PDXcuse Me

I owe Portland an apology.


In retrospect, I never had any real anger towards Portland itself. I'm pretty sure I was only mad because Portland kept luring away people I really like. And nothing makes me saltier than people I like moving away. Ugh. I'm sorry, okay, Portland? I was being a hater, and I apologize for talking shit. For, like, years.

I guess this change of heart has been in the works for a while. Me and the dude had a mini-vacay in P-Town (I can call it that now, right?) a couple years ago, and it was just lovely. Granted, we spent pretty much the entire time in strip clubs, smoking, drinking and carousing, and really, who wouldn't enjoy that? But I wasn't sold on Portland just yet. Until this morning, that is, when I found out about their food cart situation.




Apparently, Portland is awash with food carts, and nobody bothered to tell me about it.


View Portland Food Carts in a larger map

If that map were of Seattle there'd be, like, eight of those dot things. We are woefully lacking in food carts, which was much more of an actual problem back when I used to leave the house, but is still a blow to my hometown pride. What hurts the most, though, is that Junior Ambassadors cart exists and I have never been there. These guys specialize in weird ice cream flavors that make our ice cream "mavericks" look like a bunch of snivelling M.O.R. pussies (smoked salmon and cream cheese, you guys. Shit!), "panwiches" whatever that means, and being super fucking whimsical and adorable. Essentially, they are killing my life right now, and I will pretty much feel like half a person until I can convince someone (i.e. Landon) to drive me there. Look. This is how they choose to represent themselves:

AAAAAGH, why are they doing this to me?! You can read all about it at the Food Carts Portland blog. And while you're there, you might as well click around and start planning your food cart tour of Portland.

I feel good, you guys. I've never apologized to an entire city before (though there have been times when I certainly should have), and it's kind of delightfully cathartic. Maybe this will become a series. I have talked shit about a lot of places.
*

What it breaks down to is this: I kind of hate everywhere that isn't Seattle, just for not being Seattle. But what I am starting to realize is that just because I love my wife (Seattle), that doesn't mean I can't occasionally enjoy the charms of other women (cities). And maybe, just maybe, it's time to get me some strange. (Don't worry, this logic does not apply to my actual wife, by which I mean my actual husband, who, thank little baby Jesus, does not read this blog.)

* Did you know that if you Google image search "oops", you will see about a billion nip/labe slips? Neither did I, until about 3 minutes ago. Yowza.

But Wait!! There's More!!

This morning I was chatting with Keehnan when the topic of infomercials came up. This, of course, led to a discussion of the beef between Billy Mays and Vince Offer (or, as I prefer to call him, That Young Upstart Tryna Usurp the Throne). Where do you stand on this very important issue?




Keehny is pro-Vince Offer. When I asked him to defend this stance, he cited Vince's delightful ridiculousness (exemplified by this statement- "Stop having a boring tuna, stop having a boring life!"), That he does his own commercials in Spanish (but clearly does not speak Spanish), and that he, unlike Billy Mays, does not yell.

I, on the other hand, am the fucking Captain of Team Billy Mays. First off, I am a creature of habit, y'all. I'm comfortable with Billy Mays. I know Billy Mays. Who the fuck is Vince Offer? What, he thinks he can just show up out of nowhere and sell me a highly absorbent towel, just like that? My head isn't turned that easily, I'm afraid. Also, he sounds like he's from New Jersey, which is probably the fastest way to get me to not trust you.

Billy Mays is great! He gets me all fired up! People complain about his constant yelling, calling it "abrasive" and "super fucking annoying", but I love it. I listen to a lot of mainstream rap music, you guys. I get uncomfortable if someone isn't yelling at me about their product preferences.

Jim Jones & ByrdGang - Splash
Uploaded by jeewhite94

Also I am excited about this.

Then He Should Have Armed Himself

I just watched The Strangers and I have a theory. People talk about how black folks yell at the screen during horror movies. I think I might know why: When one lives in a crap neighborhood, and has to get used to the idea that someone may attack you for one reason or another at any given time, one starts figuring out ways to deal with this and behaves accordingly. So then, when that person is watching a movie where the main characters keep doing everything the opposite way one should in order to stay alive, it gets frustrating. Thus the yelling.

Because horror movie protagonists are usually middle class whites who do not live under constant threat, it would seem that they have not developed these skills. I would like to offer them some tips.
For example:
1. If you think someone is even possibly trying to kill you, DO NOT put down your weapon. EVER.
2. The person who is trying to kill you might not come from the direction you are facing. So LOOK IN OTHER DIRECTIONS. If it is dark out and I am walking even just from the end of the block to my apartment building, I do a quick spin to see what is going on IN ALL DIRECTIONS at least every five seconds. I probably look crazy, but I am crazy and alive, so fuck it.
3. If you have the option of not being alone, DO NOT BE ALONE. In other words, don't split up. You will die, I promise.
4. If you find a gun, start shooting. Don't wait for something crazy to happen, just start shooting. Jesus.

Okay. I feel better now. That movie really tried my patience.



UR DOING IT WRONG

All I Want for Christmas

While I was in New York last week I was made aware (via the soundsystem in a Dunkin Donuts in Alphabet City (it's a long story)) that Christmas is lurking around the corner. So I figured we should talk about my favorite part of Christmas: you buying me stuff. Here we go!

1. Kindle
When I was a kid I was really into Star Trek: The Next Generation for, like, a billion reasons, but I hated Wesley Crusher so much that sometimes I couldn't watch.



That smug little fucker. I've recently realized, though, that while Wesley Crusher is annoying (he is to ST:TNG what Dawn is to Buffy The Vampire Slayer), I was mostly just jealous. Not because he lived in space or because he was within touching distance of Commander Riker (I know, I know. My grossness knows no bounds), but because he had a Kindle.





See? Same shit. Admittedly, Wesley's is flashier, but that's fine by me. I'm not trying to compensate for anything.



That's right, space bitch, I called you out.

There's a dude who rides my bus in the morning that has a Kindle and it's all I can do to keep from snatching it out of his hands, I want one so bad. Because seriously, I will wreck the shit out of a book. You should see my copy of Anna Karenina. It is shameful, what I did to that volume. So buy me a Kindle. Make me as happy as this guy.



2. Muppets



This is probably old news to you, but FAO Schwartz will make you a Muppet. Or at least they would, until everyone ordered them at the same time, because it is the best idea ever. So keep refreshing that page until they are making them again and get me a Muppet. Please.

3. Karl Lagerfeld Coffee Mug

I'm pretty sure Uncle Karl cease-and-desisted the shit out of this little gem, but you're creative. You can find me one, can't you?

4. Missbehave Magazine


I picked up this issue on my way to work because I was bored and I like bright colors. Then I opened it up and there was a big ol' feature on Mindy Kaling. That is all I need. I'm sold. I want a subscription.


5. 15 minutes



That is all.

Brain Candy! A Semi-Liveblog

Have we ever talked about my fear of transportation? Basically, any mode of transport that is not the feet I came from the womb in possession of makes me nervous. That nervousness increases exponentionally in relation to the speed at which that mode of transportation travels. like this:

Feet---->skateboard--->Bus--->car--->train--->airplane

Feet being totally fine, airplanes being screaming hysterical abject terror.



I am flying to New York City tomorrow, so like any responsible American who is lucky enough to have health insurance, I schlepped my ass to the doctor and asked for some anti-anxiety meds. She obliged. I took one 20 minutes ago as a test run. Let's see what happens!

1:10- I feel pretty good. I don't like to think about my actual, physical brain too much, but I think it feels slightly different. But nothing is stressing me out. I should do something about that, in order to truly test my response to the drugs.

1:14- I just turned the TV on in an attempt to let Fox News have its way with me, but that particular channel is not coming in today. Turned it to Headline News. They were talking about Dems possibly booting Lieberman, and instead of the wave of glee I was expecting, I just felt okay with it.

1:16- Oooooh, Palin's on CNN!! this oughta do it!!

1:17- All I feel is confusion as to why people are still asking this woman questions.

1:20- Seriously. Why? I'm gonna go google image search something

results for "funnest thing ever"



Jared Padalecki?!?! I could not possibly disagree more. Jess Mariano FTW



That thing looks pretty fun, kid, but I've got two words for you: Parachute Day.

results from "what should I have for lunch?"



Dude, it's not that hard.



I would very much like to.

1:30- I feel nothing inside. Mission accomplished!!

I'll add more today as the need strikes me.

2:51- Landon just told me I looked dull eyed. I want a pizza.

3:32- How do medicated people get anything done? I just moved the cursor around and stared at it like I wasn't the one controlling it for a full three minutes.

A Serious Query

Mayor C. Ray Nuggets and I have a question to ask you: Which is weirder, this video (embedding disabled, which is straight up cold blooded. But please bear with us and click through. We want this issue settled.) or this one?*




I really want you all to leave your opinion in the comments. (That includes you, Ms. Williams. I would like you to share with the class today.)

Also, we thought about including the following in the runnings towards becoming America's Next Top Super Weird Music Video, but decided it was in a solar system of its own.




* Remember when Busta Rhymes presented a VMA with Martha Stewart while wearing a crazy red Man-frock? I miss that dude. I feel like he was the Samson of weirdness and when he cut off his dreads his powers disappeared.

Okay, dudes. The election is over and I don't know what to do. For the last few months I have immersed myself in political news for up to five hours a day, which was not the healthiest behavior, but God, was it fun. But it's over! Barack Obama is President-Elect of the Galaxy, Joey Buttons is busy getting his mane refurbished for Inauguration Day, Sarah Palin took her kooky ass back to the tundra, and Walnuts McCain was last seen yelling at kids to get off his lawn somewhere in Real America. Ugh, I miss the campaign already.

I need a hobby!! I've been working on a list of possible ways to spend my time. Here's what I've got so far:

1. Charcuterie

Have I ever told you how much I love cured meats? If it wasn't so expensive, I would snack on salami slices like chips. My Death Row meal would be prosciutto lasagna. One time I saw David Allen Grier on the Martha Stewart Show talking about how he made his own prosciutto. It was inspiring. I think it's time I got around to curin' some meats!!

Culinary Communion in Beacon Hill has a monthly 5-hour class that just might fit the bill. They have a bunch of other classes that sound great, like Handmade Pasta, Stocks and Sauces, and Truffles (oh my god yes).

2.Let's Learn Spanish!!



When I was eight, me and my mom lived in Mexico City for 6 months. I arrived fluent in swear words (thanks Grandma!), but unable to speak the language in any functional way. I left straight-up fluent, but I was so mad at Mexico that I refused to speak Spanish once we got back to the states, and I lost the language completely. I think it's time to forgive (I already forgot) and relearn the language of my people (on Mom's side). Or not. Now that I think about it, it sounds kind of boring.

3. Getting Wonky With It



I've decided to keep my head in the game and stay up to date on policy. I probably would have been doing a better job of this all along had I not been suffering through an administration that made me want to stab myself in the head for the last eight years. I'm looking forward to getting really dorky about it, now that I won't be distracted by skyrocketing blood pressure every time I try to read up on politics. But I will also try to moderate my intake.

4. Health-Nuttery


This one is kind of a challenge for me, since I am allergic to raw fruits and vegetables. No, really. So I have to get really creative to eat healthy, and I have to count on a lot of supplements. Fortunately, shopping for supplements is my idea of a good time. The more expensive and frivolous, the better. Maybe I'll start drinking Borba Skin Care Water. That sounds fun. But I draw the line at actually working out.

Is there anything else I should consider? What do you do for fun? I really want to know.

Unexpected Bonus to Obama Presidency:

Sexy, sexy Congressman Rahm Emanuel as Chief Of Staff? Does this mean he'll be on Meet The Press a lot? Because that is exactly the change I need. Way to hold my interest, Barry.



I can't handle it.

Carol's Daughter

Remember when I decided I would only use two beauty products for my entire body? Well, it did not work out, you guys. My scalp itched, like, constantly, and my hair was limp and tired. It had no body at the crown, which I've been told is very (very) important. My skin was, to put it mildly, sub-ethereal. Oh, I was sad. While I am still fully freaked out by unregulated chemicals in the shit that I put on my face (!!!), I am simply too vain to stay the course. So, off to Sephora I went. (For the record, I fucking hate Sephora, but their particular brand of awfulness has been well-documented, so I'll stick to the story.)

Now, I was already aware of Carol's Daughter products, thanks to the lovely Mindy Kaling, but had never come across them in person. And while I normally defer to Mindy Kaling in all matters, Carol's Daughter is also endorsed by Jada Pinkett Smith, a women whose tastes I find questionable at best (Wicked Wisdom, anyone?). Sephora carries their hair and body products, and I was excited to check them out. One thing though: how exactly am I supposed to assess a hair product without actually using it? Do you know what I mean? I tried rubbing something on the back of my hand, but all it did was make me feel like a girl with hair stuff on the back of her hand. It also made me smell like Erykah Badu.



Not that smelling like Ms. Badu is a terrible thing, but I am a busy woman, and I don't need strangers stopping me to ask where the nearest slam poetry reading is every time I leave the house. And anyway, Black Hippie-ness is a slippery fucking slope. One moment you're just trying to find a paraben-free moisturizer and the next thing you know you're at Waid's Haitian Lounge talking to some dude in a Dead Prez t-shirt about Frantz Fanon, and you're totally okay with the word "punani." Or so I'm told. (BTW, just typing out "punani" almost made me yak.)

But I persevered, dudes. I waded through the whole product line until I found one that seemed geared toward my needs; a curl product that has lots of moisturizers and offers control, but does not shellac, and is free of scary baddie chemicals! Plus, it smells like lemongrass and roses, which doesn't evoke any goofy sub-cultures that I am aware of. It's called Hair Milk and I am into it. Apparently it won some Best of Sephora award, which is kind of impressive considering how many products they carry, but whatever. All I know is that I used it and now I look purty. Happy ending!!


Quick Programming Note: Sorry I haven't written in so long, but I got a day job this summer, so now I'm rich but I'm low on time. So it goes! I'll try to be here more, whatever that means.

Bobby!

Lately, I've been thinking about the RZA a lot. And when I say "lately", I mean for about twelve years. I guess what I should say is that I have been thinking about the RZA even more than I normally do, and for two reasons:

1. Wuchess.com



I am really tempted to join Wuchess, even though I am not a skilled enough chess player to get to the point where I could play the RZA (that being the obvious draw). I want to join out of an almost sense of obligation, as it was the Wu-Tang Clan's influence that got me to play chess in the first place. Well, that and my brother's hectoring.

2. RZA as Bobby Digital
I have tickets to see RZA next week, and after ten years of failed attempts, I firmly believe I will actually see him this time. It almost happened this last December when I saw the rest of the Clan, but they were beefing pretty hard with R. Diggs at that point, so he was the only member absent. I was heartbroken. Fucking Capadonna was there, but no RZA.



But this time it's just him, and he's pretty responsible these days, right? Knock wood. Ugh, now I'm starting to doubt it. I'd say "fool me twice", but these Wu motherfuckers have burned me like, eight times. I'm an optimist, but they make it very difficult for me sometimes.

Update: I forgot to say this before, but I'm pretty sure I heard the RZA yelling "Bobby!" in the background on an episode of The Wire. Check it out. 3rd season 2nd episode, when Herc is telling Carver about his naked pastry chef fantasy.

Right Now

I am listening to Tha Carter III.

Fucking finally.

A Delectable Dilemma

Okay, dudes, I am going to tell you something and I need you to reserve judgment for a minute. There is something I have not been able to get out of my head this week, and it might be a really terrible idea. It also might be the best idea I have ever had. Are you ready?

Potato chip nachos.

Bear (bare?) with me here. I'm not talking about some 7-11 nacho cheese bullshit. At least I don't think I am. I haven't worked out the details. But CheeseFest is this weekend, so maybe I'll find the appropriate cheese there. What worries me is that if I attempt this and it is gross, I will have wasted both potato chips and cheese, which is sad, sad, sad.

But!! What if it is totally awesome!! What if the powers of potato and cheese combine in a glorious alchemy to form the most retardedly delicious thing that has ever happened to me!!!!

I have a feeling that what would actually happen would be a near-perfect expression of one of my favorite words: Grawesome®.

Grawesome, as you may have guessed, is the delightful intersection of gross and awesome.

Some examples:



I love these fucking things. I only eat them about once a year, which is just enough time to forget how awful they make me feel.



I used to live on this shit.

Are you getting my point, here? Further, grawesome doesn't only apply to food.

I'm pretty sure Caralee is the only one who will back me up on this, but KFed is a stone grawesome fox. *



Popozao!

So, help me out, dudes. What cheese would work in the context of potato chip nachos? Or, should I just forget the whole idea? I'm so curious!!


*I just realized that Britney Spears' entire life is basically composed of grawesome. Whoa.

Snake People

Dudes, I am upset. Let me tell you a story.

This last Saturday was by far the most beautiful day Seattle has seen since this year began. Blue skies, perfect temperature. It was the kind of day that made you want to go to a barbeque. Which we did. In fact, it was basically the perfect sunny day, wherein you go buzzing around from one gorgeous social engagement to another with your beautiful, witty friends, enjoying the sunshine and reparte.

Until.

Until.


(Ugh, I am still so upset about this, I have to go find a picture of something really great that will make me feel okay again. Hold on.



That's not it. I feel different but not better. Ummm... let's try this:



That's not it either. Close, but-



There we go. Okay, I'm ready to get back to the story.)


Until!! We went to Golden Gardens to meet our buddies. It was about an hour before they start kicking people out but it was still packed. It was the busiest I'd ever seen the beach this early in the year. So we were trying to park the car, and I'm scanning the lot looking for open spots, right? When I see the fucking unthinkable!! I see a man


with



a



fucking



ALBINO FUCKING PYTHON DRAPED OVER HIS FUCKING ASSHOLE IDIOT SHOULDERS!!! A FUCKING PYTHON, YOU GUYS!!!


Who does that shit?! What kind of terrible person goes to the beach on the busiest day of the year with a giant terrifying snake? Do you know how many people are scared of snakes?!! Fucking everyone, that's how many!!

I apologize for all the swears, but I have seriously never been this upset in my life. I couldn't relax the whole time we were at the beach. I kept having to look behind me to make sure the snake guy wasn't chasing me. That may sound ridiculous, but it has actually happened to me. One time a few years ago, I was walking down Third and a guy started hollering at me, "Hey, girl, lemme holler atcha!!" I looked and saw he had a snake wrapped around his arm!! A much smaller snake, but still, a snake. So I yelled, "Nuh-uh!!" and quickened my pace. But he followed me! So I started walking really, really fast. Speed-walking, basically. But he kept pace! So I started running!! And he did too!! He chased me for like, two blocks before he gave up!!! It was awful, guys. So you see, my fears were founded in experience.

I don't even know how to deal with this shit. Some people are just horrible. That guy really crapped in my oatmeal.

Post a picture in the comments that will make me feel better about this world.

What I'm Into Right Now, Pt. 4

Wooooo! It's been a long time! Shouldn't have left you without a dope blog to, umm... read. With all the shit we've been doing around the house I really haven't had the mental capacity to write. Frankly, my little pea-brain can only handle so much. But now, with the home space settled, I have a couple things I want to talk about. Let's do this shit, y'all!

1. Zotz

So, as we've discussed, I'm not really one for sweet treats, but I will gladly make an exception for these little buddies.While Zotz are simple lozenges at first glance, they have an awesome surprise in store for your mouth. The middle is filled with sodium bicarbonate, the same chemical that gives Alka Selter its' delightful fizz. I love them!!!

2. Flights of Fancy



Yesterday, as I was returning some movies, a thought occurred to me. What if I were a mighty Tyrannosaurus Rex wandering the streets of Capitol Hill? How would I spend my day? I decided that I would mainly do these things:
- Peer into peoples windows, partially for the fun of freaking people out, but mostly because I really want to know how other people decorate their apartments.
- Move folks from one side of the street to the other with my tiny little T Rex arms. Gently. Very gently.
- Dance
- Stomp on ugly condos.
Fun!

3. Dragon Quest 8
Ugh, I love this game. The music is awesome, the monsters are all really cute (to the point where I sometimes feel guilty about whomping them) and the graphics are great. I have one serious beef, though, and this kind of extends to the whole RPG genre. I have to chase down this jester dude that is running around killing the shit out of people, right? Okay. But then, everytime I go to a town, somebody sends me on some bogus-ass side mission! I just wanna tell them, "Look, I am really busy right now!! I do not have time to go get a basket of eggs from your fucking Cousin JoJo!!" Do you know what I mean? These RPG characters have no sense of scale. But I cannot stop playing, because I love it.


Seriously. Look how cute that shit is! Also, I am especially fond of that particular dude because when he runs he sticks his arms straight out to the sides like a little kid playing airplane.

4. Being Really Frustrated With Lil Wayne:

Read this:
"Initially planned to be released in 2007, Tha Carter III's largest delay came after the majority of the tracks were leaked and distributed on mixtapes, such as "The Drought Is Over Pt. 2" and "The Drought Is Over Pt. 4". Wayne initially decided to use the leaked tracks, plus four new tracks, to make a separate album, titled Tha Carter III: The Leak. The Leak was to be released December 18, 2007, with the actual album being delayed until March 18, 2008,^[23] The release of The Leak in this format never came to fruition, but an official EP titled The Leak and containing five tracks was released digitally on December 25, 2007. Tha Carter III now has a release date of May 13, 2008"

What the shit!!!! Just put out the fucking album already!! I am sick of this shit. I want the album. Are you listening to me, Weezy? I am officially sick of your shit.


P.S. You look like Golem.

Update: Well, apparently, the album has been pushed back to June. Landon says it's the new "Chinese Democracy", and I am trying really hard not to agree with him.

Welcome to the Jungle

The squirrels that live around my building are fucking huge. I'd ceased to notice it until the other day, when I was in a different neighborhood. For a moment I thought that the squirrels in this other neighborhood were freakishly small, but then I realized that they were totally normal, and that I had just gotten used to ginormous squirrels. This doesn't bother me unless while looking at them I remember that a squirrel is only a rat with a cute, bushy tail.


Sometimes, in my minds eye, I strip them of the cute tail, and they become big, fat rats frolicking in the tree outside my window. I hate it when that happens.

Don't get me wrong, I like squirrels. I like the way they eat. I admire their brazenness. But I am sick of them. I want new animals roaming the city.
Specifically, these guys:



And these guys:




P.S. Remember a couple years ago when that bear was wandering around the U-District for a couple days?

In Which I Totally Tell On Myself

I started a to write a post earlier today that was basically me ranting about someone that annoyed me (kind of a lot) at work last night. A couple paragraphs in I had to stop myself. "Is this what I write about?" I asked. "Is this what I do now? Rag on people who are perhaps a tad socially inept for simply trying to force me to have a conversation?" The answer to that, on this day, is no. On this day I will not do that. Maybe some other time, but not today. Instead, as a sort of penance, I will tell you a story about me that I am not particularly proud of.

I used to work at Starbucks. It wasn't always horrible, and sometimes it was fun. Most of the time, though, I was just jacked up out of my gourd on espresso, because it was free, and they made us get up really early in the morning, you guys.

So, it was one such morning in early December. I remember it was about 9:30, so I had probably already had at least four shots of espresso. I was on the till, which meant writing down/calling out drink orders, ringing folks up, and most pertinent to this story, fetching pastries. A man stepped up to the front of my line, youngish, kind of cute, and way too sleepy for what I was about to put him through.

"What would you like this morning?" I chirped, probably way too fast. I want to make it abundantly clear that what follows would not have happened were it not for the nearly-fatal amount of caffeine coursing through my veins. Actually, y'know what? It might have happened without the coffee. Who knows? I'm crazy as shit, y'all.

"Ummmmm, I'd like a short Americano, and I think I'll have a slice of that Gingerbread-bread," he replied.

I swear to you, I felt like I was out of my own body, watching a grin take my mouth as I said, "You want some Gingerbread-bread? You want some Ginger-ginger-gingerbread-bread? You want some Bread-ginger-bread-ginger-ginger-ginger-bread-ginger-"

And I just kept going! I couldn't stop!! I was standing there watching myself do this for, like, at least 45 seconds, which is a really long time if you count it out. And I watched him, visibly uncomfortable, but with no idea what to do. What do you do? When your only mistake was getting in the wrong line at Starbucks, and clearly this woman is batshit crazy, and you have not even had your coffee yet?

"Ginger-bread-bread-bread-ginger-ginger-bread?"Finally it seemed to be over. I paused. "And a short Americano?"

He nodded meekly, and did not make eye contact as I wrote his order on a cup, told him his total, accepted his cash and gave him change. And I only ever saw him in that Starbucks one more time. It was awkward. But maybe he started going somewhere better for his coffee. Maybe a Caffe Ladro! Or maybe he gave up coffee entirely. Christ, I hope not. Probably he just started going to the Starbucks on the other side of the street.

Hobosexual

Viggo Mortenesen looks like a hobo.



I use a picture of him looking a little schmancy to illustrate that he doesn't look homeless the way, say, the Olsen Twins used to look homeless. By which I mean actually dressing as though one is homeless. No. What I'm talking about here is more a hobo-ness of the soul. Look into his eyes. Those, my friends, are the eyes of a hobo. I see the same thing in Colin Farrell.



Colin Farrell is definitely a hobo, he just happens to have a lucrative job. These men's status as sex-symbols really bothers me, as it points out that women are gross, because both of those men are basically Gary Busey, as far as I'm concerned.



p.s. In researching this post I discovered a fascinating (fascinating!!) fact about Daniel Day Lewis. From his Wikipedia article:

Following The Boxer, Daniel Day-Lewis took a leave of absence from acting by putting himself into "semi-retirement" and returning to his old passion of woodworking. He moved to Florence, Italy, where he became intrigued by the craft of shoemaking, eventually apprenticing as a shoemaker for a time while his exact whereabouts and actions were not made publicly known.^[11] While, as a consequence, little of these events are known, it has been rumoured that Day-Lewis, in return for room and board, instructed the master cobbler in acting. It has further been suggested that, following Day-Lewis' departure, the shoemaker took up a career as a traveling Commedia dell'Arte performer—a profession which has seen his earning potential skyrocket. Day-Lewis has refused to comment on the subject, simply stating that "Laurencino [the shoemaker] was a man of many gifts".

I love absolutely everything about the above quote, but my favorite part is that Laurencino the shoemaker is shrouded in mystery.

It Came To Me In A Dream

Last night I watched The Broken Giant, the most boring movie of all time. I got it because it was Will Arnett's only dramatic film on Netflix, and history has shown that when comedians do drama, it tends to be pretty durn good (see Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Stranger Than Fiction, Punch-Drunk Love, etc). Guess I found the exception that proves the rule. Every single scene had the exact same dialogue.

1- "How are you?"
2- "I'm fine."
1- "Where have you been?"
2- "Went for a walk."
1- "Where to?"
2- "The woods."
1- "I think that girl should leave soon."
2- "She's not ready yet."
1- "..."
2- "..."

OVER AND OVER AGAIN FOR A FUCKING HOUR. In the last twenty minutes there was some illicit sex and a pointless murder, but by then it was too g.d. late. Will Arnett didn't move his face the entire time.


Stop making that face at me!!

The most exciting part was when I realized that the lead-ish actress was the victim in Silence of The Lambs. I pointed at the screen and yelled, "It puts the lotion in the basket! It puts the lotion in the basket!" Ugh. I just read Will Arnett's Wikipedia article and apparently, he "never considered himself a comic" and considers himself an "actor first." Really, Will Arnett? Really? I am just so upset with him right now.

Anyway, this led to me dreaming that I was stuck at a bar (I think it was Chapel) talking to an incredibly boring girl who only answered my questions in monosyllables. But then, just as I thought I was so bored that I would never be happy again and I might as well just die (Dream Chelsea is even more melodramatic than Real Chelsea) Prince materialized through a set of gauzy white drapes and launched into Purple Rain! Then he winked at me, and I looked down to see that he had tattooed me with his eyes, leaving a purple raindrop on my wrist about the size of a grain of rice.

I think I might actually get the tattoo. Why not, right? It's super-tiny and would serve as a constant reminder that no matter how bored I am, at least I'm not watching The Broken Giant anymore. And in the unlikely event that someone notices it and asks me about it, I can say, "Prince gave it to me in a dream," and smile cryptically. Similarly to this, but without the goofy hat:


Man, I gotta start wearing more eyeliner.