Watchmen

I was disturbed by the movie (bedroom cryfest over violence) so I decided to go out and buy my FIRST EVER COMIC BOOK to recapitulate and hopefully salvage something out of the first-row movie experience that left me feeling...like a girl. I went into the store and asked this nerdy guy to sell me a good 'un, and he directed me to Watchmen by Allen Moore. I was a little skeptical at first, but the more I read the book, the more I loved it. Esp all of the references that would make a high school English teacher all hot and bothered. My faves were the Gunga Diner, taken from Rudyard Kipling's poem Gunga Din, and the name of the band "Pale Horse."

zack G

cruciferous photo shoot

Neurotics

I've recently been occupied with tracking down the underground cult of Newsies followers. Although the Disney movie flopped when it came out in theaters in 1992, it has acquired a modest following through the web. What does that mean, you might wonder? It means meticulous lists, puzzles, endless fan vids, and unapologetic fan sites about their mild "obsession."

I recently found this website, "Mush's Goil," devoted to everything Newsies, with a new quotation updated every week:

http://mushsgoil.tripod.com/index.html

My favorite thing about this site is the "You know you're obsessed when..." list. Here are some of my favorites:

5. You and your friends go by your newsie names
13. Whenever you see "Fe" on the periodic table you immediatly think of Santa Fe and have a sudden urge to kick up dust
26. You have a Newsies outfit
27. You wear your Newsies outfit regularly
42. You think you see the Newsies in the most random places (I thought I spotted Trey Parker in WalMart one time.. but of course it wasnt him)
73. You've spent over 100 dollars on Newsies memerobilia.
88. You've had at least one one hour long phone conversation with a fellow newsie freak of just singing the songs. (I know I've had more than one!)

There's an entire page devoted to the hatred of the heroine in the movie, "Sarah," because she gets to kiss Christian Bale (aka Jack Kelly) at the end of the movie. The complaints? "She sounds like a man." I finally figured out that the maker of the site is an 17 year old self-proclaimed "RENThead" (that word gives me the creeps) who apparently grew up with Broadway coming out of her rear. She states:

"My dream roles are to be Glinda in Wicked, Velma in Chicago, Christine in Phantom, Amneris in Aida or Mimi in Rent."

Shoot big, there, kiddo.

T'choupi et doudou

"French cartoon" might sound like a painful paradox, but believe it or not, there are cartoons out there made in France and the toddlers aren't smoking, wearing mascara, or having back alley sexual encounters.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AibuxIHQYZQ

When we're together it's like hot coals in a fire

I don't know if you've ever encountered STACEY Q, but she's like a less fugly, more eighties version of Madonna. Why was she not more famous? I guess I'll chalk it up to the fact that an ivy headdress will never outwit a cone bra, and the well-placed seductive mole and gap tooth can come across as alluringly exotic. Psh.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aINmJ5ieM6Y


I just feel for Stacey Q. She wasn't Madonna, no. That's understandable. But she wasn't even a Debbie, or a Tiffany. She could only be herself, and that ultimately caused her demise in the pop sphere.

Comeback?

It's been a while since I've fired up the ole bloggeroonie, but to be perfectly honest, I forgot my password and I had to try every permutation of my dead dog and some numbers before I got it just right, and then I realized that I had no inspiration and that nothing interesting happens in my life.

I'm taking a TESOL/TEFL certification class right now, and the material makes me want to scrape out my earwax and make a little earwax doll in the middle of class so I can have something to play with. This is gross.

I eat many peanut butter sandwiches. I eat one per day, and for a while I thought about upping the number to two or even two and one half peanut butter sandwiches per day. That struggle remains unresolved. Maybe I will make peanut butter bananas or ants on a log or switch the brand of peanut butter instead.

According to the Chinese Zodiac, I was born in the Year of the Snake. I realized that this has absolutely nothing to do with me.

Why don't they make round cookies with fortune cookie-type batter? Is the fortune/shape essential to the fortune cookie experience? If I have the cookie in a different shape, sans fortune, can I still call it a fortune cookie?

Adrien Brody. I've finally decided that he is an attractive man.

This is the

nastiest thing I have ever seen on the internet:

http://baconcamp.org/Bacone

not too shabby, eh?

Birthday Letters

When life gives you lemons, forget the lemonade and drink an Arnold Palmer. Also, remember that at least you aren't Ted Hughes, who cannot escape his desperately suicidal family members. There's his first wife, Sylvia, who died at the age of 30 via gas oven. Then there's his second wife, Assia Wevill, who decided to kill their daughter along with herself. Now there's his son Nicholas, who hung himself 46 years after his mother's suicide.

Poetry is good, but in the end we're most interested in the poets.

Magic

Just watch it, okay? Don't say anything.

Climb

I heard this song on the radio over spring break and it took me the longest time to figure out whether the person singing was a boy or a girl. It turns out it's just Miley. My favorite part about this video? Definitely the CGI.

Moovee

I do not watch movies because I have the attention span of a baby cricket. Someone recommended that I go to this website and watch all of the movies in sequential order. I cannot wait to become a snobby art house critic with eyeglasses shaped like nonagons and a different black turtleneck for every day of the week. I will sit in dark corners and sip organic Rooibos tea and talk about Herbert Brenon in silken tones and click together my mauve-painted nails and reminisce about the time when I watched every Criterion movie in the collection and became, dahling what's the word, a buff.

http://www.answerbag.com/q_view/840170

why is this message board so funny late at night

smoochie

I want to meet the person who wrote this ad and shake her hand.

I'm thinking her name is "Denise." She's an MFA grad from U Michigan, class of 2002, who freelances and temps while writing her novel about a woman who moves to Austrailia on a whim and falls in love with a hairy aussie 20 years her elder. Denise has never been married, but she loves her niece and three triplet nephews, an, of course, LIP PLUMPER.

My favorite paragraph on the whole page:

"Celebrity Sexy Pout is THE BEST ONE ,The first thing I noticed was that it smells yummy, not spicy. I figured "it's probably decent". Understatment of the year! It is the best plumper on all levels: It's got a sexy sheen, it stays put for hours, and the plumping lasts for days. This was the only plumper that had a semi-permanent effect. It's like you can actually feel the lips swelling from the inside out. BUT..if you overuse it, your lips can look a bit too plump (I was asked if I had injections a couple times). The most impressive plumper of the bunch."

Dewretch Mode

This is the Marc Jacobs model up close. His name is Cole Mohr. He models for MJ's male and female lines. Dear Mr. Mohr: there's a reason the alternative synthkid style of northern England died with the 80's. Thank you for reminding us of that reason.

Morrissey...

...is nightmarish in this video. The cold nape-perspiration that's gathering above my collar reminds me of the time I freaked out when I saw this Marc Jacobs ad in a Wallpaper* magazine:

Yes, that's a man. You're welcome.

If ya like pictures

http://www.smosch.com/

This website has some pretty good stuff.

RETURN TO BAMBOCHEUSE

After a long hiatus from the blog, I have decided to return in a big way...with Siamese Crocodile Twins. Why did I stop? Sometimes the level of inanity to which I routinely ascend scares me. I panicked on February 11th after the beef jerky panties post, not wanting to become yet another posterchild of the Look-At-Me generation obsessed with sniffing out insipid internet truffles.

But then last night I had a revelation. I was looking at Gwyneth Paltrow's celebrity blog, GOOP, and I realized that not only do I hate Gwyneth Paltrow for being a beautiful film actress with fruit children and a rockstar hubby to boot, but I also hate everything her blog stands for...those verbal icons...her director friends...etc. I looked around, and I was alone in the room. There was not a single person I could tell about Gwyneth Paltrow's blogging atrocity, and suddenly I became very afraid. My soap box was floating somewhere a million miles away. "I could send out a mass text," I thought, "But then I would be branded as a psycho...where could I funnel my heavy-handed opinions so someone, someone, could read them? My thoughts must be read."

Then the blog, oh, the sweet sweet blog came back to me: my meglomaniacal stomping grounds, my personal piece of real estate on the world wide web where I can fell as many trees I want. Somebody's gotta hear eventually. Somebody. I am a part of the Look-At-Me generation whether I want to accept it or not.

And so I accept.

I faithfully promise that I will never google image search the words "bearded lady" ever again.