Can yield great things, such as this story I found from my freshman year of HS that I wrote during homeroom. All you need to know is that I really disliked my homeroom teacher, and that I had previously had her for math.
Oh, let’s put it after the jump…
Sphere: Related ContentSamantha Bee has coined what is clearly my favorite new word. Check it out in its full, glorious context:
“If your kind had your way, we’d only hire ugly pages. Let me tell you something, Jon, the day the halls of Capitol Hill are filled with the pasty-faced and flat-chested instead of firm, nubile, bedockered pubescents is the day the congressmen will have won.”
Bedockered. It’s no attackatory, but what is?
Bee’s clip is right at the end, but it’s a good view all around, including the phrase, “Opus Gay.”
The recent re-upswing in my interest about the whole ritual child abuse hysteria in the 80s has required the purchase of numerous books. Some of them have fabulous titles, such as Behind Playground Walls and Michelle Remembers (which is also one of the most ridiculous books I’ve ever read). I also keep picking up copies of books at yard sales, including copies of thingsI already own. This even includes the unnecessary purchase of a coverless copy of The Poisonwood Bible. It is a fabulous book, but does not require the reader to own two different editions, one missing its cover.
My apparent desire to acquire more and more books at a time when I plan on leaving the country in January is not merely foolish. It has also required the purchase of a new bookshelf.
(Incidentally, it appears that everyone else in the world besides me calls a structure on which to place books a “bookcase.” It made craigslist searches weird and made me feel silly. I sometimes call a vacuum a “vacuum sweeper” or “vacuum cleaner.” I’m not really sure which is correct. Also, I feel comfortable calling cordless phones by the title “remote control phones.” I feel my parents taught me a completely parallel form of English. )
Here’s the bookshelf:
I am in LOVE with this… bookcase. And when I saw it up on craigslist for a mere $30, I had to have it.
Which brings me to Luda.
Luda is my new friend who owned said bookcase. I emailed her with my interest, and then emailed again in desperation with my phone number, requesting that she call if it was still available because, “I sent an email earlier today and haven’t heard back.” I’m a bit sad.
The next morning, Luda calls me at 8:50 and we attempt to work out a time to pick up my newly aquired piece of lovely despite my only half-awakedness. She informs me that the dismantling of the bookshelf will take “several hours” and that I “should bring a man with [me] because it is quite heavy,” and she doesn’t know how “handy” I am. (I don’t mention that I started building sets and using circular saws at age 14 - a fact that would fail to impress Andrew not ten minutes later).
To make a long story short (too late), I call Luda at 6:30 that night to come over and take apart the shelf. She doesn’t think I’ll have enough time because they routinely go to bed at 9 pm, and again asserts that it will take “hours” to dismantle. We agree on the next morning as a “better time” to engage in the gargantuan tasks of removing an Ikea bookcase from her home.
The next morning, Jeremy and I arrive at Luda’s home no earlier than 9 am. There is some fiddling with the gate on their huge privacy fence (who expects a gate to slide?) and we are shown by Luda’s clog-wearing husband to the room. We are required to help in the putting down of cardboard and then left to our devices.
At 9:18 everything was in the car. Both Luda and the husband had mysteriously disappeared, so I chucked the money on the cardboard and we headed out.
While the bookcase may have only cost $30, I feel I took on a little bit of the pain Luda’s husband must feel on a daily basis. But as I stare at a copy of Harmful to Minors well-shelved in my livingroom, I know the emotional price I paid was worth it.
Sphere: Related ContentBut not, like, fabulous.
For those of who that have to go to an office everyday, you may be missing out on the horribleness that is the show Cheaters. The basic premise is as follows:
I have seen this show a total of once and quickly decided that it was totally insidious, with heavy-handed moralistic tones if not outright religiosity. Lo and behold - the one episode of Cheaters I’ve ever seen was on today! As I flipped past, I felt I recognized the horribly bleached hair of the scorned. I admit to watching past the commercial break, when the best thing ever happened:
Cheaters has a DATING service!
It’s specifically designed for people who hate cheaters. Awesome. Luckily I have a crap email account that I use specifically for times like this.
I’ve never signed up for a dating service before, but this is clearly the best one ever. [Whoa, alarming alert - we'll get back to that in a minute.]
Firstly, it asks me to fill out a basic profile. Strangely, height is the first question asked. Eye color, hair color (no auburn!?!), etc. Then the best thing ever: When asked about my sexual orientation, my only options are “straight” and “bisexual.”
I’m also asked to fill in some random blanks about myself and my dream date. I cannot leave these blank. When asked about my smoking habits, one of the choices I have is “quitting.” When discussing my drinking, however, there is no option for “quitting.” No one likes an bandwagon alkie, I guess.
I’m also asked about my race - one of the choices is NATIVE.
After filling out my profile, I can search for, I guess, for straight and bisexual men. (I wonder if you can be gay if you’re a man. It would seem to play into some awesome fantasies that women are never gay, we just like some “girl time” now and then). Here’s the best part about searching. It shows a picture on the left, and then in the box it displays their name, then their race, then their location. It’s like “Oh thank god, he’s white! Oh. He lives in Hammond.”
Going back in to edit my profile reveals that, man, race and religion are important. They’re the first two “characteristics” I can edit.
But I may not need to do any editing at all. I’ve already gotten a message and a request to chat (the alarming alert above). It’s is not from ‘bemywife,” however, so less alarming than it could be.
The site is powered by DreamMates, so I don’t think everyone on here is from Cheaters TV. Based on the number of men on here only for “intimate encounters,” they certainly don’t seem to be ascribing to the Cheaters form of fidelity. Then again, I’ve got over 600 impossibly perfect matches based on the scant details I provided. Maybe my soon-to-be better half just finished watching a girl cry her little eyes out. Hope springs eternal.
Edit: Then again maybe not. “If you are into that whole ‘people come from monkies evolutionary theory’ dont even bother.”
He really seemed like my type, too.
Sphere: Related ContentEvery week, I make an effort to read The Stranger, Seattle’s version of The Reader. I started this because it’s edited by Dan Savage, local hero and author of Savage Love. I’ve taken to reading most of the columns now, mostly because I could give a shit about whatever party Liz Armstrong went to this weekend. Last Days, a sardonic recap of notable events from the previous week, is one of my favorites. So much so, that I was moved to write to Mr. Schmader last week regarding an error in his column.
The result? Last night at 3 am, with far too many tequilas in me, I saw this:
MONDAY, FEBRUARY 27
The week kicks off with a fresh chapter in the Great Gross Commercial Debate of 2006. Instigating incident: a Hot Tip from Natalie of Ballard, the “vegetarian and mother of one” who expressed her disgust over the Dairy Queen commercial depicting a pair of cartoon shrimp munching through a box of DQ’s new popcorn shrimp, then shrieking in horror after realizing they’d devoured their own shrimpy children. While sharing Natalie’s grievance, Last Days commiserated by declaring Dairy Queen’s incestuous cannibal shrimp ad the most disgusting TV commercial since Mucinex coughed up that anthropomorphized phlegm wad. Today Last Days was taken to task on both points, via a pair of Hot Tips.
First is Hot Tipper Michael, who writes, “Am I the only one that found it humorous that viewers would be disturbed by a commercial that accurately depicts the diet of adult shrimp? They happen to eat their young, thousands of them, every mating season.” Dear Michael: Thank you for writing and for understanding shrimp. However, the shock of the DQ ad comes not just from the fact that the parent shrimp eat their kids, but from their horrified reaction to the “accidental” deep-fried cannibalism. While shrimp may eat their young in the natural world, it’s safe to assume they don’t reenact Sophie’s Choice every time they do, and it’s this discrepancy that cements the DQ commercial’s status as disgusting.
But, as Hot Tipper Brie asks, how disgusting is it? “I’ve not seen the Dairy Queen commercial,” writes Brie. “But I was surprised that Last Days claimed Dairy Queen had stolen the ‘most disgusting TV commercial in history’ title away from Mucinex. You’ve clearly misidentified the previous holder of that title - Lamisil, the toe fungus medication whose commercials show a cartoon fungus thingie prying open a toenail and jumping inside, inducing nausea every time.” Dear Brie: You’re right. Lamisil’s toenail-jimmying fungus is 50 times worse than Mucinex’s phlegm wad. (If we remember correctly, the Lamisil creature actually pops the infected toenail open like a car hood.) We apologize for the error.
Titillated doesn’t even begin to describe my reaction. If all else fails in this life, I’ll be able to point to this article and say, “See? I was right about something.” Well, I’ll also be able to point to the theatre review I wrote in college where I offered to sleep with Jordan Catalano/Jared Leto. I was right about that, too.
Here’s all of Last Days from this week.
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