Thursday, September 30, 2010

Thursday Mini II -- "Animal fat, entrails spill onto Veterans"

This was a headline from the Pantagraph, an Illinois paper. Turns out they were talking about Veterans Parkway, in Normal, IL. After the spill, "Normal police diverted traffic around the spill while it was cleaned up."

Yes, that picture is from the article.

Thursday Mini: Semen lobbyists

Call it confirmation bias, but lately I've seen a lot of articles discussing the merits of semen intake. Whether it's Cosmo telling me that two tablespoons only contain thirty-six calories (fewer calories than a Skinny Girl margherita!) or telling us to use whale ejaculate as conditioner (fewer calories than a semen margherita!), the topic seems ubiquitous. But now, Scientific American has published findings on the mood-boosting merits of cock juice. As if splooge enthusiasts needed a reputable backer, guys.

Heh heh "gulp."

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

"Sister Wives" is under Investigation!

How funny is that?! Really, really funny! At least I think so. Everyone's first thought when they heard about this show had to be "Can you do that?" And the answer is no, no you can't. Polygamy is illegal. And if you do it on TV, people are going to investigate you. Because you're admitting to engaging polygamy on TV. Fucking obviously.

I wish I was some kind of high-powered entertainment reporter so I get the scoop on what these people are getting paid per episode. TLC is ridiculous, because every new show has this premise of "Oh, we just want people to see how we live. We think it's important." And I can't help but read it as "Oh, we just want someone to give us thousands of dollars." These people put their children on television and basically gave themselves over to authorities for money. What kind of people do this? Mormons, apparently! They're as normal as little people, hoarders, and women who didn't realize they were pregnant until they gave birth! Well done there, Brown family. You've done a bang-up job of convincing America of how normal and down-to-earth your lifestyle is.

Monday, September 27, 2010

I'm Sick

And I don't mean just in the head.

Yes, this weekend, I managed to get myself knocked up by a fairly vicious cold. It's been a while since I've had an actual cold - you know, the one where you have snot dribbling out of your nose and a cough that sounds like you've been working in a Pennsylvania coal mine for a grip of years.

So I did what any modern educated man would do in this situation: bought some Robitussin at a corner deli and kept partying.

The next morning, I woke up unable to breathe out except with a shuddering rasping sound. So I kept slamming back Robi and decided to buy more medicines.

Over the course of this weekend, I've taken both NyQuil capsules and Tylenol PM. For those of you who are facing or soon to face this same situation (Cold season is upon us, after all!), I'd like to give my thoughts on these medicines' effectiveness.

NyQuil Capsules
They're big and they're green. They're "the nighttime, sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching, fever, best sleep you ever got with a cold" medicine. You've seen the advertisements.
I couldn't find a good picture of the capsules - deal with it.

The advertisements are big fat liars. NyQuil is the "nighttime kinda sorta makes you sleepy but then the sleepiness goes away and you're left with the sniffles" medicine. I mean, shit - I once took NyQuil at school because I couldn't find any DayQuil. That was the only time it ever kinda made me sleep, and I think that had more to do with the discussion of The Canterbury Tales.

Basically, NyQuil  is a prostitute you found on Craigslist that promises to bring herself and her hot barely legal girlfriend to service you for a very, very low price. Then you answer the door and it’s an obese woman holding a huge turkey leg, like she just came from the Renaissance Faire.

Tylenol PM
Little tiny blue capsules. They’re a lot easier to swallow and the box has a cool little logo of a moon and some clouds.
I also keep my pills in a nice little bowl like little dinner mints.

It also doesn’t make any promises about my sniffles or coughing or fever. It just says “helps to relieve these symptoms” and leaves it at that.

It doesn’t work any better, though. Or get you to sleep any faster.

To continue the strained prostitution metaphor, it’s like a mediocre prostitute you find on a street corner who offers to give you a blowjob for a modest amount. Then it turns out that it’s just a handie and the price has gone up. But you pay anyways because you already got her in the car.
So what was it? What made the most difference in my illness this weekend?

Simple. This:
Yes, the Chex Mix didn't cure my cold but it made me happy and full!

Thursday, September 23, 2010

Thursday Mini -- thank you, Choire from The Awl

This is usually J. Shex or Mooseburger's domain, but I saw something today that gave me hope. The cryptic and blurry (sorry) image below is an excerpt from a timeline of Joan Didion's life. Note how her first notable publication occurred in 1963, when Didion was already really old. Sweet.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

There are people called "Winklevoss"

According to every preview I've seen and every reporter who's talked about it, The Social Network doesn't paint a very flattering picture of Mark Zuckerberg. Weirdly, of all the awful things Aaron Sorkin has to say about Mark Zuckerberg, the Today Show anchor covering The Social Network on Monday just kept repeating he is portrayed as "socially awkward." Then the Today segment (I get most of my news from Today,) went on to interview the identical twin entrepreneurs who are suing the Facebook for 65 million dollars, the Winklevoss twins.

I mean, holy shit. Look at them. The Winklevosses. Aaron Sorkin may be trying his best to make Mark Zuckerberg really look like shit (or maybe just trying his best to make a hit movie, I guess,) but it would still take more than all this press to make me feel sorry for these young gentlemen. Let's get an action shot:

Here our unfortunate young victims are rowing at the men's pair final in 2008 Beijing games, a skill they honed in their years on the Harvard rowing team. These boys have come a long way since their childhood on the mean streets of Greenwich, CT. And that evil old Mark Zuckerberg, trying to steal it away from them.

This blog does a fair amount of hating on the rich. We're like a bizarro New York Times -- scorn for the rich instead of lifestyle and travel news, and this thing you're looking at instead of a well-trafficked website. But really, these boys. I tried to wade through the wiki page summary about all the different lawsuits they've been embroiled in about Facebook. There's been beef between their former co-inventors and themselves against Zuckerberg, just the two of them against Zuckerberg, just the two of them against their former co-inventors. Fuck it, let's all just see The Social Network. Real life's too complicated.

Sunday, September 19, 2010

The Gchat Stylebook

How many times have you had a Gchat miscommunication due to different understandings about grammar, punctuation and accepted abbreviations? And who hasn't nearly lost friends a half-dozen times over confusion about how much sarcasm should be assumed in text-based instant communication? Maybe that's just me, but whether it is or not, I think we should come to a few agreements.

Guide to Punctuation

capitalization In general, avoid capitalization entirely. Avoid capitalizing proper nouns, pronouns, names, nations, titles and anything else that should be capitalized in other mediums. Note that capitalizing I denotes an overwhelming narcissism and should be avoided, unless this trait is something you'd like to convey.

commas In general, avoid commas.

ellipses Gchat convention is to use "..." all the time. To mean anything you want! Confusion, apprehension, your overwhelming emotions preventing your ability to type, anything! i don't know what's going on fri...i don't have plans yet; guys went out last night?; my boss just came in...we didn't get the postage labels going to explode

periods See commas. Actually, refer all punctuation questions not otherwise listed to commas and use that as an overall punctuation guide.

question marks Use single question marks to denote a question. Use ??? or an extended interobang, ?!?!, for confusion and alarm, depending on your confusion-to-alarm ratio. It is acceptable to use a question mark to denote how your voice would raise at the end of a sentence, were you speaking in person. i didn't think he had syphilis?; youre moving out of the apartment?


abbreviations The only rule is there are no rules. Abbreviate anything you want, abbrev.atng/u/wanna. However you want, howyw. omg; lylas; i hart JBeebs

denoting anger and/or frustration while avoiding any actual confrontation The most commonly used convention is to use the response ...ok. Note that ...ok is also commonly used to denote confusion. If you'd like to signal passive-aggressive anger at the beginning of a conversation, use ...hi or ...hey.
whatever can be used in situations where no other options are appropriate.

emoticons Use to indicate lightheartedness when speaking to someone you don't know well, especially with women. :)
Only use emoticons ironically when speaking with good friends, unless you're trying to convey a lower level of intelligence. :/ :)> :( ;)

inquiring about a breakup you heard about but have not yet spoken about in person
Approach this as you would in real life conversation. oh how is judy?

Friday, September 17, 2010

Friday entry: Subway talkers

A strange thing happens when you read a book on the subway. Even if everything about your appearance and demeanor indicates that you shun social interaction, people feel compelled to approach you. It's inexplicable to me that someone engaged in a solitary activity seems enticing. You are not a cat, so please don't misinterpret a book in my hands as an invitation. Is there a reason you feel entitled to sit your fat, furry, metaphorical ass on the page I'm reading?

Possibly the only thing more obnoxious than being talked to on the subway

I have never once wondered whether I had anything in common with other passengers, but I'm routinely approached by fellow improvisers. Okay, for one thing I don't care about your life. For another, I'd rather not know exactly how extensive my competition to be on a UCB team is. I also resent having to lie about a "boyfriend" to make it very clear that "missed connections" don't exist and you will never not ever find love in this city. But also, thanks for trapping me in a pointless conversation so that it will take me even longer to finish this fucking book, trapping me in an endless cycle of weirds wanting to analyze the inanities of "The Game."

It's getting to the point where I'm going to have to buy a copy of Girl with the Dragon Tattoo just to blend. Thanks a lot, assholes.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Tuesday Lists: Wednesday Edition

Upsides to Being a Loser in High School:
- Plenty of time to get really, really good at Tetris
- You can try to grow a mustache - nobody's looking at you anyways
- Not pregnant at graduation
- Not pregnant at the reunion
- No one makes a shirt about your death when you die in a drunken car wreck
- Saved on clothes because you didn't have to shop at Abercrombie and Fitch
- Didn't have to talk to other people about Abercrombie and Fitch and hear them prounounce it "Ambercrombie" because they're stupid

**Some silly NY-wide Internet blackout won't stop us from posting! Even if it is the next day.

Monday, September 13, 2010

I Am The Greatest Writer

This is not me, ergo he is not the greatest writer.
I am the greatest writer. The only writers near to my level (which you can't even see - that's how far above you my level is) are the other writers on this blog. But, rest assured, it is a fact: I am the greatest writer.

How do I know I am the greatest writer?

When I sit at my computer and go clickity-clackity on the keyboard, earthquakes rock the firmament in remote areas of the globe. Native peoples look at the sky and feel the quaking of the earth and go "The greatest writer is at it again. Let us pray to the jaguar spirit so that he may summon us the greatest writer's blog and we may enjoy it."

When I hit my delete key, waves crash upon beaches and destroy children's sand castles.

How do I know I am the greatest writer?

I have many books, many of which are not literature or essay. I have books with titles like The Writer's Guide To Character Traits and The Merriam-Webster Dictionary New Edition. I hear you, just barely (after all, you are on a level so below me that your loudest yells sound like ants scrabbling in the dust), say "But if you are the greatest writer, why do you need books to tell you how to write?" I do not respond. If I were to respond, however, it would probably be to say "I keep them as trophies. I have absorbed all the information therein, and like the mighty hunter mounts the heads of the beasts he has slain, I keep these books to remind me that I was not always the greatest writer."
This is Plato, not Homer like you probably assumed.
Knowledge like that is why I'm the greatest writer,
 and you're not.

Remember, though, that I did not respond. So you did not hear my explanation.

How do I know I am the greatest writer?

I can write in patois. I can write in dialect. No, those aren't the same thing - they're different. If you were the greatest writer, you'd know that.

I can write in pentameters iambic and dactylic. Translated from the Latin, my family motto is "Prose before hos, verse before nurse". Homer is my homeboy.

I am the greatest writer.

Friday, September 10, 2010

Cosmo Reboot

My boss is in the office today, which means the summer's officially over. In conjunction with Cosmo's new "Sex Position of the Day" app for Droid, I feel it's time for another installation of "Cosmo: What on God's green Earth?!"Here are a few choice moves, focused primarily on the aquatically-oriented acts that will only be possible for a few days more. Hit 'em while you can!

The Tawdry Tube
Cosmo says: "This face-to-face position is seriously intimate....the splashing water created by your thrusting hits both of your down-there domains, adding to the titillation."

Logic dictates: Have you ever tried to balance on top of an inner tube alone? Now try to balance on top of a dude's balls on top of an inner tube. Now consider the yeast infection that Cosmo warns about while simultaneously advising water sex. "Intimate" doesn't even come close, amirightladies?

Beach-Ball Booty
Cosmo says: "With your back to the ocean, lie facedown at the shoreline....The combo of his thrusts and the lapping water against your skin feels downright heavenly."

Logic dictates: This require a secluded stretch of beach sometime at dusk, conditions which are also favored by sharks. Between seagulls, salt, and sand the ocean might be the worst sex myth to ever come out of the movie Grease. I'm also pretty sure this is how turtles have sex, and anything that would fuck a Croc isn't to be imitated.

Cosmo says: "The feeling of weightlessness combined with the sensual deprivation of not being able to hear since your ears are submerged will allow you to surrender to the bliss of your partner's member throbbing inside you."

Logic dictates: "Throbbing member" has never aroused anyone anywhere at any time. Getting water up your nose during sex sounds more erotic than that, and with this move you can count on it.

Sexy Sprinkler
Cosmo says: "If you can't reach your hands to the ground, place them on your thighs or calves for support....And the aroma of wet grass boosts your sense of smell, making this a supersensory experience."

Logic dictates: This mostly reminds me of the gay sex statue that Tom Green built in his parents' yard. More to the point, this one just looks painful; I can barely stretch my calves for a full ten seconds of warm-up at the gym, let alone a few minutes. At least you'll be seduced and distracted by the heady, sensual perfume of lawn clippings.

Sexy Scissors
Cosmo says: "No other love lock will offer you such a body-rockin' range of sensations....We guarantee these thigh-melting maneuvers will lead to a whoa-baby wave of Os."

Logic dictates: "You should always be careful with scissors." - Butters

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Everyone in the Lord of the Rings books is ruder than I remembered

So I recently re-read "Lord of the Rings," because, um, that's the kind of person I am, and I couldn't help but notice how blunt everyone is in the books. Peter Jackson makes it out to be all sweet sad glances between barely platonic hobbit couples and scenes of everyone showing up at people's bedsides after battles and having gigglefits. Not so in the book. Maybe it's just because Europeans are more straightforward, but in Tolkien's vision, there's more rudeness than Elf-Dwarf rivalries and Gollum's "nassty hobbitses" Tourette syndrome. Here are some quotes.

"Then who would you take up with? A fat inkeeper who only remembers his own name because people shout it at him all day?"

-Aragorn, in response to Barliman Butterbur, who's just said he distrusts Rangers
I mean, I understand that Butterbur just said he didn't trust you, but you can't really blame him. All Butterbur sees of Aragorn is this cloaked dirty weirdo who wanders in and out of town. So I just don't really think he needed to call him fat. In general, in Tolkien's telling, Aragorn isn't the humble sweetheart Peter Jackson and Viggo Mortenson make him out to be. At the drop of a hat he's yelling to perfect strangers that he's Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Elendil, with the sword of whosit and blah blah blah. That's pretty impressive and all, but he's not shy about bringing it up.

"To the tall isle I will go, but no further. There I shall turn to my home, alone if my help has not earned the reward of any companionship."
-Boromir, casually, to everyone around him
Boromir gets more and more passive aggressive as the first book moves on. This is pretty much the height of his cattiness. You'd think someone who was so interested in showing how big and manly they were would avoid acting like a 13-year-old girl. I've been on nightmare camping trips, too, and we all managed to not get snippy like this.

"Do not speak before your master, whose wit is greater than yours."
-Faramir, to Sam
Really, Faramir, right to his face. It's one thing when he and Frodo joke about Sam being a little dim, but the two of them go way back. Faramir overall is certainly not the asshole Jackson makes him out to be, but he's an awfully blunt guy in the book. He takes one look at Frodo and comes right out with "So I figure you're carrying the One Ring." Jesus, who are you? For some reason his lack of finesse wins over Eowyn in the end, which I don't really understand, but I guess if she can put up with him that's a nice happy ending for those two, since they've both been through some shit.

"Alas! For she was pitted against a foe beyond the strength of her mind and body!"
-Aragorn, about Eowyn while she was recovering
I really just don't know who Aragorn thinks he is here. Yeah, she's hovering somewhere near critical condition at this point, but she killed the guy, didn't she? I mean, Aragorn showed up with a ghost army, which is pretty badass, but she and Merry took down the Witch-King of friggity Angmar. After everyone telling them they weren't good enough to be there. Aragorn needs to step off.

"He looked towards the mountains and held up his sword. 'Farewell, Gandalf!' he cried. 'Did I not say to you: if you pass the doors of Moria, beware?"
-Aragorn, back towards the mountain where Gandalf has just fallen off a cliff
Before they move along on the quest Aragorn can't resist giving a final "Told ya so!" to Gandalf, who at this point we assume has splattered on the jagged rocks at the bottom of the abyss under Moria. Nice, Aragorn. You look really good here.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Tuesday Lists - What in was Tuesday today?

  • Today really felt like a Monday

Thursday, September 2, 2010

Bob Barker has the right idea

And to counteract the ra-ra dog sappiness, here's this Onion article.

Assemble the pitchforks and torches!

Michael Bay is offering $50,000 to whomever finds the infamous "puppy-throwing girl." Fuck. Now I have a reason to like Michael Bay.

(If you haven't seen the video I'm referring to, do yourself a favor and don't watch it.)

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

White trash confessions

For whatever reason, I've always been extremely frugal. Like, retarded frugal. Like as cheap as immigrant parents of whatever ethnicity you've heard is the cheapest. That cheap. Fact is, I really should be in the South or Midwest, where people live in nice apartments and duplexes for like $400/month. Through some bizarre turn of events, I ended up here. And it hasn't been pretty.

My worst offense took place outside my apartment around a year ago. Times were hard, it was the height of the Great Recession, and my boyfriend and I had both told each other that we wanted to move in together. But we both really just wanted to save money. So we'd just moved in to a filthy, busted three-bedroom in Crown Heights with two strangers who'd never thought to buy any furniture for the common space.

On garbage days I'm always on the lookout for free furniture on the curb, but I was even more vigilant right after I'd moved. So one afternoon when I came home there was a really great haul outside in the trash pile. So I ran into the apartment and yelled "Furniture! There's furniture outside!" My boyfriend didn't have a shirt on, but I screamed at him that there was no time, he had to help me carry those stools to put around the kitchen island in now.

And of course, while I'm picking through the trash heap outside my apartment, this guy I know from college walks down the street and sees me. I introduce my boyfriend who's only wearing basketball shorts and flip flops. It turns out Mr. Fellow Recent College Graduate is "just doing some freelance writing and editing," and, of course, his band is playing Tuesday night at whatever hipster Williamsburg venue.

This was perhaps my lowest moment. He was so perfect, so Brooklyn, with his hipster band and his hipster work in creative industries.

I was digging through a pile of New York City trash.

I was sort of ashamed, but I got two Ikea barstools out of it. So you know what? Shameful as it was, I don't even really regret it.