Today's Hooray

I came home from a function tonight and landed at Letterman, and my attention was actually grabbed by -- get this -- a commercial. Or rather, the song in a commercial.

It was a t-mobile spot, and if I'm not mistaken, the song that was playing was YUSUF!! For the uninitiated, or hopelessly nonmusical, Yusuf is to the rest of us, and forever will be, Cat Stevens.

He was on Charlie Rose recently, and despite his little Muslim beard and clothes, he was still Cat. Still gentle and soft-spoken. Still sweet-eyed and self-deprecating.

Still hot.

Or, just Google "Cat Stevens Peace Train Live" if you don't believe he's hot. He's a Greek Brit, for gods sake. The defining national characteristic of Greek men is hotness. You should not confuse this with the defining characteristic of Greek women, which is moustaches.

I lurve him

Idyut

I mean, seriously, how ridiculous can one cat look, ALL THE TIME?

People I've Been Meaning to Link to But Have Lazily Been Cruising Through Other People's Blogs

Don and Mr. Rochester.

Go there. They're in my links, finally.

And Miss Midwesterly has been updated. Finally.

Michael Jackson Birthday Party, 8/29 in Prospect Park

Spike Lee is throwing a birthday party on Saturday, August 29th, at the Nethermead in Prospect Park. (Don't you LOVE that name? It sounds like something from medieval times).

The party was originally going to be held in Fort Greene Park, but has since been moved.

I'll be there! Pun intended.

Congratulations Irene!

I've got to get this down before I go to bed tonight, because some nights are so good that they can't go unrecognized. Nothing particularly earth-shaking happened, but taken as a whole, I took a lot out of the evening.


My friend Irene eloped to City Hall a couple months ago and rather than planning an elaborate, formal party, she planned a happy hour at a local Williamsburg bar.

Today I was feeling sticky and VERY low-energy after the debauchery of Thursday night at CVLT Studio, then going out last night with my friends to see my new Favorite Movie of All Time for the second time.

After a sweaty semi-nap this afternoon I was not feeling particularly festive, and even slightly blue. I think I was just feeling bleh. Maybe enervated from the heat.

After entertaining the idea of just staying home and avoiding the Bedford Avenue cohort altogether, then further rationalizing it with the thought that I don't know any of Irene's friends, so I wouldn't really be missed, I remembered that someone once said to me, "Baby, you just gotta fake it till you make it." I also reminded myself: Sistergirl, it ain't always about you. YOUR FRIEND GOT MARRIED, so show the fuck up.

I also think that I was feeling some of that social anxiety thing that I get -- many, many people would fall out laughing if I were to tell them that in my deepest heart I'm still a painfully shy 4-year-old hiding my face in my mother's skirt.

So I painted on a face, put on my favorite belt (it's my version of Wonder Woman's magic bracelets), plastered a smile onto my face, and went to a party where I knew only one person.

I'm so glad I went.

Rehashing the old trope that a person is judged by the company they keep...you can tell a lot about a person by the quality of their friends. And Irene has great friends. Everyone was so, so nice.


I ended up having the most amazing 2-1/2 hour conversation with a couple that ranged from guns (he is pro and I am anti) to cakes (she is a cake artist, and she made the MOST adorable cake for Irene), to Cayce, to the Hadron Collider to Rupert Murdoch to Osama Bin Laden to Michael Vick. I literally haven't had such a great, rangy conversation with smart people in I don't know how long. And wonder of wonders it was reasonable and fascinating conversation with someone whose political views are about 180 full degrees from mine.

You know how you feel after you get a great full-body massage? Relaxed and energized at the same time? That's how I feel right now -- like I got a full brain massage.

Fantastic party, Irene!

Whole Lotta Love

Went to see "It Might Get Loud" again last night.

There'a a moment, about halfway through, when Jimmy Page starts tearin' it up with the opening riff from "Whole Lotta Love."

The Edge and Jack White stop what they're doing. The Edge seems to forget there is a camera rolling and seems to be pulled to his feet and he just stands in front of Page, watching in awe. Jack White, as if giving up the fight, merely takes his guitar off his lap and props it on the floor in front of him, with a look on his face that says, "Pinch me!" He gives a little shake of his head that indicates his knowledge that he will never be able to lick the bottom of Jimmy's shoe.

When the Master is at work, all must bow down before him.

I know I sound like a 16-year-old boy about this movie.

Best Protest Sign So Far

I think we should start a movement for the smart people to go out and stand amongst the dummies and feebs with signs like this, get other smart people to snap your photo, and post them on a website.

"It Might Get Loud"

If you're one of those people for whom music is in your top four basic needs, galloping hard on the heels of food, shelter, and clothing, then you need to see this movie.

If you're one of those people who has memorized every note of your old albums, to the point where you mentally add the end-of-side scratching when you listen to the cd's, then you need to see this movie.

If listening to late-60's blues-based rock and roll makes your entire body break into one giant goosebump and you headbang and air drum whenever you hear your favorite song of the genre, then you MUST see this movie.

Short description: Jack White, The Edge and Jimmy Page meet and talk about guitars.

If you're a person who has to do a wikipedia search to find out who Jimmy Page is, then this is not the movie for you. And you can't be my friend.

Go. It was the best movie I've seen in a couple of years. I know it's only out in limited release right now (NY/LA) but if it goes wide, GO!

After seeing this, I kind of think that maybe, juuuust maybe, that whole "Jimmy made a deal with the devil" thing just might be true. The man is still a rock god, he looks hot, and he still does that guitar-genius face.

Loved it, loved it, loved it. I'm going again on Friday.

The Conundrum of Being from the (Semi) Midwest, or Why I Don't Visit My Family

SOOOOOO....

In general, I like my brothers just fine, but I like them better from 500 miles away. Okay, I'll admit it, sometimes they can be assholes.

But they are capable of incredible acts of kindness and generosity, too.

I put that out there into the universe in hopes that it will buy me some good karma for what I'm about to say.









One of my brothers is a "birther."

There, I said it.

Do you still like me?

More on Texas and the Goddamned Bible

Yeah, I said it.

Read more here.

Why not just offer a comparitive religion course? I had one of those in the 7th Grade, fachrissakes.

Sarah Palin To Sue Entire Internet

Based on this ruling.

Screw Texas

So apparently the Texas State School Board is now mandating teaching the Bible.

Are our federal stimulus dollars paying for this Jeebus freakery? If so, how do we get our money back?

Hitchens! Where are you?

And speaking of Texas, Tom Delay is going to be on "Dancing With The.Stars."

You know what? Fuck Texas.

They Were Stardust

This weekend marks the 40th anniversary of Woodstock, and watching all of the retrospectives, I'm convinced that I shoulda been born sooner!

How did that group of kids, nearly "half a million strong," who partied so peacefully for three days, taking care of each other, sharing their food and drugs (the Hog Farm's trip tent, where people went if they were having a bum trip, was a classic example of paying it forward -- once you came down, you stayed to guide the next kid to the end of his trip, and so on and so forth) -- how did these muddy, music-loving, war-hating utopians turn into the generation of "I got mine, so fuck everyone else?"

When did they become Republicans?

Rachel Maddow on Meet the Press

Since David Gregory started his Death by a Thousand Cuts of "Meet the Press" last year, I haven't watched. I'm tuning in this morning to watch Rachel Maddow, who is on with Tom Daschle, Tom Coburn and that orange-tinted booby Dick Armey.

I'm a little bummed, as her innate good manners are causing her to be too deferential to people who only deserve scorn and derision.

Armey's innate bad manners and sexism are evident in that he refuses to look directly at her and when she speaks, he plasters one of those "what do women know?" smirks across his bulbous, caricature-ready face.

This dipshit, whose organization is one of the ones disseminating lies about HR3200 (that's the health care reform bill or The Secret Government Plot to Kill Old People, if you're a non-thinking American) and encouraging wackadoos to show up and shout down discussion at town hall meetings, blithely said he bears no responsibility for the tone of many of these meetings.

What an idiot.

Proust Questionnaire: Garrison Keillor

From Vanity Fair, September 2009:

What is the quality you most like in a woman?

High-spiritedness, wit, a love of repartee and wordplay and allusion and jokes -- in other words, an English major.

Can someone tell me why there are no men like this in my generation?

What a Crappy Day

I woke up to the sun shining in my face and no alarm going off. It was nearly 9 o'clock, so I got up and made a pot of coffee (full disclosure, Mr Archer, I did it with the Krups today.) and drank a couple of cups while watching Dylan Ratigan. Don't you hate when you get to sleep until you wake up and have to relax for a couple hours without rushing off to catch a jam-packed rush hour subway? Awful, isn't it?

I looked out the window and saw that it was a blue-sky, sunshiny day. Aww, dang it! So I put on my bathing suit and made myself a mango-banana-watermelon-orange smoothie with a handful of frozen blueberries thrown in for good measure. It's such a bummer to have fresh fruit in the fridge and a working blender. Sigh.

I got on the train at 11:20 and less than an hour later I was stepping into the sunshine at New York's own funky beach town, Coney Island. It was surprisingly crowded for a weekday, but I staked out a nice little plot of beach and lounged for about 3 hours. The ocean was not too cold and it was crystal clear today. It really sucked, I gotta tell you, to sit on the beach with a book and an icy bottle of water and be surrounded by the happy screams of a kids' day camp playing in the sea.

When I left the beach, I stopped at the Beach Shop (I love that it's called what it is, no clever names, it's just so basic) and bought a t-shirt with a mermaid on the front, then I went to Nathan's (home of the original 4th of July hot dog eating contest) and got a dog and some bacon cheese fries and a big beer, I sat at a table in the sun and ate my lunch and read my book. It was truly terrible.

On my way home, I stopped and got a pedicure to replace my month-old Hollywood pedicure. Isn't it terrible to sit in a cushy chair that massages your back while someone rubs your feet and calves and paints your toes a silvery rose color? (Ulterior motive -- to get Archer to crawl after me slobbering and drooling. You think I'm kidding.)

Then I topped the day off with some naked playtime with my SNF and I'm ready to boil some pasta and heat up the lovely bolognese that I made early this week.

Wasn't that just a crappy day?

Summer Friday

We get to take four Fridays off during summer (I know, isn't my job just awful?) And today is one of mine.

So I'm on my way to Coney Island to work on my skin cancer -- er, I mean, my vitamin D replenishment. My doctor says I am deficient.

Willfully ignoring that whole "wonky white blood cell count" thing until the results of the follow-up test are back.

Rachel

And my final note of the day.

I think I've said this before, but it's totally worth saying again.

If I were a lesbian I'd TOTALLY lust after Rachel Maddow. She's so freakin adorable, but what gets me is just how wicked smahht she is.

Me loves her.

She's going to be on "Meet the Press" this Sunday with -- get this -- that old boob Dick Armey, which ought to be really, really amusing.

Make sure you watch. She will be polite and pointed as she picks him apart, and he will most certainly get all red in the face and make some shamelessly sexist or homophobic remarks. She will sink him. I can't wait to watch.

It's best, however to look away from David Gregory the Monkey-faced boy. There's just something weird about the guy's face.

My Cool Friend

My friend Miss Midwesterly is so cool.

Not only is she as bouncy and smart and amusing as an Australian Shepherd dog, she has done more cool things this year than most of us do in five.

To wit:

She moved her ass back to New York, finally giving in to the inevitable truth that while she made a fine Chicagoan, at the center of it, she's a New Yorker! Welcome home, Eesh!

She did a frickin' Ironman last month. An IRONMAN, people. That means she swam a couple of miles, crawled out of the water, then hopped on her bike and rode a century-plus -- that's A HUNDRED and TWELVE MILES. And THEN, after that, in case you weren't tired just thinking about that, she ran a marathon. And she did the whole thing in something like 14 hours. When was the last time YOU pushed yourself to the outside boundaries of human endurance? Sheesh, when was the last time you walked up three flights of stairs?

And today, she found out that she's being deployed to Taiwan by Shelterbox as part of their disaster relief team aiding mudslide victims. She leaves on Saturday and will probably be gone for a couple of weeks.

Fabulous. Fabulous. Fab. U. Lous.

My friends are just cool.

Les Paul, RIP (1915 - 2009)

The day the music REALLY died. Without Les, there wouldn't have been any rock and roll.

Farewell.

Randomalia

Greetings from the town of Randomalia, population; me. Where my mind is a velcro wall and every now and again something falls off and drops into the public sphere. Here are today's brain droppings;

1) I promise to try not to call Sarah Palin mean names in this post. But honestly, if she keeps puttin' her skinny ass out there in public I can't see how one can't give in to the urge to kick it.

2) I wonder why the gun control and pro-choice people haven't put up their own web pages listing the names of their reactionary foes, their home addresses, work addresses, phone numbers, their children's names and schools the way the radical right has done. Then they can hold up the shield of the First Amendment if "something" happens to someone. Or they could simply call it self defense, right?

3) On a more serious note than kicking Sarah Palin's ass or the thought that someone might take a shot at the president of the NRA with a gun purchased (legally!) at a gun show without a background check, Mambo is in a swift decline. After the whole "going totally blind and deaf" thing, he had seemed to rally and was doing a pretty good job navigating the house, albeit in a nose-bumping, Helen Keller kind of way. Today I came home, though, and he's now staggering noticeably. I'm sooooo not ready for the end, even though he's had a fairly cushy 18+ years. He isn't hiding the way animals do when they're ready to die, but I don't think I'll get another year.

4) Two hot days does not a summer make! Today was positively mild. I'll take it!

5) Speaking of summer, I just want to point something out to everyone who reaches for a pair of sandals or flip-flops to beat the heat or complete that cute summer outfit. Folks, when you put these on, you are aware that we can see your feet, aren't you? Please, I beg you, if you don't want us to mistake you for Frodo, get at least one pedicure. And if your feet are too awful to look at, I've got one word for you; espadrilles. Today on the subway, I was admiring the cute girl sitting across from me, liked her dress, good haircut, then -- YIKES -- I got to her feet. Not only were her toenails a mess -- they actually looked chewed (I know, ewww, right?) But her toes themselves were completely "what the fahhh?" I swear, her toes were as bent and overlapping as the fence around a haunted house. I couldn't take my eyes off them until I yelled "Beetlejuice!" three times and fled the train at 5th Avenue. Guys, do you notice these things?

6) Someone at work actually noticed that I've lost a bit of weight. Yay! I have to confess there are only two concrete reasons I decided to be kinder to my body; first, I got tired of my poor abused knees hurting all the time. I was literally hobbling up and down stairs like an old lady. Second, I was terrified of turning into that person who gets on a plane and sees the "oh please, oh please, oh please, god, don't let her be sitting next to meeeeee" look in everyone else's eyes. So, now I can RUN up and down subway stairs, and feel ok because I only occupy the seat of 1 person on a plane. I'd actually like to lose a bunch more, but that will come in time. And it was really, really simple; eat less, move more. No pills, surgery, or weird cleanses. Just; eat less, move more. I said simple, not easy. It's been very, very slow, but really worth it.

7) If you didn't catch it tonight, go online and find Rachel Maddow's clip about the Iraqi National Baseball team. It's a truly heartwarming story, but tell me these guys don't look just like American baseball players!

8) I hope, if you are far enough away from a bright urban area, that you are staying up late, lying in the grass, and watching the Perseids this week.

9) Boy, do I miss my dad. I can't believe its been almost two years since he died, and I'm STILL not over it. Some days I'm dumbstruck at the thought that I'm nobody's little girl, the apple of no one's eye. It still just sucks.

10) He is surely no Rhodes Scholar, but Levi Johnston is still hot.




I know its creepily inappropriate for me to say that about a 19 year old kid, but who cares? It doesn't make it any less true.





11) Valerian. That's all I'm gonna say before I head off to bed.

Don't Click on this Link!

I tell you, don't click on it!

Okay, don't say I didn't warn you. I am not responsible for the hour you have just lost, nor for any errant squeals of "sooo cute!" that may issue from your lips.

But they are.

So cute, that is.

Summer is Finally Here

So everyone needs to stop complaining! It's August! It's supposed to be 90 degrees. Remember June? When it rained for something like 25 days? When the entire city woke up every day, looked out the window, and said, "Rain again, whatever," and seemed to be gripped by a tri-state depression? I'm no fan of hot and humid weather (I'd be happy if every day was 68 degrees and sunny, followed by 12 inches of fresh powder every night) but really, this isn't so bad. We've had worse.

So no complaining, even though it is what I like to call granny-panty weather. When it's too hot to wear anything except big comfy cotton undies. I can't imagine anything worse than dealing with a thong up my ass on a steamy summer day.

On a completely unrelated note; wouldn't "Obama Death Panel" be a really good name for a band?

Oh, and while I'm talking about that -- fuck you Sarah Palin, you numb twat

Mistakes, I've Made a Few...

I believe that regret is a waste of energy, so I try not to indulge in it too often, but I have to admit, I made mistake when I sold my Tacoma. Granted, it was far too much guitar for me, and I never did.play up to its level, but not only was it pretty to look at, it had the most unbelievable warm and big sound. But the dreadnought was just too big for me, and I felt like I had my arms around a giant carnival bear, so I sold it last fall. At least it went to a good home -- I sold it to a good friend who is a much more accomplished guitarist than I am.

But damn, this weekend I picked up my Fender "starter" guitar for the first time in months and it just sounded so...sad. I'll put new strings on it this week and that should help some, but still, a Tacoma she ain't.

Oh well.

How to Make Yourself Feel Better

Get 12 good hours of sleep. Wake refreshed. Have two cups of coffee and a frozen-banana-blueberry smoothie. Don't speak for the first six hours you are awake. Take a long shower and exfoliate your skin. Pumice the bottom of your feet and rub them with peppermint lotion. Masturbate. But not with the peppermint lotion. Clean your hardwood floors. Take a call from an old boyfriend who still makes you laugh. Change your hair color -- slightly. Put on makeup and a low-cut white shirt, your favorite jeans that you will have to retire soon because happily, they are too big, a pair of Frye boots and your favorite belt with the salad-plate sized buckle. Don't blow dry your hair. Take the subway to Lincoln Center to see a free concert of 200 Guitars. Don't feel bad bailing early because it was not what you expected (honestly, it's Lincoln Center -- you were expecting "Layla" and a wall of Marshalls?). Walk to Times Square and catch a subway back home. Make yourself a cheese and sausage omelet and eat it in front of the television in your pajamas. Vow that the only news you will watch tonight will be Weekend Update on SNL.

Now you don't feel so crummy about the world.

If He Hadn't Messed Up His Face

A computer simulation of how Michael Jackson would have looked, had he not destroyed his face with all that plastic surgery...



Borrowed from here.

Sad.

Note to Self: Don't Watch Rachel Maddow After Having a Few Mojitos

Okay, so I got home last night, wrote about my fantastic week, then turned on Rachel and had to watch more about these wackadoos who are hijacking town hall meetings and turning the democratic process on its ear.

America, I got a little hot. Sorry for all the F-bombs, but I do think these people are idiots and, I will repeat here, UNAMERICAN.

To The Idiots Disrupting Town Hall Meetings

Fuck you, you corporate shills. Fuck you, you moronic sheep, for not even realizing that these so-called grassroots mobs are completely organized by PR flacks for the insurance industry.

I hope your kids get cancer and your insurance carriers cancel your coverage and you have to set up a can at the 7-11 cash register and depend on the pennies and dimes of strangers to raise money for chemotherapy.I hope you lose your job and your benefits and you have to go to the emergency room to get a fucking ASPIRIN.

You don't want socialism of any kind? Then cancel your fucking Medicare, you fucking simpletons.In fact, quit driving on those socialized highways, quit eating that USD fucking A socialized meat, stop sending things through the fucking socialized US Postal service, and stay the fuck off the socialized fucking internet.

Most of all, fuck you, you UNAMERICAN motherfuckers for shutting down reasonable debate and discussion and disrupting the democratic process.

Shame on you. Shame on you forever.

You fucking morons.

The Week of New York

As if to erase the oily residue of Los Angeles from my soul, like attacking a chainring tattoo on the back of my calf with Dawn dishwashing soap, this has been a week of hyper-New York activity.

Last Thursday I had a Hell's Kitchen barhop with my friend Ed. We talked about sports and music and laughed our asses off.

Last Friday was a stroll around the Upper East Side with Miss Midwesterly, complete with lunch in Central Park, a visit to the Met, some shopping for shoes and a break at a wine bar, ending with a Town Car driving through a puddle and drenching us both, followed by a couple hours of playtime with my SNF and a really great night's sleep.

Saturday found me at Coney Island with Roni (slathered with lots of SPF 30 and Atlantic Ocean slime), where we sunned, drank beers at Ruby's, ate hot dogs and drank beer at Nathan's, and paid for two back-to-back rides on the Cyclone. Those two rides were the best twenty-six bucks I've spent in a long time, if only because I got to scream my face off and blow out my adrenaline for a few minutes.

Monday, though I was totally exhausted due to one of my periodic bouts of insomnia, I couldn't turn down a free ticket to a Mets game at the new Shea. Something about being at a ballpark inflames my animal appetite and I rooted around Shea like a truffle pig and ate two hot dogs, a pulled pork sandwich, a funnel cake and also drank two beers. Totally toxic eating and totally awesome.

Tonight I had drinks with my old boss (and now a vendor) down at the WTC, where we sat by the marina, drank black cherry mojitos, and admired the sunset and the view of Jersey. Jersey! It was beautiful in the sunset!

God, I love this city.

Minority Steals another White Man's Job

Go Sonia! Go Sonia! Go Sonia! (I'm doing that cabbage patch dance, in case you were wondering)

Maybe I'll get really lucky during the Sunday morning shows and finally get to see Pat Buchanan's head explode on live television. Extra bonus points if Glenn Beck ruptures that vein in his forehead at the same time!

Bill is Back

Seeing the photos and video of former President Clinton and former Vice President Gore today as the two American journalists came home made me oh so nostalgic. Remember the 90's? Diplomacy and peace and prosperity?

"Before the dark times. Before the Empire..."

Can you imagine Cheney in this situation finding a humanitarian molecule in his shrivelled soul to do something like this?

Look! I was finally able to do the impossible! I used the words "cheney" and "humanitarian" in the same sentence!

The Biggest, Swingin-est, Dick of Them All

Fucking Bill Clinton, man.

What else can I say?

He's a rock star and I've always loved him.

I may have to start stalking him in Chappaqua or at the state office building in Harlem.

Look, you know after this Hillary isn't giving him a damn thing -- shit, he went to North Korea and DID HER JOB! So I am volunteering. In a completely "Oooh, ooh, Mr. Kotter!!!" way.

If I recall correctly, he has a thing for bosomy brunettes.

My LA Trip

I'm very, very tired from my fun and frolicksome NYC weekend, so I am just going to summarize my trip to LA thusly:

First, I did this:



In LA, we did this, in fine style, with a picnic and everything:



I also did this, which caused a whole lot of envy amongst the Angelenos of my acquaintance:



One night, my friend took me to her house in Long Beach and we went out to dinner this way:



I finally got to Father's Office, where I ate this and was underwhelmed. Though the stuffed figs and the beer selection were exquisite:



I also ate a whole bunch of this in Gardena at our "secret" hole in the wall place:



We also ate here, but we didn't see any celebrities:



After we had lunch, we went to our store, where I scored these $450 shoes for 62 bucks. Tres sexy, non?



These are strictly indoor shoes. Get your minds out of the gutter.

Someone else took me here, and again we didn't see celebrities, just a bunch of d-baggy Hollywood types:



On one of my free nights, I went here for a couple of drinks by myself, and had to flee because some d-baggy Hollywood type was making the most vile propositions:



Listen, anyone who knows me knows that I'm no prude, so if a stranger says something that even I can't repeat it must be pretty disgusting.


Oh right, I was there to work, wasn't I? While all of this other fun stuff was going on, I did a whole lot of this:



And in my off-hours, I did a ton of this:



Last but most certainly not least, I also saw this guy a couple of times:



Heavens! If I had known woodpeckers were such great kissers, I would have kissed a lot more of them a whole lot sooner!

And that was my trip to Los Angeles.

60 Days and Counting

Until the Pittsburgh Penguins' home opener on October 2nd.

I'd go for my birthday weekend, but apparently everything is sold out already.

Hmph.