Tuesday, September 30, 2008

Vision Balls!

In the great debate of sexiness that rages on between Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert, I think Stewart wins. Vision balls!

Friday, September 26, 2008

Palin's Comments

Just so you can judge for yourself. And don't give her the Mommy Saint break, please. You are aware, I hope, that this is a bullshit break. Resist.

Me Like Tee Vee

Things I am soooo happy about, as far as television is concerned....

I love Chuck. It is a bit basic, but this little dude is quite charming, and the rest of the cast is A-OK.

Hrm. The first episode was a little ADD, but maybe it will chill out? Seriously, let's not burn out on the whole "shocking twist" developments, okay? Still, I am all about Heroes...

Jim and Pam and Pam and Jim. I love The Office with no reservations. Michael Scott? Well, there's a rumor that I am totally Michael Scott at work, which makes me cry, but I still love the show.

Ultimate show. The best, ever. If you don't watch it, I don't want to know. Look. It is better than everything else. And it deserves to win the Emmy every year that it is on the air. And all the other reality programs? Sorry, but suck it. The Amazing Race kicks your ass.


Let's hope we're done with soaring assholes for now. Shut. Up. Lame. Non. Magician.

Thursday, September 25, 2008

Mapquest: Compare and Contrast

“As she continued, Palin brought up Russian Prime Minister Vladimir Putin.

‘It’s very important when you consider even national security issues with Russia as Putin rears his head and comes into the air space of the United States of America, where—where do they go? It’s Alaska. It’s just right over the border. It is—from Alaska that we send those out to make sure that an eye is being kept on this very powerful nation, Russia, because they are right there. They are right next to…to our state,’ she said.”

—quoted on the Today Show, as told by Amy Westfeldt, Associated Press Writer via Yahoo! Business News

“I personally believe that U.S. Americans are unable to do so because, um, some people out there in our nation don’t have maps and, uh, I believe that our, uh, education like such as, uh, South Africa and, uh, the Iraq and everywhere like such as, and I believe that they should, uh, our education over here in the U.S. should help the U.S., uh, should help South Africa and should help Iraq and the Asian countries, so we will be able to build up our future.”

—Miss Teen America contestant Lauren Upton, when asked why one-fifth of Americans are unable to locate the United States on a map

Tuesday, September 23, 2008


I just completed jury duty and, yet again, somehow managed to escape with the minimum amount of time served—less than a day! Six years ago I was rejected by one of the lawyers, but this time around I never even got to see the lawyers. We just sat in the coldest room in the universe from 8:30 to 3:30 when they decided to set us free.

Things of Note:

—Seriously, the Coldest Room in the Universe. People make comments on my refrigerated office all the time—I’m a known hothead—so you can rest assured that it was genuinely uncomfortable in that vast waiting room.
—It felt all U.N.-ey. Because of the room. It had that same architectural flavor.
—No hats in the courtroom! It was fun to watch people obey such a sweet, old-fashioned rule in gnarly old Brooklyn.
—No sleeping across the seats! It was even more fun to watch the court officer wake people up. It felt so high school detention, sit up straight, spitcha gum out, shut ya traps.
—Two hours for lunch! Seriously, can I live in jury duty? I get to read all day and get two hours for lunch?
—“There are All Kinds.” Nice people and poop people. It was refreshing to see generally friendly and chatty people making the best of it. There had to be something to counterbalance the raging bull assholes that wanted to ensure everyone knew how pissed off they were. One girl in particular kept pacing the aisles, talking to “herself,” declaring, “They better let me outta here waste my fucking time fucking assholes I don’t have time for this BULLshit blah blah blah.” Because we all have time for this bullshit except you, honey.
—Cooties. I think I caught some. O. The Humanity. Freaking public bathrooms and all the mysterious smears. Ugh.

I miss it already.

Saturday, September 20, 2008

Candle lit Artsy

Did you know that my sister is an artist? She is. And talented, too. I think I'd give up every dumb joke that made you think I'm something special just so that you'd see her for what she truly is: the real deal. She really is.


Note the mood lighting? Closer...


Candlelight and serious sandalwood incense suggests possible chick flick extravaganza views of Practical Magic and Love, Actually, but you will never prove it.


The chickens approved. And with that, you need nothing else.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008


Who is watching Project Runway? I am. It is the first time I've wanted to kick someone down the stairs. Her name is Kenley. Her dresses are really nice, if similar, and extremely well made. She would be a fantastic costumer for movies about the 1950s-60s.

Better yet, she should drop design and look into becoming a professional asshole. Because she's got that shit dowwwwn. She has no self perception, other than she is always right. She is without flaw, so she doesn't accept critique. She's mean to Tim Gunn. She is mean to the twee-est, sugar-coated peanut to ever mentor a bunch of scrubby creative types.


But it isn't just that she's stubborn, self-absorbed, and delusional. She's also a classic Mean Girl. She has something nasty to say about everyone (as long as it is behind their backs). She can't help herself from giggling at other's misfortunes, even when it is not only mean, but quite simply inappropriate. And she's snotty. Green clotty snotty.

So, cute dresses, nothing wrong there, but still. You, me, a set of stairs, and the hefty pat on the back you so richly deserve, baby. Unless your fellow designers get there first.

Friday, September 12, 2008

My Afternoon, by Chinatownchicken

Holy fuck!

Them there fancy pants restaurants sure is good!

Let me explain. I have the arrrrrresome friend from the long, long ago…my baby By-By. I promised I wouldn’t use his real name (rep to protect) so he’s heretofore known, officially, as By-By. He’s known me since I was a frosted, permed, big-haired teen with mongo earrings and a taste for oversized sweaters over stirrup pants. Mercy. Also, he’s a great prom and homecoming date. He was always trying to turn us on to the high class hooch like Purple Passion.

So, today he was doing a tasting at a restaurant in the Time Warner Center called Per Se for an upcoming event. I was lucky enough to be brought along for the ride. The restaurant was impeccably designed, very modern and beautiful with a view of Central Park. Thank GOD I wore dress pants.

It was a seven course spread, with nibblies to start and nibblies to end. Also, wine. A nice pinot noir. What I recall from my dreamy pinot haze:

• The first nibblet, a cheese puff morsel, had that “explosion of flavor” you’ve heard about—from this point forward, I finally started to understand some of the language from “Top Chef”—flavor profiles!
• Two different pasta dishes, one sweet, one muscular and surprising, the latter being my pick.
• My first taste of fois gras, my first real taste of caviar. The fois gras was Di-Vine. The caviar was fish jelly. Mmph. The caviar was resting on a beet disk which floated atop this mousse that could best be described as buttercracker. I could have licked the little bowl clean. Manners!
• Lobster just isn’t my thing. Even the best lobster, I’m afraid. I just want to batter it in Shake-n-Bake and dip it in a fryer. And, as baby By-By declared, “This ain’t Red Lobster, honey!”
• A nice cut of steak (elusively fatty, nice char) competed with a nice seared section of pork belly. By-by love the pork, I loved the steak.
• The Horror of Cheese. I don’t know cheese, especially fancy cheese, by I’ve had some skirmishes. Today’s was regrettable. First: Some kind of hideous, rotten cheese, very soft, full of the moldy bits. Second: Something reported to have goat cheese associated with it, but there was a creaminess then a Rind of Terror that tasted like licking a bum’s instep. And I know instep, let me tell you.
• Oh glorious peanut butter and chocolate concoction for dessert! It was a lovely way to end (the nibblies of chocolate covered marshmallows and coconut cream delights didn’t hurt, either).

Oh, and finally, the best part of all: An afternoon with my Baby By-By, who was quite impressive in his big boy suit. The party is going to be fab. That place was INSANE.

We got going-away presents, even…I’ll eyeball them for a couple of hours more then chomp them like a piranhafish.

Here’s a mood shot.

Side story: It started raining during the long lunch (we were there from 12:30 to 4:30) and hasn’t yet stopped. When I got home, these two little weirdoes were hanging out on my windowsill.

They didn’t even take off during all of my monkeying about as I tried to get a good picture. They just cocked their little heads and blinked. Blink blink. I usually hate pigeons, but there’s something about drenched pigeons that is completely disarming. I never wondered (or cared) where they went in inclement weather. And here they are, soaked and scrunched up tight on my sill. I think I like them better like this because they kind of look like crows. And crows, as we all know, are the cutest evar.

Saturday, September 06, 2008

Most Horrible Songs Ever

Open for debate, if you wish, but I am right. These songs suck hard.

12. Into the Night – Benny Mardones (disgusting pedophile rapist)

11. I Wanna Sex You Up – Color Me Badd (loser freaks with no game)

10. Don’t Worry, Be Happy – Bobby McFerrin (ugh)

9. The Future’s So Bright I Gotta Wear ShadesTimbuk3 (the lamest of lame things that are lame)

8. Wild Wild West – The Escape Club (loser freaks with no game)

7. Night Shift - Commodores (snore)

6. No One Is to Blame – Howard Jones (snore)

5. It Must Have Been LoveRoxette (and every Roxette song and her reedy, whiny horror)

4. Baby I Love Your Way – Will to Power (snore…and sacrilege)

3. Somewhere Out There – Linda Ronstadt (that which makes me violent and feel the urge to machine gun things)

2. That’s What Friends Are For - Dionne Warwick, etc. (vomit snooze, lame, manipulative, vile sap)

1. We Built This City - Starship (beyond explanation – a genuine horror)

Go ahead, click to link. Masochist.

O My Jeebus

How have I never posted this before? How?

First, let me say, I've always loved this song. Why? Because I never saw the video until later when, horrified, I laid eyes upon it and, as it happens, Billy Squier ("The Rocker" of "Stroke Me" fame) was roont forevermore.

Where does the smile begin to fade? It starts out OK; he's doing this little strip tease thing, he's getting dressed. Maybe the smile begins to fade when the snapping commences. Perhaps it is the army crawl. Certainly the writhing doesn't help.

One can only watch. In Horror. Wondering what happened.

And don't think GAY and gay bashing. That's not it. What's troubling is his complete lack of self awareness. Is he not clear on the kicky dance not being...OK?

We have to come to terms with one fact: He's dancing much like WE did (ok, I did) to this very song, in 198-, on the green shag rug, in my bedroom, imagining I was performing for...ug). Let's all vom together. That's the kicker for me, because WHAT THE HELL was he THINKING stealing my moves?

The Daily Show Gives Us a Kiss

Soft and supple. If you are not watching this show, get to it.

That's Right

Joan Jett doesn't frak around. And that's why Starbuck from Battlestar Gallactica reminds me of her. Granted, I'm still on season one, but the girl is serious rock and roll, no doubt.

Also, this is the the Very Best Song to roller skate to. Take my word for it.

Thursday, September 04, 2008

It's Just One of Those Days, Folks

This is what happens when a person foolishly gets 8 hours of sleep on a week night. I'm all awake and keenly aware of things, such as other people and their breathing. Added bonus: "Rico Suave" is on a loop in my head. Maybe there are worse things, maybe not.

Walking to the flatiron this morning, my triumphant egg and cheese and a large coffee in hand (triumphant because I get preferential treatment from my beloved Chilo who cooks my egg and cheese ahead of the wearing-thin charms [read: charmless] of the construction workers who shove their way to the head of the line with their lists of endless breakfast sandwiches, bagels, and other demands with barely a glance at the person who was [ahem] already standing there politely waiting her turn), I was noticing the humanity as it streamed past, and could not help but see the Obligatory Man Talking to Himself shuffling along the side of the building. He was an elder with strangely voluminous khaki shorts and a white t-shirt, holding a coffee and having a chat with whatever ghost was happening to haunt him this morning. And I thought to myself: That will be me one day. Probably next week.

So I guess I am at the stage where I feel hopelessly alone and forever adrift in an ocean of blah blah blah. YAY! Chicken poop.

Speaking of, I was clicking around the fourfour blog (you find that you can link forevermore, finding more and more interesting and imaginative blogs that, say, the one you are reading right now, should you find the time) and found one that I really liked. I knew I liked her for some reason other than the fact that the woman can WRITE, and lo and behold, Chickens. Also, a fantastic blog name.

Monday, September 01, 2008

Get Down Get Down

One of my ALL TIME favorite songs. And I can skate like that, too.

Er, well, I could. I'd probably break my ass these days.