Sunday, July 13, 2008
We went to Wylie for dinner at "A Taste of Home". Daughter 2 and I went there for lunch before she left. The dinner entrees were not as good as the lunch offerings but it could be just what we ordered--we had the turkey and dressing--which was good but not as outstanding as the chicken salad. They did a good job in the old house and we even had a glass of wine with dinner. They need as few lessons in fine dining. Why would you seat a "mature couple" next to a table with 3 kids? Especially since we had reservations and they knew we were coming. Put all the adults in a room together and all the families in another. The house certainly would accommodate that arrangement.
After our dinner we strolled down the street to check out the Wylie Opry. We were reading the signs on the window when a large lady swooped out and asked if we liked country music. We said "yes" so she said "come on in--we have a live band". Well, things have changed since we use to go to the Farmersville Opry in the early 70's to hear Blondy Jhune play mandolin. They use to pass the hat but now there is a $7 charge for seniors. Let me tell you we were not only among the youngest patrons but also the thinnest.
When we purchased our tickets the man said, "I guess you want something near the back. Well, I'm putting you next to two ladies who can answer any question you might have since this is your first time." Well, we take our seats and before long the three ladies from the row ahead plus the two beside us were asking where we were from and assuring us we were going to love the music. One lady went back to get us a program and we were all becoming fast friends--as is common in the South.
The lady sitting next to me had stories to rival Mrs. Phil Morgan. She just had cataract surgery last Monday and couldn't find 2.50+ reading glasses. This problem I could help with as I told her the nicer ones could be had at "Reading Glasses to Go" but I think she sensed they might be expensive and said she really didn't know how badly she needed them so I steered her to Walgreens. Now, we are really getting close so she precedes to tell me that she had 4 sons but has lost 2. One was 55 in the hospital for 4 weeks with a blocked bowl before he passed. The other son worked in oil and gas in Cleburne, was 51 and died suddenly with a heart attack. She had also lost her husband who had 4 stints and lots of surgery but still she wasn't prepared.
Luckily, the show started. What a surprise. They opened with "Folsom Prison" and I said to Dad--Daughter 2 would have loved this. The band was incredibly good--suitable for a wedding party on the back lawn, Daughter 2. They were all amazing musicians and could sing as well. But then the talent for the evening started performing. There were three teen age girls--Lee Ann Rhimes "wannabes". Well, They screeched, couldn't understand a thing they sang and were most of the time off key--just like Lee Ann. Luckily, they were only permitted to do 2 numbers before intermission and 1 after. There was another young man dressed in a white suit--looked just like Hank Williams--who was very good and another young man with a high tenor voice who was also very good. Another young man's voice has yet to change so I fear for his long range career.
As each performer sang there was a basket out front on the stage and people filed down and put bills--dollars, I presume--in the basket. All seemed to go away with a hand full of bills regardless of ability.
The show started at 8 and ended promptly at 11--closing with a gospel number that was real swinging. Our neighbors invited us to come back on Friday night for the gospel show assuring us it was just as good but started at 7:30 and ended at 11. Know what--I'll bet the gospel show would be entertaining as well.
Well, girls, when you are home the next visit we will have to remedy this lack of exposure to our local culture. Perhaps you will have guests who you would like to impress with the "classy" atmosphere afforded by the "Wylie Opry". Just so you won't have to wait that long Dad is going to order a DVD of tonight's show. Am sure the experience will be lacking as I think you would have to be there to get the full effect.
It's late and I'm tired--a big evening--you know.
We love you and miss you both so much. You see what boredom has led us to....
Case in point: Scarlett Johansson's debut album "Anywhere I Lay My Head". I hope her debut album is also her finale as well as her greatest hits. For anyone who think I'm overly critical, I'll just let you revisit her karaoke triumph in Lost in Translation. But wait, karaoke is *supposed* to sound bad some of you might argue.
Well to those of you who believe that, listen to this single from her album -- S Jo's own version
Personally, I believe that's hubris -- only Tom Waits sings Tom Waits. I would also submit that this version is terrible, although the Waits apparently oked this. And David Bowie is singing back up vocals. Not to mention the video seems to be a tribute to how "difficult" it is to be beautiful and get made up and what not.
All of which just makes me wonder what is wrong with the unvierse.
You can hear the original falling down here.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Most people don't know that back in 1912, Hellmann's mayonnaise was manufactured in England. In fact, the Titanic was carrying 12,000 jars of the condiment scheduled for delivery in Vera Cruz, Mexico, which was to be the next port of call for the great ship after its stop in New York.
This would have been the largest single shipment of mayonnaise ever delivered to Mexico. But as we know, the great ship did not make it to New York. The ship hit an iceberg and sank, and the cargo was forever lost.
The people of Mexico, who were crazy about mayonnaise, and were eagerly awaiting its delivery, were disconsolate at the loss. Their anguish was so great, that they declared a National Day of Mourning, which they still observe to this day.
The National Day of Mourning occurs each year on May 5th and is known, of course, as Sinko de Mayo.
WHAT?? You expected something educational ?
Monday, April 28, 2008
I also apologize for the ongoing sub-par quality of my blog. Thanks for your patience.
Ms. Laaw-yuhr, Esq.
P.S. I passed the DC bar.
- band members that materialize out of the wall
- over use of rose petals
- cymbols that have strangely accumulated dust
- video created to evoke Gladiator, but also says "now I'm a matador"
Now that you have seen the video, does anyone else think RC might have written this song to convey that he has a mighty penis? Let's review the lyrics:
This could be heavy,
not as easy,as it seems.
Quite tough to carry,
a lot more inside,that no-one has seen.
But you lying there,
you're not one bit scared,
a burden like me.
Monday, April 14, 2008
But a while back my sister came to visit. And over many alcoholic beverages, we shared our amusement the very pretentious Facebook pages that some people have created. Come on, do you really want me to believe little 25 year old child that your favorite book is Plato's Republic? Would you like a side order of douchebaggery with your pretention?
So in honor of these brave souls, who shall remain nameless, who set out to create facebook pages that appear to shine with intellect but instead are the sounding brass of mediocrity. In their honor, my sister and I created THE MOST PRETENTION FACEBOOK PAGE EVER. We also took a really pretentious picture of her in the DC cherry blossoms.
Most of the items in the "Interests" section were chosen by going through the dictionary and picking out words we didn't know, so don't feel inadequate if you don't know either.
Now, Behold the page in all its glory!
| || |
so much depends
a red wheel
That which you call your soul or spirit is your consciousness, and that which you call 'free will' is your mind's freedom to think or not, the only will you have, your only freedom, the choice that controls all the choices you make and determines your life and your character.
Goethe Institut(e) im Göttingen (Goettingen) ▪ Sherlock Holmes Club and Purveyors of Sherlockiana ▪ Cognitive Semiotics ▪ Existentialism ▪ Center for Linguistic Diversity ▪ Raw Food Life Style ▪ Whitehot Magazine of Contemporary Art: the official Facebook group ▪ Nouvelle Vague ▪ Matthew Barney ▪ The Harold Pinter Appreciation Society ▪ FREE TIBET! ▪ West Dean College ▪ Cordwainers College (London College of Fashion) ▪ University of the Arts- London ▪ The Youngin Europe Facebook Group
Your results for What German philosopher are you?
You are Heidegger: his main interests were in ontology, metaphysics, the history of Western philosophy, and technology. He is most known today for his writings on Phenomenology, Hermeneutics and Existentialism. He is criticized for joining the Nazi party during World War II, and modern philosophers don't agree about his intentions. Like Heidegger, you enjoy secluding yourself often to think about life and philosophy. You're passionate, and your relationships can sometimes be stormy.
Monday, March 3, 2008
Then again, I do have a vagina, so I do enjoy a number of those movies (e.g. Music and Lyrics). I will not pretend that they are great cinema, but they are occasionally an enjoyable cinematic diversions. (And no, I do not make any guy I date go to see them, just like I'm not going to watch some stupid f*ing football game with you).
Likewise, though guys deny it, there is a similar species of film that exists for the less-fair sex. I'll call them "Man Flicks" for lack of a better term. Sure, guys try to camouflage them as something else, but they are guy relationship films. High Fidelity is an example of the best, and most honest of the form, the rest being thinly veiled action/sci-fi films and whatnot that are really just guy wish fulfillment. This is the only logical explanation for the film Jumper.
How do I figure? Well, first of all the film is 88 minutes in length and is ostensibly about this war between so called "Jumpers" who can teleport and the "Paladins" that have been around hunting them since the 13th century. The Paladins hunt the Jumpers because "only God should be able to be all places" or some such nonsense. Based on this flimsy, though action heavy premis, this movie should be full of unmitigated awesomeness. It should be all Samuel L. Jackson with his Mace Windu mojo going as the head Paladin. It should be the awesomeness of a centuries old war where we have people who teleport and then people with electro-whips who hunt the teleporters down. Yes, it should be unmitigated awesomeness.
What have we got instead? A guy date movie. The first 10 minutes of the film are devoted to Hayden Christansen (I don't even remember his character's name) liking an unattainable girl who's nice to him and then getting the crap beaten out of him by her boyfriend. Cut to the future where Hayden is a bank robbing douchebag who uses his power to hop to London to bang chicks. But you know, his heart is still in Ann Arbor with that girl from high school. (sigh).
This reminds me of something Robert A. Heinlein once wrote: "Men are more sentimental than women. It blurs their thinking.
Anyway, so after a ton of time wasted on that opening scene, Mace er I mean, Samuel L. shows up to bring the fight to douchebag, who was previously unaware that there were other people like him and even less aware that there is a group of people devoted to his extinction. And after a proper whooping by Samuel L. what does Hayden decide to do? Does he lay lo and try to figure out who is after him? Does he does any sort of investigation or attempt to protect himself?
No. He decides that now would be a good time to track down his childhood sweetheart. And then he takes her to Italy - by PLANE - he doesn't teleport or anything. And then we spend about 20 or so minutes of the film wandering around Italy with them, where he pretends to be unable to teleport and that he earns his money in "banking" as opposed to robbing banks. (sigh). And yeah, it's just as boring as it sounds. I love Italy; I hated watching them ruin it. Where is the ass kicking I ask you? I even went to the bathroom during this part of the film. Belatedly, because they are so out in the open, the Paladins show up to catch Hayden, and then his boring lies to his girly girl begin to compound.
Now some of you may now be saying that this story line was interjected to appeal to female viewers. Not so I say. Why? Because then the relationship falls into the archetypal male relationship complaints, namely, "sure she's hot and I dig her, but why does she have to talk so much"? By talking I mean she begins to ask where he gets his money, and wants to know what's going on, and doesn't want him to lie to her, and why are they running, yada yada yada.
Gentlemen, I can assure you, this would not happen.
1) If you have a lot of unexplained money, I don't care where it comes from.
As long as not junkies are going to show up at my/your/our house, and I'm not going to get shot, I don't care where you get your money. In fact, don't tell me - I don't want to become an accessory to the crime (unless of course you marry me, and then in federal court our communications will be privileged and I can't be forced to testify against you). But in general, don't tell me - just keep the diamonds coming.
2) Seriously, you can teleport? I really don't care about anything else. Why didn't you just f*ing tell me sooner? Just teleport me somewhere awesome. Now. Oh come on. Ok, sure, people are after you, but you can TELEPORT. I can just see myself at brunch with the girls: "my boyfriend's a brain surgeon blah blah blah". Oh yeah, mine can teleport.
Honestly, we are not going to have your normal relationship problems.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Thag is my id, that internal voice that says, "no, don't calmly reboot your computer, hit it while cursing loudly until it works". Thag is also entirely responsible for my puerile sense of humor, and therefore, ultimately responsible for this post.
Also, please meet my super-ego, who I like to call Happy Robot Face.
Before he was on 30 Rock, Alec Baldwin (the only Baldwin that counts) was one of the greatest SNL hosts of all time. My favorite skit from the late 90's featured Alec describing to an entertainment report how he prepared for his role as a doctor on a popular (fictional) soap. Alec waxed on and on about the fact that he studied with real doctors to prepare for his role. When they cut to a scene from the soap, Alec pronounced every medical term incorrectly. For example "Sir, I hate to tell you this, but you have a tumor. That's right, it's CANC-er. It could be be-NIG, it could be mall-egg-NANT.
Be-NIG or mall-egg-Nant. That's HIGH-larious.
You are both idiots.
Ah Arrested Development. It makes me sad to no end that there were only three seasons of what I believe to be the funniest show ever. Especially when one considers that oh, Home Improvement was on for 8 seasons and Everybody Loves Raymond was on for 9. Middle America just doesn't appreciate great comedy, and perhaps such people do not deserve better. I digress.
So one of the best moments on Arrested Development (and there are many) occurred when Tobias Funke, the closeted psychiatrist, has new business cards made. Thinking he is being clever with his job title, Tobias decides to combine "Analyst" and "Therapist" to form "Analrapist" (which is of course Anal Rapist). For some reason, I find mispronouncing words hilarious. The zinger is when Tobias's daughter, Maeby, throws in "Yeah, Dad nearly went to jail for that one."
ah-NAL-rapist. So funny...can't...stop...laughing....
It's a good thing breathing is an autonomic function, otherwise you two would be in a world of hurt. I know you won't get that joke, but what I'm saying is you two are so stupid you can barely breathe.
Who doesn't need 8 assorted size imitation chamois?! I can't think of anyone. In fact, since I wish never to buy paper towels again, I think 8 ShamWows are perfectly in order. And at only $20, what a bargain! If you don't believe me, go to the website for the man wearing a headset to tell you more.
ShamWow - the name says it all.
Woe that my existence is shackled to the likes of you two.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Tiny is of course my steadfast and loyal roommate, and like the Borg, she is one of two (EZ being two).
Me: I think we need a waffle iron.
Me: To make waffles for brunch and stuff.
Tiny: Are we going to be making brunch?
Tiny: I'm not sure we have room for a waffle iron.
Me: Of course we do. We'll just stick it in that cabinet where we put the other appliances.
Tiny: That cabinet is pretty full. Can you make waffles without the iron?
Me: No. Those are called pancakes.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Dear Mr. Darcy,
I just thought, it being Valentine's Day* and all, that perhaps I would jot you a quick note and let you know I've had a crush on you since forever. Your haughty demeanor and stubborn pride - which only after a number of trials will I realize is tempered by affection for your sister and friends - makes me all swooney.
It also doesn't hurt that you are rich and have a sweet country estate. And if I may be so bold to add, you look good in breeches - that is not easy feat in this day and age. I don't care if one does play polo, it can look a bit gay, but you manage to pull it off. You also work that cravat thing, because really, under normal circumstances, if I were going out with a guy who wore a fluffy scarf all the time, people might have a few questions (that whole David Bowie androgeny thing is so over, I don't care if he is married to Iman).
Unfortunately, you are an impossible model of manhood. I mean, who asks somebody to marry them after one ball and a few turns around the parlor? If this were the current state of affairs, we would have no need for Rodger Lodge, The Bachelor, Flavor of Love, I Love New York, and perhaps ultimately, Cheaters. Also, you write letters comprised of complete sentences with narry an emoticon to be found. I can't imagine what it's like to convey emotion solely through tone and word choice, rather than a smiley face at the end of a sentence. I'd like to imagine that even if you had text messaging, you would spell words completely and that you would never, ever resort to an 11:30 p.m. booty call text. Or that at least if you did, it would be way classy.
Anyway, just thought you'd like to know that I think you are way hot and if you were real, I would totally ask you to go out with me.
P.S. I really prefer for you to be played by Colin Firth rather than Matthew MacFayden, although I'm not going to hate on Matthew.
*My Friend has renamed the holiday Singles Awareness Day
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Friday, February 8, 2008
Friday, February 1, 2008
Last Thursday what began as a throat tickle became a SUPERFLU and a sinus infection and pneumonia by Sunday morning.
In the intervening period it was my roommate, EZ's birthday, and I had volunteered to cook a Mardi Gras themed menu on Saturday night. It was a hellagood menu if I do say so myself as we served the following (I have links to all of the recipes used)
1) Hurricanes - made of fresh juice, much of which Tiny squeezed herself, andnot from some shitty mix
2) Fried (sorta) Green Tomatoes with Ranch dressing - I added in some panko sushi flakes to the breadcrumb mixture in the recipe
3) Shrimp and Grits - just use instant grits, seriously. Also I used hot sauce and prosciutto in lieu of tasso.
4) King Cake, ordered from Gambino's in New Orleans
5) Cheesecake stuffed chocolate dipped strawberries - my own sort of hodge podge invention of chocolate covered strawberries + filling comprised of one package of creamcheese, 2 tablespoons of powdered sugar, teaspoon of vanilla, then dip the end in graham cracker crumbs
However, by Saturday I was feeling really icky. Fortunately Tiny assisted by Big N filled in on doing most of the prep work and making the strawberries, so that a few hours before the party I took some cold medicine and pulled myself together enough to get it together. Upon reflection it's pretty clear that I got really sick during the party - not so good since I made food for 25 people - and can't really remember most of the people I talked to that night. I don't remember much, but I know that I left the party early and then during the night my fever must have been really high because I had the chills, and logically took a hot shower or five to warm up and all was well except that I think I took about 14 advil oh and my throat swelled closed. I felt pretty crummy, but everyone went dancing and, you know, I thought I could tough it out.
On Sunday morning my Steven Segal persona gave in, and I text messaged EZ (didn't have the energy to knock on his door) to see if he was going to church because maybe perhaps I needed to go to the ER and I was hoping he could ask some friends which one would be best. Knowing I must be on death's door to have sent such a message, everyone began to appear in my room and Big N took one look at me and declared that I had pneumonia.
EZ was nice enough to take me to the hospital and I was in no position to argue, and fortunately the ER must not have been very busy as I was pretty much able to get right in. The triage nurse was a complete snippy bitch to me and said "well, I think you just have the flu but we have to treat it like you might have pneumonia." He started to rush me to x-ray and shot off down the corridor, but since I couldn't really breathe, I couldn't keep up and he had to double back for me and then he was considerably nicer and seem to realize I wasn't full of shit.
The X-rays revealed that I did in fact have pneumonia and the unusual location of it (top of the lungs) freaked the ER doctor out because that's where TB likes to linger. So because they thought I might have TB I was immediately put in my own isolation room in the ER. From that point on, everyone who came into my room had to put on this duckbilled face mask so that infection didn't spread. I was afraid that if I had TB, everyone at the party would also have TB, making me the Typhoid Mary of the gay party circuit.
Long story long, it's really fortunate that they thought I had TB as that meant I got private room in the ER and eventually in the hospital. Especially since there was a lady in a diaper wandering around the ER that scared me. The not so good part of thinking I had TB was that I had to cough up goo into a specimen container to be taken to the lab and I had to provide three viable samples that would all come back negative. Sadly, my throat was swollen, so this proved difficult.
Three days and many IVs of antibiotics later I was declared TB free and released and aside from a nasty cough I am doing much better. As I was taking a walk yesterday I was having a coughing fit and this guy leans out his window and yells to me "Baby, you need to get you some lemon tea." Can't argue with logic like that.
The moral of this story: if you think you're sick you should maybe not cook for people because you might have some weird infection eventually becoming a social pariah. Yeah, this really isn't a good story or a good lesson, I just thought I would catch everyone up on the reason why I haven't written in a while.
Also, you can make our same sweet recipes for your own party.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Since it's the early afternoon and there's about 17 empty machines here in a row, I'm bewildered why you've decided to work out on the machine right next to me. You realize that that's the equivalent of a man peeing next to another man when he could have put a urinal between them? No? Oh, you don't care. I see.
What's that? I see you looking at my mini-TV. And yes, yes I am watching Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. So what? Stop judging me. I'm a geek, ok? And I've already seen the episode of Project Runway that you're watching. Look, it's the afternoon, and I definitely can't work out to anything remotely intellectual. The History Channel sucks ass in the middle of the day. Working out with the CNN ticker on makes me practically apoplectic. Conversely, watching TRL on MTV makes me feel old. And VH1 is doing one of those shows on rich people that only makes me feel poor. It's not like you can hear my Star Trek. And hey, you wouldn't get infected with my geek vibes if you had worked out at a machine further away from me. You reap what you sow, gym-ho.
Also, I can't help but notice your scapula poking through your spandex. I can also count some ribs. In addition, your spindly legs are moving at lightening speed. Hey! Hey! Stop looking at the readout on my elliptical machine! You know what? I'm not as fast as you. I'm just starting. I'm asthmatic. I'm still recovering from sinus surgery. Is THIS why you're next to me?! Does it make you feel better?
Seriously gym-ho, you'd better watch yourself. You work out next to me again, I'll put a stick in your elliptical.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
- there's a class called Dance Aerobic Funk - and boy do they get funky
- more than normal amount of spandex worn by gym goers
- Men's showers without dividers (knowledge courtesy of EZ)
- There is a tanning bed in your gym
- Guys drop by just to tan
- your gym has a juice bar
- your gym has a hair salon
- you see more than one guy with manorexia
- gay blogger Andrew Sullivan works out there (EZ spotted him in the locker room)
- everyone but you is gay
a) I love gays and
b) it removes the heterosexual cruising element and cuts down on the number of anorexic chicks.
The ones that are there (anorexic girls that is) are clearly forced to go to this gym due to proximity to their homes - lack of caloric intake keeps them from straying too far.
Since I always played sports or biked rather than hit then gym, I also got a session with a personal trainer as I haven't a clue how to use weight machines. I have similarly avoided the treadmill because my inherent klutziness and ability to fall for no reason leaves me with a deep seated fear that I will face-plant onto it at full speed. At my session, the trainer realized I'm a rather hopeless case and basically said "wow, you really have no clue. An hour really isn't enough time for me to show you the ropes".
In related news, I've also decided to train for a 10k, or as I like to think of it, one half of one half of a marathon. This should provide hilarious tales as well because I have absolutely no idea how to go about this.
Monday, January 14, 2008
But the Wikisword is double edged. Because sometimes, sometimes, the entries are just a wee bit wikicrazy, smacking of someone's unnatural obsession. Take for example this entry on Beauty & the Beast (the TV Series).
Don't remember this show? Why it was a magical series that "centered around the relationship between Catherine (Linda Hamilton), an Assistant District Attorney who lived in New York City, and Vincent (Ron Perlman), a gentle, but lion-faced "beast" who belongs to a society of misfits and outcasts (see "mole people") dwelling in the tunnels beneath the city."(1)
Tell me more you say? Who is this Catherine? Catherine "was the daughter and only child of Charles Chandler, a partner in a large corporate law firm based in New York City. She was of less than average height, with honey-brown hair, grey-green eyes, and a ready smile. She usually dressed very fashionably, in accordance with her social and economic position, even in the less "formal" world of the Tunnels."(2)
Interesting that the "mole people" of the "tunnels" dress "informally". Personally, I am only familiar with fancy-dress, high-class "mole people". Additionally, I think it is quite plausible to think that the creator of this wikientry may
a) have been a writer for the show
b) write romance novels
c) own 3 or more cats.
And what of Vincent? "The true nature of Vincent (portrayed by Ron Perlman) is difficult to explain, and has been the source of conjecture in the fan community. Physically, he is a person of extremely large and powerful build; however, he differs from human norms in that he possesses the facial characteristics of a lion, complete with blonde "mane" and fangs. His fingers are tipped with claws that can leave deep wounds when he attacks. In contrast to this intimidating form, his voice, while gravelly, is quite soft. When angered, Vincent emits a deep, throaty, feline, growl and when fully roused has been known to emit loud roars, also similar to a lion's. Normally dressed in a welter of various patched garments and homespun, he often wears a large cloak about his shoulders, especially when walking the city streets so as to conceal his appearance from others Above. Only during Halloween night does he feel safe enough to venture outside openly. He has also been seen to wear (at more festive or formal occasions) a costume somewhat similar to an 18th Century gentleman's formal dress, with a ruffed stock tie (see definition 12) at his throat." (3)
There are so many choice selections from the entry, if I quote more, I may as well reproduce the entire thing. I suggest that you peruse it for yourself so that you will not miss any of the gems - like the stars, there are simply too many to count.
Of course, you may be wondering what has taken me to the Beauty & the Beast entry on Wikipedia in the first place. A fair question, I'll give you that. In truth, I was a huge fan of the show. I was also in the fourth grade. In retrospect the show was probably has a reading level somewhere between Dr. Seuss and USA today - just because you have working writers, doesn't guarantee the material won't suck.
At any rate, I only remember the first season of the show because I apparently got a life in fifth grade and was no longer home on Friday nights to see it. But my wee sister, being five years younger, was a true devotee such that she now has purchased the recently released first season on DVD.
It was she who discovered the wikientry, and has only helped to reignite her love of Vincent. To the left you'll see a picture of vintage (ca. 1981) Ron Perlman who played Vincent, and I'll have to agree that he looks a heck of a lot better in make-up as some sort of lion-man than he does au natural (ditto for him in Hellboy).
My sister, however, feels no shame in her love. In fact, Vincent seems to presently eclipse her affection for her usual love, Russel Crowe, such that she said to me last night "If only Russel Crowe looked like a lion, had a lair, and about 50 dogs then he would be my dream man."
It may be helpful to keep in mind that my sister's self-described interests are "hard liquor, good boots, smart dogs, bad men."
Thursday, January 10, 2008
I broke my blogging cherry with you GM, you were my first link, so you'll always have a soft spot in my heart. You had me at the story where you went out of the house looking like a child molester. Also, since you're married with kids, I know you can commit. Chicks dig commitment. Or so I'm told.
2) The Gancer aka Dr. Kenneth Noisewater
How do I love thee, let me count the ways. Is it the fact that you avatar is named after Paul Rudd's nuts in Anchorman? Your tales of pimpitude? Your good taste in music? (sigh). Also, apparently, you're willing to perm your hair to re-enact scenes from the Blue Lagoon. That works for me on so many levels. Ok, really just one...basic...level. Unfortunately, you're seeing someone presently who looks like Brooke Shields in her prime and you live in Chicago, so this seems like a no-go.
3) Pistols at Dawn
God knows I love a misanthrope. You know what we have in common? A hatred of feelings. If we ever went out what would we talk about? I'll tell you what - not feelings. Also, your marathon-like stamina towards posting leads me to believe that you have stamina in other arenas, which is always a plus. So to sum up, stamina + no feelings = yes. Then again, we're both lawyers, and that = no.
4) Idea of Progress
Ah those soulful eyes (not that everyone can see them anymore since you changed photos, but they're good trust me on this one people). Not to mention your liberalism and vegetarianism. I'm not a vegetarian myself, but I'm for educated consumerism and I've always wanted to date across culinary lines. My parents would disapprove (why doesn't that boy eat meat?), we could fight about cuisine, it would be hot! Plus any guy who makes a short film about Mormon police is A-OK in my book and your knowledge of wine is charming. Sadly, like K-Noise you are geographically unavailable.
5) Justin of Seven is Green
Yeah, you're gay, I know I know. It's not like it's the first time I've lusted in vain after a gay man. So sue me.
You amuse me with your penis cakes and I'd like to be equal opportunity in case I decide to go sapphic. Plus the guys totally want to see us make out.
Friday, January 4, 2008
Behold in all its glory,
A present to rival gold, frankincense, and myrrh!
I present to you, dear reader, a Christmas gift apex:
Complete with enormous zipper
A poinsettia appliquéd sweater vest.
See how it glitters!
See how it shines!
Did ever a present more clearly say
"You are going to be an old maid?"
In this sweater I defy you to get laid!
Ah the zipper!
No space shall remain plain
a lone bloom dangles
arthritic hands and failing eyes to aid
Also note, dear reader,
its sack-like, sexless fit
but unlike those that found for OJ
this is an injury I cannot acquit
But there is one glimmer
one tiny spark of hope
my sister received a gift as well
so I am not alone.
No doubt, there is a burning question that remains: who could have given me such a spectacular gift? Ah, the person behind the gift is as entertaining as the gift itself. Let's just call my benefactress Lady M.
Lady M was my parent's landlord when they first moved to Texas. Lady M is still in the landlord business and every year regales us with tales of how her rent houses have been converted into drug labs and whore houses. She's on a first name basis with every judge in the area because she's evicted so many people.
Lady M. has also had more plastic surgery than Joan and Melissa Rivers combined, however she looks ghastly and is incredibly cheap which makes me think she gets her facelifts from hacienda de facelift in Mexico. Her face has a totally inhuman quality, and if you dropped a plum bob off the front of her face, I think her eyes are sunken in a good two inches from her forehead. Contributing to the overall scary effect is her cheap wig from 1960, lipstick the color of crayon that looks like it was applied while driving over rough terrain, and a wardrobe consisting entirely of decorated track suits.
Lady M also likes to play matchmaker and each year when I'm home for the holidays she offers sometimes offer to set me up. Last year she wanted me to date a newly divorced attorney (with two small kids), but this year she informed me he is sketchy as he throws his $2,000 rent under her doormat in cash in the middle of the night which somehow keeps his ex-wife out of his money. This year she wanted to set me up with her cousin, also an attorney, and my imagination runs wild with what he must be like. Sadly, none of these dates have come to pass - not sad in the sense that I would actually like to date any of these gents - but sad in the sense that I can only imagine the insane stories I would come away with.
If I ever do go on one of these dates, I will be sure to wear this sweater.