disinfect life

The secondary focus of this ad depicts a giant bottle of Clorox bleach and other disinfecting agents.

The caption (something like):
"Let their smiles be contagious, not their germs."

Conclusion: bleach your babies.

humor is art

Because these both highlight serious societal issues...making Bertolt Brecht* proud.

Two of SNL's best fauxmmercials in a while: Mom Jeans and Homocil.

*"Art is not a mirror with which to reflect reality, but a hammer with which to shape it." - Bertolt Brecht, 1898 - 1956

i's luves ma girls

"It tastes like a dead person's cum, but it works." - AP on Zicam

"Anna Wintour. Sheeeee's thin." - KR

"Oh, you knoooow. He does installation pieces, creates space." [Magic dust in eyes. Goody! What's happening in there?] "Creates space." [Pregnant pause.] "And time. His name's Zorg." - JS

happy 4pm start to weekend

Here you go. [For context, click here.]

Happy Friday!

love it like it were my own

You're right. That was a bit arbitrary. My commands of vulgarities lack precision. (See? That sentence: awkward.) It's a real problem.

You never let me slide, and I love that about you.

good golly, miss molly

So Molly Ivins dies (true loss) last week, now Anna Nicole. It seems we have a more unusual Death Trifecta of Fame than usual, as it is associated with Texas. So who will be the third Texan of some notoriety?

not responsible for my id

"Hey, Strippers! Remember - it's not just your self-respect you'll save; it may also be your life."

Signed,
Anna Nicole
(she draws a smiley face, with big boobs)

pineappio

LZP's profile image brings sad yet fond memories - of dear pineapple, who wanted to be a real boy.

Last summer for my birthday, Kristin (she's from Iceland, to help explain)(also, thanks again Miss B, for serious) brought a pineapple with her for my Actual Birthday. (We'd had a party for the House of Roebling already, themed: Great Gatsby Devolving into Lord of the Flies.) But I digress...

Sitting at the bar at Schiller's, drinking many a drink provided by kind and supportive bartenders, Pineappio came to life. In something of a Frankenstein spirit, said bartenders let me stick cucumber slices and cherries for eyes, and an apple slice for a mouth, into our cradled-as-baby tropical fruit. He was so expressive! Turning the cherry stems evoked such mood, it was surprising - yet...beautiful.

All night he accompanied us. We loved him. He was Ours.

Right up until I got home and realized he wasn't with us, and we were too drunk to realize we'd simply left him at the last bar. Two blocks from home.

O! Pineappio! I didn't love you once. I love you still.

you read me?

I've been keeping track of just a few of my favorite 'word verification codes' required to post comments on blogs.

Still, only one really makes me laugh: qxqxqlrx.

It looks like duck smut symbolism. [Smarmy voice somewhere between B-level sci-fi narrators and the junior high teacher arrested for kiddie porn at your school (possibly the same guy)] "Hot triple-x quacking action."

pulling a chain, of sorts

Is it wrong that we just told Jenny spina bifida is when someone pulls so hard on a baby's umbilical cord that its spine comes out?

'Cause it felt right.

It did.

the humanity

I bet TrimSpa is eating a corporate-sized serving of double-fudge-marshmallow-lardcake-bankrupt-banana-split sundae ice cream over this one. (Hold the cherry.)

Geez. Where does one begin to plot the course of tragedy in the life of Anna Nicole?

The baby's C of T can more definitively be pinpointed: conception. But seriously, poor thing.

don't waylay my craycray

Why is so much energy expended trying to keep old people from the mental retirement that is lunacy? It makes more sense to just 'steer' the insanity, so - you know - it isn't full of acid- or other traumatic event related-flashbacks. We spend our whole lives plugging away and in the end we just wind up stuck sitting there alone with Reality? Fug that.

I've been mapping [constraints: none] my own private Crazyland for some time, and I better get to go there. Someday.

"Toodles, Reality. Don't let the door hit you in the arse on the way out!"

mad skillz

I don't just illustrate psychology textbooks, but - in some instances - appear as a case study.

See: twisted squib-lobia, delusions of pleasure, disassocia...dis? a so she's a WHA?

needles o' fury

Not the cover for our forthcoming book, but still. Fixing what God hath failed to conjoin togezzah...

touching, minus the human sacrifice

...but that's only a theory. Maybe these two are the original Romeo and Juliet. (Although the couple that story is based on is soooooo much more impressive - and the source of the legend of the Gardens of Persia. Ah, Romance.)

Also, we watched Moulin Rouge again last night. Ewan, all we have to say to you is 'swoon.' (Not as a command, though.) To everyone else - it's TRUE: The greatest thing there is to learn is to love and be loved in return. (Really. I do think that.)

(But knowing not to run things into your eyes is helpful, too. I mean, the more success you had, the more challenging it'd become - like a 'learning' video game. But that's not what A. Eye. stands for.)

shitestorm solution

Nice Mike and I are having an especially productive e-morning. (I miss these.)(And, yes, 'Nice' it is. So it is written! So shall it ever be!)

Ever one to posit truly relevant and thought-provoking notions, he asked if I would marry this man. But how could I, when I want his accomplice (also living in Gibraltar) to divorce and - in a very modern compromise - both change their names? To Mr. and Ms. Dikshit Parasol.

While I'm being five years old...

Yes, Nice Mike, there is also one thing worse than being [a squirrel] stuck with a bunch of dogs.

Having to nurse from one of them.

Enjoy your hot chocolate!

maaaaanfred

Manfred von RichtHOTen: Doll?

Doll: Yes, Manfred?

Manfred: How do you call your loverboy?

Doll: Come 'ere, Red Baron!

Manfred: And if he doesn't answer?

Doll: Ooooh, baaaron.

Manfred: And if he still doesn't answer?

Doll: (I don't shoot him.) I simply say, "BaaAAaaby. OooOOoo, baby. My sweet baby. I wish you weren't long dead. And far too old and all that stuff." [bumpity bump, bumpity bump]

But I'll bet this guy felt damned, damned, g.d.'d lucky.

woolly mm-mm's

Motion for Ice Queen sleigh surrounded in protective, wind/cold-proof bubble pulled by woolly mammoths, please. Plus: little monkey. I'll need someone to run out and fetch things. And monkeys make everyone smile.

(Little wiggle-room on the sleigh. It doesn't have to be the queen's, per say.)

snoop didgeri-done

In answer to an earlier question (thanks to Muse Aron):
Yes, I CAN play a didgeridoo, though I bet that pales in comparison with what Girls Gone Wild: Australian Special can/do do with a didgeridoo. (Hit song in the making!)

Snoop: Let me see you play dat d-thang, bizzitchel. Gonna blow it 'til it sings?
Girl: HHAAAARRUUUUUUUUUMMPPPPHHHhhhh...
Snoop: Damn, girl.
[Later: In a little something Snoop likes to call post-prosuction, he invites her to his hotel room, asking her to do him like she "done dat stickadick befo'".

She does.

Snoop dies.]

psychologically suspenseful hair

Yesterday morning I woke up feeling crappy enough, and not just because it was Monday (this time - don't get all happy, Mondays...we still have some things to 'talk about'), but then had thoughtlessly looked up into the mirror. [1930s movie trailer piano and cymbals] The shock! [clangittyclang!] The horror! It was like a five-inch-tall Calvin and Hobbs had been building a fort in the forest formerly known as my hair. All. Night. Long.

This morning, employing former years as way beyond blind without glasses/contacts (hooray lasered eyeballs!), I used my Spidey-sense fingertips to calculate the damage. It all felt fine, in texture. Things seemed to be going smoothly, literally. But that's just what it wanted me to think.

No joke - the stuff was straight, smooth, shiny even - and sticking a good four inches up, essentially levitating.

It's still up there. And I can't guess what its next move will be.

On the upside, at least I didn't look like my cousin. [ACTUAL COUSIN]

Yes, someone who's the biggest Mac-snob just got himself a spanking-new laptop and this is his attempt to fill me with envy of its capabilities.

Foolish cousin, I have PhotoShop. Long have my people been warping faces. But we believe in compassion, and bid thee well. Go now, in peace.

seesters

Waaah. Flatmate KR came home this evening to the sad lump on the couch that was me. She gave me a shoulder/neck/scalp massage as we chatted. (Love. Such love.) In the hour since, the world has seemed a brighter, better place.

Better yet, tomorrow she gets to sever ties with the bane of her theatrical existence, Ms. Namedropthenbackstabsaidname. Claaa-haaas-ssy.

This. Theees eez gooot, ahhl.

mban, amb i mbiserable

It's a sinus/cold thing. We know this. A doc visit isn't necessary, BUT if I were to go to one, the conversation might go something like this today:

Helpful Doctor: What symptoms do you seem to have?
Me: All.
HD: For what? It says upper respiratory...[consulting what I think is the paperwork I just spent 20 minutes completing, myself, squinting, because my monkey is totally selfish and said he doesn't want to catch what I have - yet, really, it's not the paperwork at all but a golf-themed connect-the-dots][I never know this.]
Me: Sure.
HD: When I press here [temple squish] how does it feel?
Me: Like a little slice of heaven.
HD: How about here? [pressing over uppercheeks, steadily harder]
Me: Like my head is a giant grool-filled balloon and my brains are about to be violently expelled through my ears. Ever seen a baby blow out a diaper? [Look in eye. Response: irrelevant.] That is how that feels.
HD: Okay. Won't push there anymore. Don't need to. [Forced jovial demeanor.] (But if I did, Subject DNM, you couldn't move fast enough. There'd be no running. Tommy would have your ass strapped down before you could sneeze.)
Me: ACHOOOOO! Ugh. Sorry. Ugh. And. Ack. [Wipes nose with hand. Waits for tissue.] (Aren't they supposed to lecture/care about germs? I want my mom. I want hugs. Huuuugggsssss.) [whimper]
HD: Lots of pressure in your head?
Me: I think some of it's coming from the outside, too.
HD: [suspicious - read: disassociative - silence]
Me: Okay, I'll expand upon that. Elucidate. Radiate. Compensate. Try not to hate. Love your mate. Youth's irate? [Still no reaction.] Mediate? [yawn] Um, ya, so my eyes are all puffy, like I want to take them out, irrigate my eye sockets and hopefully also my entire sinus cavity, let a warm summer breeze run through it, then - and only then - return my chamomile-soaked and cucumber-essence-cooled eyeballs back to their proper sockets. It would be noticeable if they were turned around, right? Not that it matters. Don't look at me like that.
HD: Strange. You don't have a fever.
Me: Stranger, you don't know what I have. You don't know what you have. Right here. But what don't I have that's been missing all these livelong years? I know there's something, but...what, doc? What?
HD: There's no Oracle space in the billing. Sorry. Think you're set.
Me: Can you do one of those breast cancer exams, the nice one, when you sort of walk your fingers all over them? That feels like warm butter. Seriously. I think it'll help. No takers? Can we get someone else in here?
[HD exits.]

I think how clean my hair feels. So light. So unfettered with care of its appearance, and leave. The bill: $480. The futility: endless.

Time to make the donuts! And disinfect my keyboard!

what people did before photoshop, photoshop'd

...a little something, intended as something else* entirely, which I like to call udder chaos.

*Auðumbla (also spelled Auðumla, Auðhumbla or Auðhumla) is the primeval cow of Norse mythology. And, give me a break. It's too cold outside for brunching.

Tangent: Viktor Rydberg's posing the theory of a Norse/Zoroastrian/Vedic shared origin is interesting. There's tons of crazycool things the Vedic and Egyptian cultures were aware of which we're just now realizing ourselves (Thanks again for that, Church. Knowledge? M'eh. You're right. It gets in the way.) - and when you take into account trade routes, advanced astronomical understanding, and the unknown extent of the Seapeople's reach/influence (Egyptian, Phoenicians, Viks, Southeast Asia, etc.) then...well...it's a fun course to mentally plot. The time thing can be an issue, but there is such thing as oral tradition. There's also that maybe everyone just drank a lot of milk. And the Milky Way looked like, um, milk to everyone forevah and evah. Amen. Or Amun. Or A'mhun.

flish flash flush

Flash Gordon identifies woefully well with that Johnny Cash "Boy Named Sue" song.


"Well?! What did you expect? I didn't mean anything by it - you just do look Flashier now."












[But love me for me. I'm not a slab of meat. I'm just not. Not, er, just...I'm really fast meat!]

two letters

...isisisisisisisisisisisisisisi...?

The Egyptian Goddess of Affirmation

snark control

[Context: my friend said he was going hiking in the Appalachians for the last few days. Stating concerns after hearing 'Appalachia' is redundant, let alone the time of year. Worse: he did it - - - but he's lived to tell the tale.]Myspace (or Ourspace, prrrr) needs to enable a function so we can 'lock' whatever profile image next to our comments. The above won't be the same with a baby-Medusa or flying martini-bearing Grover next to it, for example.

most depressing day of the year: a party

It's been a week. I'm ready to talk about it. And make the collage to the right which has little-to-no import to anyone living outside [this head].

(Farg. Wait a minute. Really? Just one week? But it feeeels, dahhrlingk, an absolute eternity!)

Highlights:

• again, the opposite of depression was achieved, except for our dear Brian who was horribly trapped across the pond - which he says actually did depress him - sorry, Boo! (Really, it isn't the same without him.)


• having more fun with masking tape than one would previously have believed possible


• lots and lots, like really a lot, of food


• pretending KR's wooden turtle was being up-lit as part of a sacrificial ceremony


• private dancing, we dance-oh fo' (no) money, and any old music will dooooooo

soft(head)ware

Who has Illustrator and Flash (PC)?

Why can't I just mindlink to programs and close my eyes?

it's proenza schouler, shhhhh-ouler

A woman last night was running around picking up as much loot as she could, and saying how she just loves Proenza Sk-ooler.

"If you can't pronounce it, you can't buy it. That's the law, ma'am. I'm sorry. I didn't make the law."

(No, okay, I did. What a lark! But making up laws is capitol-F-u-n.)

sniffles

My feet are bare and cold, yet sweating.
I'm wearing my friend's Flashdance-esque lavendar shirt and
have Swedish germs on my cheek
which makes me want lemony desserts
but there aren't any here.
There are some across the street
which would require putting my sweaty feet into shoethings and a bra under the thin shirt
but at least not having to dance under water -

not having to.


.

'lord'

how our 12% [proposed] rent increase makes me feel

wormhole afterall

That wallpaper really was inspiring. Hooray for time travel.

Meet Inspector Wartbottom.

Those boys at The Yard weren't so bad once shaved up a bit. This was the first leg of the journey, but as is always the case, had to push it.

Next stop was the Elizabethan Age, which really made Victorian corsetry seem like a snap. I was a bit less fond of it, but when the queen was pushing me to have my bottom ribs removed, that was enough.

how to be

Stupid For Stupids

Let's all send her dreamcatchers. Come on. Her little face will light up! Her tail will wag! How can we not?

Update: also, what are the chances one of my friends was recently sent Melanie Griffith (or her site, as these are probably equally likely)?

live science, you tease

Europe's First Stegosaurus Discovered

They neglected to insert the word 'fossil' in the title. Changes interest level just a bit, no?

back v. right back

M'ya.

A few moments ago I got up and said, "I'm going to the bathroom. I'll be back."

Because I need to reassure everyone I will not use the wormhole this time.

good gut, good

A guy just came over to me who looked more like Brad Pitt than anyone (who isn't Brad Pitt) that I've ever seen, although I also am not disallowing the possibility of a pre-existent archetypal Brad Pitt.

But the voice. The voice.

Pre-pubescent Joe Pesci came over and asked if I'd like to have a coffee with him. 'Right up until you opened your mouth.' I passed. Then, "Well, you can't blame me for trying. It's like sperm..."
[cartoon screwed-up face, inside] The external response was the blank stare of Please Stop Talking and Leave (much different than the Please Stop Talking and Kiss Me...I hope). But he continued, "I mean..." and here's where he should've looked sheepish but instead all eyebrows indicated he felt himself terribly endearing, "...you throw enough out there and eventually one's going to take."

Gut, have I told you lately how much I love you? You may not always be right, but sometimes you are sooo on the money I could pull you out and lovingly caress you.

retreat. er, retreeeeat!

Mmmm, sweet Swedish design. Svenskt Tenn, you do something to me, deep inside. And not like a gall stone, but more like the part of the brain that regulates breathing. Right there. Right beneathe the limbic system. Oh ya. Feel that?

And while it's true I can get lost in Marimekko, there's something about the wallpaper at Cole & Son that makes me want to time travel. Or just have a big, Miss Havisham-worthy estate. And a little monkey. (Always a little monkey.)

pub.lic.

Doesn't public signage owe us the use of punctuation...if only so people who never pick up books are at least exposed to the magic that is the comma and the power of a period?

[Leaving that one wide open, ya.]

giving up

Sorry I haven't posted in two days, but there was 1) the Most Depressing Day of the Year Party, 2) sleeping a mere (but glorious) two hours, 3) the return of one of my favorite people yesterday [Sontag] and then 4) a very f-d up day idag.

The highlight of the day would quite precisely be when Bobby of Christie's (who is not so fond of Ricky Bobby references, regardless of fake French or trailertrashinato accents) said, "Kids. I don't know. The juice boxes really get to me. I mean, they reeeeally get to me. Juice boxes." [Shudder.] We feel you, RB. Shake n' bake.

This was a higher point than the start of my workday with the statement from my soon-to-be-ex-boss, "I can't afford to keep you, but if we were dating then I couldn't let you go." Have I mentioned the horph reflex? Mmm'ya. That.

winter wünderland

I've never been to Belgium, but I imagine it looks pretty much like this - between the ale houses anyway.

6° - of fahrenheit

It wasn't always like this.

And we were happy.

live from the livingroom

J: "I cut my sister's finger off once."
E: "OFF?"
J: "Ya, she was on the other side of the bathroom door, and I was a little kid, like eight I think..."
E: "And evil."

very wrong number

I hope if I ever have to call animal control, these people aren't involved.

medieval torture lends perspective

Sometimes - no, usually - when people are complaining about Today's World®, I just think about medieval torture devices and it's like, "Really? I feel like it is a step up to not have an industry demand for human disembowelment and its accoutrements."

Nothing seems that bad within this context. Example: a male friend winces at the almost-rape-y scene in Brokeback Mountain, though it's more the roughness than the anal aspect that brings on the cringe.

RA: "It's just so harsh and painful-looking, and it doesn't do much for making gayness less threatening to the masses."

DM: "Ya, but don't you think the point is that it's as jacked-up a relationship as any?"

RA: "But he was tearing into that, tearing him open." He stops, and is running the scene through his head again.

DM: "It's not like medieval torture or something, though that could make a nice statement." [Several moments pause while giggling fit ensues from mental image.] They wait.

JS laughs, "Oh my. Oh no. What's going on up there?" JS laughs more darkly. Two heads stare, and wait.

DM: And...breathe. "It's not like the dick gets in there, flips a switch, a grappling-hook opens and pulls everything out with it. See? It could be so much worse." Big smile.

alien fan mail

We've determined, Un-named 'Man', that as this symbol
:$
in your letter does not and cannot denote any expression a human face is capable of making, that you are - in fact - an alien.

[Vorg.] I just thought you should know. It is a tip-off.

stealth baby

Some people may feel their babies are their enemies, against whom they must protect all else they hold dear.

But I want to be able to respect my [theoretical] baby. To impliment survival of the fittest, I will make mine a ninja baby. (Look at that maternal instinct kicking in - I put a feeding hole in the wee ninja mask. Oh, Nature, you are a powerful mistress.)

Whatever cannot hold up to a baby, I'm pretty sure I don't want in my life.

Baby sayeth: "Respec'."

happy birthday, william

W: I can't wait until you're wearing Kleenex boxes, a la H. Hughes. It is only a matter of time.

I must point out though, you forgot a request for an oubliette. (I know, this is solely why you need me.)

motion to edit an[other] idiom

The concern isn't really over if anyone has an evil bone in the body. It's the organs that are more worrisome.

"He may not have a bad bone in his body, but - eh - I'm not so sure about that brain."

oogleGay +

Google in pig Latin

Oh, that the results were pigged as well. I was hoping for more. Le sigh.

Update: but wait. There's this. I Gizoogled myself and it said, "___ has starred in at least __ movie(s) and yo momma."

estro-djinn

In an effort to stave off pouting because at least five of my people are in some warmer and/or exotic place at the moment, this is my Forced Happy Thought.

Reasons I'm Glad I'm a Girl - with #1 being the most relevant:

1. social acceptance of the having of feelings


2. genuine emotional closeness and open love of friends


3. twirling in silk circle skirts


4. giggling


5. waltzing


6. dancing


7. swishing skirts when dancing


8. swishing skirts when bounding down stairs


9. bellydancing


10. hoop earrings (every female's birthright)


11. social standard of reliance upon dark chocolate


12. witchy feeling when throwing in handfuls of root-y foods to make stew in big simmering pot


13. having curves


14. having smooth skin and minimal body hair


15. being moved, in a good way, to tears...say, by beautiful violin/viola music


16. romance


17. green and peacock feathers


18. red and magenta


19. lushness


20. once in a great while, feeling just a bit like the sunrise


21. being able to say things like the above and only getting groans in response, rather than physically stomped


22. pretending to be a gazelle when hopping over rain puddles


23. bubble baths


24. pedicures


25. wearing certain shiny things, though attraction to shiny objects does make feel as if no better than a fish


26. lots of hugs and kisses


27. shameless snuggling


28. sitting in window sills, remembering sweet things, and sighing

That's enough. Time for tea. All better now.

cnn insults ducks

...with this headline:
Is Bush Already a Lame Duck?

Can't he just be a sitting one instead? Come on. Welcome to an an entire day devoted to Captain Obvious.

The State of the Union: BAD.

The End

commentator rewarded, innards displayed

Here you go, AQ, for spleendid ye. You can try to lessen your import within the Voltron analogy, but there's nothing saying Voltron anatomy matches anything else's.

(Excuse the quality. I had to use Inferior Image Editing.)

Still, I thought it was a nice touch to take the spleen image from a division of your alma mater.

crowley, come back to us

Remember the days, those happy days of writing together at Sweet Fancy Moses - you, AQ, Sacks, and I? We were the four corners of the world, the four (non-plasmic) elements, the points of a compass (all Shakespearean-era compass jokes aside). We were the various limbs of Voltron. If Voltron had had a 'third leg', I think we'd all agree that would have to be you.

Come back, Crowley. Let us reunite and the powers again flourish. We are all stronger TOGEZZAH. We are better. We are whole.

WE WILL BE GLORIOUS.

Or at least have stronger abs, from the laffing.

1,003 words

This photo at once explains my friend and why we are friends.

He is the only homo sapien I would consider (though likely reject) as a potential juice monkey - because in my Ultimate World a little and unusually clean monkey will make me fresh-squeezed juice every morning using an industrial juicer and then clean said industrial juicer without even once coming near juicing itself.

We all have our dreams. And nice crazyeyes, Z.

hopefully a new sub-culture

Ask and you shall receive.

These are also water-safe, for swimming, etc.

not ger-bling-bling

There are really whole
sub-societies out there.

On a note related (oh YES) to the below post, we'd considered not just letting a wild baby out only to have to watch after it closely. Solution? Possibly one of those plastic running balls like pet gerbils go in. AQ pointed out there'd be poo all over its inside, regardless of ineffectual trajectory normally.

AQ: "We'd put our gerbils in those things and there'd just be poo rolling around in no time."
DM: "Ya, or when they're scared, or having a bath."
AQ: "Pretty much any stimulus and those things are shitting left and right."
DM: "...which really brings another level of ick to the whole
gerbling thing, huh?"
[Pause.]
AQ: "That's horrible, man. Layers."
DM: "Sort of a microcosm of and within the greater grossness, even while contributing to it. I just can't believe this has never occurred to either of us before."

Because, you know, a person spends so much time considering the finer points of rodent insertion in wrong places.

maternal in-stinks

"Yes, someday a baby. Someday. Don't know where I'll keep it though."
"Babycage."
"Yes. 'You can let it out now. Don't worry...it doesn't have much of a trajectory.'"

eat darkness

Must eat the darkness.

SUNDAY MENU
Breakfast: dark chocolate breakfast
Lunch: dark chocolate-covered pretzels with chocolate coffee
Dinner: love, just plain love

for handalana

This one's for you, winner of the coveted award for Most Hygienic-looking Person Ever.

shiatsu on the inside

The past two days, the morning drinks have gone from an immediate nummy hazelnutty coffee to follow-up with chamomile tea - a.k.a. complete internal toying.

Stimulate! Sooth! No, stimulate! Not that. That! Over there. Yes, right there.

a pause

We sat watching yet another foreign flick, 'Tickets'. We're overall loving the directing confident enough to be quiet, but the real life commentary was as important.

Scene:
A gorgeous Italian woman in a slinky red dress walks down a train corridor, hips all chang-a-lang-Boom-shakalaka. From a few compartments, men emerge to watch her walking away.

Reality:
PR says, "I've never understood when men do that. It's such a sign of loss...and failure."
[pause for consideration] "You are exactly right."

the giving hat

I don't know how or where it happened, but please know - dear hat - that you were treasured by all of us Above The Neck.

Remember the time it was snowing and I had on a coat without a hood, because the weatherman was wrong and I, like a fool, had trusted him? Remember how happy I was to be with you? Your soft gray hues never clashed outlandishly with my warbrobe, but in fact often added a 'devil may care' panache. And your tassles! Oh, those tassles.

Please know, it was an accident and you will be missed.

I don't know how it happened.

old american me, for the 40-millionth time

"I'll need to see your passport."
[Puppy-like head tilt, quizzically.] "I just want a drink, dude."
"But I need to see proof of your age, that you're over 21, miss."
"Wouldn't my driver's license work for that?"
"Oh, you're from America?"

Because-a mi ak-chentay iss so bahd, zhou know.

winter, birth: cold blasts of reality

The good part of it being so cold outside that it hurts to breathe is that our bathroom heater turns Austrian bodybuilding heatbot so when we take our towels down, they've become fuzzy flowerpetals of warmth...and love, and all things good.

Home feels more like a spacious womb, but then there's that whole downside of having to leave, go out into the world, then the thought that it's likely been this exact cold slap that's been plaguing us since birth.

Upsides: human contact, all things sans amniotic fluid, reading, seeing...and that taps me out

frick

I got my Frick Library card today! Woo hoo!

Go ahead. Say it: I'm one bad-ass Muter Fricker.

Afterwards (and a few drinks), some dude was staring at my legs, bound in the French-y toile velvet tights one likes to call 'the whole of Art history on [my] legs,' so I looked at him deadpan and he smiles as if he's onto something.

I did not like this.

"If you're thinking they can kick the shit out of you, you're right."

Someday I'm sooo getting my arse beat.

hi ho silver!

I'm walking to the corner to hail Cabbie #3 for the day (long day), but before I get there, one pulls up, looks over and motions if I need a ride. Why yes, yellow cab gods, thankee.

"Have you ever hailed a cab before?"
[He stares at me in rearview mirror; I stare back, probably squinting in Whatness?] "Um, yeeeeees."
"Because you didn't have your hand up. You need to wave your hand to get a cab or I don't know you need one."

And yet, there I sat, in his cab.

"You were not born in this country, were you?"
"Yes. Right smack in it."
"From Japan, no?"
"No."
"What are you?" (Welcome to 74% of the conversations I have with strangers.)
"Actually, I'm Scandinavian."
"But you look more Japanese. That's very interesting. But I can see your eyes are green, and very large."
"Recessives are a bitch."

kr's new approach to dating

KR: "Maybe I should just do the growly bite-bite face at him? Like this." Growly bite-bite...of air.
"Maybe you should, across the kitchen."
"I'll look at him and..." you know, "and then be like, 'Yes, I have rabies.'"
"Totally rabid. Ya."
Shrug.
Shrug.

murder question

While we're on the topic (see: last night), why do they give lighter punishments for attempted murder?

The intent is the same; the perpetrator just screwed it up.

Total Asshole Thought I Should Just Keep To Myself #29834792807106:
Should the people who aren't even good at figuring how to do the most base things really be kept around to procreate?

bury me in these

You can't see them well enough, true, but these are the singularly greatest pair of shoes in the last 150 years, easy. They're fish skeletons! - somehow sexy yet hilarious all at once. Parfait! J'adore! I'd forgotten all about them, which I'm ashamed of, but could never really forget them. And while this photo doesn't do them justice, they're by Giuseppe Zanotti who totally spanks dullard Blahniks any day. These are even actually comfortable. I think he may be the god of women's feet, in a Greek mythological way. That good. Could you make fish on feet look hot? Ya. Unga flippin' bunga. Me love.

mother gains another

Beep. [where 'beep' is 'ring']
Beep. [where 'beep' is 'ring']
Ah ha. "Well, HELLO."
"What's the temperature?"
"Um, cold. That's why we've come home early tonight and locked ourselves in." Chat, chat, Golden Globes chat.
Terrence asks, "Did you see Meryl?"
"Wasn't she great?"
"Ya, I looked at Dad when she was done and said, 'She is SO D,' and Dad just nodded and said, 'I would not want to mess with that woman.'"

You've got another, Mother, in agreement with you - I suppose on both counts.

Mwa, mwa.

golden globes, minus the 'glob'

So, we're girls. We watched the Golden Globes and were happy.

Helen Miren was nominated in one year for playing BOTH Queens Elizabeth (performances aside, much bigger fan of Bess I). Cameramen cutting out from the tear in dress gains appreciation. Respect, good. Annette Benning, drink your champagne by the buckets and make sassy little faces at the camera, be smashing in your '20s-inspired fab dress, and continue to astonish your husband who clearly was in need of some astonishing. Reese, rub his (ex-Ryan's) undeserving face in it. America F.*, Ugly Betty's writing could use some seasoning but YOU are a doll. Make us cry, all of us, as much as you like. It was touching seeing so many women genuinely supporting and moved by you. You made us expect calls from our mothers (who, as it turned out, missed your speech). And all biases aside, Meryl Streep, you are so utterly awesome. I wish they could capture you more just being your witty, pointed self. Scratch that - just be our neighbor.

(* - to whoever the interviewy wench in green was who 'greeted' America as she exited the stage...by ignoring her, appropriately enough given the premise of Ugly Betty, then asked her, "What do you say to ALL those people who didn't think you should be on the show?" - we say a big, steaming, hairy 'way to be a kill joy, Queen Cunt.' Serious, who is this socially retarded?

Oh, that's right, you have your job for a reason.)(We're also sorry it had to take the wind out of your sails just a smidge by having your presenters be Jennifer 'Love' Hewitt and whatshisnuts.)

post script re: something that we know is out there, but always makes your tummy twinge just a bit - Men Who Get Laid By Way Of Wealth Alone:

• Jay-Z (Beyoncé, I don't care how much money he has, and not that you're his mental equal - most likely - but the visual is tragic.)
• and, as ever, that horrid little man, The DONALD (At least when he got Ivana, she was on the rebound from the tragic death of the love of her life and was used to Eastern European men, pre- Eastern Europe's reintroduction to general social progress.)

I'm just waiting for P. Diddy and Paris Hilton to get together. You know it's coming.

oh, failed execution. right.

His head came off. I'd say done's done.

Not like he was an attempted killer and they'd attempted to kill him but failed to do so. He'd get off on irony alone, right?

Broken neck - dead. Severed head falls off instead during the hanging - dead fo' sho'. What's the problem?

new title

Currently: Consequence's Technical Advisor

white truffle shampoo

...makes me feel like this.

Every time.

morning thus far

• to bed: 6am
• wake: 10am, curse internal alarm
• tell roomies of 1) irrational (yet somewhat conditioned) fear that casual long-term goodbye = death, totally unrelatedly, for person I bid casual long-term goodbye, then 2) resulting irrational guilt/anxiety
• realize must bid proper goodbye and 'put all right' with conscience; no cursing of conscience
• we ponder internal mechanisms, particularly when unconsciously we force behaviors that feel un-natural
• threaten to lock KR in JS's closet
• plan ski weekend
• make tea, more tea [moretea, mortea, morte - back to that again]
• blog

Update, 1:32pm:

[JS and I sit in the livingroom. She is fasting. I am unable to nap. The sky is gray; the room is bathed in a greenish light.]

DM: "Uh. I should shower."

JS: "Why?"

if i were a shape-shifter, i know whose life i'd try to slip into

I can't even begin to describe how completely bad-ass this littlesweetold woman is. And, no, I wouldn't really be able to take over her life because that would mean she wouldn't have it anymore and I want her to have it, and be out there being her 79 year old glorious self.

There's 13th-century Spanish madonnas peppering the place, along with an amazing thinly-cast bronze cat head that, frankly, makes me want to pull some sort of Dr. Frankenstein thing so it could be animated and roaming the earth forever.

Then there's the diningroom with walls covered in smoked Venetian mirror, with ancient frescoes mounted atop, jade and coral Chinese carvings, and basically the most lush and tempting color palette abounding. The room shown above is just a corner of some side room. Nothing 'special.' Blugh.

And I haven't even gotten into the actual person she is, her dear demeanor, and character. I LOVE COOL OLD LADIES.

ADORE.

Le sigh.

complete horph

This was one of the most instantly horrific moments of my life.

As my boss takes his hand out of his pocket to shake hands with a client, something falls out and as our client goes to pick it up, I reach to grab it instead.

And nearly gagged.

It was a beat-up, empty condom packet.

hippo-tortois-mus

Sometimes love knows no species-al bounds...

which is okay if you're not human.

No, it's not that kind of love. This itty bitty baby hippo was orphaned in a tsunami off the Kenyan coast and bonded in the aftermath with this century-old male tortoise who reportedly is "happy being a mother" to the little guy.

I just hope they follow the relationship and as it grows, he doesn't get all hippo (those things are nasty) on his ass and chomp his surrogate - for that would be sad. Meanwhile, this is so cute it's hard to look at.

The cherry on top? - the email signature from which this was sent read:

"Save the Earth; it's the only planet with chocolate."

You had me at hippo. You had me at hippo.

my boss is so f-ing lucky to have me

because he can say things to me, as he just did, like:

"You meet with Countess ___ tomorrow. Brush up on your Hungarian."

extent of muppet winsomeness tested

Tonight could be the night. At long last, AQ and I may put our plan into action of staving off potential vaginal seekers with a little something we like to call the Loverly Groverly.

Simply put, we respond in muppet Grover's voice to strange males.

"Can I buy you a drink?"
Grover says, "Mmmm. Dreeenk."

That sort of thing.

All that matters is that WE'RE entertained. È vero.

an appeal to my masochistic head

Head, please stop screwing with me. I specifically requested a good dream [see yesterday], and I have to say it hurt my feelings a little bit that you made no effort and have, instead, reacted contrarily.

Maybe it's funny to you, but making me dream of Happiest Times Which Came To Bad Ends, Said Ends Only Remembered Upon Waking is not nice. Have your fun at my expense, but remember who can slowly attack you via her intake apparatuses. Most relevant to last night, having me 'wake up' at various points in my life naked, with friends suddenly next to me and utterly confused as to what's going on, I could go without. It likewise isn't so cute to make me think I've lived out my whole life, am very old, and am being dumped back in time to figure out where I am in my own life, especially when you've completely created some of these points.

Head! Look at me. No, really, look at me. Come on. Let's not be like this. We're better than this.

where dad is "date"

Puke.

Wouldn't this be much more effective if the same were expected of sons? (Purity Ball for girls; Purity Balls for boys. Obvious enough.)

Happily, research indicates the cultish rituals are no match for teenage hormones, no matter how hot or abusive daddy is.

Sweet hormones. We bow to thee, for thine powers are mighty.

fox news freudian slip

Say what you (and I) will about Freud. The slips are still valid, at least sometimes.

Last night on Fox News (it was the only channel with a clear picture), the reporter said, and I paraphrase, "Bush has said he will spend 4,000 more troops...send 4,000 more troops to Iraq."

I hope they didn't flog him too severely for that one.

request to a specific unconscious mind

(Background: I'm a little sad that one of my friends is moving out to L.A., and it's not just because he could simultaneously escape a forest fire by being sucked downhill into the sea in a mudslide during an earthquake. We just also have fantabulous conversations, and even if sometimes he gives me a mildly concerned look, I don't have to edit myself - and this is entirely mutual. I like having special little worlds to share. It is a happy feeling. I like happy feelings.)

Actual exerpt from dream:
We are making giant ice sculpture babies, really chunky babies like eight-month olds, and having fun with how fluid and sloppy the layers of ice-fat are looking. There is pride in the ice-fat and a weirdly out of place soliloquoy a la Hamlet about appearance and actuality, expectation and touch, and the mutability of each. Wander around, contemplating; wander around listening to friend's voice contemplating and making me laugh. I walk off to get these special snow shoes my Lapp greatgrandparents have sent for me. Upon returning, a bunch of super-hero-esque men in jeans and tshirts who've gone without shaving for at least three days are lined up. The ice-babies are on mounts, and one after another, each man walks underneath a supported ice-baby, gets the ice-baby onto his back, and goes marching off with a happily dutiful expression - impossibly disproportionately large, fat ice-baby on back. Some of the babies start to wake up but we laugh and tell them to just go back to sleep. We're up to something, something we think is great, like a new step forward in evolution or something, and are excited.

And awake!

Now Head, pay attention...

What would've been a better dream:
Swinging from vines in a bug-less rain forest, then having my dreamfriendbird swoop me up into her ribs like usual and deliver me out to a soft stained-glass Viking ship, red sails and all. For a jester, there'd be a talking duck who would always let me pinch its cute duck cheeks, occassionally with a slight twinge of blushy embarrassment. Viking bunnies would stomp around trying to look all gruff, but then they'd turn around and giggle at themselves, and could jump up and down a series of levels to work all the sails. At night, the whole ship would turn into a giant egg and we could sink beneathe the water, sometimes luring sealife with our lights and laughing as they clunked into our one-way egg surface. There would also be lots of dark chocolate and berries, a koi stream, wing'd alabaster violins borrowed from The Graces, tribal drums, and fire ropes to make pretty shapes with in the sky or underwater. And a pair of really smooshy, warm slippers. That's a good start, I'd say.

another lauren and dahlia show

We will be girl detectives of a commercially unsuccessful nature, wherein our lackings are two-fold.

The characters will have neither suspenseful mysteries to solve, nor ever realize their own actions have answered the question at hand. For example, "Why is everyone in Southern California so stupid?" The characters go through a few scenes of trying to determine the culprit(s), but in the end just decide to go to the beach.

Like that.

menu bar of the soul

Per AQ's iTunes comment, the topic arose...

Therapeutic Evil Thought #492089790387, directed at someone who may anger me, most likely of the tech-geek persuasion:
If you had a menu bar, I wouldn't click Save or Help. I would go straight to Edit, then Find. Once located, View, then Insert: object. Perhaps a field would be inserted as well.

Edit: paste: tar. Edit: paste: feathers. Copy. Insert: break. Copy. Table? Yes. Insert table.

Edit: replace.

View: ruler.


(It's still raining outside. And cold.)

boiling water is magick

It's raining steadily and gray.

Watching the long, thin strands of spaghetti go from rigidly reticent to sea life interpretive dancers has been poetic.

It's amazing what water can do.

(Example: why I would never even consider taking acid and giving the brainthing free reign.)

hand-lotion unites 1/8 of a subway car's passengers

On my way home from work the other night, I realized my hands were dry. (Accurséd winter air.) But what luck! Julie had given me a new purse-sized hand-lotion, knowing my deep love of moisturizing. Rummage time.

Not the umbrella, the thingy I stick small things in, the ziplock still in there from flying homehome, the other ziplock with Mom-mix Mom put in my purse for my flight herehome, or the hat, or the Giant Beloved Sunglasses. Tube. Tube, squishy. Squishy tube!

Sweet relief. Yes.

When I looked up, people were looking in my direction - 'people' as in the whole end of the train. Okay. Their hungry little animals eyes zeroed in, and I looked back. Remember when you were a kid and you'd clearly walked in on a discussion you were not meant to hear, even in part? Like that feeling, at first, but then more a searching curiosity, heads scanning, noses aloft. Then the overly skinny 'do rag-wearing guy sitting two seats over on my right, at the end of the bench, says, "Excuse me, what is that scent?"

"My lotion?" [Blank stare taken as an affirmative.] "You really want to know?"
"Ya, it's amazing."
Girl between us, his overly fleshy and sweet-faced girlfriend (judging strictly by all the canoodling) adds, "It smells so good. What is it?"
Grab from purse. "Apparently," squint, "Mango Mandarin."
Guy: "Can I see it?"
Hand over.
Guy: "Can I use some?"
[Laughter peppered from our end of the train.]
"Sure. Have at it."
We watch him. He hands it back, with a thanks.
Me: "Feel better?"
Guy: "I do."
Woman across from us: "Wow, who makes it?"
"Don't know."
Girl next to me: "Where'd you get it?"
"From a friend."
Another woman, standing to the side: "Think it has a number on it we can call?"
I pull the lotion back out. It is a superstar, a god among purse objects, but I trust my other purse objects to not resort to puncturing violence or anything, even if they're feeling a bit neglected. Sorry, guys; you're all essential to my quality of life. Don't worry.
Me: "Oh, it's just B____."
Girl: "They make good stuff."
Guy: "I can get that!" He is genuinely pleased.
Woman to the side: "We should've just been a commercial."
Me: "For serious."
Woman across: "Your lotion just brought together an entire subway car."
[Shrug. Smile.]

And...scene.

Sometimes the subway has small moments so touchingly human. (This does not mean you, MTA.)

julie taymor's idea from age 12

I bet the set/scenic design in The Metropolitan Opera's Magic Flute seemed like a really amazing idea in 1976.

Julie Taymor, did you really consent to having your name used for this, and can't you stop them now? If you were in an altered state when you signed, that's not legally binding, you know. I know there's not much to do with a fantastical cornucopia of Freemason references married to the lamest romances, and I liked my magnifying bug box from the zoo, too, but it just doesn't really 'work' really big, on stage, with Tron-esque neon light tubes, no magnifying part(s), and costumes somewhere between Dr. Seuss, Japanese puppets, and Cirque de Soleil. However confusing/poor the writing, the visual "F- you, audience" didn't help.

And Met Opera knows it's turning out a slipshod piece, by its very nature, and essentially admits this. LZP found a quote in the program in an attempt to explain the poorly strung storyline, "The word 'magic' is in the title for a reason." (Paraphrased, but to that effect.) Thank you, Metropolitan Opera, for opening our eyes; we simply hadn't known this was an acceptable excuse.

"But it's a magical thesis!"

"It may seem like I didn't do what I swore I would, but that's all part of the illusion because, you see, it was a magical promise!"

M'ya.

Other than a strangely bass female voice in the audience belting out, "Yeah," in answer to the lead male's question if he were still alive and the six year old next to us lipsynching to the opera, gesticulating grandly, it was just so underwhelming (though I do still want one of those bears hanging from my bedroom ceiling). I'll cut Taymor slack because the film Frida is so visually lush, but there's tarnish on the mental medal she wears in my mind's eye.

Want to polish the medal. Wantsees eet to be SHINY. Blinding even.

now I see what you meant, god

Apocalypto:
I don't blame you, God, for being (beyond) annoyed with Mr. Gibson. Opening with the quote by W. Durant, "A great civilization is not conquered from without until it has destroyed itself within," immediately book-ends it exactly as one might suspect. First, the statement is an over-simplification of reality and fairly easily dis-proven historically. Secondly, when coupled with the ending scene of Spaniards with the crucifix, it puts the entire film right back into his Big Fat Obvious and Unrelenting Agenda.

Catholicism is never to blame! The Church is good, always has been, and when it seems like it hasn't been, that's the fault of those it overtook for already being weak.

Lord.

Anyway, the rest of it was great from a craft standpoint. Nice costumes. Um, some lovely shots. Potential for human stories. While fairly accurate according to what we now know about Mayan culture, it focused solely on the gore of it and not the 'why' or human condition of the gore. A more sane film-maker would've used this to illustrate religion exists to provide a sense of safety and control over the unknown, regardless of time, people, or place. Such a maker o' the films could easily have made the parallels, rather than seemingly miss them in comparison with today's religion and political climate. It's irresponsible and poor development to portray a culture so simplistically (whether focusing on positives or negatives). For example [slight spoiler warning]: during the solar eclipse, the Mayan high priest 'asks' that the sun return if the gods agree with his interpretation that the earth's thirst for blood has been sated...without even touching upon what phenomenal astronomers the Mayans were and that the priest most certainly knew the sun would be popping back out within moments...which would be a rather nice segue into rulers using religion to control the masses. Hello. Actual relevancy. And conveying this would've taken maybe 30-seconds more.

It was visually interesting, fairly skilled in developing a storyline with little actual material, but then this same lacking of development took away from making this nearly as relevant and human a story as it could have been.

Would someone else please do a pre-Columbian history movie, and actually delve into the empires? Come on! We have CGI and everything now. Oh, what am I saying...they'll all be cheesy - UNLESS [internal gong of happy idea] Edward Norton writes it. Would someone take this up with him? For me? Pretty please?

flattery

"If you were running a Communist country, everyone would want to be Communist." - Patryk [on my efficiency plotting in even the least significant things]

Sweet-talker.

not that easy, god

No, GOD, you aren't changing my mind.

Bring on the crazy plumed-men, account errors with my cell phone bill, lease re-signing issues with our invisible landlord, and the FBI wanting to ask still more questions about the stolen Picasso at work. I'm STILL going to go see Apocalypto. I know Mel Gibson is genetically inclined towards severely retarded tendencies, but, look, I've been wanting to see a movie realize pre-Columbian history since I was like seven or eight years old.

I can't help it.

Lay off.

recanting encouragement of feather-wearing by humans

A man got on the L this morning at 1st Ave with what at first seemed a self-styled buccaneer's hat, festooned with mismatched and occasionally worn and/or flaccid plumage (for these were plumes). Time to gauge crazosity.

Other details: a hat band made of craftstore plastic beads but not faceted because that would be unfashionable, a generally angry countenance, some sort of Marine 'Wing' jacket. Then the bird chirps started.

Oh yes. He'd spent plenty of time developing these. At first a few eyebrows twitched, but what's there to do beyond be annoyed at some freak's need to make bird noises. On the other side of the pole I was fortunate enough to be sharing with said freak, the bird noises stopped. His head darted out from side to side, to see if anyone had 'figured out' he was making the sounds (or so I assume).

He became disgusted. With us. Us all. All us paltry PEOPLE.

"God damn f&ckers. Never change. Always the same. Nothing never no different. I should just...[assorted violent fantasies, tuned out while I pondered his not double- but triple-negative]." Ah, Union Square, old friend. Take me into your belly. And make the birdman trip and lose his hat or at least not get on my next train.

We exited. As I neared the stairs, cawing echoed down the platform. People laughed.

2 days into 2007

Though our annual Most Depressing Day of The Year Party is still weeks away, AQ and I have gotten a headstart on general pessimism for the year. It's our way of consummating time.

And here are some of our special greeting cards we've proposed offering, in AQ/DM Sandwich Form:

Sorry to hear about the untimely death of your philandering husband.
May suspicion continue to be deflected from you. - AQ

Felicitous salutations on your engagement.
Always remember the joy you feel now. It's a comfort in the end. - DM

Sorry to hear about the loss of your beloved grandmother.
Unlike last time, they won't find her roaming the streets.
Just know these things happen, which was clearly her attitude when she wrote you out of the will. - DM

Congratulations on your recent arrival!
Sure, he's a little funny-looking, but look on the bright side: now he has to develop a personality. - AQ

et fin

When/Then

Issue:
Supercrazies on the subway

Solution:
Much more complicated turnstiles

Shanty O'f'd

And I quote:

"'ave you ever been down to an Irishman's shanty
Where water is scarce and whiskey is plenty;
A three-legged stool and a table to match,
A string on the door, without any latch?"

- lyrics we were actually taught in 2nd grade, no shite

And they WONDER...

Preventative Eating

The first step has been taken, a hard-learned one at that - Preventative Eating is complete. As one of two things is about to happen and I am either 1) drinking sake or 2) drinking vodka, in less than four minutes, pre-eating is simply procedural. Sober realization of this Knowledge (tip of hat for cap-ing that, Dickinson...and Germans), must be honored.

Justification:
The Drunkard Effect will be worsened/heightened by an unlined stomach; also, I'm hungry. Furthermore, JS's crew have repaid in pizza form the unfortunate Daria's Chicken, meet The Floor, Floor, Chicken incident. [Bows exchanged, which is appropriate even if it had been a girl chicken because I like to imagine whatever is consumed, poultry or otherwise, is still all about equality and freedom of expression. If there is some native/Highlander-esque 'gaining of the spirit of one's kill via devouring' thing, then this only stands to reason and thus far is being proven true. Or we've just disproven 'gaining of the spirit of one's kill via devouring,' in which case I apologize to all appropriate native cultures, but not to Highlander (fans).] Second Tier Justification then includes Knowledge that after a bit of imbibing, ze hungers vill szet een. The objective is to avert the surely bodily damning near-sleep lard-out by simply larding out early enough to give the body time to alcocize (now a term - you're welcome, humanity).

In this way, all is well and right in the world.

Except that I am now eight minutes past sake and/or vodka time (hello saketini re-conception).

Slang from the id

Coffee shall henceforth be known (by me) as "blood of the bean."

That is all.

VMAs: Video Music Awards or Visual Mutilation Accompanies?

We now have proof positive that it is a bad, bahhhd idea to give musical celebrities free reign of their 'expression.'

Though still mostly known as a pretty face to some [me], more than actor or musician, I really hadn't previously thought of Jared Leto as the equivalent of a gay Edward Scissorhands. Dude, don't mess with Female America's Mr. Depp. He belongs to us. Years and chasms of both talent and disorders of the ego separate the two of you. And Johnny was *acting.* [Sincere question intended on a deeper level ->] What were you doing, Jared? What WERE you doing?

The Gumby Trench That Saved Democracy
or so Beyonce's stylist (Mrs. Knowles? Is that you again?) would have us, sirens blaring, think. Or so my die-hard Beyonce friends tried to justify. The best theory even those who WILL not find fault in anything BK does could come up with was some sort of Iraq War spy mission, wherein dancers shake in tribute to soldiers...soldiers who wisely wear full-body wool in the desert - albeit in camoflaging camel-color - over the ever-breathable and cooling black vinyl dominatrix one-piece. It takes you from day to night! Sand to water! Inspector Gadget to Catwoman! We are a nation of Sexy F*ckers! Hear us roar!

Um, meh. Ya, roar.

And then there was Britney. But I can't even stomach revisiting that. Please, someone, please help that girl - if only for the future of her spawn. Can't we have a live-feed intervention or something? Mental rehab? She could get a bag of Cheetos for every book she reads. There has to be something we can do. K. Fed seems to actually be her intellectual superior, and a better dresser. Now if he could just do something about his buddies. The whole 'exposed posterior' thing is so old now that we could actually do time-lapse pieces like they do to show faces over time. Wouldn't that be cool? "This was his arse in 1994, but look how much it's begun sagging over time. It really takes a downturn by 2001. Too much sun?" No. Too much moon. (Had to!)

Ten Minutes of Last Friday

I RETURN...to blogging, not innocence. And there is no such thing as innocent blogging.

Meanwhile, an account must be taken of a strange span of ten minutes last weekend, wherein we went to see off an old college friend (Hi Jack! Please do not become a Southern politician. Use the law, become one with it, Law Incarnate...make the legal system your bitch, but never boastfully. JK - I know this you would not do.)...then speaking with another Cathy of Lan-dom, a Cathy who exists in genetic duplicate due to her twin's survival (hey, as it turns out, lots of us start out with them in the womb but only so many make it out alive...way to go, fetal friendlies). Somehow the conversation turned to the two of them in the womb, not wanting to hurt one another, but quite the opposite (unless you are a SUPAH-freak, set on asfixiation fetal erotica). Oh no, these twins got along possibly too well, so the story goes. And this is where we got probably too into the whole thing. We decided things such as: they flirted with one another there in their bearer's cervix, coyly twitching their not-fully-formed eye blobs at one another, experimenting with rubbing on the host being's ribs and bladder, making the tiniest little O-faces ever for our species. By the third trimester, they were pole dancing on their mother's spine (hence leading to very little stress about the whole stepping on a crack thing), and doing outlandishly suggestive things with their umbilical cords.

At this point, my lovely Corinna materialized in the Magician (a bar) from the bathroom, making it the second consecutive night we randomly ran into each other.

Mark - ten minutes.