Thursday, December 25, 2008
soon leaving to join my brethren at the movies
I just went out for a christmas day bike ride- I have spent the last 3 days exclusively eating and sleeping and my dad has a pretty nice bike that he never rides... Typically when I come home, I try and take in some of the country side. Or something. I dont have an ipod so I stole my brothers and began layering for the pretty warm but not warm enough winter day. Tights (oh yeah) that are actually long underwear stolen from my brother back when he worked at a ski shop, two pairs of socks, a sweater and a wind breaker. The only gloves in the house that were not for artic ski conditions were a pair of my moms; two sizes too small but seemingly good enough. After that a beanie and my dad's crappy helmet that fits like a magnum over a flacid penis. Or something. Regardless, the helmet is very loose but fits well enough with a hat under it. I was ready. I took off and headed down my road, aptly called Comfort Trail, which is very very twisty and all the bends happen at the apex of medium to large hills so visibility is... nonexistent. I made it off comfort trail and passed the cow farms that sit next to the small clone houses and again and again. My entire area is a funny contrast of farms, 70's single story houses, McMansions, very old houses, and fields/ woods. I like it. Coming over a hill next to one of my favorite farms that has these really fury cows, a hummer is charging towards me. After nearly running me off the road I catch eyes at the driver and it is none other that Paul from the hit TV show Orange County Choppers. Goddammnit I was enjoying the scenery and never really minded the C list celebrity neighbor (about 2 miles away) but his gas guzzling, ridiculous moustache wielding, hell bent driving made me a mortal enemy. The recent influx of middle age men wearing leather chaps (I wonder if middle age is synonymous with closet flamboyance) driving overpriced harleys was bad enough but now my hatred is personal. In fact, all of the male neighbors on Comfort trail have purchased bikes over the last 3 or 4 years and talk bikes, knowing that my dad and I were motocross'ers. Regardless, my anger was subdued by the scenery and good weather and and good smells and blue jays but I think I have a new purpose in life: to sabotage Orange County Choppers.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Last Festivus I gave you my heart...
Each year, without fail, the Germans cannot get enough WHAM! during the holiday season. At first I shuddered whenever I heard this duo or saw their video...but when played at the top of the hour, every hour, on the radio and TV it begins to grow on you.Wish you all the best and much success in Philly, I'm jealous. Enjoy your last days with Sparks and all the poor/amazing life choices that brings.
Will be away from the tubes until January 7th, going here on the Italian coast with my hosts. I am envisioning olive-eating contests, polar bear swims and afternoons spent with local shop keeper Francesco discussing the merits of Italian and French cheeses.
Okay, none of that will probably happen, but will post of any and all excitement here and on the ol' blog.
Friday, December 19, 2008
What were the names of the departed?
They were John Racine, Katie Hunter-Lowrey, Samantha King Grr, Logan Healy, Allison Silva, Paul Tilley, Kri Wilcox, Cory Cocomazzi, Robert Bottomley and Drew Stephan.
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Partying as we know it dies in three weeks.
The agreement with 13 states and the city of San Francisco calls for MillerCoors to discontinue manufacturing and marketing all caffeinated alcoholic beverages, including Sparks as currently formulated, by Jan. 10, 2009.
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Partying as we know it dies in three weeks.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
In perusing photos planning para la Philadelphia power move, I got to relive when Paul Tilley, destroyer of lives, ripped the door off the hinges in Drew's old apartment. Mo should be happy to know that the beast is spirited away in Germany and will not be attending New Years to damage any more property. Below is the gem of a moment captured on film.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
I am gunning for the Chairmanship of the Delinquent Caucus
Perhaps this counts for something. It must or this suffering is all for naught.
Last night, one of our board members hosted a lovely holiday party at her home in Newton. It was catered and featured a fairly impressive bar. I felt like a peasant in the King's court. And I did, as a peasant would do. I drank 4 glasses of champaign, and acted like a cretin. We left the party around 8 and caravaned to Club Cafe for a mixer that we had scheduled with the field team of NARAL. For those of you who don't know Club Cafe, it is Cory's favorite gay bar. On Wednesday nights there is karaoke at the bar Cory likes to call "his home away from home". I drank beer and danced around with gay men (Cory's boyz) while my colleagues karaoked. After beer number 4, I informed my party that, welp, it was time for me to go. They actually said no. Like, no, you cannot go, drink this tasty Bud Lite instead. So I did. This happened several times. Finally, I returned to the Space Machine and drank boxed wine with Kallen, and just kind of rolled around his room, like some sort of drunken space worm.
When I got to work today, I had to cancel a meeting with 2 of my coworkers because we all knew we were incapable of intelligent conversation. Instead of having our 2009 planning meeting we went out for pizza and just kind of mumbled at each other. I feel only vaguely human. If this hangover does not pass by sundown I am going to swear off the sauce. No, no I am not. But pray for me my friends, this one is a doozy.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Rainforest Rant
My dearest Sirs and Madams,
I write to you from my little farm house at 8:30 pm. My house mate is here, but locked away in her own room, as she always is after dark. It's a wonder that one who cannot be exposed to the sun keeps confined to her room when it goes down. But, I don't mind, I'm not in the mood for idle conversation. I am in the mood to rant.
As you all know, I have been spending the last 4 and some weeks adjusting to my new life in Brazil. I love it. I love my job to the point that if they paid me, I might never come back. But, they don't, so I will. In fact, I must. Student loans and an unhealthy affinity towards alcohol demand that I start making money again, eventually. But for now, I am here and happy.
Having said that... there are just a few things that have been getting under my skin, both figuratively and literally, that I must, oh must, complain about. So I ask for you patience, understanding and sympathetic ears, for just a moment as I get get it off my chest.
1. Martha , who is really quite a lovely older lady.... always complains. To me. I CAN'T STAND IT. I know, I know, I am the volunteer manager and thus the designated person to receive complaints.. but they are mostly about the lack of food, or being "worn out" or "exhausted" when it only takes about 5 seconds of thought to realize that EVERYONE here works harder and eats less of the food that often runs out than her. This food I mention are the things that have to be made or picked up frequently in order to stay fresh, and depending on the amount of people, yes, do run out. Milk, eggs, tomatoes and bread are the main offenders, as they make up the entirety of her diet. If there is no milk left over in the afternoon, or on the weekends, for example, she will come up to me and say "I see there is no milk." "mmmm, yes... " I respond, wishing I could say "you want milk? go pick it up your fucking self! Who do you think does it everyday?" Because I know she knows full well that it is one of the volunteers who actually do things, but she has somehow exempted herself from all responsibility, as she had made a special arrangement with the director that she doesn't have to partake in the cooking or chores, which would be fine, if she didn't complain. The same complaints go for all the other items mentioned. Bread, for instance, I have had to learn to make myself from scratch (quite well, surprisingly), and yet, if she goes a morning, or afternoon for that matter, with out it I always hear "I see we have run out of bread again" and again I want to say "make it your fucking self if you can't go a day without it... everyone else is out of bread too, what do you think this is, a bed a breakfast?" or at other times I might say: "everyone else is out of eggs too" "everyone else had been eaten alive by bugs too" "everyone else is hot (or cold) too". I mean, really, what does she think this is? a disco?
hrmmm... perhaps. Perhaps a disco where everyone hears the music but her.
The other day, when we were out planting, I was walking up to the nursery to pick up more trees, empty crate in hand, dripping in sweat, covered in mud when she came down a hill from a self-initiated 20 minute walk and stopped me in my tracks to say "that was really unpleasant, it is just too hot out" at first I thought it might be an off-hand comment, just something to say in passing, if you will, as it was clear that the rest of us were in worse condition than her.... but she paused and looked at me expectantly, waiting for answer... a solution? sympathy? "mmmm..yes, it is hot." was all I could think to say. I still wonder if it ever occurred to her, that I too feel heat.
I have said too much. oh well, oh well. The rest of my rant will have to be saved for another post.
I write to you from my little farm house at 8:30 pm. My house mate is here, but locked away in her own room, as she always is after dark. It's a wonder that one who cannot be exposed to the sun keeps confined to her room when it goes down. But, I don't mind, I'm not in the mood for idle conversation. I am in the mood to rant.
As you all know, I have been spending the last 4 and some weeks adjusting to my new life in Brazil. I love it. I love my job to the point that if they paid me, I might never come back. But, they don't, so I will. In fact, I must. Student loans and an unhealthy affinity towards alcohol demand that I start making money again, eventually. But for now, I am here and happy.
Having said that... there are just a few things that have been getting under my skin, both figuratively and literally, that I must, oh must, complain about. So I ask for you patience, understanding and sympathetic ears, for just a moment as I get get it off my chest.
1. Martha , who is really quite a lovely older lady.... always complains. To me. I CAN'T STAND IT. I know, I know, I am the volunteer manager and thus the designated person to receive complaints.. but they are mostly about the lack of food, or being "worn out" or "exhausted" when it only takes about 5 seconds of thought to realize that EVERYONE here works harder and eats less of the food that often runs out than her. This food I mention are the things that have to be made or picked up frequently in order to stay fresh, and depending on the amount of people, yes, do run out. Milk, eggs, tomatoes and bread are the main offenders, as they make up the entirety of her diet. If there is no milk left over in the afternoon, or on the weekends, for example, she will come up to me and say "I see there is no milk." "mmmm, yes... " I respond, wishing I could say "you want milk? go pick it up your fucking self! Who do you think does it everyday?" Because I know she knows full well that it is one of the volunteers who actually do things, but she has somehow exempted herself from all responsibility, as she had made a special arrangement with the director that she doesn't have to partake in the cooking or chores, which would be fine, if she didn't complain. The same complaints go for all the other items mentioned. Bread, for instance, I have had to learn to make myself from scratch (quite well, surprisingly), and yet, if she goes a morning, or afternoon for that matter, with out it I always hear "I see we have run out of bread again" and again I want to say "make it your fucking self if you can't go a day without it... everyone else is out of bread too, what do you think this is, a bed a breakfast?" or at other times I might say: "everyone else is out of eggs too" "everyone else had been eaten alive by bugs too" "everyone else is hot (or cold) too". I mean, really, what does she think this is? a disco?
hrmmm... perhaps. Perhaps a disco where everyone hears the music but her.
The other day, when we were out planting, I was walking up to the nursery to pick up more trees, empty crate in hand, dripping in sweat, covered in mud when she came down a hill from a self-initiated 20 minute walk and stopped me in my tracks to say "that was really unpleasant, it is just too hot out" at first I thought it might be an off-hand comment, just something to say in passing, if you will, as it was clear that the rest of us were in worse condition than her.... but she paused and looked at me expectantly, waiting for answer... a solution? sympathy? "mmmm..yes, it is hot." was all I could think to say. I still wonder if it ever occurred to her, that I too feel heat.
I have said too much. oh well, oh well. The rest of my rant will have to be saved for another post.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Rob won a prize!
Look at Drew self-promoting his "other" blog again. Totally shameless.
While self-promotion happens from time to time in the tubes, gratuitous photoshop displays of affection from your friends are a web rarity. Let us all take a moment to celebrate Rob, who won a prize today! First prize senior project to be exact!
My guess is that it is time for a Blingee tribute to Rob!:
While self-promotion happens from time to time in the tubes, gratuitous photoshop displays of affection from your friends are a web rarity. Let us all take a moment to celebrate Rob, who won a prize today! First prize senior project to be exact!
My guess is that it is time for a Blingee tribute to Rob!:
ergh
I made a post, on another blog! It was time for poor little ol' PCC to get some love, so here we go.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Cold Plantin' Trees
On to Thursday:
As December is a low time for volunteers, there were a total of four of us that came out on Thursday morning for the group reforestation project. I got up early that morning in order to get back from the milk run before 8. As it was, I arrived at 8:01 and saw that evan and jess (who you already know well) along with Toni, the aging Spanish nursery manager, were already down in nursery, loading baby trees into crates to be carried to the field for planting. I cursed their wretched punctuality, that made me late with out actually being late and rushed down to join them, leaving the milk boiling for those who had the luxury of time.
The task of the day was to carry all of the trees down the path, over the foot bridge (a log over the river) and up a hill to the place where they were to be planted. As I was "late" evan and toni had already gone with the first crate of trees. I met jess in the nursery and we lifted our first crate. It was heavy. really heavy. "haha.. really? how the fuck are we supposed to get this all the way up there"? I asked. she didn't know, so we tried anyway and actually managed, though painfully. After the first one we switched partners so I was to carry with Toni and Jess was to carry with Evan. This we did. Over and over.
At one point, when we were reloading in the nursery I glanced up to a table full of plants and asked Toni if we were going to bring all of those trees to the field, more out of conversation than anything. He responded, speaking Portuguese in his thick Spanish accent: don't think of it like that, because then if we don't get to all of them we will feel like we left the job incomplete. Just think of these 10 trees in the crate, and the importance of them. All of the food they will generate, the nutrients they will bring to the earth and the home they will create for the birds. These ten trees are all that matter right now.
It dawned on me the scope of the job we were trying to do, and that as much as it would have given consolation to my aching mussels, rebuilding the rain forest by hand wasn't something you could check off the to-do list before lunch. In fact, it was something that could never be checked off, as hard or as long as we worked. And that if everyone thought the way I thought, in terms of short term satisfaction, nothing would ever get done. Because the jobs that are really important don't have a man-made finish lines.
Still, as the hours went by, I couldn't help but relate the diminishing amount of trees on the table to the about of time I would have to spend lugging heavy crates uphill and wondering why my sense of accomplishment was irrevocably related to a end rather than a process.
But.... I wish my little trees health and prosperity, put in a good word for them, yes?
As December is a low time for volunteers, there were a total of four of us that came out on Thursday morning for the group reforestation project. I got up early that morning in order to get back from the milk run before 8. As it was, I arrived at 8:01 and saw that evan and jess (who you already know well) along with Toni, the aging Spanish nursery manager, were already down in nursery, loading baby trees into crates to be carried to the field for planting. I cursed their wretched punctuality, that made me late with out actually being late and rushed down to join them, leaving the milk boiling for those who had the luxury of time.
The task of the day was to carry all of the trees down the path, over the foot bridge (a log over the river) and up a hill to the place where they were to be planted. As I was "late" evan and toni had already gone with the first crate of trees. I met jess in the nursery and we lifted our first crate. It was heavy. really heavy. "haha.. really? how the fuck are we supposed to get this all the way up there"? I asked. she didn't know, so we tried anyway and actually managed, though painfully. After the first one we switched partners so I was to carry with Toni and Jess was to carry with Evan. This we did. Over and over.
At one point, when we were reloading in the nursery I glanced up to a table full of plants and asked Toni if we were going to bring all of those trees to the field, more out of conversation than anything. He responded, speaking Portuguese in his thick Spanish accent: don't think of it like that, because then if we don't get to all of them we will feel like we left the job incomplete. Just think of these 10 trees in the crate, and the importance of them. All of the food they will generate, the nutrients they will bring to the earth and the home they will create for the birds. These ten trees are all that matter right now.
It dawned on me the scope of the job we were trying to do, and that as much as it would have given consolation to my aching mussels, rebuilding the rain forest by hand wasn't something you could check off the to-do list before lunch. In fact, it was something that could never be checked off, as hard or as long as we worked. And that if everyone thought the way I thought, in terms of short term satisfaction, nothing would ever get done. Because the jobs that are really important don't have a man-made finish lines.
Still, as the hours went by, I couldn't help but relate the diminishing amount of trees on the table to the about of time I would have to spend lugging heavy crates uphill and wondering why my sense of accomplishment was irrevocably related to a end rather than a process.
But.... I wish my little trees health and prosperity, put in a good word for them, yes?
all work and no play makes me an emo girl
i am surrounded by the accoutrements of a formerly fun person gone dull. red bull, camel lights, half empty paper cups of cold skim cappucino, emergen-c, sudafed, stacks of legal texts, pens and hi-liters. nails gnawed to the nub, eyes ringed in pewter half moons, hair tangled and clothes rumpled, i anxiously scan pages of garamond 12 pt font which, despite the laws of physics, change size and bounce off the page. the stories of your exploits are the only thing that brings joy to my drugless, sexless, rock n' rollless life. fun is a tantalizing foe. i have ten days left. please help me climb out of what is thus far the nadir of fun in my life. come visit me for my party lest i be taken away in a wahhmbulance never to be fun again.
An average day in the jungle
as we have all been focused on fun for the last few weeks, our daily lives have gone to the back burner. But, just to keep you all updated on what really happens here in the rain forest, I will outline an average day, brief enough for even Cory to understand. Let's take Wednesdays as an example:
-- 7:30: I wake with a start, seeing the light coming through the window and wondering if I have over slept. I take a quick look at my Ipod, my only clock, and see that I have little time to spare.
I run down to the kitchen and grab one of the clean plastic bottles on the counter, making as brief as possible the conversation with Muffi, the before mentioned house mate, who is already up, binoculars in hand, documenting the morning's variety of toucans and parrots and hawks that care to make an appearance.
7:45-I start the 20 minute walk to the neighboring farm to pick up the milk for the day. I enjoy this walk tremendously, as it gives me time not only to wake up, but to think. I arrive shortly after 8 am to find entire family awake and umm.. around. Particularly Marcos, the young (20-25?? years old) farmer who also cuts grass and drives a cab etc... he is standing in the window of the house with his new baby, that I had yet to meet. His mother-in-law having run out to fill my my bottle with milk, I had no choice but to give some sort of attention to the baby. "how many days old is he?" I ask, regretting it the second the words come out of my mouth, remembering that it is Koreans, not Brazilians that calculate their baby's age in days, instead of months. He smiled, "2 months." "ohh, Ja"??? was my clumsy, embarrassed, response .. "he's beautiful" still unsure whether or not I thought he was. I quickly turned my attention and conversation to the puppy that had been biting my ankles, until the mother- in-law returned with my milk. I bid adieu, wishing that at least one day would pass with out an awkward encounter with Marcos, and made my way back to my farm.
-8:30- I return to the kitchen and pour the milk into a pan on the stove, asking Muffi, who was still watching birds, to watch the milk as well, as I had little time to get ready for the interview I had scheduled to translate for Jess at 9:30 in town.
9:15- Marcelo came to pick Jess and I up for the interview with the secretary of agriculture. I come out of the interview more than two hours later, knowing more than I even thought possible about eucalyptus trees and small farming.
Some time-- the bus never showed to take us back home, so we had no choice but to start walking and hope for a ride on the way, otherwise known as hitchhiking. No one came. So, we walked the 2 and a half hours home, arriving sometime after 2.
Some time after 2-- Jess and I feasted on the left overs from the lunch that we missed and I returned to my computer in the hopes of making some sort of work type progress. oh and g-chatting with all of you all.
4:00-- I look behind me to see Jess reading a book on the couch/bed. I see that she is 7/8 of the way through a lengthy book she had started only a day or 2 before. I fill with envy and guilt, as I think of the 6 or 7 half-read books I have lying around in my house, my 8-track mind unable to focus on a single one. I stop what I'm doing and spend the rest of the day reading one and only one book.
Heyo.
-- 7:30: I wake with a start, seeing the light coming through the window and wondering if I have over slept. I take a quick look at my Ipod, my only clock, and see that I have little time to spare.
I run down to the kitchen and grab one of the clean plastic bottles on the counter, making as brief as possible the conversation with Muffi, the before mentioned house mate, who is already up, binoculars in hand, documenting the morning's variety of toucans and parrots and hawks that care to make an appearance.
7:45-I start the 20 minute walk to the neighboring farm to pick up the milk for the day. I enjoy this walk tremendously, as it gives me time not only to wake up, but to think. I arrive shortly after 8 am to find entire family awake and umm.. around. Particularly Marcos, the young (20-25?? years old) farmer who also cuts grass and drives a cab etc... he is standing in the window of the house with his new baby, that I had yet to meet. His mother-in-law having run out to fill my my bottle with milk, I had no choice but to give some sort of attention to the baby. "how many days old is he?" I ask, regretting it the second the words come out of my mouth, remembering that it is Koreans, not Brazilians that calculate their baby's age in days, instead of months. He smiled, "2 months." "ohh, Ja"??? was my clumsy, embarrassed, response .. "he's beautiful" still unsure whether or not I thought he was. I quickly turned my attention and conversation to the puppy that had been biting my ankles, until the mother- in-law returned with my milk. I bid adieu, wishing that at least one day would pass with out an awkward encounter with Marcos, and made my way back to my farm.
-8:30- I return to the kitchen and pour the milk into a pan on the stove, asking Muffi, who was still watching birds, to watch the milk as well, as I had little time to get ready for the interview I had scheduled to translate for Jess at 9:30 in town.
9:15- Marcelo came to pick Jess and I up for the interview with the secretary of agriculture. I come out of the interview more than two hours later, knowing more than I even thought possible about eucalyptus trees and small farming.
Some time-- the bus never showed to take us back home, so we had no choice but to start walking and hope for a ride on the way, otherwise known as hitchhiking. No one came. So, we walked the 2 and a half hours home, arriving sometime after 2.
Some time after 2-- Jess and I feasted on the left overs from the lunch that we missed and I returned to my computer in the hopes of making some sort of work type progress. oh and g-chatting with all of you all.
4:00-- I look behind me to see Jess reading a book on the couch/bed. I see that she is 7/8 of the way through a lengthy book she had started only a day or 2 before. I fill with envy and guilt, as I think of the 6 or 7 half-read books I have lying around in my house, my 8-track mind unable to focus on a single one. I stop what I'm doing and spend the rest of the day reading one and only one book.
Heyo.
Live Blog from the Giggle Room
Currently sitting in the bath-tub in the bathroom furthest from the sleeping chamber of my hosts. I live in a world of constant fear of waking them when stumbling home drunk - this week with Sam King has only heightened this fear. To prevent this we have resorted to containing all drunken activities in the apartment to this particular room: the 'giggle room'. As of right now I'm sitting in the bath-tub and Sam the King is perched next to me on a stool "cold drinkin' white wine" at 6:28 in the morning. What have we been doing prior to this? Not important. Okay, well let us recap:
- street beers all over the place and all over 'cho face
- a well balanced diet of cultural attractions and meat products (Sam King is officially a carnivore)
- giggling
- skyping
- exploring abandoned east german childrens amusement parks
- christmas markets and mulled wine pyramids
- communism
- nude photo galleries
- did we mention meat?
- Sam's ever-lasting hunt for an accordion
- Elektro-techno-disko dance parties
- Turkish Rambo taxi drivers
- KRImmunism
Sam the King has to catch a bus in 10 minutes, we must go. We expect your concessions by sundown (+2 Greenwich Mean Time).
Friday, December 5, 2008
I pray for peace and self control
the ability to keep up with blog posts is one that I do not have. But, I do my best. I really do. And I also want to prove to one and all that people have more fun in Brazil, with out even trying. So, I will tell you a tale that is meant to educate as well as entertain. It is about a city called Vicosa. This city lies in the State of Minas Gerais, where I live. It was to there that a volunteer named Jessica and I ventured last week. It all started on a Thursday (As LR shrewdly observed, there are no weekdays in Brazil, all the days are grouped together into a very long and continuous weekend, which I feel merits at least one fun point in and of itself). Moving on.
We hitched a ride with Marcelo to Rosario da Limeira, a place readers are already familiar with. As it happened a young volunteer named Dan had an accident the day before involving a pull up bar and some stone stairs coming into contact with his head a little harder than desired. As a result he had to be driven into town to have his stitches looked at, or something. Along the way we picked up an aged farmer who smelled of old sweat and spoke in an accent I strained to understand. However, he gave off a positive enough vibe, and thus did not inhibit fun in any way. Upon arriving at the little town square, Jess and I debarked and went straight to the corner bar. We had 2 hours to wait for our bus, and decided to spend the time drinking beer and playing cards, which we did. The bus eventually came and we eventually got on, and eventually arrived in Vicosa.
We were under the impression that a past volunteer was going to pick us up from the station and babysit us for the weekend, but there appeared to have been some sort of miscommunication, because there was no one waiting for us. Nor did anyone show up throughout the hour we waited outside. So, we shrugged our shoulders and got into a cab and asked him to take us to a hotel. He drove 2 blocks, charged us R$4 and let us out in front of The Palace Hotel. Upon discovering that they charged R$80 a night for a room we turned around and walked straight back out. We wandered around the city until we found a place that only charged R$40.
After settling into our new home, the events of the weekend progressed as follows:
-Dinner and Caparinhas at pizzaria torre (I must remind you that caparinhas are fun in liquid form, much more so than whiskey, which is insanity in liquid form)
-wandering around downtown looking for a bar and ending up getting beers at a tiny cantina where the 7 employees who were closing up for the night were wearing matching blue tracksuits with the name of the cantina written down the leg on a wide yellow stripe, as if they were competing in some sort of ridiculous sports event, instead of selling beer and cigarettes on the sidewalk to drunk american girls, at midnight. We tried to make friends with them, but they were hesitant to comply. So.. we entertained our selves for a time, until a kind passer by (who will come up again later) informed us that all of the cool kids, having real fun, were at a bar about 10 minutes down the road. We thanked him for the tip and arranged to meet him later, at the bar.
Upon arrival at the bar, we discovered that, indeed, this was where the fun was hidden and partook in the revelry until morning. Unfortunately, we saw no more of the handsome stranger that night.
-the next day greeted us with a horrible hangover and we booked it straight back to the pizzaria to console our minds in a mountain of carbs, then returned to the hotel to sleep the day away.
- after dark, we made our way back to the place of fun for round 2. Highlights:
Alisson, the boy.
His drunk friend who fell in love with Jess and yelled about Barack obama, then stole her pen... but gave it back.
Alisson the boy, again.
His other drunk friend who fell in love with Jess. but didn't steal her pen, or yell about barack obama. He yelled about something, but I wasn't paying attention.
So, that night... at some point, I made the mistake of sort of, but not really, but sort of, telling Alisson the boy, that I would go to some party, or something, with him the next day. I wasn't really sure if I wanted to or not, even though, day drinking is extra points in the fun off. But I said I might go, and if I did, I might meet him at 3 or something. I never showed up. I also made the mistake of letting Alisson the boy walk us back to the hotel that night, which enabled him to come inquiring after me when I failed to appear at the designated time and place.
Jess and I were comfortably watching 3 Men and a Baby dubbed into Portuguese and eating take-out, when there was a knock on the door, and the hotel man said that some dude was waiting for me in the lobby. I felt I had no choice but to go out and see what all the commotion was about. Indeed, it was Alisson the boy. We went through the awkward "why didn't you come?" "I said I might" conversation in which he convinced me to go get a drink with him to talk things over. I discovered that I did, in fact, enjoy his company and we spent the rest of the evening having fun, oh and witnessing an energetic gang fight, with arrests and all.
At some point in the middle of the weekend we ran into the same handsome stranger that suggested we go to lion bar (for that is what the place of fun is called). He asked why we never went, we said "but we did" he said "I didn't see you" we said "we didn't see you." After this intellectual and stimulating conversation, he invited us to another party, gave us his card and told us to call. This we did, on Sunday. For having checked out of the hotel after an exhausting and fun filled weekend, we arrived at the bus station only to find that the next bus home was at 6:00 the following morning. So, it was back to the hotel for another day.
"Why didn't you call last night about the party?" was his first question when he picked up the phone. The truth was, because I was with Alisson, the boy. "sorry, we had other plans" is how I responded, wondering why people in Visoca, that I barely knew kept calling me out on my flakiness. It was arranged for us to meet up that afternoon for coffee, which we did. Then he took us around the university. The University of Vicosa, is the 3rd best university in the country and the the only beautiful part of the city. The poorly kept-up roads, low cement buildings with cracked paint, dirty walls and sliding garage doors reminds one distinctly of a favela. But, the people, we had by this time discovered, more than make up lack of aesthetic beauty, and the University campus is really quite lovely.
Then we got beers, and after that at some point we got dinner and more beer. And soon it was 2am.
we changed our bus tickets to a later time on Monday, as nilo (the handsome stranger) offered to introduce us to some professors at the university that could help Jess with her research (which was really the initial point of the trip, before fun took precedence... She was to interview, and I was to translate). The tree of us managed to speak to 4 professors, so the weekend was successful in terms business as well as pleasure. Take that mother fuckers.
We hitched a ride with Marcelo to Rosario da Limeira, a place readers are already familiar with. As it happened a young volunteer named Dan had an accident the day before involving a pull up bar and some stone stairs coming into contact with his head a little harder than desired. As a result he had to be driven into town to have his stitches looked at, or something. Along the way we picked up an aged farmer who smelled of old sweat and spoke in an accent I strained to understand. However, he gave off a positive enough vibe, and thus did not inhibit fun in any way. Upon arriving at the little town square, Jess and I debarked and went straight to the corner bar. We had 2 hours to wait for our bus, and decided to spend the time drinking beer and playing cards, which we did. The bus eventually came and we eventually got on, and eventually arrived in Vicosa.
We were under the impression that a past volunteer was going to pick us up from the station and babysit us for the weekend, but there appeared to have been some sort of miscommunication, because there was no one waiting for us. Nor did anyone show up throughout the hour we waited outside. So, we shrugged our shoulders and got into a cab and asked him to take us to a hotel. He drove 2 blocks, charged us R$4 and let us out in front of The Palace Hotel. Upon discovering that they charged R$80 a night for a room we turned around and walked straight back out. We wandered around the city until we found a place that only charged R$40.
After settling into our new home, the events of the weekend progressed as follows:
-Dinner and Caparinhas at pizzaria torre (I must remind you that caparinhas are fun in liquid form, much more so than whiskey, which is insanity in liquid form)
-wandering around downtown looking for a bar and ending up getting beers at a tiny cantina where the 7 employees who were closing up for the night were wearing matching blue tracksuits with the name of the cantina written down the leg on a wide yellow stripe, as if they were competing in some sort of ridiculous sports event, instead of selling beer and cigarettes on the sidewalk to drunk american girls, at midnight. We tried to make friends with them, but they were hesitant to comply. So.. we entertained our selves for a time, until a kind passer by (who will come up again later) informed us that all of the cool kids, having real fun, were at a bar about 10 minutes down the road. We thanked him for the tip and arranged to meet him later, at the bar.
Upon arrival at the bar, we discovered that, indeed, this was where the fun was hidden and partook in the revelry until morning. Unfortunately, we saw no more of the handsome stranger that night.
-the next day greeted us with a horrible hangover and we booked it straight back to the pizzaria to console our minds in a mountain of carbs, then returned to the hotel to sleep the day away.
- after dark, we made our way back to the place of fun for round 2. Highlights:
Alisson, the boy.
His drunk friend who fell in love with Jess and yelled about Barack obama, then stole her pen... but gave it back.
Alisson the boy, again.
His other drunk friend who fell in love with Jess. but didn't steal her pen, or yell about barack obama. He yelled about something, but I wasn't paying attention.
So, that night... at some point, I made the mistake of sort of, but not really, but sort of, telling Alisson the boy, that I would go to some party, or something, with him the next day. I wasn't really sure if I wanted to or not, even though, day drinking is extra points in the fun off. But I said I might go, and if I did, I might meet him at 3 or something. I never showed up. I also made the mistake of letting Alisson the boy walk us back to the hotel that night, which enabled him to come inquiring after me when I failed to appear at the designated time and place.
Jess and I were comfortably watching 3 Men and a Baby dubbed into Portuguese and eating take-out, when there was a knock on the door, and the hotel man said that some dude was waiting for me in the lobby. I felt I had no choice but to go out and see what all the commotion was about. Indeed, it was Alisson the boy. We went through the awkward "why didn't you come?" "I said I might" conversation in which he convinced me to go get a drink with him to talk things over. I discovered that I did, in fact, enjoy his company and we spent the rest of the evening having fun, oh and witnessing an energetic gang fight, with arrests and all.
At some point in the middle of the weekend we ran into the same handsome stranger that suggested we go to lion bar (for that is what the place of fun is called). He asked why we never went, we said "but we did" he said "I didn't see you" we said "we didn't see you." After this intellectual and stimulating conversation, he invited us to another party, gave us his card and told us to call. This we did, on Sunday. For having checked out of the hotel after an exhausting and fun filled weekend, we arrived at the bus station only to find that the next bus home was at 6:00 the following morning. So, it was back to the hotel for another day.
"Why didn't you call last night about the party?" was his first question when he picked up the phone. The truth was, because I was with Alisson, the boy. "sorry, we had other plans" is how I responded, wondering why people in Visoca, that I barely knew kept calling me out on my flakiness. It was arranged for us to meet up that afternoon for coffee, which we did. Then he took us around the university. The University of Vicosa, is the 3rd best university in the country and the the only beautiful part of the city. The poorly kept-up roads, low cement buildings with cracked paint, dirty walls and sliding garage doors reminds one distinctly of a favela. But, the people, we had by this time discovered, more than make up lack of aesthetic beauty, and the University campus is really quite lovely.
Then we got beers, and after that at some point we got dinner and more beer. And soon it was 2am.
we changed our bus tickets to a later time on Monday, as nilo (the handsome stranger) offered to introduce us to some professors at the university that could help Jess with her research (which was really the initial point of the trip, before fun took precedence... She was to interview, and I was to translate). The tree of us managed to speak to 4 professors, so the weekend was successful in terms business as well as pleasure. Take that mother fuckers.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Audio evidence
A voicemail that Cory left for me at 5:19 am on the morning of Tuesday, November 25.
SCIENCE - IT WORKS, BITCHES.
[Ed. Note - "Nola" is the name of a friend of ours here, not the name of the city. Though, figuratively, Cory really did make out with the city several times, too.]
SCIENCE - IT WORKS, BITCHES.
[Ed. Note - "Nola" is the name of a friend of ours here, not the name of the city. Though, figuratively, Cory really did make out with the city several times, too.]
It's Christmas in Killarney
Howya Bean Flickers, Holy Joes, Brassers and Slappers!
I would like to extend an invitation to attend our merry holliers celebration: Christmas In Killarney!!!
December 20, 2008 8pm
Each year we gather 'round a yule log, sip mulled wine and sing and dance to such classics as Up On the Rooftop, Christmas in Killarney, I'm Dreaming of a White Collar Crime this Christmas, It's Going to Be a Blue Blue Christmas Now that Daddy Lost His Job and All I Want for Christmas is YOUR Two Front Teeth (which reminds me...time for a new list?!) Seriously, though, in keeping with the tradition and spirit of Christmas In Killarney, this is going to be a moderately wholesome event. It doesn't mean you have to be wholesome, it just means you have to look wholesome and attempt to hold up a conversation for at least some portion of the evening. Bill O'Reilly would be so proud of us!
Cocktail party attire and/or the always-a-crowd-pleaser-gaudy Christmas sweaters are required. There will be ample decadent holiday treats and alcohol but don't be a greedy grinch, please byob. Oh yeah and all the heathen non-Christmas celebrators are invited too but if you even try to eat christ's body or drink his blood, you are so excommunicated from my house.
fun
come to my house saturday night (after cory's show is good). Sirs and madams not appearing invited.
Monday, December 1, 2008
sucking up is fine
i support your motion sam. I will work to establish more rules as I think of them (submissions certainly accepted).
i have began a growing list of categories. They are as follows, each counting for 10 points respectively (with style and creativity point multipliers available):
1. Dignity Depository
2. Visuals: props, photographs, images (preferably not of your genitals though will still take into consideration)
3. pain/ suffering
4. sexuality/ hook up/ makeout sesh with grandma, logan, or kri
5. while sober
6. day drunk
7. Bonus round / trick multipliers:
best use of the general public
best photo not of your balls
best night with nate hartwell/ joan dubinsky (if you can find either of them)
best single night
best long term facial hair
best use of cory in womans underwear
best cuddle sesh
largest stolen object
strongest drink
best bribe
worst hangover
best use of logans towel
best infringement of sir or madam not appearing into your day to day life
Post your ideas and I will enter them into the mainframe.
You may participate in the fun off regardless of your attendance at the commencement celebration through video/ teleconference (speaker phone?), or skype? The polls close December 29th with the final victor announced on the 30th so they may end their year crowned in glory, basking in the sweet glow of sams arm sweat, cory's scantilly clad red thong, nestled between grandma and drews man sized chests who have long given up and maria and kdhl being drunk and unruly... (you can finish this story if you would like... please?)
can i give a prison tattoo to the winner?
if anyone objects, ummmm, just let me know.
i have began a growing list of categories. They are as follows, each counting for 10 points respectively (with style and creativity point multipliers available):
1. Dignity Depository
2. Visuals: props, photographs, images (preferably not of your genitals though will still take into consideration)
3. pain/ suffering
4. sexuality/ hook up/ makeout sesh with grandma, logan, or kri
5. while sober
6. day drunk
7. Bonus round / trick multipliers:
best use of the general public
best photo not of your balls
best night with nate hartwell/ joan dubinsky (if you can find either of them)
best single night
best long term facial hair
best use of cory in womans underwear
best cuddle sesh
largest stolen object
strongest drink
best bribe
worst hangover
best use of logans towel
best infringement of sir or madam not appearing into your day to day life
Post your ideas and I will enter them into the mainframe.
You may participate in the fun off regardless of your attendance at the commencement celebration through video/ teleconference (speaker phone?), or skype? The polls close December 29th with the final victor announced on the 30th so they may end their year crowned in glory, basking in the sweet glow of sams arm sweat, cory's scantilly clad red thong, nestled between grandma and drews man sized chests who have long given up and maria and kdhl being drunk and unruly... (you can finish this story if you would like... please?)
can i give a prison tattoo to the winner?
if anyone objects, ummmm, just let me know.
Lincoln: our proclamation is more fun than yours.
Whereas, the time of overlap during my trip to Berlin and Cory's trip to New Orleans was insufficient.
Whereas, proper documentation of actual fun was not presented to the public from Team New Orleans.
Whereas, John "Grandma" Racine is currently vacationing in NOLA.
Whereas, Paul Tilley's Mom has sent two batches of delicious cookies. May the record show one batch chocolate chip, the other pumpkin.
Whereas, there has been public outrage in regards to the lack of inclusion from other members of the blog-o-sphere.
Whereas, prior guidelines and point systems were hastily thrown together and not properly understood.
Whereas, Logan is competing by himself, sadly.
Therein, We hereby challenge every Sir and Madame Not Appearing to compete in a no holds bar, winner take all, Round Robin Fun Spectacular.
In addition to the prior established superlatives, we ask our fair, handsome, and charming Judge to create a point system. We suggest the following in regards to documentation:
-Verbal documentation exclusive to blogging, texting and drunk dialing, should be awarded 5 points.
-Visual documentation, exclusive to photos and sketches should be awarded 10 points.
-Audio/Visual documentation, exclusive to videos and flip-book animations should be awarded 15 points.
Any and all articles procured from strangers should be judged by their merits of awesomeness by honorary Dr. Judge Robert Wa-Bottomley.
We suggest that our fair Judge build on the strong foundations of the aforementioned superlative categories to establish a clear and defined point system that can be easily understood by the public. We also request a clear deadline to be set for all submissions in the superlative categories and a firm date for the naming and crowning of the winners of the Sir and Madame Not Appearing no holds bar, winner take all, Round Robin Fun Spectacular.
Yours Truly,
Team Berlin
It's Christmas in Killarney
Howya Bean Flickers, Holy Joes, Brassers and Slappers!
I would like to extend an invitation to attend our merry holliers celebration: Christmas In Killarney!!!
December 20, 2008 8pm
Each year we gather 'round a yule log, sip mulled wine and sing and dance to such classics as Up On the Rooftop, Christmas in Killarney, I'm Dreaming of a White Collar Crime this Christmas, It's Going to Be a Blue Blue Christmas Now that Daddy Lost His Job and All I Want for Christmas is YOUR Two Front Teeth (which reminds me...time for a new list?!) Seriously, though, in keeping with the tradition and spirit of Christmas In Killarney, this is going to be a moderately wholesome event. It doesn't mean you have to be wholesome, it just means you have to look wholesome and attempt to hold up a conversation for at least some portion of the evening. Bill O'Reilly would be so proud of us!
Cocktail party attire and/or the always-a-crowd-pleaser-gaudy Christmas sweaters are required. There will be ample decadent holiday treats and alcohol but don't be a greedy grinch, please byob. Oh yeah and all the heathen non-Christmas celebrators are invited too but if you even try to eat christ's body or drink his blood, you are so excommunicated from my house.
Living the Dream
Wonderful little piece from The Stranger:
Dear Racist Asshole
Dear Racist Asshole
I'm the one who found your lost cell phone on the street. My first instinct was to find out whom it belonged to and return it, to do my Good Samaritan deed. It wasn't password protected, so I looked around on it to find some identifying information. That's when I found all your Election Day text messages between you and your other racist buddies. "Did you hear that Hallmark has a new Obama presidential Christmas ornament? Now everyone can hang that nigger from a tree!" and "The White House is now tearing out its Rose Garden and replacing it with a watermelon patch." There were ones worse than that.
Bless you, you white-supremacist fuck! Two days after the election, I couldn't have found a better celebratory gift! I texted everyone in your contacts with this message: "I admit it, my racism is a sham! The truth is I love black cock—in my mouth or up my ass, it doesn't matter, it all makes me blow my load!" I figure a racist like you is probably also homophobic, so I'm sure you have some explaining to do to your chums. Out of decency, I didn't text your mom. Even she doesn't deserve to know what a racist piece of shit her son is. You might want to password-protect your next phone. I took a lot of pleasure in beating this one to death with a hammer. (Obama probably wouldn't approve because he's a decent, upstanding guy. Me, not so much.)
Sunday, November 30, 2008
YOU ARE ABOUT TO BE KRIMATED!!!!!!
My trip is but half over, but i thought i would give all of you fucks an idea of how bad you are losing.
Sunday: landed in Berlin, saw the city in all it's snow covered glory.
Monday: went to the National History museum, ate killer falafel, rounded out the day at an awesome Russian bar.
Tuesday: arrived in Prague, hit up an awesome bar with Rachel, ended the night at a Misfits dance party in a random dudes apartment.
Wednesday: saw Prague in all it's splendid glory, returned to aforementioned bar, closed it with the owners around 7 AM.
Thursday: continued my tour of the city, went to a crazy Prague club, saw many dreaded mullets, closed the bar with the owners around 7 AM.
Friday: missed my train to Hungary, booked a bus to Austria, arrived in Austria late night, drank wine and ate cheese in the hills.
Saturday: took train to Budapest, arrived late afternoon, got dinner and walked around the city, went to a Gypsy bar, Went to a club modeled after Studio 54.
Sunday: saw the sites, tried traditional Hungarian food, went to a Hungarian rockabilly bar where all of our drinks were paid for by random Hungarian dudes, got very drunk, blogged about it.
Updates and pictures to come so stop whining about it. In the meantime this is the castle in Prague.
Kill yourselves!!
Sunday: landed in Berlin, saw the city in all it's snow covered glory.
Monday: went to the National History museum, ate killer falafel, rounded out the day at an awesome Russian bar.
Tuesday: arrived in Prague, hit up an awesome bar with Rachel, ended the night at a Misfits dance party in a random dudes apartment.
Wednesday: saw Prague in all it's splendid glory, returned to aforementioned bar, closed it with the owners around 7 AM.
Thursday: continued my tour of the city, went to a crazy Prague club, saw many dreaded mullets, closed the bar with the owners around 7 AM.
Friday: missed my train to Hungary, booked a bus to Austria, arrived in Austria late night, drank wine and ate cheese in the hills.
Saturday: took train to Budapest, arrived late afternoon, got dinner and walked around the city, went to a Gypsy bar, Went to a club modeled after Studio 54.
Sunday: saw the sites, tried traditional Hungarian food, went to a Hungarian rockabilly bar where all of our drinks were paid for by random Hungarian dudes, got very drunk, blogged about it.
Updates and pictures to come so stop whining about it. In the meantime this is the castle in Prague.
Kill yourselves!!
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Functional Alcoholics of the World, Unite and Take Over - Day One in New Orleans, Pre-Fun-Off
I'm still waiting for my body to normalize itself after the complete shit-show that was my trip to New Orleans. I'm also waiting for some supplemental input (photos, anecdotes, etc.) from my constituents. In the mean time, here's how my first night in New Orleans went:
My trip to NOLA got off to a pretty rough start when 15 minutes before my flight was scheduled to land, the captain came over the intercom stating that there were no lights on the runway of the New Orleans Airport and we would have to land in Baton Rouge. Now, Baton Rouge is only about 70 miles from New Orleans; at the most a 10 minute flight. But of course, we had to wait for almost two hours while the lights were fixed and the plane was re-fueled. During the wait, I called Drew and told him I'd be a little late, to which he replied: "New Orleans is a second world country. Of course there are no lights at the airport!". This was only the first time that I would have to be reminded of New Orleans' status as a place where electricity, indoor plumbing and clean drinking water only exist when and where they want to.
After being picked up at the airport, Drew, KDHL and I went back to Drew's house to unwind. We drank some High Lifes (High Lives?) and Drew cooked some dinner. In the interest of keeping it low-key, we headed to a friendly neighborhood dive bar called Pal's. Pal's claim to fame is that a mentally unstable homeless man came to the bar one night, sat around for a few hours, drank some beers and in general minded his own business. He gets up to leave, then without any provocation whatsoever, stabs someone and kills him. The attendance at Pal's was never truly the same. Drew also claims they have a great juke-box. I, however, do not believe this, seeing that Drew is a hipster douche-bag and only listens to music for the sake of irony. He owns a Rick Astley tape. I shit you not.
Anyways, we get to Pal's, have some drinks and play some air hockey. Word to the wise: never play air hockey with Katie Hunter-Lowery. She will destroy you. The walls of the men's bathroom were plastered with ads, photos and foldouts from old school Playboy magazines. There were tits everywhere. Also a Colt 45 ad featuring Redd Foxx.
After getting nicely sauced, we headed back to Drew's and went to sleep.
My trip to NOLA got off to a pretty rough start when 15 minutes before my flight was scheduled to land, the captain came over the intercom stating that there were no lights on the runway of the New Orleans Airport and we would have to land in Baton Rouge. Now, Baton Rouge is only about 70 miles from New Orleans; at the most a 10 minute flight. But of course, we had to wait for almost two hours while the lights were fixed and the plane was re-fueled. During the wait, I called Drew and told him I'd be a little late, to which he replied: "New Orleans is a second world country. Of course there are no lights at the airport!". This was only the first time that I would have to be reminded of New Orleans' status as a place where electricity, indoor plumbing and clean drinking water only exist when and where they want to.
After being picked up at the airport, Drew, KDHL and I went back to Drew's house to unwind. We drank some High Lifes (High Lives?) and Drew cooked some dinner. In the interest of keeping it low-key, we headed to a friendly neighborhood dive bar called Pal's. Pal's claim to fame is that a mentally unstable homeless man came to the bar one night, sat around for a few hours, drank some beers and in general minded his own business. He gets up to leave, then without any provocation whatsoever, stabs someone and kills him. The attendance at Pal's was never truly the same. Drew also claims they have a great juke-box. I, however, do not believe this, seeing that Drew is a hipster douche-bag and only listens to music for the sake of irony. He owns a Rick Astley tape. I shit you not.
Anyways, we get to Pal's, have some drinks and play some air hockey. Word to the wise: never play air hockey with Katie Hunter-Lowery. She will destroy you. The walls of the men's bathroom were plastered with ads, photos and foldouts from old school Playboy magazines. There were tits everywhere. Also a Colt 45 ad featuring Redd Foxx.
After getting nicely sauced, we headed back to Drew's and went to sleep.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Opening Ceremonies - Berlin
Sam King landed on Sunday morning but I jumped the gun and decided so long as her plane was in the air, the competition in Berlin was on.
Saturday night it snowed and I'm not talking a dainty little dusting here folks, within 10 minutes my street was covered in a thick blanket of the white stuff and neighborhood-wide snow ball battles had begun.
Around 1 myself and a guest Lucy decided it was a good idea to go toast the coming fun-battle with some hot-chocolate and rum. We ordered our drinks and noticed the bartender was slightly tipsy. Seeing an opportunity to make a new friend and possibly have a night of free drinks we struck up a conversation.
Here is a breakdown of the next three hours of my life:
- he called himself 'Mr. Brazil', when asked to elaborate he said: "mmm...beecuuzz I'm HOT trooopicaahl and WEEEHHT!"
- we heard about his years in the German rap trio 'Hobo-Tribe', he claims they were one of the top three German rap groups in the late eighties/early ninties. I'm picturing parachute pants and vanilla ice haircuts. I youtubed but couldn't find anything conclusive.
- claimed to have met Tom Waits and still receives christmas emails from T. Waits that simply say: Farm on.
After a concluding shot of Grappa he slowly stood up, bumped into his glass (it shattered on the ground) stumbled over to the couch on the other side of the bar and took a short power-nap. I wish this was the end but he arose from the dead for another round of beers. Video and photos to follow.
Sam the King left this morning for Prague and will be back next monday for the second leg of this competition. Details on her first 48 hour stint to be posted soon.
Also, I hear Cory and Drew spent most of their time listening to Morrissey while holding each other and weeping softly. Truth?
Saturday night it snowed and I'm not talking a dainty little dusting here folks, within 10 minutes my street was covered in a thick blanket of the white stuff and neighborhood-wide snow ball battles had begun.
Around 1 myself and a guest Lucy decided it was a good idea to go toast the coming fun-battle with some hot-chocolate and rum. We ordered our drinks and noticed the bartender was slightly tipsy. Seeing an opportunity to make a new friend and possibly have a night of free drinks we struck up a conversation.
Here is a breakdown of the next three hours of my life:
- he called himself 'Mr. Brazil', when asked to elaborate he said: "mmm...beecuuzz I'm HOT trooopicaahl and WEEEHHT!"
- we heard about his years in the German rap trio 'Hobo-Tribe', he claims they were one of the top three German rap groups in the late eighties/early ninties. I'm picturing parachute pants and vanilla ice haircuts. I youtubed but couldn't find anything conclusive.
- claimed to have met Tom Waits and still receives christmas emails from T. Waits that simply say: Farm on.
After a concluding shot of Grappa he slowly stood up, bumped into his glass (it shattered on the ground) stumbled over to the couch on the other side of the bar and took a short power-nap. I wish this was the end but he arose from the dead for another round of beers. Video and photos to follow.
Sam the King left this morning for Prague and will be back next monday for the second leg of this competition. Details on her first 48 hour stint to be posted soon.
Also, I hear Cory and Drew spent most of their time listening to Morrissey while holding each other and weeping softly. Truth?
I reject your wretched contest
But, only because I was not invited to participate. However, it is lucky for you that I was not, for I would have won, hands down. My weekend was the funnest fun that could ever be imagined in fun land.
Monday, November 24, 2008
"They were watching, out there past men's knowing, where stars are drowning and whales ferry their vast souls through the black and seamless sea."
just a quick weekend recap:
5:30 pm, Thursday: the first call. Drew Stephan. Seemingly sober.
5:45 am, Friday: my phone was charging across the room and started vibrating violently. After 10 or so long rings, it ended.
5:46 am, Friday. Again. A second miss call and a voice mail from Drew. Literally, all giggles.
1:56 pm Saturday. A pleasant call from katie with a mostly sober fun-off status update. Only a few giggles.
5:34am, Sunday. All giggles and the sound of Cory and Drew screaming DOCTOR WABOTTOMLEY. and then some more giggles
where you at sam? Everyone else? Send me emails or something.
my weekend was not particularly exciting but i did drink a lot last night and have a midterm in a hour or so. Good life choices include blogging instead of studying. Ugh. I hate myself for this.
Drew asked that I set some parameters. I have thought about this for a while and I am going to set two independent tasks.
Sam, I want you to steal contraceptives in every country you go to.
Cory, I want you to kill a prostitute.
I mean, I want you to get a prostitutes phone number. Sam too actually. Then you will both give them to me and fly me to your respective locations where I can hang out and reminisce with said prostitutes.
i should stop writing.
5:30 pm, Thursday: the first call. Drew Stephan. Seemingly sober.
5:45 am, Friday: my phone was charging across the room and started vibrating violently. After 10 or so long rings, it ended.
5:46 am, Friday. Again. A second miss call and a voice mail from Drew. Literally, all giggles.
1:56 pm Saturday. A pleasant call from katie with a mostly sober fun-off status update. Only a few giggles.
5:34am, Sunday. All giggles and the sound of Cory and Drew screaming DOCTOR WABOTTOMLEY. and then some more giggles
where you at sam? Everyone else? Send me emails or something.
my weekend was not particularly exciting but i did drink a lot last night and have a midterm in a hour or so. Good life choices include blogging instead of studying. Ugh. I hate myself for this.
Drew asked that I set some parameters. I have thought about this for a while and I am going to set two independent tasks.
Sam, I want you to steal contraceptives in every country you go to.
Cory, I want you to kill a prostitute.
I mean, I want you to get a prostitutes phone number. Sam too actually. Then you will both give them to me and fly me to your respective locations where I can hang out and reminisce with said prostitutes.
i should stop writing.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
The Dark Fun Horse
So, I'm happy you're all having your "fun", but let me tell you, from one funner to another, my fun is more fun. I had so much fun on Thursday night that I was very late to work. I drove 80 mph blasting Lightning Bolt getting there in 10 minutes less time than it normally would take. Yay! I missed a meeting that I scheduled with my boss, and head of another department.
Oops!
I went into the weekend with no plans, Sking re-enacting ‘The Sound of Music’ and the Big Cat in the Big Easy. Shucks. I asked Chairman what I should do, but the fatty only Meow’d, put his butt into the air and drooled on the couch. The beast was no help.
Kallen and I figured we should at least buy beer, which we did. We walked to Allston because, exercise is fun and the 66 is not. We got some whiskey and partied throughout the night, I didn’t throw up! Kallen got a job at a porn store and I passed out on a couch. I also ate a lot of food all day the next day, watched Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, paid my respects to Paul Newman by eating Fig Newmans and went to a party in the apartment below us.
Ho! I nearly forgot! Best part is, we only paid 2 dollars for public transportation, so although you might think you had more fun than us, our fun:dollar ratio is like a bajillion times better. So there!
Endeavour astronauts complete third spacewalk, Sam King GRR arrives in Berlin
I am in Berlin!
I arrived at 10 AM this morning (4 AM EST), after a harrowing flight from New York. There was some sort of pre-teen USA dance team on my flight. They all wore their hair in matching pigtails and had team USA track suits. Their parents were insufferable stage moms and dads. While we were waiting to take off they showed off with fancy claps and cheers and then they started wagging their fingers all around and giggling. I hated them.
But, I am here now and Paul is making eggs and I am cold drinkin' German High-C with mineral water. Soon, we will go on a walk and explore the city.
It snowed here last night, so Berlin was dressed up in her fanciest fresh snow outfit when I landed-- TAKE THAT TEAM NEW ORLEANS!!!
I arrived at 10 AM this morning (4 AM EST), after a harrowing flight from New York. There was some sort of pre-teen USA dance team on my flight. They all wore their hair in matching pigtails and had team USA track suits. Their parents were insufferable stage moms and dads. While we were waiting to take off they showed off with fancy claps and cheers and then they started wagging their fingers all around and giggling. I hated them.
But, I am here now and Paul is making eggs and I am cold drinkin' German High-C with mineral water. Soon, we will go on a walk and explore the city.
It snowed here last night, so Berlin was dressed up in her fanciest fresh snow outfit when I landed-- TAKE THAT TEAM NEW ORLEANS!!!
Friday, November 21, 2008
Ha! Points for team New Orleans!
I just received this text from the soon-to-be-loser of the fun-off, Samantha King, Grr:
"It does not matter what you are doing right now, you are having more fun than me. Being gead [sic] hungover on the fung wah is a tragic fun fail."
True that! Prepare for MANY MORE, HUSSY!!!
"It does not matter what you are doing right now, you are having more fun than me. Being gead [sic] hungover on the fung wah is a tragic fun fail."
True that! Prepare for MANY MORE, HUSSY!!!
Thursday, November 20, 2008
i really like cormac mccarthy. sorry.
The judge looked about him. He was sat before the fire naked save for his breeches and his hands rested palm down upon his knees. His eyes were empty slots. None among the company harbored any notion as to what this attitude implied, yet so like an icon was he in his sitting that they grew cautious and spoke with circumspection among themselves as if they would not waken something that had better been left sleeping.
__________
Whatever exists, he said. Whatever in creation exists without my knowledge exists without my consent.
He looked about at the dark forest in which they were bivouacked. He nodded toward the specimans he'd collected. These anonymous creatures, he said, may seem little or nothing in the world. Yet the smallest crumb can devour us. Any small thing beneath yon rock out of men's knowing. Only nature can enslave man and only when the existence of every last entity is routed out and made to stand naked before him will he be properly suzerain of the earth.
Whats a suzerain?
A Keeper. A keeper or overlord.
Why not say a keeper then?
Because he is a special kind of keeper. A suzerain rules even where there are other rulers. His authority countermands local judgements.
Toadvine spat.
Only nature can enslave man and only when the existence of each last entity is routed out and made to stand naked before him will he be properly suzerain of the earth.
The judge placed his hands on the ground. He looked at his inquisitor. This is my claim, he said. And yet everywhere upon it are pockets of autonomous life. Autonomous. In order for it to be mine nothing must be permitted to occur upon it save by my dispensation.
Toadvine sat with his boots crossed before the fire. No man can acquaint himself with everything on this earth, he said.
The judge tilted his great head. The man who believes that the secrets of this world are forever hidden lives in mystery and fear. Superstition will drag him down. The rain will erode the deeds of his life. But that man who sets himself the task of singling out the thread of order from the tapestry will by the decision alone have taken charge of the world and it is only by such taking charge that he will effect a way to dictate the terms of his own fate
__________
Whatever exists, he said. Whatever in creation exists without my knowledge exists without my consent.
He looked about at the dark forest in which they were bivouacked. He nodded toward the specimans he'd collected. These anonymous creatures, he said, may seem little or nothing in the world. Yet the smallest crumb can devour us. Any small thing beneath yon rock out of men's knowing. Only nature can enslave man and only when the existence of every last entity is routed out and made to stand naked before him will he be properly suzerain of the earth.
Whats a suzerain?
A Keeper. A keeper or overlord.
Why not say a keeper then?
Because he is a special kind of keeper. A suzerain rules even where there are other rulers. His authority countermands local judgements.
Toadvine spat.
Only nature can enslave man and only when the existence of each last entity is routed out and made to stand naked before him will he be properly suzerain of the earth.
The judge placed his hands on the ground. He looked at his inquisitor. This is my claim, he said. And yet everywhere upon it are pockets of autonomous life. Autonomous. In order for it to be mine nothing must be permitted to occur upon it save by my dispensation.
Toadvine sat with his boots crossed before the fire. No man can acquaint himself with everything on this earth, he said.
The judge tilted his great head. The man who believes that the secrets of this world are forever hidden lives in mystery and fear. Superstition will drag him down. The rain will erode the deeds of his life. But that man who sets himself the task of singling out the thread of order from the tapestry will by the decision alone have taken charge of the world and it is only by such taking charge that he will effect a way to dictate the terms of his own fate
The Judge
Rumor has it that I am going to be judging this event. I accept. I only ask that all sirs not appearing make an effort to outdo Cory and Sam's traveling exploits because we all know its one thing to shit on far away places but real strength comes from shitting in your own backyard.
From here out I will be posting quotes from Blood Meridian from possibly the most badass character ever: The Judge
And finally, could the final award ceremony maybe fall the same day as man of the year? Just throwing it on the table
From here out I will be posting quotes from Blood Meridian from possibly the most badass character ever: The Judge
And finally, could the final award ceremony maybe fall the same day as man of the year? Just throwing it on the table
Attn: Sam King grrr
It has come to my attention through various unknown sources (i.e. Drew/KDHL) that you and I will be vacationing at roughly the same time in two entirely different geographical locations, thereby necessitating some sort of stupid/unnecessary contest. The term "Fun-Off" was mentioned. Possibly more than once.
With that said, I hereby challenge you to said "Fun-Off".
As I see it, there are three possible sets of rules for said "Fun-Off":
A) We could hold a contest with several categories (i.e. "Most Fun Things Accomplished", "Best Photo", "Best Drunk Dial", "Strangest Drunken Encounter", "Most Titties Viewed in a Men's Room Stall at a Bar in New Orleans", "Best Supporting Actor", etc.) with a vote by the general public to determine the winner
B) Have some kind of fucked up scavenger hunt
or
C) A combination of both A and B.
In terms of duration, anything that occurs within the overlapping time period in which you get to Germany and I leave New Orleans is fair game.
The prize has yet to be determined.
Please post any suggestions/ideas you may have for "Fun-Off 2008".
With that said, I hereby challenge you to said "Fun-Off".
As I see it, there are three possible sets of rules for said "Fun-Off":
A) We could hold a contest with several categories (i.e. "Most Fun Things Accomplished", "Best Photo", "Best Drunk Dial", "Strangest Drunken Encounter", "Most Titties Viewed in a Men's Room Stall at a Bar in New Orleans", "Best Supporting Actor", etc.) with a vote by the general public to determine the winner
B) Have some kind of fucked up scavenger hunt
or
C) A combination of both A and B.
In terms of duration, anything that occurs within the overlapping time period in which you get to Germany and I leave New Orleans is fair game.
The prize has yet to be determined.
Please post any suggestions/ideas you may have for "Fun-Off 2008".
Live Blogging- Cory in New Orleans!
Cory Cocomazzi is setting up his pull out bed in Drew's living room. Now he's opening his suitcase. Cory is plugging in his cell phone to charge it and drinking water to avoid a hangover. How responsible!
Is this how live blogging works I don't really understand.
Is this how live blogging works I don't really understand.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
let us never forget
ted stevens lost his seat to mark begich last night as the final ballots were counted in the alaskan senate race. but let us never forget his series of tubes.
heroes get remembered sir, but legends never die.
heroes get remembered sir, but legends never die.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
I shall start with this weekend
Yesterday, being Saturday and what we like to refer to as a weekend, a fellow volunteer and I decided to make the two and a half hour trek to town.
Rosaria da Limeira is the name of said town and at 13 kilometers distance it is the closest thing to us that even closely resembles civilization, however faintly.
I awoke that morning at 8:30, and upon looking out the window, found the day to be extremely fair, which, after an entire week of nothing but rain was quite encouraging. And, feeling not a little proud of myself for managing to get out of bed before 9, especially on a weekend, I started down the hill to the kitchen expecting to be one of the first people up (except, of course, for my 63 year old house mate who rises and falls with the sun).
I didn't even make it a quarter of the way down before running into my soon to be walking companion, who I will henceforth refer to as Evan, that being his name. Evan was presumably on his way up to my house to wake me, because upon meeting him he tuned around and accompanied me the rest of the way to the kitchen. He expressed a desire to leave for town as soon as possible, as there was no telling how long the nice weather was going to hold out. I agreed with this. Experience as well as common sense tells me that in the rain forest during rainy season it tends to rain, a lot, especially in the afternoon. I was also in a bit of a time crunch, as I had promised to go to a meeting of local farmers which started at 2 pm. I communicated this to Evan. "We can get a ride back, there will be plenty of time" was his matter of fact response and it was agreed upon to leave presently. As no one else in our little group seemed at all inlined to join in on the arduous trip, the two of us set out alone.
The sun was brilliant and the mountain roads steep, the combination of which was brutal. En rout, I tried to imagine that I was on a great journey for a noble cause when really I was only curious about life in my new village and desperate for a diet coke. But, even as sweat soaked through my shirt and the sun burnt my shoulders there was no way to overlook the absolutely breathtaking beauty of our surroundings (picture to follow).
After what felt like decades, but was really just under 3 hours, we turned a bend and saw in front of us collection of colorful cement buildings nestled between the hills. "There is is" Evan pointed out, in the same matter of fact tone I had become familiar with, as he seemed to rely on it for all necessary speech. "Praise be!!" I responded, in tone that was considerably more animated and, I felt, more appropriate to the occasion.
We quickened the pace in this final stretch and before long found ourselves weaving between the beat-up Volkswagens, scraggly dogs and busy pedestrians that lined the narrow roads to the soundtrack of a variety of local radio stations that blasted out of almost every window.
Coming to the main square at last, we rushed into the corner bar to rehydrate ourselves before getting on with the necessary purchases we had come so far to make. Mine, being just a diet coke, did not take long. So, I followed Evan around as he visited a few more stores and after that is was time to turn around and go back.
I may have been inclined to hang around a little longer in order to take in a bit of local culture, but, the farmers meeting called and we set off in search of a ride back.
All together an exhilarating start to the weekend.
Rosaria da Limeira is the name of said town and at 13 kilometers distance it is the closest thing to us that even closely resembles civilization, however faintly.
I awoke that morning at 8:30, and upon looking out the window, found the day to be extremely fair, which, after an entire week of nothing but rain was quite encouraging. And, feeling not a little proud of myself for managing to get out of bed before 9, especially on a weekend, I started down the hill to the kitchen expecting to be one of the first people up (except, of course, for my 63 year old house mate who rises and falls with the sun).
I didn't even make it a quarter of the way down before running into my soon to be walking companion, who I will henceforth refer to as Evan, that being his name. Evan was presumably on his way up to my house to wake me, because upon meeting him he tuned around and accompanied me the rest of the way to the kitchen. He expressed a desire to leave for town as soon as possible, as there was no telling how long the nice weather was going to hold out. I agreed with this. Experience as well as common sense tells me that in the rain forest during rainy season it tends to rain, a lot, especially in the afternoon. I was also in a bit of a time crunch, as I had promised to go to a meeting of local farmers which started at 2 pm. I communicated this to Evan. "We can get a ride back, there will be plenty of time" was his matter of fact response and it was agreed upon to leave presently. As no one else in our little group seemed at all inlined to join in on the arduous trip, the two of us set out alone.
The sun was brilliant and the mountain roads steep, the combination of which was brutal. En rout, I tried to imagine that I was on a great journey for a noble cause when really I was only curious about life in my new village and desperate for a diet coke. But, even as sweat soaked through my shirt and the sun burnt my shoulders there was no way to overlook the absolutely breathtaking beauty of our surroundings (picture to follow).
After what felt like decades, but was really just under 3 hours, we turned a bend and saw in front of us collection of colorful cement buildings nestled between the hills. "There is is" Evan pointed out, in the same matter of fact tone I had become familiar with, as he seemed to rely on it for all necessary speech. "Praise be!!" I responded, in tone that was considerably more animated and, I felt, more appropriate to the occasion.
We quickened the pace in this final stretch and before long found ourselves weaving between the beat-up Volkswagens, scraggly dogs and busy pedestrians that lined the narrow roads to the soundtrack of a variety of local radio stations that blasted out of almost every window.
Coming to the main square at last, we rushed into the corner bar to rehydrate ourselves before getting on with the necessary purchases we had come so far to make. Mine, being just a diet coke, did not take long. So, I followed Evan around as he visited a few more stores and after that is was time to turn around and go back.
I may have been inclined to hang around a little longer in order to take in a bit of local culture, but, the farmers meeting called and we set off in search of a ride back.
All together an exhilarating start to the weekend.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Lazy double posting!
Ok! I made a post on my blog over here! Fun!
Also, this is a funny story from the NYT today. Turns out Sarah Palin didn't actually think that Africa was a country, wah wah. However, when Greta Van Hoobengrabben confronted her with the question, she couldn't help but stumble through her answer:
Uh huh.
Also, she felt like she needed to take a shot at the true villains in this whole election cycle - EVIL LIBERAL BLOGGERS.
I think she might be reading Wonkette, too - seems like she had to hold back from saying "just cold talkin' garbage."
(For the record, I found this post, which explains that, yea, I'm sure these bloggers sit in their parents' basements, because that's what everyone with master's degrees do, right?)
So the moral of the story is, evidently anyone with a blog and enough chutzpah could become a John McCain adviser. Yea, that sounds about right.
FINALLY, the public service announcement part of this post - people should start commenting again! I know that I've been as guilty of non-posting-ness as everyone else, but I wanna hear what all you funny liberals have to say! (Non-funny/non-liberals can comment too, but only in their best impersonation of a funny liberal (if such a thing exists!).)
Also, this is a funny story from the NYT today. Turns out Sarah Palin didn't actually think that Africa was a country, wah wah. However, when Greta Van Hoobengrabben confronted her with the question, she couldn't help but stumble through her answer:
We discussed what was going on in Africa. And never, ever did I talk about, well, gee, is it a country or is it a continent.
Uh huh.
Also, she felt like she needed to take a shot at the true villains in this whole election cycle - EVIL LIBERAL BLOGGERS.
Ms. Palin directed most of her media criticism at liberal bloggers, whom she twice called, “those bloggers in their parents’ basement just talkin’ garbage.”
I think she might be reading Wonkette, too - seems like she had to hold back from saying "just cold talkin' garbage."
(For the record, I found this post, which explains that, yea, I'm sure these bloggers sit in their parents' basements, because that's what everyone with master's degrees do, right?)
So the moral of the story is, evidently anyone with a blog and enough chutzpah could become a John McCain adviser. Yea, that sounds about right.
FINALLY, the public service announcement part of this post - people should start commenting again! I know that I've been as guilty of non-posting-ness as everyone else, but I wanna hear what all you funny liberals have to say! (Non-funny/non-liberals can comment too, but only in their best impersonation of a funny liberal (if such a thing exists!).)
Thursday, November 6, 2008
free-basing hope, shooting up change
months ago we swore this wouldn't become a political blog (it's friend blog damnit). but we are political beasts with a record of breaking promises. so, whats one more post about hopey?
OHMYGOD HAVE YOU SEEN HIS TRANSITION WEBSITE OHMYGOD ITS SO EFFING AWESOME. yes, that's right. it's change dot gov. dot gov! look at his agenda. just look at it.
OHMYGOD HAVE YOU SEEN HIS TRANSITION WEBSITE OHMYGOD ITS SO EFFING AWESOME. yes, that's right. it's change dot gov. dot gov! look at his agenda. just look at it.
WhoaBama
He got elected! Only 2 days and the crazies already find an over the top way to be insulting! I wonder if this is true:
http://www.democraticunderground.com/discuss/duboard.php?az=view_all&address=132x7800850
http://www.democraticunderground.com/discuss/duboard.php?az=view_all&address=132x7800850
Monday, November 3, 2008
Halloween or Election Day, which is scarier?
Halloween was aaawweessome. I think there are many pictures of me on the internet taken by strangers. I was so proud bc I feel like it's hard to impress people in New Orleans with costumes but having no head apparently does it.
L-R:The Grey Ghost aka Fred Ratke, Professor Plum, Calvin and Hobbes, Headless Marie Antoinette, Ignatius Reilly
Now I'm in California. Here's a flyer from some people who hate the gays:
...Oh wait, THAT'S NOT TRUE. So yesterday rockstar Julie Verratti, and I did an emergency lit drop in Oakland yesterday that was like Fuck that Shit, Obama Says NO ON 8. We sped up gentrification by 15 years by sending rich, white gay men to walk around neighborhoods. I'm sure some of them are already looking into buying up property there. ("I didn't realize how adorable these neighborhoods are out here!")
I also had to deal with the craziest bitch I have ever encountered in organizing who threw her hand in my face and yelled "I'll deal with you later" bc I wouldn't send my volunteers out to do voter IDs, since ya know, that's not what we were supposed to be doing. If you're doing voter IDs on November 2nd, you're an idiot. If you think Obama won't win Oakland, you're fucking crazy. It was a logisital nightmare but we got out 36,000 flyers. WOOO!
The office here is amazing, there are so many people. A lot of Mass Equality, HRC and just really really dedicated volunteers. It's all so exciting but nerve racking too. The latest poll said we were ahead 50% to 47%. Absurdly close!
Also, here's a picture I found of Kri:
L-R:The Grey Ghost aka Fred Ratke, Professor Plum, Calvin and Hobbes, Headless Marie Antoinette, Ignatius Reilly
Now I'm in California. Here's a flyer from some people who hate the gays:
...Oh wait, THAT'S NOT TRUE. So yesterday rockstar Julie Verratti, and I did an emergency lit drop in Oakland yesterday that was like Fuck that Shit, Obama Says NO ON 8. We sped up gentrification by 15 years by sending rich, white gay men to walk around neighborhoods. I'm sure some of them are already looking into buying up property there. ("I didn't realize how adorable these neighborhoods are out here!")
I also had to deal with the craziest bitch I have ever encountered in organizing who threw her hand in my face and yelled "I'll deal with you later" bc I wouldn't send my volunteers out to do voter IDs, since ya know, that's not what we were supposed to be doing. If you're doing voter IDs on November 2nd, you're an idiot. If you think Obama won't win Oakland, you're fucking crazy. It was a logisital nightmare but we got out 36,000 flyers. WOOO!
The office here is amazing, there are so many people. A lot of Mass Equality, HRC and just really really dedicated volunteers. It's all so exciting but nerve racking too. The latest poll said we were ahead 50% to 47%. Absurdly close!
Also, here's a picture I found of Kri:
Friday, October 31, 2008
US Economy: Consumers Throw in `the Towel' as Spending Falls
this foto of dogs dressed up like fast food makes me hungry.
this dog looks like an actual pirate.
this dog got stabbed in the face.
i really like bugs.
this isnt even a costume. someone call MSPCA.
they are not klan-dogs, they are just racist ghost dogs.
this dog looks like an actual pirate.
this dog got stabbed in the face.
i really like bugs.
this isnt even a costume. someone call MSPCA.
they are not klan-dogs, they are just racist ghost dogs.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Sunshine and Rainbows
Lately there has been a lot of angst and anger on this blog. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for it. Bash the Palinatics, sneer at those hipsters and rip on Barbara West as she accuses all Demos of being Scandinavians who read their children Marx as bed-time stories.
But, today I came across this. It made me happy and I want to share it with you.
But, today I came across this. It made me happy and I want to share it with you.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Um, Silva?
Hi Allison. Is there something you've been meaning to tell us?
You've been moonlighting as a paparazzi, and a male one at that? Very clever, but it's clear that your thing for Ted "Theodore" Logan would come to interfere sooner or later.
You've been moonlighting as a paparazzi, and a male one at that? Very clever, but it's clear that your thing for Ted "Theodore" Logan would come to interfere sooner or later.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Just when Fox News has you thinking, "Okay Palintards, you can't POSSIBLY get worse"...
They come up with this shit.
The basic gist of the article is that Obama, as a community organizer is Chicago, was a "disciple" of Saul Alinsky, who was one of the chief architects of the modern community organizing movement in Chicago.
Yea, not tenuous at all.
Getting past that, though, is the least of our concerns. Pinkerton then goes on to assert that Alinsky's epigraph to his seminal book "Rules For Radicals" means that he's a "Lucifer admirer." The epigraph goes:
If any of these mouth breathers bothered to read further than the title page of the book, though, they'd find out that Alinsky was clearly being glib. One of his central tenets of being a successful organizer is HAVING A SENSE OF HUMOR. But of course, liberal = godless sodomite = SATANIST. And so, Alinsky, and by tenuous association Obama, LOVES LUCIFER.
Tragically, as Pinkerton points out, "the Obama-Alinsky-Lucifer connection is left to float around in the vast soup of the Internet—plenty of mentions, here and there, but no real impact." Until now, libtards!!! Eat it up and watch That One lose!!!
My favorite part, though, is always when Fox, inevitably, plays victim to the dirty mainstream liberal gun-stealing media:
Lulz!!!!
Oh also, this video from Kos made my day so hard.
The basic gist of the article is that Obama, as a community organizer is Chicago, was a "disciple" of Saul Alinsky, who was one of the chief architects of the modern community organizing movement in Chicago.
Obama is an on-the-record fan too: Fund quotes The Washington Post’s Peter Slevin, writing in 2007, “Obama embraced many of Alinsky’s tactics and recently said his years as an organizer gave him the best education of his life.” Slevin further noted that Obama’s and Hillary Rodham Clinton’s “common connection to Alinsky is one of the striking aspects of their biographies.”
Yea, not tenuous at all.
Getting past that, though, is the least of our concerns. Pinkerton then goes on to assert that Alinsky's epigraph to his seminal book "Rules For Radicals" means that he's a "Lucifer admirer." The epigraph goes:
Lest we forget at least an over the shoulder acknowledgement of the very first radical, from all our legends, mythology, and history … the first radical known to man who rebelled against the establishment and did it so effectively that he at least won his own kingdom—Lucifer.
If any of these mouth breathers bothered to read further than the title page of the book, though, they'd find out that Alinsky was clearly being glib. One of his central tenets of being a successful organizer is HAVING A SENSE OF HUMOR. But of course, liberal = godless sodomite = SATANIST. And so, Alinsky, and by tenuous association Obama, LOVES LUCIFER.
Tragically, as Pinkerton points out, "the Obama-Alinsky-Lucifer connection is left to float around in the vast soup of the Internet—plenty of mentions, here and there, but no real impact." Until now, libtards!!! Eat it up and watch That One lose!!!
My favorite part, though, is always when Fox, inevitably, plays victim to the dirty mainstream liberal gun-stealing media:
OK, so the Alinsky-Obama connection is real. But the full truth about Alinsky, and whom he admired, is so wacky, or so horrible, that even the media have been reluctant to get into the story. And so it has received relatively little play. Oh sure, if John McCain had expressed admiration for a Lucifer admirer, that would have been news, but as we all know, there’s a media double standard on such things. That media bias is lamentable, of course, but for a Republican, it’s part of the strategic landscape—one more roadblock to factor into any GOP victory strategy.
Lulz!!!!
Oh also, this video from Kos made my day so hard.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Sorry to be a bum out
Lo siento amigos, I feel bad being a Depressing Devon on sirnotappearing when really what I want to do is post lists and pictures of cats saying LOL but here is some crazy bad news:
Final Call Article
PARIS, Texas (FinalCall.com) - When the body of a 24-year-old Black man in Paris, Texas was discovered in the middle of a busy road, law enforcement declared the case a hit and run by an unidentified driver.
Forensics performed by the Texas Rangers found blood from Mr. McClelland and other DNA evidence on the undercarriage of the truck which has the victim's family calling the death a "Jasper-style" lynching. The term is a reference to the murder of a Black man in Jasper, Texas in 1998.
"This was not a hit and run. They (Finley's family) hid the truck and even tried to wash the blood off. The police didn't even tape off the crime scene and some of my son's body parts were still lying out there," said Ms. McClelland, as she wiped away tears.
IndyMedia
Final Call Article
PARIS, Texas (FinalCall.com) - When the body of a 24-year-old Black man in Paris, Texas was discovered in the middle of a busy road, law enforcement declared the case a hit and run by an unidentified driver.
Now this small racially-divided town's worst fears are brewing, with evidence pointing towards two White men who picked up Brandon Clelland in their Dodge truck before he was found mutilated and dismembered in September.
Forensics performed by the Texas Rangers found blood from Mr. McClelland and other DNA evidence on the undercarriage of the truck which has the victim's family calling the death a "Jasper-style" lynching. The term is a reference to the murder of a Black man in Jasper, Texas in 1998.
"This was not a hit and run. They (Finley's family) hid the truck and even tried to wash the blood off. The police didn't even tape off the crime scene and some of my son's body parts were still lying out there," said Ms. McClelland, as she wiped away tears.
IndyMedia
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
bear-ly legal
so i think that anyone who has spent more than five minutes with me knows that bears rank at the tip-top of my top five favorite animals list. so you can imagine my horror when i read this.
why write an angry blog post when wonkette already has? and so explicitly!
"Here’s a fun “treasure” map for everyone who wishes to know where the real Bitters in this country dwell: take any wide East Coast state — North Carolina, Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New York — start at the ocean, move directly west through the beaches and the cornfields, then the cities and centers of commerce, the suburbs, the exurbs, more fields, and after a few hours you’ll reach some foothills, and it is there, in any of these states, that you’ll find places like Cullowhee, North Carolina, where dead bloody black bears [oh now we get it! -- Ed.] are left on college campuses and covered in Obama signs for no reason at all beyond meth, moonshine, racism, inbreeding, and a complete break with the unwritten rules of basic decency that supposedly govern a civilized society.
Cullowhee is immediately southeast of Great Smoky Mountain National Park, where there are bears EVERYWHERE, and so a couple of mouth-breathers found one and killed it and decided, “Right quick let’s done put this bear on the fancy schoolgrounds with some dem signs of the teevee Mooslim all atop it like, haw haw haw.”"
SERIOUSLY WTF?
Monday, October 20, 2008
Our cliché party has nothing on these
Back from Detroit and bogged down with a crippling amount of responsibility, I decided the best thing to do was procrastinate on the interwebz. I thought perhaps another "lists" idea could involve something about Halloween costumes. In a terrible accident I happened upon a frightening number of non-ironic costumes. For your viewing pleasure:
Trophy Wife
Dignity Not Included
Sexy Anna Rexia
Comes in Plus Sizes!
Sex [sic] Corrupt Cop Costume
because there's nothing sexier than a corrupt cop. Faux razor blade necklace included. Great for...doing blow? cutting yourself? both?
Rapsta' Boys Costume
Blackface for the kiddies!
and the toddlers....
Blow Pop Child Costume
Just. wrong.
Trophy Wife
Dignity Not Included
Sexy Anna Rexia
Comes in Plus Sizes!
Sex [sic] Corrupt Cop Costume
because there's nothing sexier than a corrupt cop. Faux razor blade necklace included. Great for...doing blow? cutting yourself? both?
Rapsta' Boys CostumeBlackface for the kiddies!
and the toddlers....Blow Pop Child Costume
Just. wrong.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
you know you're a hipster if:
1) you use the term pejoratively all the while knowing full well that you're classified as such by passersby
2) you own a pair of converse allstars and call them chucks
3) your walls have spraypaint and/or chalk on them instead of elitist framed paintings
4) you own a pair of raybans (knockoffs if you're nasty)
5) your fanny pack is full of the only necessities in life: pbr, whiskey and a pack of cigarettes
6) you wear your scarf in the "pepper-spray ready" position to go to the sweaty hipster dance party
7) you read gawker
8) your blog posts are written to inspire lolzing and reference gawker
9) you feel weird in flared jeans
10) your hipster glory kodak moment has been captured by a complete stranger and published to the interwebz (which is something you'd never know if it weren't for the fact that you peruse several weekendpartyupdate blogs (in case you might be featured on one)).
11) (because top ten lists are soooo mainstream) you think it's funny that my cat just pawed across my computer screen and typed this: "-p00000"
Thursday, October 16, 2008
OMG we're hipsters!
So Friday night we went to 80s night at One Eyed Jack's in the French Quarter. We had a pre-party (at our friend's sweet apartment above the bookshop he works at) and even a pre-pre-party where we made pizza, watched part of Purple Rain and dressed in as many clashing articles of clothing as we could. Then this happened, though I don't quite remember it:
Um, yea.
(The whole gallery.)
Then, KDHL has to go and send out this article which, like every other article I've ever read in Adbusters, makes me want die for ever having bought anything.
Um, yea.
(The whole gallery.)
Then, KDHL has to go and send out this article which, like every other article I've ever read in Adbusters, makes me want die for ever having bought anything.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
a good wife always knows her place
i am feeling very pestilent this afternoon. and, no, its not because of the chronic nosebleeds i have been experiencing as of late. nor is it because my face swelled to inappropriate proportions while i slumbered last night. but, thanks for asking. the truth is i was on facebook earlier today, judging high school friends (you know how we do) and one of my friends posted photos of her honeymoon. i couldn't help but notice all of the comments were to the effect of "wow you are the hottest wife ever" and "you guys are such an attractive couple, you'll have such beautiful babies". i found these comments totally offensive.
shouldn't we as, twenty-something women want to be something more than a trophy wife and/or baby farm? shouldn't we be offended when our closest friends comment only on our looks and gene pool?
but she wasn't offended. she was flattered. i think it's super sad that the smart and interesting girls i grew up with are now just perpetuating the stupid role of obedient wife, mother and housekeeper.
i stumbled, via jezebel, onto the Good Wife's Guide from the May 1955 issue of Housekeeping Monthly. what i find most upsetting about this guide is that women my age actually adhere to some of these tips, even today. like, my fucking god, really? anyway the guide is pasted below for your viewing pleasure. that being said, have i told you lately, that you are all super hawt?
shouldn't we as, twenty-something women want to be something more than a trophy wife and/or baby farm? shouldn't we be offended when our closest friends comment only on our looks and gene pool?
but she wasn't offended. she was flattered. i think it's super sad that the smart and interesting girls i grew up with are now just perpetuating the stupid role of obedient wife, mother and housekeeper.
i stumbled, via jezebel, onto the Good Wife's Guide from the May 1955 issue of Housekeeping Monthly. what i find most upsetting about this guide is that women my age actually adhere to some of these tips, even today. like, my fucking god, really? anyway the guide is pasted below for your viewing pleasure. that being said, have i told you lately, that you are all super hawt?
Monday, October 13, 2008
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Journey to the Suburbs
Yesterday mid morning Drew and I pulled ourselves together, after a night of 80's dancing and whiskey induced black outs for my colleague, to go to the Gumbo Festival. The governor of Louisiana issued a proclamation in 1973 that declared Bridge City to be the "Gumbo Capital of the World." The town is about 6 blocks long and aptly named because it is practically under the Huey P. Long Bridge.
Biking along the earthen levee is sooo nice and definitely the smoothest road in New Orleans. But we got to the bridge and learned biking across is impossible and walking would've been terrifying. So we hitchhiked over in the back of a pickup and then walked the rest of the way. The festival was so cute with lots of old people and food and carnival rides. Sadly no carnies that I could see. But we did get to watch a kid throw up on one of the rides.
We hitched back with a guy who had no apprehensions about turning his soul music up real loud and singing along about how Mama won't cheat you or something. We spent the rest of the day invading suburbia by bicycle visiting such parkway hot spots as Barnes and Noble , a sporting goods store and Target. In true mall rat fashion we didn't buy anything at Target, just walked around touching stuff. Then we looked for Vietnamese food that was closed, got some sushi, realized we were practically at the airport and started the 17 mile bike ride home. Our complete 34 mile route:I was going to sell beer at the Saints game today for extra cash but woke up really really sore so we slept till noon and made pizza instead. Now I've been writing this blog post instead of doing my midterms. Thank you Jesus for giving us this day of rest.
Biking along the earthen levee is sooo nice and definitely the smoothest road in New Orleans. But we got to the bridge and learned biking across is impossible and walking would've been terrifying. So we hitchhiked over in the back of a pickup and then walked the rest of the way. The festival was so cute with lots of old people and food and carnival rides. Sadly no carnies that I could see. But we did get to watch a kid throw up on one of the rides.
We hitched back with a guy who had no apprehensions about turning his soul music up real loud and singing along about how Mama won't cheat you or something. We spent the rest of the day invading suburbia by bicycle visiting such parkway hot spots as Barnes and Noble , a sporting goods store and Target. In true mall rat fashion we didn't buy anything at Target, just walked around touching stuff. Then we looked for Vietnamese food that was closed, got some sushi, realized we were practically at the airport and started the 17 mile bike ride home. Our complete 34 mile route:I was going to sell beer at the Saints game today for extra cash but woke up really really sore so we slept till noon and made pizza instead. Now I've been writing this blog post instead of doing my midterms. Thank you Jesus for giving us this day of rest.
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