the IT guys here love me

From: Support
To: Temp
Subject: Completed WO# 1641 - KEYBOARD

DONE: ISSUE RESOLVED

Your request "KEYBOARD" has been resolved and work order number 1641 in our Help Desk system, TrackIt, has been closed.

Workstation ID:
Type: Hardware
Subtype: Keyboard
Category:

Description:
HI< I s pILLED SOMEWATEr in MY KEYBOARD> IT I S OBVIOU SLYNOT WORKin PROPERLY> SORRY AND THAN
k YOU

_GINA

Resolution: Replaced with new keyboard. Tested ok.

terrible tuesdays

*Slate's Take This Embryo and Shove It. Read article. Bang head against desk. Feel comforted that the US government isn't the only stupid one when it comes to reproduction laws, in the way that you feel comforted on a turbulent airplane by reminding yourself that if it goes down, at least you're not the only one. Er, maybe that's just me...

*Pitchfork's Bloc Party interview. I love love love a good half of Bloc Party's released songs, but I fear that the lead singer is a pretentious and pseudo-intellectual lame-o (appologies for that double redundance.) An excerpt:

Pitchfork: Kids want to play music so they start a "rock band" as opposed to just playing. They fit their interests to an image or a musical reference.

Kele Okereke: The point about Bloc Party is that we're free to admit that there's a lot of exciting stuff happening right now. There's a lot of music that means a lot more to me right now, and I think it's somehow incorporating that into what we're doing. [And now I'd like to point out Mr. Okereke's response to an earlier question: "I'm finding it hard to listen to other rock bands. It's been hard for me for a long time, but now I can't listen to any new bands at all." A. what a hypocrite, and B. cry me a river]

It's not listening to old blues records, thinking that's how it's done. I think it's a blanket way of thinking. I'm not excited when bands strip things down. I'm not excited by the White Stripes. I think Jack White is a great player, but I think they base they're [sic--Bad Pitchfork!] whole shtick around wanting to sound like an authentic rock machine. [And if people like that the problem would be?]

I really want to propose that Bloc Party is a post-modern band. We're not afraid to take from anywhere. There's too much rock that relies a fetishism or nostalgia for the old ways. That's a real enemy to music. It needs to be constantly looking forward.

And then I stopped reading. Even my masochism only goes so far.

*Flying Spaghetti Monsterism. As usual, I'm a little late to the party. While the FSM letter pleases me beyond words, the battle that it is fighting, and that it may very well lose, does not.

*Net-a-Porter's big sale. Even I can afford stuff ("afford" being a relative term) at the Barney's sale, but at this one, not so much. Of course, this is not going to stop me from spending the whole morning picking out all the things I "need." Perhaps what I really need is either a lobotomy or a sugar daddy.

the elusive middle path

Last weekend, I went out three nights in a row and accomplished absolutely nothing. It was a blast, but my body revolted. The weekend before that, I stayed in and took care of all sorts of To Do List-esque activities. It was productive, but I was lonely and sad. I learned from this that I need to strike a balance between having a life and taking care of my life. This weekend, a balance was struck. I'm not so sure if it was the right type of balance, but hey, progress is progress.

While I spent the majority of the weekend intoxicated, I didn't squander half a rent payment on alcohol (hooray for little brown bags,) hit on any over-confident 30-year-old men with Morrissey tattoos, or throw up out any cab windows. I saw friends old and new and even talked to strangers, two of whom do what I want to do for a living and made me want to do it even more. I had my hair highlighted, got a tattoo, bought some cheap but not cheap looking sunglasses, and learned how to tie a cherry stem in a knot with my tongue. All was right with the world.

Well, except that my apartment is a mess, I'm feeling some guilt after my mom's (finally) vocalized disapproval of my self-destructive fun, and my financial situation is not so stellar. Turns out I forgot to deposit my last paycheck, and it also turns out that my last rent payment was just cashed. This means I am effectively penniless until Shitibank processes the deposit I will be making tonight. Nothing says "Stay in and put away your clean laundry, and maybe even study for the test you're taking next week, you LUSH" like the triple threat of a maxed out credit card, overdrawn checking account, and overdrawn overdraft protection. If I were a Jesus freak I'd say this was a sign from God.

potpourri for $200

*I love you, ToTC, and I especially love that Blue States Lose makes getting through the last day of the work week so much more pleasant, but when you tell me that a picture is "so so so so so not safe for work," it's like leaving a three-year-old alone in a room with an Oreo and telling the kid not to eat it. I may not look right away, but I'm gonna look, perk-filled employment be damned.

*Moving on to somewhat more tasteful humor, yesterday Perplexa pointed me to the Pop-Song Correspondences on McSweeney's. All quite funny, but the best is Marvin Explains What He Heard Through the Grapevine:

You are surprised, I bet, because you didn't think I knew about your plans to break up with me. How, you're thinking, did Marvin learn of my plans to make him blue?

I'll tell you how: I talked to the grapes.

*Speaking of Perplexa and pop songs, there's this great new band that practically no one is talking about! If Perplexa says it's good, I tend to take her word for it, and The Boy Least Likely To is no exception. The artwork, song titles, and instrumentation are reminiscent of grade school music class in an unironic way, and this, juxtaposed with the simple but philosophical lyrics just makes it so, um, cool. If you want a real review, check out Pitchfork, or just stream the songs on their website and buy away. It's such a refreshing break from all the sound-a-like indie rock bands who rely more on haircuts than musical talent.

*Moms are crazy. Let's just accept that as a universal truth. Now, while certain friends' moms consistently criticize their eating habits, ask why they go to bars with friends instead of the opera, or send them mattress rotating timelines, my mom prefers to exhibit her craziness in more subtle ways. We talk maybe two or three times a month, and our conversations are pretty much limited to how I'm doing ("fine") and what kind of home improvements or gardening projects she's working on. So imagine my surprise when I woke up from a five hour nap last night and received the following email:

something to think about
Based on your family history, if you continue to smoke, you are putting yourself at very high risk of developing cancer and/or cardiovascular diseases. Please take good care of yourself! Love, Mom

To clarify, I know that my mom saw some pictures of me holding a cig several years ago (oops,) but she has never, ever mentioned or questioned my smoking. My sister is at home on parent patrol and is as baffled by her timing as I am. And now, I leave you with the best thing my mom has ever said. On the ride home from the airport on my latest trip home, she tells me about the state of the produce in her garden:

And the tomatoes are coming on like gang-busters!

link it up

*I've never let my male public peeing envy stop me from finding a nice tree or car to pee behind, but sometimes, well, guys just have it easier. I sure could've used one of these portable penises for girls when I was full-bladdered, lost, and afraid to get out of my car in Jersey City. The hilarious "how to use" section is not technically NSFW, but I just looked at it at work and I feel a little dirty. [via Cynical-C]

*One for the Give Me a Fucking Break Files: Woman Files Complaint After Doctor Tells Her She's Obese. Last night the wiry office spinning instructor not-so-subtlely implied I was fat, and you don't see me filing any complaints! I've considered toning it down after tonight's planned beer and buffalo wing extravaganza, but then I realized that practically every other day is a something and something extravaganza, and I'm just not one to turn down an extravaganza. [also via Cynical-C]

*When my lil' sis informed me that the Local Paper would be publishing a monthly insert called "Moments of Life," I could hardly contain my excitement. Of course, before my sister could get her paws on it, my mom felt the need to cut out and send me the wedding announcement of kids I haven't seen since 6th grade, and recycle the rest. I was distraught. That is, until I found the online version. If you're too lazy to go there, allow me to share with you the choice moments in the "Moments of Life" introductory essay [paragraph breaks removed for even less clarity]:

Moments of Life. What else would they be called? The longer one lives, the more significant moments one experiences. There are more memories to garner. There are more legacies to bestow...For that is what the moments of our life are. They are the stories of our lives. They are the moments we share with each other, with our families and our friends. Each marriage, each anniversary, each birth of a child and then grandchild, they are all a part of our lives. They are to be celebrated with joy. They are to be treasured and shared. Those moments of life all added together become the sum of who we are. They are the legacy to our children, our grandchildren and the following generations. When you celebrate those moments of life with family and friends, celebrate with us, too. We want to celebrate you in these Moments of Life.

Amen. Moving on...

*Last but not least, via a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend, the hilarious and totally SFW video, Don't Touch My Bone.

don't sit or we will crunch you

This website has a seemingly endless supply of funnily-captioned photos of all the places in Manhattan where one cannot sit. I always hate it when I need to tie my shoe or wait for a lollygagging friend or just have a nice perch to gawk at people, and I finally see a good spot only to find those stupid little spikes. I guess I understand why businesses want to keep vagrants from napping in front of their property, but are spikes on fire hydrants and such really necessary? [via The Morning News]

"i've written about five or six books recently, since i had my intestines out"

This little Village Voice interview with 91-year-old cognitive behavioral therapist Albert Ellis pretty much sums up my philosophy on life and why I wanted--emphasis on the "-ed"--to go into the field of psychology. My favorite parts:

*If Freud is horseshit, why are so many people still spending hours on the couch, talking about their dreams? Because people are crazy and stupid! And especially psychologists and therapists are stupid! That's the main reason.

*Do you think depression is indulgent? Yes, it's "I run the fucking universe and it should do my bidding." That's arrogant and indulgent.

*What are you working on now? I've written about five or six books recently, since I had my intestines out. And this one [points to a pad of paper] is on how to conquer envy and jealousy. I'm also working on the second volume of my autobiography. It's about my sex and love life and all the famous people I met and how idiotic most of them were.

A-fucking-men. Seriously, if everyone ascribed to this "get the fuck over yourself" philosophy (Ellis mentions a desire to have his version of therapy taught "to every school child from nursery school onward so they can all stop upsetting themselves") the world would be such a better place. I obviously have had my moments of blindness in this regard *coughdepressioncough* but am getting much better. Now instead of "I'm so depressed I'll never amount to anything and no one will ever love me wah wah wah" it's "I'm so depressed I'll never amount to anything and no one will ever love me...wait, if I just keep on truckin' things will probably be ok. Neat." An Ellis book is so going on my imaginary reading list. And anyone know where I can get myself a copy of the song "Whine, Whine, Whine?" Something tells me it's not available on iTunes.

a warm sweater is sexier

Now that was a weekend. In a complete departure from last weekend in which I interacted with no one, slept a lot, and otherwise took care of business and myself, this weekend Drone and I were attached at the hip as we got drunk, nursed hangovers, got drunk, nursed hangovers, got drunk, nursed hangovers. I guess I'm just one of those passionate all-or-nothing type people. Um, no I'm really not. Not at all.

Anyway, the only "productive" thing I managed to do this weekend (I didn't even buy alcohol or food for my own party) was to create, with considerable help from Drone, what may have to go down in history as the worst online dating profile in the history of, well, online dating profiles. Ladies and Gentlemen, behold bod2match, the anorexic Wiccan IT recruiter. So far she's gotten three responses: one overly sincere spoken word type poem, one wink from a 36-year-old scientist in Heidelberg, Germany, and one wink from a no-picture finance dude in a relationship and looking for "play." Yes, Drone and I just turned 13-years-old.

brunch your heart out

I don't think I need to say anything here, as this post within a post within a post pretty much says it all. Innermost post is my worst nightmare's, next post is ToTC's.

Divine Secrets of the Snoooby Sisterhood
Holy. Fucking. Shit. We'd bold our favorite parts, but we don't think Saudi Arabia can pump that much bold.

Models....Need some cool girlfriends to party with?
The City Girls Social Circle is a group of young, pretty, fun and outgoing girls that get together regularly and go out. Some of us are models, some are not.

Most of us are new to New York and have found it difficult to make new girlfriends. Guys are plentiful and it's hard to make new female friends. And the best PERK of all: Things are so much easier when you're with a group of cute girls.

WHAT WE DO:

Clubs - AER, Suede, Cain, Bungalow, B.E.D. & we always have a table
Parties - art exhibits, fashion designers & private parties
Brunch - Meat-packing District, Soho, Downtown Cipriani, Pastis, Felix, Cafeteria & our favorite little cheap spot Primitivo (unlimited mimosas)
Shopping - sample sales, H&M, Bloomies, Henri Bendel, N.Y. Look
Travel - Miami, Summers in Bridgehampton, Weekend Ski trips
Spa Days- Mani/Pedi, facials, massages
Girls Night In - Movies, lots of wine, and each others fabulous company

ABOUT US:

The group was formed about 6 months ago when my best friend and I decided that we needed to expand our social circle. We posted on craigslist and hand picked the girls that we thought we had the most common interests with. We're a group of 6 girls ranging in ages 21-25.

Each girls has a fast-paced career, fabulous style and yet is refreshingly down to earth, charming and has an out-going personality. Despite how snoooby this post might sound, we're all real girls just looking to have fun.

We all talk regularly and meet up at least once a week. When we do things together, majority of the time its just us girls. Sometimes we hang with the guys, which are mostly socialites, well-to-do types and the occasional celebrity. All of which we've known for ages. Tables at clubs are always taken care of.

TRAVEL:

Miami trips are the most common just because a few of us are from there. It's always such a fabulous time. Yacht parties, Malibu & pineapples (my fav), and of course....the beach. There is a ski trip in the works to Vermont. We're all going to rent a house. Boyfriends of course are invited.

WHO WE'RE LOOKING FOR:

We're looking for pretty, classy, sophisticated, well-educated girls with fun and vibrant personalities. Girls who enjoy the same lifestyle as us. Pleas no b*tches or divas.

WANT TO JOIN?

Due to the large amount of psycho girls on craigslist, we need to pre-screen everyone before inviting them to an event. So if you're interested, please reply - we'd love to know more about you & your interests. Please attach a recent photo for consideration. You will receive a bio on everyone once you've been invited to attend.

UPCOMING EVENTS:

August 20: Brunch
August 27: Lounging by the pool at swanky Soho hotel
September 10: Brunch

Hope to hear from you!

XOXO

We'll give someone $10,000 to "try out" for this thing, that is, if you can handle all that brunch. But if you can't, you're not City Girls Social Circle material, anyway.

Wow. I'm off to spend the night drinking to forget I ever read this. I hope the fabu party I'm attending has Malibu & pineapples!

drought

When The Management of my apartment building posted a written apology for "any inconveince" caused by the indefinite water outage, I don't suppose they were thinking of tenants being forced to brush teeth and wash faces in the Starbucks bathroom. The absurdity of my present living situation reached a new height yesterday when I said Goodnight to a visiting Drone as my besweatpantsed self entered the Starbucks with a bag of toiletries and he took off for the subway. So yes, as you may have guessed, I still have no water, though supposedly today is the big day. If not, the welcome back/going away festivities for Fat Asian Baby at my place on Friday night will be interesting, to say the least.

the subway, she is a porno

I don't know to what Interpol is referring with that lyric, exactly, but I can only hope it's the endless supply of masturbating, dick-flashing, and thigh-raping little men (always little men) putting on a show for the New York City subway riders. Except on the rare occasion when you enter the platform at the same time as your train, and not too many people are on it, and then you transfer and enter the platform at the same time as your next train, and not too many people are there either, and you're convinced that you have magical powers and are happy for the next 24 hours or until you have to ride the train again, riding the subway is pretty much a miserable experience. Fast? Yes, except late at night, during rush hour, or when it just stops in the tunnel for a while for no apparent reason. Cheap? I guess, at least when compared to the costs of gas or replacing stolen bicycles. Pleasant? Never. I've always been baffled by what people, myself included, will put up with to live here. Everyone has their own way of dealing with the subway madness to prevent them from causing serious injury to fellow riders. I, for one, am fond of a sort of mental detachment, a method I've become quite good at thanks to four years of rowing and four years of semi-regular bikini waxes. Deep breaths, eyes closed, acknowledgement that the pain will, eventually, come to an end. (Murderous fantasies help, too.) Other people are a little more creative than me, as evidenced by Drone's comment board on which he and P/O are engaged in a great Who Hates the Subway More debate. In the far corner, we have Drone:

I once pretended like I was crazy so that the crowds of people wouldn't sit near me. I noticed that crazies were the only people that didn't get pushed or f***ed with, so I went with it. And it worked like a charm. I shook my head like a tourette's victim and loudly uttered indiscernible phrases. Within minutes, the seats around me were vacant. Beat that!

[Drone - you'd better not ride the subway with me anytime soon because I will be demanding a repeat performance]

And in the opposite corner, P/O:

have you ever composed and sung a song about how much you hate the subway while standing on the platform waiting for the train? because i have, my friend. i have. i may have even done a little dance while singing it, but you'd have to consult security camera tapes to prove that allegation.

It's a tough call, boys. Both of these methods involve great creativity and a healthy lack of public shame. I think I would like to see Drone design a special subway proof outfit and P/O actually vomit on a neighboring passenger before making a final decision. You are both still in the running towards becoming America's Angriest Subway Rider.

thank heaven for little drones

Though I would have realized eventually that something was amiss last night, Drone spared me from sheer moments of confusion as he tried, in vain, to flush my toilet.

"Oh right," he said, "there's a note in your elevator about the water being shut off."

"Really? So that's why the super was mumbling something about water the other day, and why there are construction trucks outside and a big hole in the ground. How long did the note say was it shut off for?"

"It said, 'until further notice.'"

"Fucking awesome."

So until further notice (i.e., when I turn on a faucet and water comes out) my apartment is water-free. This is not a complete tragedy, since I am more than happy to shower in my office's gym locker room with the luscious Barney's-exclusive bath products. It's kind of like showering at summer camp in northern Minnesota, only instead of trudging through the woods to a log cabin, carrying a toiletry caddy and trying to ward off mosquitos, I'm trudging across Central Park to Fifth Avenue, carrying an overstuffed leather tote bag and trying not to step in horse manure. The problem, however, lies in the fact that I drink water pretty much constantly, and therefore I also have to pee pretty much constantly. I suppose I can hang out in the Starbucks around the corner until it's time for bed. And after the egregiously early time that Starbucks always closes? My neighbor does have a lot of large plants out on the terrace...

productivity

This weekend I decided to be a good girl and stay in to study for the GRE. Due to the oppressive heat and humidity here in New York City, the staying in part was a piece o' cake. The GRE part? Not so much.

Things I Intended To Do This Weekend But Did Not
*study for the GRE

Things I Did Not Intend To Do This Weekend But Did
*unpack from trip to Wisconsin last weekend
*clean apartment
*take out the trash
*drop off clothes at the dry cleaner's
*buy groceries (i.e., Amy's frozen dinners)
*apply self-tanner (twice)
*shave legs
*open bills
*drink all the beer leftover from last roof party
*import the remainder of my CD collection into iTunes
*print out all the pictures taken since last October
*artfully and meticulously place pictures in album
*delete all unnecessary files from computer
*rearrange icons on computer's desktop
*sort through underwear drawer and throw away the ratty ones
*watch the Netflix movies that have been sitting around for over a month
*read all of the Sunday New York Times except the Business, Automobiles, and Sports sections
*read a book

Nothing like having studying to do to make you take care of all the other crap you've been putting off (well, not the beer part.)

(about a month younger than me)

From Dear Prudence on Slate:

Hey,
I'm 11, it may seem odd to you that a kid is e-mailing you about something like his, but I'm curious. There was this girl I really liked. She is also 11 (about a month younger than me). She was in fifth grade and I was in sixth grade. So, the only time I saw her was on the bus in the morning and afternoon about an hour total every school day. We always walked to our houses together. And there was certain things she only did when I was sitting right next to her on the bus. For instance, we always tried to sit next to each other on the bus, as in side by side. She always faced me, and we talked to each other on the bus all the time. She told me secrets she didn't even tell some of her friends. But then something awful happened. She moved to Texas. That's a long ways away, considering I live on the West Coast. Two days before school ended I told her that I liked her more than a friend. She's been told that by many kids before (that they like her), but this time she didn't freak out. She was completely calm and relaxed while I was telling her this, like she liked me back. Thankfully I gave her my e-mail address and she gave me hers. Tell me, did she like me?
—Kevin

Dear Kev,
It most certainly sounds as if she did like you. Prudie would suggest that you keep the e-mails going and develop a pen-pal relationship. Who knows? You might wind up visiting in Texas, or her family may make a trip back to the West Coast. Writing is a very good way to stay in touch.
—Prudie, electronically

Can I get a collective "Aaaaaaaww"?

i need...

*to reconnect my cable television. I thought that getting only the free, crappy channels like PAX would make me find something worthwhile do do with my evenings, but it turns out I'll just watch an hour and a half of that dance version of American Idol and feel really bad about myself. Cable's not so great, I've been rationalizing, even now that I'm no longer forced (Forced!) to spend laundry quarters on Coors Light. Well, I think I just found my motivation to spend an extra $80 a month: God bless you, Tara Reid.

*to make more money. Sure, my little luxury secretary job keeps me well fed (a little too well fed, actually) and pays the bills, but I'm addicted to buying clothes almost as much as I am to smoking, drinking, self-loving, and burritos, and the lengthy withdrawal is getting to be too much. I thought about selling some old stuff on Ebay, but my old stuff isn't so great, and also there's a much easier way to make money on Ebay: Good ol' Jesus.

*to never quit my job, ever. In addition to the free meals, free snacks, free espresso beverages, free health insurance, free gym, and free Metrocards (feel free to hate me right now,) the people here are for the most part pretty awesome. Or at least crazy enough to keep things exciting. I just received this firm-wide email from the friendly HR girl:

From: Friendly HR Girl
To: Entire Firm
Subject: Confused?

Please do not use the women’s restrooms if you are not a woman.
Danke.

why do birds suddenly appear every time you are near?

And do cockroaches fly? I'd always wondered, since I only ever see them crawling on toothbrushes, sitting in shoes, or swimming in the toilet. The answer to this no-longer-eternal question, I just learned, is a resounding yes. I think I just had a small heart attack. And now I face a death-or-death dilemma: do I close the windows and get cancer in 20 years from toxic Raid fumes, or do I leave them open and risk sudden cardiac arrest? I'm leaning towards cancer...

(And yes, there was gasping, uncontrollable shaking, and screaming involved.)

a little service bloggin'

*In addition to spending my too brief time in Wisconsin dying my sister's hair, finishing fourth out of four in Scrabble (I know, I'm as shocked and appalled as you are,) and trying not to hurt anyone in my constant nicotine withdrawal rage, I saw a few good movies. Dad rented Anchorman, I took the whole fam to the theater to see March of the Penguins (sadly, not so popular in the land o' hicks,) and my sister brought back a great new Chilean movie that you should check out if you like movies that are good. It's called Machuca and depicts the 1970's dictatorship mess through the eyes of kids from different sides of the tracks, so to speak. One part Y tu Mama Tambien, one part City of God, and one part [insert your favorite foreign film about the rich oppressing the poor here.] Who knew the Chileans even made movies?

*I "discovered" a website that has some cute, cheap, well-made shoes. Remix Vintage Shoes has stuff for both ladies and gents, and the merchandise is shipped super-speedily. Some of the shoes are too vintage-y for my tastes, but I got these cute flats in red, and even though flats and pointy toes usually make me feel either fat or like a Christmas elf, respectively, I'm quite pleased with them.

*On my way back to work from LaGuardia Airport, I made a move that can only be described as genius. My New York City mantra, and what makes the city livable for me, is "Nothing is worth waiting in line for." This includes, most notably, bars, hipsterrific rock shows, the Barney's Warehouse Sale, and Magnolia Bakery. I am pained when I see such lines and just want to shake the liner-uppers and scream, "There's an equally good cupcake place down the street!!! Unless you're here for the banana pudding in which case I understand your need to be in this line!" Anyway, so when I finally returned from my excessively delayed flight and saw no less than 300 people waiting in the taxi line, I hauled my tired ass and three bags to the M60 bus, not really sure what I was going to do from there. Not two minutes after saying sayonara to the suckers waiting two hours to take a thirty minute cab ride, the bus stopped at the next terminal where there was another taxi stand, loads of taxis, and no line. Then we passed another. And then another. It wasn't until we'd passed all the terminals that I realized I should've gotten off at one of them and taken a cab, but things worked out in the end as I found a new use for the borrough of Queens--the N/R stop on Astoria Blvd. Bus stopped there, I got on train, I was at work--having saved myself $25--in about fifteen minutes. Score.

*And last but not least, if you come across the following men, beware. Be very ware.

Creed lead Jesus-freak Scott Stapp gets royally punked by drunk college kids in Gainesville Denny's. [via cityrag]

Ben Gibbard is a whiny and arrogant asswipe.

Area Man will bite your face off.

all work and no sleep

A very literal interpretation of William Carlos Williams:

The Black Swingline
by Gina Michele Ginas

so much depends
upon

a black swing
line

always jammed with
staples

beside the neoprene
wristpad. (You know, that thing that makes typing on a keyboard more ergonomic.)

livin' in the shadooooow

Following the trend of other It Girl blonde sisters, Carrie dyes her hair dark red in an attempt to distinguish herself from her bigger, blonder, better (kidding) sister. We can only hope this doesn't lead to an infamously bad pop music career, anorexia and purported drug use, and/or a truly hideous clothing line.

happy friday

I'm off to Wisconsin to spend the weekend gorging myself on oatmeal pancakes (Mom soaks the oats in milk overnight...mmmmm,) relearning high school math for the GRE, and helping my 21-year-old favorite person in the world practice for her driver's test.

wack shit

*If you have been hiding under a dresser and have not yet seen R. Kelly's revolutionary epic music video "In the Closet," now you can do what I did in high school and college and just read the Cliff's Notes. [via Stereogum] (Though, unlike The Red Badge of Courage, the original is more than worth your time.) If, on the other hand, you get the "hiding under a dresser" reference, the Cliff's Notes will only serve to enrich your understanding of, and appreciation for, this masterwork.

*Yesterday I made the tragic but unavoidable mistake of buying Lucky magazine. While it is certainly no great work of journalism, its genius premise is undeniable. I don't even like the majority of the shit they tell you is "so fresh this season," (I got my Frye boots in 2002, bitches! And they are definitely no longer fresh, in the traditional sense of the word.) but there are always about 5-10 things I see that I want, and in addition to all the other things that I perpetually want, it just ends up making me sad. But what made me most sad while perusing their massive fall issue was the Tampax ad. It looks like a perfume ad with the thick paper and flap you lift to smell the product, only what you're smelling is Tampax's new line of scented tampons. AAARRRRGHGHISDLFKJ:LSKDF!!!!!!!!@@@@!!! First of all, I don't want to smell someone's tampon. Second, isn't the point of those flaps to see if you like the smell of the perfume? What girl takes a whiff and says, you know, I'd actually prefer my vagina to smell more like honeysuckle? Third, putting chemically perfume inside your body can never be a good idea. And last but not least, I don't know what kind of sexual maneuvers girls these days are doing (it's been a while for me,) but I can't think of any reason why the area 2-4 inches inside a woman's body needs to smell like baby powder and freesia. Whatever happened to the old school shower? Sheesh.

*Yesterday outside my building a woman walked by with a cameltoe. What moved this occurence from the mildly humorous into the groundbreakingly bloggable category was that she was wearing a skirt. One of those knee length kinda poofy and ethnic-y skirts that are so "on trend" this summer. She was a little chubby, and the front part of the skirt had somehow wedged itself securely into her crotch region. I did double and triple and quadruple takes to ensure that my eyes weren't deceiving me or that the skirt was for some reason meant to be like that, but no, she was just good old fashioned fashion roadkill. Gotta love some good Schadenfreude.

if my mother were a nutter

As you should very well know, my little sister and I love making fun of the Local Paper. It's not a horrible publication or anything, but the frequent typos, hick headlines, and overly earnest attempts at portraying wholesomeness ruffle our feathers. Maybe we're just bitter and jealous of all the fat and happy midwestern folk, but damnit, what's wrong with shooting some fish in barrels from time to time? One of our favorite fish has a regular column about her wholesome, Christian family. Her maiden name is Nutter. This week she tells us about her adult children, with whom my sister and I went to school, and how wholesome they are. Here is what this column would look like if it were about my family:

Children Grow, Get the Hell Out of Community

This past Saturday night, my husband and I walked to The Cinema in downtown Marshfield to see the summer comedy "Wedding Crashers." He thought it was hilarious, but I thought it was crude, vulgar trash--almost as bad as the Simpsons cartoon show. That Owen Wilson is pretty handsome, though. Anyway, I only agreed to go because my husband works 90 hours a week and I hardly get to see him.

Several years ago, we chose the town of Marshfield to live in because my husband got job offers in both Marshfield and Boston, but because Boston is more expensive and he had massive graduate school debts to pay off, we had to settle for Marshfield.

On the way home from the movie, we walked by the Recreation Tennis Court, which is located at a relatively busy intersection. Fifteen years ago, our oldest child harrassed us endlessly about waiting forever to cross it and looking both ways about twenty times while driving her to daycare, and later high school. We would always say, "When she learns to drive, she will have an accident at that intersection, and even though we'll have to pay for the damages, we'll laugh a little inside." Walking by the intersection that night, we commented on how glad we were that she only rear-ended our friendly neighbors and they were nice enough not to sue us for whiplash. We commented on how the Marshfield community fosters such a sense of community. And how quickly the years passed by.

We visited about* each of our children and where they are now. We talked about how difficult and exhausting it was to have them at home and that Marshfield was a nice community in theory but nearly bored and isolated our crazy kids to death.

When my husband's mother died, her brother, who was a priest and the head of a monastery, gave each of our small children pendants with pictures of Jesus on them. They only liked the pendants because they were free and shiny. The priest uncle died shortly thereafter and was found naked on the floor of his bedroom with his butt up in the air. Silly Uncle Joe.

Upon graduating from Senior High, our daughters fled to huge cities on opposite ends of the country. Gina has been living in New York City for six years now. Since college she has been working at jobs she doesn't care about and spending her free time getting really fucking drunk, sleeping with questionable men, and urinating in public. She comes home to visit twice a year and expresses appreciation for the use of our minivan and all the free food. After a hearty course of psychotropic medication to help her get through high school, Carrie now works to help the hell-bound homosexuals at her hippie college in Los Angeles and spends her summers in Marshfield watching television and walking the family dogs. While she expresses appreciation for the Marshfield schools which allowed her to take enough AP classes to get into a faraway college, she doesn't give a shit about the community atmosphere of small town caring.

Yes, this last Saturday night was a good night to remember memories and reflections while we walked home from the movie.

*I can't let that one slide. Even my mother, who has been known to say "warsh" instead of "wash," would never replace the word "discuss" with "visit." Good lord.

western mass

Put away your seersucker and boatshoes, kids. This past weekend I learned that there is stuff in Massachusettes besides Boston, The Cape, and The Vineyard. Imagine that. Friend M was going home to the wee northwestern town of Shelburne Falls for the weekend, so Friend S and I decided to escape Princeton and Manhattan, respectively, and impose ourselves on M's big happy family. Our weekend primarily consisted of lazing around, eating a probably toxic amount of fresh blueberries directly off the trees, with vanilla ice cream, and in pancakes, and playing high school (not my version of high school, sadly) by drinking plus-sized beers on the rocks down by the river. S and I also managed to get our culture on, both in Shelburne and on the accidentally very long ride home.

Every small town needs to have the World's Largest Something-or-Other. Marshfield has the Round Barn, and Shelburne Falls has potholes.





[I just like this picture of M wearing her friend's four-year-old son's Harry Potter goggles]


I tend to be fairly up to speed in regard to culture, both pop and plain ol', but when S suggested swinging by the Mass MoCA on our way home, I had to ask what it was. Turns out it is a six-year-old contemporary art museum (duh) housed in some old factory buildings in North Adams, MA.



The vast indoor and outdoor spaces allow them to do all kinds of unorthodox stuff like this guy's Chinese scroll-inspired exploding car exhibit [photo ganked from artist's website] and the upside down trees.





There was also a host of works that can only be described as crazy-ass shit that's a little too abstract for lil' old me, though if you want a more academic description you can find it in the "Becoming Animal" part here. My favorite work in the whole museum was, of course, the simplest and most accessible. In Animal, Vegetable, Video, artist Sam Easterson strapped on mini video cameras to various animals, including a chick, a tarantula, and a water buffalo. The results are quite cute and entertaining, and by exploring the disctinction, or lack thereof, between human and animal they help us understand what it means to be human, or something. You can watch part of the videos by clicking the above link. Check out the armadillo with its cute little ears!