakes are good and cute local shops that box it up in pink paper are always good. I would have taken pictures, but we ate them immediately with little regard for aesthetics or digestion. Lemon raspberry, peanut butter buttercream, and strawberry with a whole strawberry inside. Moist, not crumbly. Not overwhelming sweet. The blondie was a little much for me, but I pronounce the cakes to be definitely the trip. And the 2.50.

We ended up at the Old Angle drinking and meeting the bartender from that morning again.

So basically, if I could just repeat this Sunday over and over again for the next few months, I think I'd be very happy.

Now today is Put the Christmas Lights Up Day. Even atheists like lights, and some of us more than others. Plus this year I'm not living with someone who insists on taking them down after New Years. College Dorm Room chic, here I come. Having chronicled yesterday in an attempt to justify not cleaning, now I'm going to go suck it up and get this shit done. As I told him this morning, "it's like trying to drag a donkey somewhere against it's will, only I'm the donkey and the one pulling"

Sunday, December 7, 2008

Gawker understands me.

"NBC has named David Gregory the official replacement host of their Sunday morning show Meet the Press, in which politicos and reporters of all sorts chat about Issues and then cry a little and then do some whippets and take a nap."

Also, check out what Obama says in his youtube address this week, at the 38 second mark, check out the use of gender...

"It's about the rising unease and frustration that so many of you are feeling during this holiday season. Will you be able to put your kids through college? Will you be able to afford health care? Will you be able to retire with dignity and security? Will YOUR job or your HUSBAND'S job, or your daughter's or son's job be the next one cut?"

And really, couldn't you just kiss him for the mention of electronic medical records?

And no, that is not a Saturday Night Live clip below, even though that may be your first reaction.

Saturday, December 6, 2008

Yay Snow!

Here's for today being the first day I actually said "we can't do that because it will be snowing too hard." Yay!

I desperately want to make toffee tonight, so instead I've been munching string cheese and watermelon all day, trying to "health" the urge away. Perversely, eating string cheese makes me want good red wine, but it looks like tonight I'll settle for the 3.99 Crane Lake Reisling sitting in my fridge. Which I'm sure is destined to be opened, half consumed, and then commune pungently with the other 2 open bottles on the condiments shelf. I should make a jam or something, some fruit based thing. But see, we're trying to not spend money for the next month, so we're cutting down on things like random fanciful trips to the grocery store. It's "toilet paper, cat food, pickles, 1/4 pd salami and I'm out." Even then, somehow those croissants snuck in there. It's like butter atoms seek me out, I'm cream magnetic. Also, you know there's a recession when you see Kraft Mac & Cheese, the dry kind, on sale 2 for 4.00. That's 2 dollars for a box of dry macaroni. What the what.

I realize that I haven't contributed anything to Music Saturday yet. I hate music today. That's cause I woke up at 5am thanks to Eddy happily doing the moonwalk on my hip, despite the full bowl of food she's got, cheeky fat little bastard. It's bad when your overweight cat discovers all she has to do to wake you up is put a little force in her footsteps. And I know she's aware of what she's doing, cause when she doesn't want anything, she's capable of the softest of steps, like butterflies kissing you. Her desire, however, is a boulder, a boulder she wants to throw on your face. She is a boulder. I will throw her off a cliff.

Anyway, music? What kind of music today? Did you know that the oldest flute they've found is 43,000 years 0ld, and is a cave bear femur? Also they are not sure if its human made or a bear chewed it. So maybe bears made the first flute and then humans stole it like fire, and used the dulcet tones to lull the beasts into submission. Then they ate the bear. And imperialism was born.

This girl at work seriously just talked to me for ten minutes about her different sets of sweatpants at home, including the set she has with rhinestones, for when she wants to wear something nice out of the house.

Warning: you might want to start this video, then open another window and keep doing what you were orginally doing, unless you like watching 17yr old boys being jackasses. Which I do. Also this is the only song I want to hear right now.

Friday, December 5, 2008

Fried Chicken and Nice People on the Internet

So the intrepid party crashers at Wonkette pointed this out yesterday....

Obama's new website,, is apparently full of smart people with manners.

See, they have this Open Government forum, where the Transition Team, between crime fighting and planet saving, ask questions directly to YOU the American Public. It's exciting! The latest hard hitting debate focuses on how the current economic crisis is affecting YOU the American Public. And supposedly they want YOU the American Public to be honest, and really feel engaged here.

But the biggest shocker here is how FUCKING reasonable and nice and articulate all the comments are. FOR INSTANCE, here is a random response to someone else's comment. Posted by "Ted_Ryfiak", which is obviously his real name. I love the Obama administration if only for bringing last names back to the internet. Now granted, this is not the most erudite of the comments, but I love it.

"Pretty good - I made the following suggestions to someone a couple weeks ago.
If GM fails – US bails them out – gets controlling interest – puts Toyota managers in charge of all of GM - profits pay off bailout.
If Chrysler fails - US bails them out – gets controlling interest – puts Volkswagen managers in charge of all of Chrysler - profits pay off bailout.
If Ford fails – US bails them out – gets controlling interest – puts Honda managers in charge of all of Ford - profits pay off bailout."

Now if that had been posted anywhere else, it would have read something like this:

"Fuck the Big 3, They should pull a Saget and start sucking cockz for their crack"

And that's in its most optimistic form.

ALSO you can apply at the website for a job in the Obama Administration!


Now, let's talk about what you really want to know, which is what Jay and I made for Thai night yesterday! Inspired by Chez Pim, we tried our hand at Thai Fried Chicken. And as always, it was awesome. Jay made the marinade before I got there, with lots of garlic, cilantro, oyster and fish sauce. I've decided fish sauce makes everything better. I'm going to try making fish sauce lollipops, pancakes, cookies...

We dredged the chicken in rice flour, then deep fried it, which resulted in those tasty turd looking things you see above. They were so awesomely genuinely flavorful, but unfortunately I think our heat was a little too low because they got a little greasy soft. Also, we used skinless chicken, and I don't know on what planet I thought I could get "shatteringly crispy" without skin. Dumbass.

We then fried some green beans, almonds, eggs, and rice together, with a large dose of chili sauce...

And then tried and failed miserably at presentation...

But it was SOOOO good. Seriously, Jay and I are the masters of cooking with garlic and cilantro. I should probably start growing my own cilantro for as much of it as we use.

Next week, I've been ordered to create something out of this fruit.

Then we sat down to a nice relaxing night of Picket Fences. The End.

Thai fried chicken, or, the crispiest fried chicken ever (from Chez Pim)

8-10 pieces of chicken, drumsticks or thighs, or both (a little over 2lbs or 1kg)
4-6 cloves of garlic, peeled
about 1 tbsp of chopped cilantro roots (or just the bottom part of the stalks)
about 1/2 tbsp ground black pepper
1 tsp kosher or (large-grained) sea salt (If all you have is fine salt, skip it.)
3tbsp oyster sauce
1/4 cup fish sauce
Enough canola oil or other high-temp oil to fill about 2-inch from the bottom of your cast iron pan (or a deep frying pan)

In a mortar or a small food processor, pound or chop the garlic, cilantro roots, kosher salt into a rough paste. Transfer the paste into a large bowl, add the oyster sauce and fish sauce and stir to mix well. Rinse and dry the chicken pieces thoroughly, then place them into the bowl. With your hands, toss and rub the chicken pieces all over with the marinate mixture. Cover the bowl with plastic and let marinade in the fridge for at least 3 hours.

When you are ready to cook the chicken, place your pan over medium-low heat, fill it with enough oil (I used Canola) to cover about 2inches from the bottom of the pan, or about half way up the side. Let the oil come up to frying temperature, about 360F or 180C. Meanwhile, put about 2 cups of rice flour into a large plate (a pyrex pie plate works very well for this.) When the oil is ready, take the chicken pieces, one at a time, drop it into the flour plate and coat well with the rice flour. Shake each piece once or twice to remove excess flour and place them, gently, into the hot oil. Cook the chickens until brown and crisp all around

Anatomy of an Internet Search

So today, I called a customer who had this on his voicemail:

"His charm is so contagious, vaccines have been created for it.
Years ago, he built a city out of blocks-- today, over six hundred thousand people live and work there.
He is the only man, to ever ace a Rorschach test.
Every time he goes for a swim, dolphins appear.
Alien abductors have asked him to probe them.
If he were to give you directions, you'd never get lost--and you'd arrive at least five minutes early.
His legend precedes him, the way lightning precedes thunder.
He is the most interesting man in the world....."

While trying to track that down, I found this site. Which is just cool. But also led me to this site...

1. If you have five dollars and Chuck Norris has five dollars, Chuck Norris has more money than you.

2. There is no 'ctrl' button on Chuck Norris's computer. Chuck Norris is always in control.

3. Apple pays Chuck Norris 99 cents every time he listens to a song.

4. Chuck Norris can sneeze with his eyes open.

5. Chuck Norris can eat just one Lay's potato chip.

That made me think of this, and then this, and then this.

"Good for those who are having movie night at their house but only have a bag of Russet potatoes"

Cause that happens to me all the time.
Finally, I ended up at

"The History of the Microwave
A Dr. Percy Spencer, a self-taught engineer with the Raytheon Corporation, invented the microwave oven. He first noticed something very unusual during a radar-related research project around 1946. He was testing a new vacuum tube called a magnetron when he discovered that a chocolate bar in his pocket had melted."

Curiously enough, Raytheon is still very much around. They make missile guidance systems.

According to the Austin Chronicle Food Section, "Sometimes there's nothing better than a chub of Velveeta microwaved with Pace Picante, some El Galindo chips, and a Dos Equis."
Which, if you bothered to clink the first link, you understand as my attempt at full circle. Unfortunately I have no idea what a "chub"is.
So there you go.

Thursday, December 4, 2008

Top Chef - Are eggs, in fact, the hardest food?

I don't usually get really interested in Top Chef until we're down to about 7 people. The chaff needs to be properly separated and burned before I can actually enjoy it, because before that, the stupidity makes me want to subsist on cornflakes for the rest of my life. Last night's episode was no exception. Speaking of cornflakes...cornflake coated squash blossom stuffed with hash? Might not have been so revolting, until we learned the cornflakes were sweetened? I hate people who eat sweetened cornflakes. HATE. Cornflakes should be bland and rough.

Anyway, the first challenge was a breakfast amuse bouche. I paid not as much attention to this as I should, because I was busy stuffing my face with chili. Really really good chili. At least Top Chef night gives us an excuse to cook.

So they had to riff on breakfast, preferably with bacon, since Rocco said he loves the fried pork fat. As anyone knows who has watched this show for a few seasons, an amuse bouche is ONE BITE. In fact, the judges TELL them this at the beginning of the challenge. For years they have told them this, and for years the contestants go ahead, ignore them, and make actual dishes.

So the girl who actually makes a one bite egg BLT wins, over the girl who made a two bite egg BLT, and then Fabio the Reprehensible European has the funniest quote of the night when he whines about how he didn't win because he didn't make "toast with bullshit eggs on top"

Let's just review the list of THINGS YOU DON'T DO ON TOP CHEF

1. Make an amuse bouche that is over two bites.

2. Use premade sausage. Ever.

3. Make something fried during a catering challenge.

4. Make anything "al dente".

5. Talk back to Tom.

So far, these morons have violated every rule and we're not even halfway through the season. You'd think you would WATCH the show you were going to be competing on. It's not like Bravo doesn't rerun every episode ever, all the time, in between "Must Love Dogs" and Housewives.

Anyway, on to the next lame ass challenge. This time, the chefs (though really some of them are just cooks) have to do a 2 minute cooking demo, in the hopes of being on the Today show. Peter Petrelli's mother, ie New Jersey cougar, FLIPS THE FUCK OUT. Because of course she watches the Today show. Of course she does. Anyway, this is a dumb challenge that reminds me of why I never could get into "The Next Food Network Star" show. I hate watching people try to be personable for a mass audience.

So they have to decide on a dish, and then make it in under 2 minutes while Padma, Tom, Gayle, and Rocco all hover around them being extremely judgemental. I think that this season even the judges are fed up with the incompetence. Last weeks episode with the Foo Fighters was the most snarky and condescending I've ever seen them, but this week was pretty close. Gayle especially is just at the end of her rope. And her taste in clothes is suffering for it.

Blah Blah Blah, Mrs. Petrelli makes a watermelon salad with her MIND, and then there's some shit about actually going on the Today show, and she sprays the set down with her vaginal juices, going into instant menopausal shock. Kathy Lee spits out the weird rollie things that He-Man/Guy who looks like the blonde guy on House made, and he's mortified. And Fabio the Unrepentant European says something about "ladies with unrefined palates". And then Fran Drescher's Mother wins and all of New Jersey retreats from the chaos and bakes casaba cakes.

And the Last of the Gays made a lot of angry faces, during which we realized she actually draws her tattoo sleeves on every morning with crayola markers.

*Sigh* I MISS Marcel. And Hung. And god, even Casey. *spits*.

Tuesday, December 2, 2008

The best part was where the kangaroo got shot

So my nose is stuffed full of yellow runny cotton again, for the third week in a row. And today it was finally cold, bitingly cold and icy. Plus I was supposed to go out tonight, but opted instead to spend the (very spare) drinking money on a spicy Kafta roll from Aladdins for lunch, thinking it was perhaps the only thing I might actually be able to taste. So no open mike for me, but its for the best, since I'm sick and also have to wake up super early tomorrow to have my innards prodded with specula before work. What a fun couple of days, right?

I saw a good movie last night, Boy A. I saw a good movie on Saturday, the Yokai Wars. I highly recommend both these movies, and also they are both On Demand right now, so you don't even need to put on non-fuzzy clothes or makeup or shower or clean off the car. Which is precisely the effort I made on Sunday, when I went to see Australia.

What exactly do I say about this movie? I was very excited about it. Nicole Kidman is my Barbie, and Baz Luhrmann is my Ken (I like to rub them together and pretend they're making babies), and Australia is one of those few places that hasn't been made lame in modern media and therefore is where the cool kids live. And yet here I sit, unable to formulate anything besides indignant exclamation points and snarky question marks. What happened in those 2 1/2! hours! to kill my love of cinema and also my will to live?

1. Nicole Kidman and Hugh Jackman should be ashamed of themselves. Both of them are horrible in this. Nicole has the acting ability of a plastic donkey, and Hugh seems to think his next best career choice will be replacing Fabio on book covers. Also, there's this annoying little kid, who starts off the whole movie with this revolting voice over that makes you want to tear your ears off. He's got some horrible half Australian, half cockney accent and walks around in dusty dirty clothes with a tragic expression the whole movie... except when he's making jazz hands to summon people to him. He's Crazy Aboriginal Pippin. Not Cool.

See that smug look on Nicole's face? That is the movie.

2. I guess this is a book, because it has the pace of a book. A bad epic book. The kind where nothing happens in the first half except the characters all "get to know" each other, and the bad guys do something to make it obvious they are bad. Then all of a sudden in the 2nd half the world enters and fucks some shit up. And everything happens really fast and with very little explanation, because you don't need more character development, do ya? Do ya? I don't really like books like that. I think they're crap.

3. I have never seen Aboriginal magic look so uncool.

4. Spoilers: I sincerely doubt the British government ever made decisions on military cattle contracts by seeing who could race 250 head of cattle down a wharf faster. And while I don't necessarily believe Japanese soldiers can see in the dark (necessarily), I do think it's a little far fetched that they can be standing on the beach with search lights and they don't see the boat a few yards away, and the fifteen small children swimming towards it.

5. Nicole and Hugh are the worst kissers ever. Like, the close ups of them making out are disgusting and uncomfortable. With noise. I know, I know, it doesn't make any sense. But it's unfortunately true. I have never been so turned off by a romance movie. I actually wanted to not be touched.

In conclusion: terrible script, terrible cinematography, terrible acting, a bad score of all things, and bad catch phrases that make no sense ("pride isn't power" what the fuck?). I should have spent that money on alcohol. Or tampons. Or garbage bags. Also, I suspect this movie is the reason I'm sick. I can't prove anything, but if you see it? Maybe wear a mask?

Sunday, November 30, 2008

Pulled from Ergotism

The newest innovation in our inevitable agonizingly slow journey towards a Star Trek Future.

Or maybe, in this case, SeaQuest future.

"The technology can generate electricity in water flowing at a rate of less than one knot - about one mile an hour - meaning it could operate on most waterways and sea beds around the globe."

This guy made a custom drum controller to play Guitar Hero 3 with, and it's....impressive.

Saturday, November 29, 2008

From Jezebel today:

American Apparel is now selling acid washed jeans in many colors.

Now that piece of hot stuff is exactly who I want to be cuddling up to on a cold Cleveland night, while we listen to Deerhoof and sip our room temperature Great Lakes Christmas Ale.
"Hello ex-boyfriend. What have you been up to? Oh you're a pedophile now? I would never have guessed it from your uber hip jeans"

Today's Saturday playlist brought to you by the letters B and Q, and the number 1

(seriously, it's like picking out my prescription mix for the day. The self medication of rock. Which is aptly named, since listening to Journey is having a hope rock slammed against your forehead repeatedly. And if I pick my music for Saturday mornings wisely, I can usually get by without coffee till at least the afternoon.)

Beatles (for disconnect)
Don't Let Me Down
Let It Be
I've Just Seen A Face
She Came in Through the Bathroom Window
Ob la di Ob la da

Boston (for superiority complex)
Don't Look Back
More Than a Feeling
Feels Like the First Time

Journey (for Roller skating rink circa 1986)
Eye Of The Tiger
Any Way You Want It
Don't Stop Believing

Queen (Prozac without the sexual side effects)
Don't Stop Me Now
Show Must Go On
Killer Queen
Crazy Little Thing
Radio Ga Ga
I Want It All
We Are the Champions
Fat Bottomed Girls

Friday, November 28, 2008

Following a theme

Things I Doubt:

1. I doubt that I understand anybody. I harbor suspicion that I am oblivious to lots of things about people that I should be noticing and appreciating. Craziness especially. What if nobody is really who I think they are? What if I am very delusional, and you all are completely different than I think you are?

2. I doubt that anyone understands me. Sure, I know my friends and family love me, but love is so subjective. They love parts of me that relate to them. Do any of them see the full complete picture of me? I feel extremely see-through, and I'm not exactly discreet. But maybe I feel that way cause I'm with myself all the time. What's it like to only experience me broken into small distinct pieces? What about me do they really dislike? Why do I only feel whole and secure when I'm by myself? But the reason this is a doubt and not a fact is because maybe, possibly, everyone understands me perfectly and I'm not that complicated.

3. I doubt that I've ever really loved anybody or anything the way other people love things. This doubt can be overshadowed by gas clouds of drunken happiness, but in reality, I could leave tomorrow and if there was someone else to fill their places, I would be okay. I would miss them. But as long as I stay distracted by new things, I'm fine. Do my friends who get this about me understand that it doesn't make them any less valuable to me now? Does everyone feel this way about people?

4. I doubt that I am pretty. Because I am fat. But I see myself as very pretty, so you know, this is more related to #2.

5. I doubt that I am smart. Because so much that goes through my head seems to be repetition, and also increasingly negative. And I doubt that a smart girl would give any of these useless nasty thoughts any room to grow, but I do, because they're more entertaining than television. Also, when I go to open mikes, I tell everyone how good they were. And I mean it. Which doesn't seem like the smartest thing. It seems like a dumb girl thing to do. Some guy on Tuesday told me I was a "good soul". Since I know that I am very much so NOT that, it makes me think that I must come off as dumb and nice to these people, cause isn't that what you say to dumb nice girls who smile too much when drunk guys are talking to them? Or it's what you say to ugly girls. Also I use the word "that" too much.

6. I doubt that I am ever going to live a life more interesting than this. Even though I know my life changes constantly, and I just need to say yes to some things I have previously said no to. But it seems like so much effort now. It seems like I could stay in this apartment forever, at this job forever, doing the same Cleveland things. Most of the time I have faith that I won't, that I will find something else to do, but....well its winter. Winter makes me see everything as permanent.

7. I doubt I will ever go back to school. I highly doubt it. I know I should, if only for my intellectual health. But it takes so much money and work. I consider paying off my car to be my biggest accomplishment lately. And the only effort that required was paying my bill on time for three years. If something like a car payment can be so hard and stressful on me, how could I ever do something bigger than that? I am a child.

8. I doubt my own sanity. Sometimes I feel like I must be mentally retarded in some subtle way. Other times I feel completely disconnected, floating in loose space around a Sims game, an abandoned character. In fact, most of the time I am vacillating between one of those two things. Every once in a while, I feel controlled and powerful and magnetic. Those are the only times I feel confident in my sanity, when I can talk to people and really be in the moment and not playing some weird part. But I haven't figured out how to leave that mode on full time. And I can feel my skill at faking that slipping away as I get older.

9. I doubt the level of trashiness in my life. I try hard to not be trashy. But maybe I have been all along? Or I'm descending into it? Trashy people don't know they're trashy, do they? I mean, they must have some clue, otherwise we wouldn't have country music stars. But what if I'm just poor dirty uneducated opinionated trashy? I really like Britney Spears.

10. All of the above combine to make me doubt my superiority over the rest of the human race. But then I remember that the guys who have loved me have been smart, interesting guys. And my friends continue to be my friends despite my perpetual boy drama, and inane ridiculous statements, and inability to call them. And in five years I will read this list and go "oh my god, HOW 29 is THAT". And if I work it correctly, I have at least 50 years left to prove to some segment of the population how much more talented than them I am. I'm just a slow learner when it comes to things that aren't on tests. I'm a baby, really. I'm an adolescent mind. The gestation period for my brilliance is just a little bit longer than the average human. I'm Apple, twenty years ago. Invest now.

Thursday, November 27, 2008

Thanksgiving is a weird safe holiday. There isn't any religious stuff or political stuff to alienate people. We don't have Thanksgiving parties. Instead we spend all day at home, smelling things cook, eating crackers, and in my family's case, sitting around on our various laptops silently orbiting around each other until dinner. Which is at normal dinner time, not 1 or 2, I think because there is no way my family could get everything together before 12pm and why would we want to? We have the day off work.

I like the whole all or nothing aesthetic of Thanksgiving. There's this feeling of eat it all now, as if tomorrow there is no possibility of us starving or not having a job or being homeless. It's less "I'm so grateful for this" and more "I have utter confidence in this".

Which is what I was thinking about yesterday while driving. There was the predictable story about the new cabinet picks on the radio and I was contemplating the pure middleness of our new president, when I realized that all this "hope" we were sold, and ate with the vigor of a butterball turkey wasn't really hope. I don't think any of us thought he was going to get into office and suddenly all our liberal fantasies would come true. But we'll trade away extremity for what Obama is really selling, confidence. I love driving around, thinking about politics and elections in Lebanon and inflation in Ghana, and having confidence in the person who runs my country, who decides what move we make and what kind of player we are. It means I can listen and think about these things with actual interest again, instead of crippling abject terror.

So Thanksgiving is also about confidence. Confidence in our money, and our family, and our country, and ourselves. Maybe we sometimes make the wrong moves, or the answer the wrong questions, but in the end it will work out, because we're us. And look at all this food we have!

Then tomorrow we'll go back to doubting and eating leftovers.

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

I'm trying to switch domain names to a domain I bought thru Blogger, and it just isn't happening. The order went through of course, and I updated my settings, but it's still just a error 404 message after three days. Anyone have any thoughts about this? Feelings? Conflictions? Useful tidbits?

Once you have thoroughly considered this, please then turn your intimidating brain power to why I have no socks left, what should I wear to work right now, why won't Limewire make love to me, and will the music world collapse in on itself if Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves did a duet album?

Yes, I will be at the Beachland tonight. Even though Top Chef has the Foo Fighters on fighterrrsssss...judging fooooodddddd.......

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Let me just state for the permanent record of things that at some point may turn out to be more crucial to my world view than previously hypothesized that I think Peaches Geldof is a great name. Peaches Honeyblossom Michelle Charlotte Angel Vanessa Geldof is an even better name. I think she herself would be a million times better if she shaved off her eyebrows, stayed the hell away from MTV, and stopped trying to describe light. I'm starting to loathe the light describers.

Monday, November 24, 2008

I remember when we saw The Polyphonic Spree at the Grog, and Starlight Mints opened. I listened to that Mints CD for the next year every week. And at the StellaStarr* concert where the Killers opened, before anyone had ever heard of them, and Nate and I were all like "this is the best band ever!" until the album came out and it wasn't half as good as them live up close in a small place? Oh, but album grew on me...still...I really loved this band on Saturday. I wish I could see them again, like right now, and like, only them.

We went on a search this evening for a concert DVD to watch, something that tied into the Greatest Rock Ballads Collection infomercial we had just watched the entirety of, something like Foreigner or Pat Benatar, REO Speedwagon or Bonnie Tyler. Sadly, nothing at the video stores but Skynyrd and Neil Young.

The tool of the day is...scissors. Just cut my bangs. Used them for salting a turkey. Cut up boxes to put in the trash. What would I do without them? I suspect I use scissors more than I use forks. But not as much as spoons. The spoon is my favorite utensil. Bring me a spoon before you bring me a sword. Or something.

Also, Burn After Reading is a boring boring movie with no point and no climax and no humor. Just so you know. This isn't an opinion, this is a fact.

Sunday, November 23, 2008

So going places alone is like learning to ride a bicycle, something else I'm not very good at. But as luck would have it, when I got to the show last night, I sat down next to training wheels, another cool person there by themselves. So I had someone to talk to, smoke with, and drink with.

The show was pretty good. The first band J Roddy Walston and The Business was great, my favorite out of the whole night. And really, how often does that happen with openers. They had this whole American rock-mustache-Jerry Lee Lewis thing going on.

William Whitmore ended up being okay. When he first got on and started playing, I thought "wow he's got a great voice and this is charming". It was string southern gothic feeling, songs about shacks and dads and railroads. But then ALL his songs sounded the same after a while, and I got tired of him about three songs before he ended. I bet I would like him better if I knew the songs beforehand. Cause you have to be in a mood for that kind of music, and after the first band I was not in the mood for charming so much.

Then Murder By Death, which was my concert partners favorite band. It's like if you put the Pogues, Decemberists, and Failure in a blender, then gave them a lead singer who looks like Abraham Lincoln and has a voice like Nick Cave. It was good, I liked it. But by the end of the set, I was falling asleep on my feet, having been up since 6am (stupid Saturdays). Their last two songs were awesome though.

So it was a good idea to go, and now I'm dragging my sloth butt out of the house for bowling watching, vodka drinking, and wing eating. Happy Sunday!

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Okay, so there's Casiotone for the Painfully Alone at the Beachland (appropo), Murder By Death at the Grog, some puppet show at Bela Dubby (but also Kill the Hippies which kinda takes it out of the running), drinking at Edison's, watching Love Actually AGAIN on Bravo, and Christmas decorations.

I know I have to get used to going to shows alone 'cause otherwise I'm gonna miss everything I want to see. But I wish everyone else wasn't snug with their others (or old) and would come with me. I'm not pretty enough to be alone.

Never mind. I'm sucking it up. Grog Shop wins. Right? Right?

Here's the show I WISH I was going to...

And When I Die.....I will be reincarnated as Neil Diamond

It seems like Saturdays are the day to become obsessed with a song, early and hard, by 7am if possible*. It's as if my brain requires the new candy to even justify getting out of bed at such an ungodly hour and trundling slowly towards Mayfield like a sleepy vicious land mammal, lost and angry in the gray swills of Ohio. Oh Starbucks, with your cheery red cups and sponge print doves, your overwhelming festive syrups, you'd think you'd be enough motivation. But sadly, no. My comatose saccharin addicted brain craves happy beats, nonsense lyrics, and a heavy dose of strange. ELO. Rhianna. Occasionally a throwback from Much Music, like Prozac or Soul Decision.

So this morning I ran out of any CDs I cared to listen to at all, and turned to that steady bastion of crazy weird songs, Magic 105.7. And this morning, of all mornings, I heard a song I had never heard before, which is a minor miracle for a station that has had only 100 songs in rotation since I was 12. The radio never told me what the song was, so I spend an hour trying to google "a child to carry on". You can imagine the drivel I pulled up with that. Finally I called the Ex, who has a magical knowledge of random radio songs, and I said "hey, it's casino boppy and he's talking about dying and a child who is born" and he was all like "Oh it's...." without pause. Without pause.

"And When I Die" by Blood Sweat and Tears. What the what.

I'm not scared of dying and I don't really care
If it's peace you find in dying, well then, let the time be near
If it's peace you find in dying and if dying time is here,
Just bundle up my coffin 'cause it's cold way down there
I hear that it's cold way down there
Yeah, crazy cold way down there

(so far, this is exactly the sort of lyric I would expect from a band named after bodily secretions**. Though if you really didn't care, then why would you ask us to bundle up your coffin? Don't you think that's kinda mean? You ask for death, you let all your loved ones know that you just don't give 2 craps about being there for them, and then you have the balls to ask them to wrap up your coffin so you don't get cold? Wear a sweater asshole. If it were me, I'd put you in the ground NAKED.)

And when I die, and when I'm gone,
There'll be one child born
In this world to carry on,
To carry on

(Okay, not only is this guy a selfish asshole, he's also an ego hound. Since apparently he thinks his death will magically produce a child to carry on his legacy. Like he's the Dalai Lama. Or Jesus. Or Joaquin Phoenix. I wouldn't wish any child to a life of performing Blood Sweat and Tears songs. That's like telling a child to grow up and be Sheryl Crow.)

Now, troubles are many, they're as deep as a well
I can swear there ain't no heaven but I pray there ain't no hell
Swear there ain't no heaven and I pray there ain't no hell
But I'll never know by living, only my dying will tell
Yes, only my dying will tell
Yeah, only my dying will tell

(I've never understood the idea of troubles being deep. It seems to me that troubles are always the most accessible right near the surface kinda things, whereas happiness is the stuff that's really deep down and hard to get to. You know, when you commit suicide, you go to hell. Maybe.)

And when I die, and when I'm gone,
There'll be one child born
In this world to carry on,
To carry on

(creepy creepy creepy. I keep picturing this child as the bastard hate child created during a Metallica therapy session. )

Give me my freedom for as long as I be
All I ask of living is to have no chains on me
All I ask of living is to have no chains on me
And all I ask of dying is to go naturally
Oh, I want to go naturally
Here I go Hey hey!

(The idea that you get to "ask" anything from life or death is so 60s laughable, I feel like the heroine in an Ayn Rand book. )

Here comes the devil
Right behind
Look out, children
Here he comes!
Here he comes!
Don't want to go by the devil
Don't want to go by demon
Don't want to go by Satan
Don't want to die uneasy
Just let me go naturally

(It's very possible Al Kooper is (was?) the devil. And that he loves children, especially with a spiced cantaloupe reduction and lots of bread for dipping. I have never heard of a spiced cantaloupe reduction, but it sounds fabulous, doesn't it? The lyrics here seem to be pointing out that we are all children when it comes to death, which is to say we are wimps who want promises that it will be fast and painless to alleviate the fear in our hearts that the devil at our backs. It's directly contrary to his previous assertion that he was a bad ass who didn't care about anything. So not only is he really a pussy blowhard with a messiah complex, he's also a liar***. I would be nicer, but seriously, this is a dumb song. And by the way, devil, demon, and Satan are all the same thing and if you're gonna be lazy try shortening the song instead of copping out.)

And when I die
And when I'm dead, dead and gone,
There'll be one child born
In our world to carry on,
To carry on
Yeah yeah

So now I'm gonna listen to this song obsessively for like a week.

But for now I need to figure out something to do tonight. If anyone has ideas, tell me. Otherwise it will be your fault that my Christmas decorations are up a week before Thanksgiving.

That's a Christmas Tree Worm. Cool, huh?

*Would that every morning could start this way.
**This song was written by a 17yr old Jewish girl from the Bronx.
I'm not joking. This is probably why this whole thing reminds me of sophomore English class and this really dumb poem I wrote and gave to a local band cause Jeff wanted to write a song for it but then Jeff left and the band is still around the same bar 10 yrs later, and I'm kinda glad they didn't do anything with it.
***See? 17 year old.