I'm feeling it~

Anne and I rip into the new live cd/dvd from The Gossip with the same relish we have enjoyed new releases from our favorite artists for the last twelve years. I pop the DVD in and blast it through the speakers in the living room.

Anne: Holy shit look at that outfit. Beth Ditto is insane.
Me: I'm still mad at you for missing that show last year. At Bottom of The Hill. A bar. WTF is this crowd?? WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN?
Anne: I feel like performing this much would be such a workout. I wonder how she doesn't lose weight?




Later, I text Anne: THIS IS FOR THE FAGGOTS!
She texts back: FOR THE G-A-Y-S!

Quickly - more fan nonsense

Am about to go on a daytrip with Sus to Russian River Valley -- where we will sun and sip our white worries away.

In the meantime, I just watched this week's BSG. Everyone who holds out on this show, you're just plain wrong. It's amazing.

And, if you want to know how it feels to go off your meds while also facing a perfect shitstorm in your life, just witness Chief -- y'all, he has a moment where I'm like, hm. That's me right now.

(THOMAS, DON"T READ THE NEXT GRAPH)

Of course, I'm not dealing with the suicide/murder of my wife/living with a massively consuming crazy identity crisis/ps: it's the end of the fracking world. So, right, RJ -- GET SOME PERSPECTIVE!

(RESUME)

Anyhow, if you're a true fan of a show, I highly recommend getting on board with Television Without Pity recaps. Back in the day, I would watch Six Feet Under with an extra layer of glee, just imagining what the recap would say.

BSG recaps are a tetch more melodramatic, on a whole, and I think it's possible that is because devotees take ourselves and our show a little more (too?) seriously.

All rambling aside, though, this hilarious tidbit from this week does a nice job of capturing what's awesome about the show:

Things end with a particularly brutal -- yet sweetly intentioned -- fistfight, in the middle of which Caprica realizes actually what she needs to do is make out with him. And this is the least weird thing that happens in the whole episode. It's awesome.

It is sick

how much pleasure I get from evangelizing BSG.

Seriously, people. Battlestar? A little tiny bit of religion.

And when BWB writes this:

SOP Phase II, wherein Daddy Bay pours hisself a cool Imperial Weizen, unfurls that 1 lb bag of honey roasted almonds, and settles down for a few hours of sippage and nippage with BSG:S2.5 (aside to hipster, thx fer BSG:S1, it will be back in the mail to you next week).

I know I have brought another soul into my fold.

So say we all.

emergency relief

I forgot.

When everything else fails, grab Annevan and get thee to a show.

So, I didn't find anything up on youtube yet for last night, but I had to find some example of just how friggin' adorable and French and batshit Yelle is -- and how we were 22 again for the night, crowded in with sweaty, ecstatic bodies, jumping and throwing our arms in the air (and we did not care, I assure you).

But here she is in New York!



For me, this is the ultimate form of therapy. This is part of the reason being alive rocks.

Anne has been using Yelle to teach me some French -- in this song, she is singing about wanting to see you in a porno in action with your dick. These are critical language skills!

At various points during the show Anne would lean over and say things like: Now she's singing about a passive agressive relationship! or Now she's singing about her dildo! She calls it her remote control!

I am now languishing in my muscle soreness and tiny hangover, they'll be gentle reminders all day that life exists outside of the relentless demands and deadlines of the day. (Accidental alliteration! Dang I did it again.)

The Dog Ate My Blog

Like Baywatch, I need an extension.

I haven't forgotten you, Arlopop, but life has definitely gotten in the way.

I'm workin' on it. Also having a little stage fright -- like, really? Wait? Do I have a story good enough for this glove on my face?

One Legged

I swear there is another version of this picture of Melrose wherein I look way cuter.

But Rita only sent this one.

Possibly because she looks like a stunning perfect fashion model, here.



Actually, she always looks like that. There's clearly no explanation for this nonsense.

TSA PIA

TSA PIA
Originally uploaded by Rebecca June

I get so exhausted with hatred at the TSA in Evansville, Indiana. This woman, I've gotten into fracases with in the past. She spent a full 20 minutes rubbing my bag down looking for explosives.

They stopped me again at the gate, at which time I was disarmed a little by the young female agent who inquired breathlessly about what it was like to live in California. "I heard people is different out there," she says. Then she tells me about a friend who moved to Las Vegas, where people don't stop to help you if you're in a car accident.

Why does hating it so intensely make me feel guilty?

Refreshing!

Nail Studio introduces the new services the "Deluxe Pedicure". The Deluxe Pedicure it more soothing and relaxing. The "Creative Spa" products to make you fell more papered and leaving your skin felling fresh like a new born baby.




Bizarro trip to nail nail land photo set here:

Thank You For Coming To My Wedding -- Leave Gifts By The Door

The best plan of attack in these flyby visits to Chicago is to hold court at a bar and invite everyone.

Goddamn if they didn't come!

Buckets, Baywatch, E money, Jackie and Jill, Johnny T and the Future Wife, Sarah and The Soc, Melrose Place (original lineup), The MacGregors. . .

Wait.

This is starting to sound like the lineup of the second stage at some sweaty college music festival.

And although the evening was loud and beer-filled, there wasn't a ton of sweating and no frat boys.

At one point Luc had a strange message on his hand, though:



It was an evening that clicked past at an astonishing rate, and I felt a little guilty for not being able to give everyone equal attention. Luckily, they entertained each other, and I'll take what I can get.

This is what happens when you're with me

Susan and I went to a gallery in Union Square to pick up a gift for my mother's birthday. We walked in and the gallery owner announced, "I've got to run move my car. You guys watch the shop."

Susan responds, "Um, okay. I'll take my jacket off so I'll look more in place."

I say, "I'll be the customer!" (Because, I guess, I am?)

She immediately begins hunting for some sort of "polishing cloth to dust some of these displays."

Belgian tourists come in and she gives them brochures and pretends to be knowledgeable.

We are left with the entire inventory of fine art glass, lacquered russian thingamajigs, and other assorted Artworks. It never really even occurs to me, until after we leave, that I could have stuffed my pockets and ran, were I the type of person inclined to such acts. Is that virtue or pollyanna suckerdom?

I asked Susan to sell me something, so I could take a picture. Here she is explaining to me the nuanced beauty of this possibly inhabited planet, which, she claimed, sports lots of "gorgeous flying saucers":



She said, "This stuff only happens when I'm with you."

Why, thank you!

A Play in One Photo

Setting:

Walgreen's. Middle of a work-day with two exasperated, stressed-out coworkers on a tums-and-prescription-sleep-medication run. Snarky sniping has been the order of the day, perhaps a way to diffuse the annoyance at ALL THE WORK! For sort of murky reasons, the two refer to each other exclusively by the nickname "Hoodia."

Hoodia 1: Hoodia! It's the AS SEEN ON TV AISLE!

Hoodia 2: OMG HOODIA! I'm taking your picture!



-scene-

Congratulations, Cheeseballs!

Just got this bulletin about


Dana


and

Mike

hey all,

spreading the happy happy word, Dana and Mike are engaged! He proposed by giving her a ring inside a box made of cheese. They are the weirdest and best couple ever. No word yet on a wedding date yet, but potential location of Monterey, CA.

Hazah!

love,

proud big sis em *

Awesome.

Congrats, you fuckers!!!


(Lest you misinterpret this photo -- she's not kissing his wrist sweetly. She's biting him. Cuz that's what they do. They also have a sweet pet name for each other: "bitey." How glorious!)

UPDATE: From the blushing bride:

Okay so it's official, Mike and I are gettin' hitched, so prepare yourselves for festivities including, but not limited to, sharks, alcohol, biting, cheese, and I dunno, some more sharks.

I am. so. excited.

Alotta Lucky

This is my friend Chave. She is in a musical revue called Beach Blanket Babylon. When asked, "Who do you play?" Her response is, "The black girl."

If you've ever seen this show, which is a comical, hat-and-wig-filled commentary on current events, you'd know this already. Chave's role is Oprah/Condi/insert-black-female-name-here.

When she leaves at night tourists hug her and ask for her autograph. I've seen this happen.

She also performs burlesque under perhaps the most awesome stage name ever, Alotta Boutte. And by "performs burlesque," I mean, shows her gigantic ta tas.

She took this photo of herself backstage at BBB using her cell phone.

She lives down the street from me, which means I'm constantly enjoying impromptu socialization. She is my yoga buddy and, when she found out what a shit time I'm having of it today, she sent me a text message that said, "I am bringing you dinner tonight after the show. And if it is too late, it will be dessert."

So, on top of it all, she's become my great friend.

How lucky am I?

Holy Cow

I keep coming by to the edit page on this post with every intention of writing about this photo, which is one of those images that becomes iconic in a family -- the pic of Che and I in the cooler has been in various frames -- dimestore models upgraded over time to the fancy modern kind with the bevel-cut mats -- in various places since I was four or so.

That cooler has almost talisman status from my childhood. Bright yellow Coleman with a white plastic top. Metal handles. Remember them? Bumpy texture that inevitably retained dirt from campgrounds across the midwest, despite frequent hose-downs. Pop-off white plug to drain the melted ice and spilled beer.

The situation in this photo: the cooler had recently found itself sitting in the back guest room that Che and I used for Saturday-morning cartoon watching. Not sure how, but I suspect it was related to my father. My mother is just a little too organized to not ensure that the cooler makes it back down to the garage.

It then became a carriage -- there were imaginary horses and somewhere, not in this shot, but somewhere, there were two long pieces of fluffy pink yarn I had fashioned into harnesses. We were trotting over the river and through the woods for a couple of hours of early-morning cartoons before mom and dad stumbled upon us, sleepy-eyed.

I don't ever remember Rachel being this young. She was a little person to me already, at this point in our lives. A co-conspirator. But this is clearly evidence to the contrary.

More posts wherein I don't do the blogging

Think Banks is getting better and better, ladies and gents, once again we take a swim in the stream of someone else's consciousness down into the deep reservoir of nostalgia.

Now with more pretty words!

how many times we almost died -- comfortably ensconced in our assumed immortality, jumping off that building or out of that car, or on account of all that glorious idiotic bingeing and purging -- well, hopefully, we're that much better equipped to appreciate the fragility of our stupid precious lives.

getting flak: Little Johnny Jewel

getting flak: Little Johnny Jewel

Gorgeous post from a fellow geek. . .

It was about that time he developed his crank habit. He was wired everytime I saw him; grinding his teeth, eyes like pinpoints.

Definition of "Perfect"

Being woken up from a sex dream by the person you were dreaming of. Saying, "I was just having a sex dream about you." Hearing, "Let's make it come true."

Yes, My Pants Are Too Damn Big

Welcome to the bullshitosphere, Bresee.

An array of excellent Quotes from the week

"Let's face it, who doesn't love street meat!"

"I don't have time for this -- I've got a shotgun wedding to plan!"

"You're funny. you're like a younger smarter me who doesn't make all the mistakes i did."

RE: The coming season of BSG: "I'm at the edge of my penis."