let's get lucky

guess what, guys?

this weblog's a-movin.'

again.

here.

please join me eventually.

tengo uno situacion con mi familia!

so i was watching advance warning on mtv...2 the other night. (you have to say it like ian robinson says it, with that pause and the devil horns: mtv...two. is it wrong that i have a mad mad crush on that bald doofy punk?) yeah. i've found that i can pretty much never watch music videos on regular mtv because the playlist seems to include crap, more crap and mc-crapitty-crap. mtv...2, on the other hand, while still deeply mired in craptacularity manages to sneak some good shit in from time to time. this episode of advance warning featured dizzee rascal (who is fucking awesome), lost prophets (who are okay, but have the worst name i've ever heard) and finally, joss stone, whose freshman album is kind of presumptuously named "the soul sessions." i wasn't sure what to make of her at first. she has an okay voice for that bluesy stuff. kind of an amalgam of fiona apple and allison krauss. right. then she starts talking normally and this girl is a) british and b) like 16 years old. and she looks like miss piggy. not unlike kelly clarkson, from whom joss stone has stolen her wardrobe (skinny scarf and all) as well as the set for her new video, a cover of the white stripes' "fell in love with a girl," re-born as, wait for it..."fell in love with a boy." yes. now i love the white stripes and i'm not afraid to tell you that this girl, joss stone's version? well...it SUCKS BALLS. oh my god, it was the biggest piece of crap i have heard in a long time and most definitely the worst cover i've heard since britney spears' "i love rock n' roll" but without the added benefit of seeing britney spears in a belly shirt.

fucking kids, man.

well, sorry doesn't put the triscuit crackers in my stomach, now does it, karl?

does anybody else think that johnny depp is sitting in a coffee house somewhere in france contemplating the existential hilarity of the acting genius of donnie brasco, edward scissorhands and what's eating gilbert grape winning a screen actor's guild award for pirates of the carribbean: the curse of the black pearl?

in other news governor schwarzenegger has made a statement asserting that though constitutionally prohibited, foreign-born american citizens who have lived in the country for a long period of time should be eligible for the presidency. the governor then went on to cite war criminal and devious mastermind henry kissinger as an example of that foreign-born political goodness. while i would tend to agree that denying the pursuit of the highest office of a nation built by fucking immigrants to slightly newer immigrants is arguable, i'd like to say that the best argument for keeping this one on the books is that is guarantees a future in which i will never have to refer to governor schwarzenegger as "president schwarzenegger."

you're a wee puppet man!

oh my god! Spot, the White House Dog died! That would be so sad were it not for the fact that I DON'T FUCKING CARE ABOUT PRESIDENT BUSH'S DOG.

well they have god on their side, summer. i'm not gonna beat jesus.

i am so glad to see that one of my favorite news sources shares my immense love for the hotarity (yeah, i made that word up. hot + hilarity) that is the seth cohen. it never fails to please me when my worlds collide.

even maggie has the baby with the one eyebrow...

so, on sunday, as i scoured the local drug stores for discounted valentine's day candy (because, as you know, my amazing weight-loss diet consists almost solely of sushi, mcdonald's and a tonnage of chocolate), i made an important discovery: the easter confections have arrived. as we all know, easter has the best candy of all the holidays. you know i'm right. thanksgiving: nothing. halloween and christmas: all the same candy as the rest of the year, but in different wrappers. chanukkah: mealy gelt. valentine's day: chalk-flavored hearts. easter: solid chocolate bunnies. those egg-shaped gumballs that come in the carton. malted easter eggs with the bright candy coating that you can lick and use as lipstick. and of course, who can forget the one, the only, my chocolatey nemesis: the cadbury creme egg. oh, you milky devil. the cadbury creme egg is the second food that i remember throwing up (the first being kentucky fried chicken coleslaw that i spewed, half-digested over the tray of my high chair). indeed, i was 3 years old, returning home in the butterfield family volvo from a potluck of some sort. little did my parents know that i had raided the easter candy spread at the mattson house, downing handful after handful of sugary devilment. i had even tucked away a final creme egg of death in my jumper pocket, hoping to savor it on the ride home, and i would have, had i not linda blaired all over myself, my sister, my brother, the backseat and that little hump in the middle of the car.

oh, cadbury creme egg, how you tempt me with your delicious sugared-milk interior and delectable chocolate shell. how i long to devour you without thinking of vomit. do i swallow you whole, like a snake? or bite a hole in the shell and suck out the creamy internal goodness, mongoose-style? one day...one day soon.

you can be blasé about some things, rose, but not about titanic

due in part to my insistence on viewing the entirety of angel season three in under three days in conjunction with all of the back-up episodes of season five i had on tape, i have developed a propensity to call people ridiculous nicknames in subconscious imitation of both spike and lorne. they drop such endearments as "angelcakes" and "freddikins" and "niblet" and "puff pastry" and "pet" with alarming frequency and i've found myself powerless to resist the urge. i was, at first, slightly embarrassed at the verbal slippage, but i've come to embrace the practice. from now on, i'm going to be the girl who rarely, if ever, calls anyone by his or her given name, preferring instead to replace said monikers with ones of my own choosing, included but not limited to the aforementioned spike/lorne-isms as well as such old favorites as "tiger," "guy," "honey," "sister-friend," "my little papaya," and "muffin."

and, from time to time: "cracker."

not for wrath, not for ruin, but for the red dawn!

so last night was movie night. someone over in queen anne throws one of these about once or twice a month. always a blast. among the past viewees: super troopers, zoolander, the texas chainsaw massacre (original), brain candy, the royal tenenbaums. that sort of thing. the idea is to watch a movie that we have all seen so nobody gets all pissy about people talking during the the screening, and there will, invariably, be talking since there are always like 15 people crammed into the living room. last week, someone suggested we watch barfly which angered me for several reasons, not the least of which being that it's a mickey fucking rourke picture. also, it's on my short list for crappiest feature films of all time and i have actually *seen* gigli, so i know from crappy. long story short, i get to beth and dave's house at 8:00 for cocktails, hauling 8 bags of chips to feed the hordes. by "hordes," i mean me, beth and dave. i was the first to arrive and i downed a gorgeous jamesons on the rocks while bullshitting with the lord and lady of the manor.

nine o'clock rolls around and we're still the only ones there. turns out everybody got sick or busy and whatnot and totally ditched out on movie night, the fuckers. so beth and dave said i could pick the movie and we watched titanic. oh, bet on it. and they have one of those widescreen tvs, high-definition, the works. it was beautiful. then we decided that every time something billy zane said that would have sounded better when followed by "bitch," we should drink. oh, and also anytime a poor person has a foreign accent. we got well-nigh hammered and ended up scarfing down scores of chips and laughing till our stomachs hurt. although, to be fair, that could have been the chips.

my comedic genius moment of the evening was when i realized that bernard hill who has recently garnered nerd fame as king theoden in the lord of the rings played the captain of the titanic. during the solemn, quiet moment that the captain awaited his watery death, i intoned "where is the horse and the rider..." and beth and dave busted up.

you know, i'm thinking that moment was much funnier that it should have been since we were all drunk.

plus, if i were arrested for coveting my neighbor's wife, i'd probably bear false witness

briefly: it occurs to me that if i pooled together the money i've spent on bikini waxes and manicures in the last 6 months, i'd have my marc jacobs venetia. or a month and a half of rent, however you want to look at it.

eat my wrath, gorilla throwing barrels!!!

as noted below, last week sunday (not yesterday, last week), i went to see the shins play at the showbox. i was very excited, as i had never seen them live and i love them with all of the good places of my heart. this is not always the best mindset with which to approach a live show because research has shown that for at least 70 percent of music groups, album quality is inversely proportional to performance quality. for instance: the minus five, built to spill, spoon, the walkmen--so awesome on disc, so crappy live; and coheed & cambria, sparklehorse, grandaddy, sushirobo--so crappy on disc, so awesome live. clearly, some bands suck or rock both ways like wilco, andrew wk, neutral milk hotel, bright eyes and modest mouse. i'll leave it up to you which ones suck and which ones rock and keep in mind, there are no right answers. just cool ones and dumb ones.

my point is, i went into the shins show thinking, oh holy shit, this is going to be awesome, which is always a bad idea when the statistics really aren't in your favor. luckily for me, the statistics were twainian and the shins were fucking awesome live, oh holy shit. they are one of few bands that actually sound, you know...like the album when they play. i mean, exactly like the album. which, i suppose, could be a negative thing to some people, but not to me. they played for like an hour-forty-five, which was extra cool since they only have two really short albums, so they literally played EVERY song on both albums, so no one went away disappointed that the band didn't play his/her favorite track like when i went to see bright eyes the second time and the fuckers didn't play "make war." also, the dudes in the shins look like everybody's next door neighbor--geeky everymen in baggy tee-shirts with bad hair. plus, they were kinda tipsy and funny when whena girl threw a bra onstage with her name and number, they had no idea what it was. the keyboardist was like "dude...is this...is this a bra? somebody threw a bra up here! whoa! and it's got a phone number on it...this is AWESOME!" i was pissed that somebody beat me to the bra trick because *i* wanted to make out with him.

the best part was when, during the encore, someone shouted that they should cover a postal service song and the keyboardist was all, "yeah, hold on a second and i'll press 'demo' on my keyboard." HAH-HAH...in your face, postal service!

it's D-Lux, son! it ain't hard...

so i went with carol to the atmosphere show at the old showbox and it was fucking crazy, man. doors opened at 8, so we drove down at 10-ish. when we got there, there was still a motherfucking line. so we tell them we're on the guest list and they shuffle us to a smaller line, but a line nonetheless, two hours after doors opened; it was fucking bullshit, man. when we got to the door, we discovered the hold-up...they were doing bag searches and pat-downs. it was so cool. instant toughness. like gough with a "t." i mean, with two Fs.

(by the way, this tomato bisque i'm drinking is fabu. oh campbell's soup.)

so we make our way inside to find rachel who is hanging with will by the sound booth on stage left. this should have been easy, but it turned out to be tremendously difficult as there were fifteen billion people in the venue. they must have seriously oversold the show or something because the shins were sold out on sunday (more to follow on that) and there was room to move. last night, there was scarcely room to breathe and people were fucking raucus with the dancing and the arm waving and the head bobbing. so we find rachel and watch a bit of one of the openings (i don't know who they were, but they were actually pretty good).

then all of a sudden, this big, burly red-head--and i mean big, he was at least 6 inches taller than me and i'm no pixie--guy throws his arms around all three of us (don't ask me how that is possible) and asks us if we like the act because he thinks they suck. he draws his equally tall friends into the conversation. i, of course, say i think they suck but tell him that rachel thinks they're the best band ever, so they converge on her and drunkenly ask her to elaborate. it was funny because rachel buckles like a belt under pressure. one of the guys asks rachel her name and she tells him and he's all "rachel? like that girl on friends! i watch that shit every night!" rachel, ever the polite avoider of conflict nods and agrees. carol,and i lose our shit laughing, i mean, come on, that is seriously the worst pick-up line ever in history besides "hi, my name is adolf hitler." it's like "hey, not only do i not have a life, i choose to fill that void with FRIENDS of all things." then, the big burly red-head tells me he likes my hair and it's cute. i thank him and he says "i'm not trying to spit on your game or anything." what? spit on my game? what the fuck does that mean? i mean, clearly, it means he's not trying to hit on me, but seriously, WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? what's my game? and why would he want to or not want to spit on it?

then some other stuff happened and atmosphere started their stuff and it was pretty cool. i was a little distracted by all the rhubarb with the showbox security people charging into the throng to stop whatever it was they were stopping. there's this girl who works there, she's kinda heavy and has these big long braids and she is SCARY. not in a bad way, but in a whoa, if i step wrong, this girl will fuck me up kind of a way. it was seth-davely awesome. i know it may just have been the braids and her zaftig figure, but when she jumped off the stage to accost that guy smoking pot all i could hear was die walküre and then later everytime she walked by i inadvertantly hummed various bars from götterdämmerung. rachel said her name is johnna, but she'll always be brunnhilde to me. well, not to her face or anything. clearly.

my father will be glad to know that his incessant listening to the ring of the nibelungen cycle back in 1992 was not lost on me.

elope with me miss private and we'll sail around the world

so beth and allison's 4th annual 22nd birthday party was a hoot and a half. i wore my new capelet and felt very foolish initially, but very stylish 2 appletini's, 1 blue raspberry-tini and a 7&7 later. i'd never had such girly frou-frou drinks before, but it was a special occasion. as a side note, these four drinks were consumed BEFORE we got to the bar, so i was pretty much shit-faced before the party even started. yay me! i won't give you the details of the evening, for i remember few. i remember downing jack-and-ginger after jack-and-ginger at the bar and i remember some random guy grabbing me and kissing me (open-mouthed, dude, gross, i almost punched him in the face like i did that hipster fuck who put his hand up my skirt at the bright eyes show last year), but that's about it.

oh, i do remember having a nice chat with my ex-housemate dan morelli's older brother, tim. now the thing with tim is, yeah, he's cute-ish. kind of roly-poly and all. a little doofy, not the best dresser. oh, and this one time, he puked in my friend jene's bed. that said, this guy tim is like knee-deep in chicks, man. for as long as i've known him, homeboy has had like two girlfriedns at a time and not uggos either, cute, nice girls. i never got it, you know, never quite understood the tim morelli mystique. right. so last night, i'm talking to the guy and within the span of five minutes, he tells me he a) likes my shoes b) likes my purse c) likes my hair and d) thinks i appear 'luminous.'

i was like, oh right. i love you. it's so rare to find a charming young man nowadays, you know? the charm, of course, wears off as soon as he stops talking, so i suppose that's a good thing. i mean, it's practically a weapon.

(recycled title) you lie! on ceti alpha 5 there was life, a fair chance!

a short list of things that ahe doesn't have whilst drunk:

the ability to speak coherently

tact

control over the motion of her super-long monkey arms

volume control

emotional boundaries

fiscal discipline

shame

i've got two dozen slayers and not one of them has been your girlfriend

newsflash, people: i've just had a moment. at exactly 2:04 pacific standard time, a friend of mine told me that i am "not nerdy enough" for some website he goes to. me, ahe, the girl who just quoted tim lenk from last night's episode of angel. me, ahe, who actually knows tom lenk's name. me, ahe, the girl who took issue with the conception of the balrog in the lord of the rings: the fellowship of the ring. balrogs don't have fucking wings, man. me, ahe, the girl who has actually said "in your face golden globes" and meant it. me, ahe, the girl who can and has said "rife with portent" without irony. i am NOT NERDY ENOUGH for something. finally. for once in my life i am not a big enough nerd. i've been waiting for this moment my whole life. i rule!

noooo, you said 'wet shirt won't break,' not 'piss shirt bend bars!'

so back to my reality tv ban, or as i like to call it "ahe is allowed only 7 minutes of reality tv a week from now until the end of time."

that's going straight to the shitter, my friends. to quote jed bartlet's liberal messiah president precursor, michael douglas in an american president, i'm throwing it out and writing a law that makes sense and that law is as follows: ahe will refrain from watching all reality television except america's top model and real world/road rules: the inferno because they are awesome, yo. the model show--they're just fucking with those vain, shallow, skinny bitches and ah love it...plus tyra banks is all charitably active and whatnot. as for the inferno...well it hasn't actually premiered yet, but i watched the preview on mtv last night and nearly wet myself. trishelle and mike had a rocky split because she's a cheating whore, psycho katie has returned to stir it up and melissa vs. julie has turned into coral vs. julie and i love that big bitch coral...man, she don't take shit from anybody and she's hot too. my favorite interaction to come: julie challanges coral to wrestle "like men" and coral says: "wrestle? i don't wrestle, i fucking beat bitches up!" SWEET.

oh, i am pumped. what heavenly catharsis.

in other news, johnny depp was nominated for an academy award for his role as captain jack sparrow in pirates of the carribbean: the curse of the black pearl. tom cruise and russell crowe were not nominated for anything. cold mountain got the shaft. that little chick from whale rider is up for best actress. lost in translation could nab best film, or best actor for the parless bill murray. "a kiss at the end of the rainbow" from a mighty wind is up for best song. meireilles was nominated for directing city of god which made my heart hurt. anthony minghella is softly weeping in a low-lit room right now. hah-hah, IN YOUR FACE, GOLDEN GLOBES!!! the academy awards are so much cooler than you are and always will be. thought you could jump the gun, come out early and swinging and sway the oscar voters to your second-rate taste, didn't you. in the immortal words of wynn rankin: eat this shit, yo.

ugly baby judges you!!!

so silly some friends scheduled their collaborative birthday festivities for sunday the 25th... otherwise known as GOLDEN GLOBES NIGHT. how do you tell your friends that you really...really want go to their birthday party, but you'd much rather watch a hollywood awards show? but, alas, alas for me, i shall overcome my shallow addiction to all that glitters and join the party. i will of course, bring a bit of the sulk with me, but i'm assuming that liquor shall conquer all and i'll forget about not being able to see johnny depp in a tux. and plus, you can do marvelous things with vcrs nowadays.

in related news, i'm taking an extended dip in the pool of anxiety waiting for those oscar noms to hit the news. january 27th will see me waking up early and tuning in to cnn and maybe trembling a little bit. i know it's a ginourmous long shot for the depp or the sean astim to get awards nods, but i'm still pulling for them. mostly considering the dearth of oscar-worthy performances this year. i mean, did you see the golden globe runners? BOLLOCKS, says i. out of all of them female actors nominated, the only ones with which i agree are scarlett johansson (and dude, i'm so pulling my support afterv realizing that she's also in "the perfect score," which i will talk about later) and diane keaton, and the men, *the men.* tom cruise in the last samurai? what? this is me giving tom cruise in the last samurai the finger: --I-- . okay, sean penn, yeah he was amazing, but he kinda sorta always is, so i feel weirdly redundant talking about it. and best films? seabiscuit? cold mountain? love actually? terrible drivel crap.

i will say this: the GG nominees for support actors (of both sexes) are actually spot on. but other wise, hollywood foreign press: bite me. this also i will say: if the lord of the rings: the return of the king does not win best picture...oh man, will there be rioting. geeks everywhere will storm the streets, rip up pavement and build some barricades. all i'm saying is strap in, okay?

hmm. i ate a lot of fudge and chocolate chip cookies this morning, which may explain why this entry has been so manic weird.

but we have heard the chimes at midnight, master harry!

the air, as they say, is rife with portent. today has been a bit of a ominous beginning to the year of the monkey. i got off to a late start, getting to the bus stop at 8:20. my bus is supposed to come every ten minutes. as i waited, three buses went by...and they were all out of order. i stood there for half a fucking hour, waiting, finally got on the bus and sit down next to a woman reading tarot cards. very off-putting. i get off the bus and walk into my building, past the food court tables. there's this guy (creepy joe i call him) who's been sitting at the same place every morning for at least 6 months. every day, i walk in, walk past creepy joe and wonder if he's homeless or just weird. this morning--creepy joe was SO not there. i get to the elevator banks and without pushing the button, every single one of the 6 elevators lights up and opens.

then i got an email from someone i haven't spoken to in 8 years. two people quit today...just up and quit. one of the uggos form the 6th floor is crying in the kitchen.

this cannot bode well for the new year.

light sabre? who needs one? i've got a gun and i'm good at running.

:: how jedi are you? ::

it's happened, it's finally happened!

so, i'm sitting at my computer. and there's this something at the pit of my stomach. not quite sure what it is, so i'm thinking back to yesterday. nothing eventful, really. went to tacoma, had high tea with heather, watched the lord of the rings: the return of the king, wiped away leaky tears. came back to seattle, went to an internet cafe. made a couple phone calls. watched some tv, went to sleep. no big.

woke up this morning...didn't feel right. not sick, not nauseated, not pre-menstrual, not depressed, just...not right. as the day dragos on, it doesn't get any better, worse in fact. slightly worse. despite the array of tasty snacks, i don't really have an appetite. something's wrong and i don't know what. did i forget to do something? forget my keys, my phone? nope, nope. is there something i'm supposed to be doing right now? am i way behind on a project and i just haven't realized it? why do i feel so...weirdly sad?

oh man. i remember this now. this, yuck, this is hurt feelings! somebody hurt my feelings and now i'm sad! FUCK!!! i thought i had done away with human feelings other than irritation, lust and righteous anger. this bites ass.

how do you make hurt feelings go away?

where thrills are cheap...and love divine

as the risk of yet again breaking out my seth cohen inflection, last night was AWESOME. my whole "going-out" thing has been severely lacking of late, due in part to my general reticence to bar-hop in that gorgeous seattle rain, but really mostly to the deficient planning skills of my friends and acquaintances. most of the young men i know seem to be virtual shut-ins and jabu's, the bar down the street, is about as far as the atrophied muscles in their limbs can take them. sadly, i live in capitol hill while all of my freinds live in queen anne, so "the bar down the street" is still ten bucks (or a begged pick-up)away, not to mention jabu's sucks a fat one. it's the kind of bar with televisions blaring seahawk games and ESPN news and old dudes making out in the corner with their faded levi's wearing white trash girlfriends. luckily for me, one of my intrepid queen anne-living girlfriends decided to shake things up and declare friday night "ladies night," or "ladeez nite," if you'll permit me.

i, of course, was a little disappointed when they suggested we go to sky, which is the new space that opened where maui used to be, which was where polly esther's was before that. yeah, gross, i said, but i figured if i got drunk enough at the pre-funk, i wouldn't care. so i dressed up casual-sexy and fancied myself quite the dish in my stretch paper denim and cloth jeans, tastefully reconstructed indie designer top and red pointy flats and headed over to sanna's house to down some colorado bulldogs while snarking about that living with MJ re-broadcast with beth, allison, heather, mindy and kathy. too drunk to drive, we cabbed it over to sky, which was closed for some private birthday party, naturally, so we headed across the street to the EMP just in time to catch some truly hideous salsa dancing. at this point, i was forced to take matters into my own hands and insist that we escape and make a break for one of the best meat markets in town, belltown billiards, or BTB, as my work buddies insist on calling it, though i have pointed out on numerous occasions (and to no avail) that "belltown" is one word, so they should abbreviate it correctly to BB. a fratty-lookingguy there called me cameron, which i didn't get, so he explained that my body reminded him of cameron diaz? offended, i cordelia-ed "why, because i'm tall and have small breasts? please don't tell me you were looking because 'as if.'" apparently he just meant that i'm tall and thin, which always gets me because i never really consider myself thin. then i started thinking about it, and you know,everyone with whom i graduated seems to be skinnier and skinner every time i see him/her. i mean, i've lost something like 30 pounds since 2001, maybe 40 now that i think about it. and all in the boobs and the butt, seemingly. i have neither t nor a. but i haven't done anything and i don't think they other post-grads have either. is college really *that* fattening? hmm. asks the girl who used to make meals of hostess cupcakes and breadsticks.

long story short, a good time was had by all. we drank, we danced (well, *they* danced and i kept drinking), we told the bartender it was sanna's birthday and got free shots which we took like men. i fended off suitors with my patented brand of bitchiness and mentally stabbed every girl wearing that same pair of new york wash boot cut seven jeans while secretly hoping they would notice that my PDC's were much cooler and more expensive, and didn't have that silly squiggle across the butt-cheeks to boot. i bonded with the lovely sanna over our amazonian stature and propensity to be very rude to strangers, both consciously and un-. i checked myself out in every reflective surface i passed, just to confirm that my ass looked as hot as i thought it did. and it did. i made that drunken profession of sisterly love to all parties and received love in return. i even shared a cream cheese hot dog and a cab with heather, who is quite a treat and way too good for ashley j. mohr.

good fucking times, man.

now, i am hung-over and loving every goddamn minute of it.

sometimes my friends say funny things

Ahe: did you read..i think it was premier this week...the interview with sean astin? He was talking about how he gets to vote for the AA nominees (he's a member of the academy) and he was all, yeah, it's lame, but I'm TOTALLY gonna vote for me.

Heather: Hee....that's so cute. I totally didn't read it. I love them all......sigh.....

Ahe: yeah. i was like, well, shiiiit, i'd vote for myself too. every year, whatever movie i was in.

Heather: Hee.... Best Actress: Ahe in "Snarkalicious: Fueling the Fire"

suddenly i find myself needing to know the plural for apocalypse

Libertarians
Circle I Limbo

Militant Vegans
Circle II Whirling in a Dark & Stormy Wind

George Bush
Circle III Mud, Rain, Cold, Hail & Snow

Republicans
Circle IV Rolling Weights

Osama bin Laden
Circle V Stuck in Mud, Mangled

River Styx

Saddam Hussein
Circle VI Buried for Eternity

River Phlegyas

the girl the french accent on the 10th floor
Circle VII Burning Sands

NAMBLA Members
Circle IIX Immersed in Excrement

Parents who bring squalling brats to R-rated movies
Circle IX Frozen in Ice

Design your own hell

i'm fighting total mental breakdown here, so no more fuel on the fire please...

something i will slip in there because i just found out last night...apparently, my grandfather died last year sometime... but i had NO IDEA that he even existed. as far as i knew, i had one grandfather and one grandmother and the other ones died before i was born, yeah? well, i was talking to my mom on the phone and she said, "oh the christmas letter to helen was returned..." and i said, "who's helen?" and my mom says, "oh, your grandfather's second wife." and i'm like, what? my grandfather's whuh? turns out that my dad's dad actually divorced my grandmother and moved to like iowa or something and got remarried to some nurse named helen. i tell my mom that i thought he was dead and she says, oh, well he is--he died last year and i'm like, but MOM, i thought he died like 30 years ago! it would seem that my parents never *told* me he was dead, but i just assumed he was because i'd never met him and they'd never spoken of his to me. so i guess it's my fault for assuming, but how...for lack of a better word, weird is that?

in other, more important news, i am being slowly driven insane by the ever-leaking faucet in my bathroom tub. somehow, when i was gone, it because impossible to turn the cold water completely off, which i noticed, but remained unbothered by, until someone said "whoa...that's a leaky faucet? i thought someone was taking a shower in there." from that point forward, i have been unable to ignore the steady drone of wasted water and i think i actually may just snap if it's not fixed soon, which it apparently won't be. i called my manager and he had the facilities dude come in and check on it and they have to like do work in the adjacent apartment in order to fix the problem and the residents are on vacation or some such nonsense and they can't go inside unless it's an emergency which i think it bloody well is. yes. so i get to live with it until i kill because of it, i suppose. the best part was when i was talking to the facilities guy and everything he said just sounded so obscene and i could barely keep myself from bursting into hysteria... see, he had to "get into my pipes" and was having trouble getting his "tools through that tight valve."

oh, and the best part was i said, "so my pipes need cleaning?" but of course he didn't get it because he's not the immature perv i seem to be.

i'm sorry, i don't have any *jewish* candy

oh, not only is brandon bird, the artist responsible for the norton anthology of 2002 a genius....he is a FUCKING genius, as evidenced by this stunning new work, the law and order coloring book. and that's just a hint if you want to remember my birthday coming up in april.

cracker.

well, i'm back...

and if you caught the lord of the rings reference there, then you're nerdariffic and i love ya.

sadly i will not be posting my (could it be) past the international date line exotic new year's extravaganza here...i fear the day that my family stumbles across this page and reads about my rock n' roll lifestyle. everyone on my mailing list will get the full deets, so let me know if you want to hear about it all...

drink up, me hearties, yo ho

things perhaps done yesterday, by me (in non-chronological order of non-importance):

-vaccillated between extremes of fear and euphoria, settling eventually on euphoria
-turned the heat all the way on and curled up under three blankets while wearing yoga pants and a wool sweater and watched the lord of the rings: the two towers
-was taught how to snowboard by the super-jew
-totally ate it going down james hill, which, by the way is like a sheer fucking drop
-worshipped at the altar of the god of creamy tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches
-initiated a snowball fight with seattle u students i've never seen before and enjoyed the shared camaraderie of a snow day
-found out that blood on snow is kinda pretty and weirdly ominous
-did not, in fact, break my nose as previously thought
-painstakingly crafted a snow-monkey, complete with scarf and little monkey hat
-made snow angels and then gave them little devil horns
-called people who actually made it in to work and laughed at them
-trudged my way through capitol hill, falling down only once. twice.
-made an army of Mutant Killer Snow Goons in the park
-wrassled in snow and lost
-got hot cocoa and sat on a snow bank and drank it
-sat in friend's apartment in underwear while my clothes went through the dryer and watched pirates of the caribbean
-insisted that everyone call me "captain" for the remainder of the day

i don't kno-ho-huh-whouh?

snowing. it's snowing in seattle, big time. it's all 7 inches and stuff and i'm tweaking out. by tweaking out, i mean, building forts and having a snowball fight and learning how to snowboard down james hill instead of being at work today.

this is the best day EVER. it's like what i imagine heaven to be, but with bruises and wet jeans.

and now for the greatest thing i saw on tv this week:

as i was flipping channels last night, i came across the fantastic south korean live-action and yet so anime flick hwasango recently re-born on mtv as Volcano High. it's everything you want in cgi-filled matrix-y comic book romp: the totally punk rock high school characters duke it out for supremacy after the leader of the dark oxen, jang yang, frames the kick-ass head boy for attempted murder and unleashes chaos on volcano high. flourescent hair, hot schoolgirls, gravity-defying martial arts sequences and "the school 5: masters of suppressing school wrongdoing" a group of kick-ass substitute teachers brought in to clean up the mess and who do so by jumping into your subconscous ("how DARE you day-dream in my class!!!). there's even a little love story thrown in for the chicks. all this...combined with a rap soundtrack AND the voices are dubbed over by the likes of andre 3000, snoop dogg, kelis, mya and method man.

god bless you, mtv. god bless you.

i'm gonna kill ALL those, um, guys!

Congratulations! You're Haldir!


Which Lord of the Rings character and personality problem are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

well. what can i say? when you're right, you're right.

no longer do the dance of joy, numfar!

and now for a rather lengthy email exchange between myself and the hottest redhead i know, ryan weadon. it all started with my mass email exposing my eeevil plan, the last bit of which was as follows:

--- "ahe" wrote:
so, if i knew i was taking my brother, why didn't i call off the competition? well, because this made it a lot more fun for me. see, because then people would get all excited and then taste the bitter draught of disappointment. bwah-hah-hah-hah.

ahe "and you're, what? shocked and disappointed? i'm *evil.*"

>>you know, i never truly believed in your malificence until just now.
>>can we join forces or do you work alone? i know how it difficult it can be
>>being a pure-evil extract and all. many people know me as satan or "lucifer" in
>>case you weren't aware. we could cause all sorts of mayhem if we worked
>>together. i know a lot of evil-types like to work alone, what with the
>>"cool-vigilante" thing that goes with it but hear me out. we don't have to work
>>together all the time. just on certain projects. say, inundating (deleted for confidentiality)
>>with pro-life subscriptions. or sending (deleted for confidentiality) a fake email telling her she's won
>>an orbitz contest. things of this nature. in other words, if you want to work
>>alone, fine, i'll keep to mine, you keep to yours but if you're in need of an
>>ally, i'm there girl. ready and willing to aid the forces of evil. plus, once
>>in a while, two evil heads are better than one. think about it. tootles!

>>smoochas,
>>ryan

--- "ahe " wrote:
you know, ryan, hithertofore, i had not even contemplated joining forces with another source of evil. i always figured that by nature i work alone and all that. sure, i've had minions, lackeys and the like, but i'm sure you understand that having paeons to order about isn't the same thing as having a true partner in mayhem. i had never, however, considered an evil
alliance on a kind of contract basis--as you said, for certain projects. i very much like this idea. it's difficult to run your nefarious schemes past hired muscle, you know? sometimes you just need the opinions and skills of another agent of evil. i would definitely be open to joining forces for future endeavors. have you given thought to throwing 100 bouncy balls on
the floor of neighbors at 11:30 on a friday night?

>>i'm glad to hear that you are interested in working together. and if your
>>suggestion, which is pure gold by the way, is any indication of the direction
>>our projects will take, that i believe we shall get along quite swimmingly. i
>>won't be in seattle again until the end of the year so unfortunately we'll have
>>to postpone our licentious shenanigans until then. but rest assured, chaos will
>>ensue. eventually. until then.
>>
>>ryan

i'm finished being everybody's butt-monkey!!!

of minimal interest:

last week, a guy from the other side of the floor was chatting up the lunch room about president bush. seems the guy believes that the president is a dumb redneck asshole bent on world domination, with which i have no argument, really. then he said something about how if we found saddam and his cronies, bush would totally have the military bag 'em, bring 'em back to the states and allow for a public execution. so i said, "okay, president bush isn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but a) he's not *that* stupid and b) he doesn't want to take a trip to the hague." this statement, which i had thought slightly clever and deifnitely to the point was met with blank stares.

"the what? that hade?"

the...the hague, you guys. it's in the netherlands...the permaneant court of arbitration? international court of justice? the whole yugoslavia tribunal thing? you know, where milosevic is currently on trial? no, nothing? great.

people were like "oh...wow, you must know a lot about that stuff, huh? to know something obscure like that." what the fuck? i think that, in the tenure of our relationship, i have made it abundantly clear that i don't know shit! i'm not some current events guru and i take the news as it comes to me and i know what the hague is because i took history in high school and i read the news...i mean, how are history and current events like...obscure knowledge? assholes.

heh. and then as i was watching the news on sunday morning, george stephenopoulos (sp?) said they'd either take saddam to the hague or start up a tribunal in iraq and all i could think was, i hope those assholes at work are watching this shit right now.

president bush may be dumb, but i bet he knows what the fucking hague is.

we got 'em dirk, we got 'em

yes, yes, yes saddam hussein apprehended at last, at long last. yes, news on at 8:30, yes, president bush address at 9:15, yes, saddam does look like robert deniro in great expectations, no the war's not over. i'm not going to give you a link because you should know by now. this, however, is all of little to no import now as my psyche is still reeling over the utterly ridiculous move on my part to watch discs three to six of buffy the vampire slayer - the complete fifth season, or as i like to call it, "the ten episode stretch that makes me cry even more than that one episode of the west wing when toby fanagles a proper funeral for the homeless korean war vet with the retarded brother." (tm)

this is where it all goes wrong: riley tries to touch the dark side to get good and troubled so buffy will love him like she loved angel the spike exposes riley's vampire sucky-sucky escapades to the buff-ster who freaks, doesn't listen to riley's pleas and allows him to run off on some covert ops deep cover mission in south america until xander (my love, my sweet love xander) gives her a xander speech which melts her icy heart and she runs off to stop riley and tell him she loves him only to miss his helicopter by TWENTY SECONDS and then warren's sex robot goes berserk and teaches buffy a valuable lesson about not needing a man and then buffy goes home to find her mother DEAD and calls out to her "mom....mom...mommy?" and we all start crying and then buffy tells dawn who falls to the floor in anguish and we all cry harder and then just when we think we've cried enough, we cut to willow, crying and we cry more and then xander and anya come over and anya asks inapproproate questions because her ex-demon self doesn't know how to handle death and she cries and we all cry more and harder and then dawn tried a resurrection spell to bring her mom back, but she and buffy have a tearful, heartfelt talk, during which we cry, and dawn reverses the spell and then glorificus discovers that dawn is, in fact, the key, but not before she's sucked tara's brains and willow cries and we cry and then glory kidnaps dawn and her minions start dawn's blood to flowing to open the interdimensional portal, thus throwing all of existence into total chaos, so buffy sacrifices her life to save the world and she DIES and everybody cries and we cry and it's all very, very sad.

but they bring buffy back to life in season six, so it'll all get better soon, but still, i think the sentiment is real.

SUCCESS, FULL SUCCESS!!!

abercrombie and fitch has finally pulled their sickeningly sexist, rascist, not even thinly-veiled porn mag.

in the immortal words of wynn rankin: eat this shit, yo.

damn youse guys! damn all of youse!

jason, seriously, jason. i'm going to kill you. i just kicked my online shopping habit and now you've got me hooked on silly quizilla.

as god is my witness, you will pay big.


You're Welcome to the Monkey House! You're a
political activist, or the opposite of it, as
you see the problems in our world. You're
something of a pessimist, but you're just so
damn funny that no one can resist you. You're
an alternative person, you don't work in the
normal "novel" way, but it works for
you. You'd enjoy anything Vonnegut ever wrote,
like Slaughterhouse-5, Hocus Pocus, or Cat's
Cradle.


Which Piece of Classic Literature are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

i am an american aquarium drinker

ah, monday, the day of random, broken thoughts. the first being that, ever since nick honomichl and i had a discussion on our mutual love for nu/alt-country/bluegrass, i haven't been able to take dolly parton's halos and horns out of my walkman and the awesomeness that is wilco (and did i mention resting my weary butt during wilco's set at bumbershoot in 2002 five seats away from janeane garafalo? did i?) out of my cd-rom drive. oh windows media player, what would i do without you?

next and speaking of country/bluegrass--i was watching the old VH1 Big in 2003 awards (which is apparently an awards show for the sake of having another awards show), and one of the awards was like best quote or something..and they gave it to natalie maines for her remark to a london audience that she was ashmamed that the president was from texas. i'm sure you all remember the rhubarb that followed: many radio stations pulled their songs, cds were burned, epithets were hurled. bill maher (who i want to punch right in his big, fat libertarian mouth mouth on most other occasions) presented the award to maines saying that she took the heat with grace and turned it into a stand for personal freedom, which i agree with. good on her, honestly. in her acceptance speech, she went on to say "i want to thank all the haters, because you make me strong, empowered, involved and proud. and i thought you might like to know that we have a new CD and a DVD...which is great for y'all because you can burn one and stomp on the other." hah. awesome.

there is one thing troubling, however--i STILL don't understand what the big fucking deal is...i mean, she said something mean about the president...and something relatively benignly negative at that. i have heard way worse things coming out of the mouths of npr commentators, politicians and the entire staff of the daily show with jon stewart. hell, i was at one of those special pearl jam shows at the showbox this year and eddie vedder was onstage in a bush mask, covered in blood...i think. something like that. is the only reason this is such a big deal is that the dixie chicks sing country music? is that it? was there this giant backlash because their core audience tends towards republican convervatism more than the audience of, oh say, bright eyes? because if that's true, that has to be the dumbest fucking thing i have ever heard. there is no real reason this crap should have gotten into the national news cycle. but it did. wonderful.

mmm. speaking of music...like grandpa simpson, i used to be with it...but then they changed what it was. also on this VH1 show, matchbox twenty played a song that has apparently been number 1 for 22 weeks and sold a bazillion copies and blah di blah. right. i have so NEVER heard this song. ever. in fact, i kinda thought matchbox twenty had stopped making music because nobody likes their crap. (the lead singer has a hot voice, though. he should sing alt-coutry. i'd buy that.)

oh, and lastly: i TOTALLY wanted to watch the new sci-fi channel cersion of battlestar galatica...until i found out that starbuck is now a girl. STARBUCK IS A GIRL!?!?!?! wha-huh-whuh? first of all, starbuck is CLEARLY a boy's name and second...what the fuck? starbuck is not a girl! i hate the sci-fi channel. bastards.

some degrading psalm of praise

just in case you were wondering, my perfect emo singer boyfriend would be:


Conor Oberst from Bright Eyes


*Who is the perfect Emo Singer boyfriend for You?*
brought to you by Quizilla


now, while i love conor oberst and desesparicidos and bright eyes there is no goddamn way i'm going to have some skinny whiny emo kid boyfriend.

gosh, he is cute though isn't he? and he gave me the title of this blog, so i reckon it's appropriate that he be my honey.

i have a delicate system

so thanksgiving with the fam was pretty fun. in retrospect, it was a bad move to spend the previous night with all those seattle assholes, drinking and partaking of illegal substances because i was running on 45 minutes of sleep and a tragically bad hangover. luckily, the food was good enough to cut through the cotton mouth, especially the yummy special stuffing my grandfather makes. it’s magic, i swear. one stuffing to rule them all.

yes. my little brothers were very excited to see me, which they expressed by either ignoring me and watching ESPN or by asking me to play every board game in the house, followed by every card game known to man, at which, i swear to god, they cheated, the tricksy hobbitses. oh, and my 16-year old brother has apparently recently discovered both sarcasm and irony—for which he will pay dearly.

on saturday, my mother forced me, i mean, asked if i wanted to spend the day shopping for my christmas presents. for those of you who don’t know, my parents give us money, have us pick out our presents and then hide them in their closets until they show up under the tree signed “santa.” this has both positive and negative aspects, namely that i get to pick what i want…but i can’t fucking have it until christmas…which really isn’t that bad, seeing as how patience is one of my main virtues. and by “patience is one of my main virtues,” i mean “my lack of patience is world-renowned.” mom dragged my ass halfway around the state and back and all i really have to show for it is a coat, some sweaters and about 85 dvds (and i want to watch maison ikkoku right fucking now).

the only excitement I got was on the way home. my flight was cancelled, so I had to spend another night there…then I couldn’t get a flight out until 2:00 the next day and it had a connecting in oakland, which was, naturally, delayed, because, why wouldn’t it be, huh? and then, on the flight to seattle, the turbulence was so bad that I almost threw up, seriously, i had the bag out and all. i suppose it was a good thing, focusing on potentially vomiting, considering that it took my attention off of potentially dying. so, that was nice, i guess.

and now i’m back at work. woo-hoo.

and, if i may continue with a total non sequitur: i’m going to take a cue from ryan “sexy pants” weadon and end this email with a little contest. as you know, i have a spare ticket for that LOTR fiasco on December 16th (starting at 1:00 PM)…so, shoot me an email and tell me not why YOU deserve it, but why everyone else on this list DOESN’T deserve it. i’ll pick the best, put it to a vote and let you know the winner post haste.

the lesson is: never try...

i just got back in to work after a long, long weekend and i can't write a fat entry now, but this must be said, by me: i just checked my hotmail acocunt for the first time since wednesday and WHAT THE FUCK?!?! it's all different and shit and i fucking hate it...i don't care what those asshole munchkins on the chicken mcnuggets commercial say, change is NOT good, goddammit.

change it back!!!

i'm not tense, just terribly, terribly alert

i have nothing to report. just wanted to get the above quote down before i forgot it.

what we need to do is invent bombs that destroy ideas...

ah, the butterfly effect.

i flapped my wings over jonathon brandis' death and that started a chain reaction that led to liz's post, my subsequent comments and now to kelly's flowing cascade of persnickety stories.

in brief: persnickety is the nickname of a particularly abominable young man with whom i went to college. among his less desirable traits: excessive spitting while speaking and incessant nostril-spelunking. kelly has set the bar pretty high for persnickety stories, so please forgive me if mine isn't quite up to snuff.

junior year, liz, kelly and i lived with two lighthouse girls named...the blonde and the brunette. the brunette, apparently, had been beseiged with persnickety's romantic advances for the better part of the semester. one evening, as she told us of his many charms (did i say "charms?" i mean "freakishly freaky freakishness") she said, "you HAVE to listen to his voicemail...it's HILARIOUS." so we giggled our way to the phone and dialed the number she gave us, all the while praying that he wouldn't answer, which he didn't, treating us to the worst (and best) voicemail outgoing message ever. i can't give it to you verbatim, but here is an artist's rendering, if you will: (a note on persnickety's voice: since he has a sinus problem, his speech is peppered with snorts and sniffles and that sickening sound of a loogie being forced down behind the back of one's throat.)

"um... um uh, you've uh reached persnickety's voicemail and um, i'm um not in right now because i'm uh out living it up, because uh, you know, that's college! i could be uh, in the uh library with the books uh, doing work because you know, that's college! always the um not having a lot of time and well, that's college!"

this went on for like a minute and a half. i think he said "that's college" 17 times. we called again. we listened. we laughed. we called again. we listened. we laughed. kelly laughed so hard she peed a little, seriously. then on the fourth time, i dialed the number and held the phone to my ear and to my utter surprise, persnickety picked up the line.

persnickety: uh, hel-lllow?
ahe: ...shocked silence...
p: um, hello?
a: ...whispering... he picked up...what do i do?
liz: HANG UP!
p: um, is anybody there?
a: well um...THAT'S COLLEGE!!!

and then i hung up.

good times.

i came to you in friendship..well, all right, seething hatred.

i love quizilla. this i have known since the first day boredom led me to the site. oh, quizilla, you magnificent bastard. quizilla is where most bloggers get the little quizzes and buttons that say "You are Legolas!" or "You are Armani!" or of late on jason's blog (i can't find the permalink and i'm not willing to try very hard) "You are DNA!"

heather recently forwarded the geekiest of all geek-out quizzes...my results are:


You are Conversations with Dead People! You are
critically praised, but you killed Jonathan.
You bastard!


Which Drew Goddard Episode Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla



i took a quiz to tell me which episode of buffy the vampire slayer written by drew goddard i am. now honestly...NERD ALERT.

percy here was head boy...

i feel like a little part of my childhood just died. like when i watched star wars episode two, only way worse.

the red sun rises

so, i have officially begun the descent into madness that is my preparation for the lord of the rings: the fellowship of the ring and the two towers extended version double feature lead-in to the premiere of the return of the king. trilogy tuesday, december 16th. i will be taking the day off of work and it will be glorious. the fellowship begings at 1:00, followed by the two towers at 5:30 and the finale at 10:00. i'm so excited that i pee a little everytime i think about it. this will be roughly a 13-hour marathon and i need to come up with a fail-safe game plan. i have no doubts that my rock-hard ass will hold up well during the festival, especially when you take into account the hour break between part one and two and the half hour between two and three.

my main concerns are as follows: provisions, restroom breaks and not moving an inch during the return of the king. provisions will be the easiest of the three. i generally consume 1.5 litres of water during a film, therefore, i will bring 3 litres. FOTR will be my lunch movie and during the film, i will consume a carefully prepared, not easily spillable lunch, such as a sandwich, followed by one or more small snacks. during TTT for dinner, i will purchase popcorn and a hot dog and consume them with equal fervor. Dessert during ROTK will consist of licorice, swedish fish and peanut butter twix.

since i have the extended versions at home, i will start hashing out a tentative plan for the restroom. clearly, the women's bathrom will be packed during the intermissions, so i will have to take my urination breaks during FOTR and TTT. i will need, of course, to go to the cinerama and do a bathroom dry-run and see how long it will take me to get form the theatre to the stall and back again and then add that time to the length of my average pee break (which is 2 minutes). then, i will watch the movies and figure out the precise moments that a trip to the restroom will be acceptable and commit that list to memory. during the actual festival, i will use those times and those times alone to go quick like a bunny, empty my bladder, wash my hands and run back.

lastly, i must ensure that i do not, under any circumstances, leave the theatre during the return of the king. barring any type of natural disaster or personal emergency, the only thing that would lead me from the theatre would be the need to urinate, therefore, all food and ESPECIALLY all drink during TTT will be consumed during the first hour and a half, which will [prompt me to use the facilities before TTT has concluded. no water will be allowed until the last 45 minutes of ROTK.

now for the fun part. i have two tickets. one for me and one for some lucky asshole. i have yet to make any offers because whomever comes with will need to adopt my game plan (or one similar) and not object to sitting on the aisle. so, if you're intersted, let me know. or maybe i'll go alone and sell the ticket for 300 bucks on ebay.

in the words of homer simpson: "WOO-HOO!!!"

it's not everything, but it's something.

i thought you were grown in some sort of a greenhouse for dandys

so v. busy. so v. stressed out. will post randomness until brain swelling subsides. made a mix cd. it is awesome. i totally rule. also, i likes me some whiny pussy music.

the postal service – nothing better
love – alone again or
the shins – new slang
simon & garfunkel - only living boy in new york
wilco – jesus etc.
elliot smith – clementine
coldplay - don't panic
the decemberists – los angeles, i’m yours
iron & wine - such great heights
violent femmes – i held her in my arms
kings of leon – train
john guilt – smokestacks and graveyards
the walkmen – wake up
remy zero - fair
blonde redhead – a cure
bitter, bitter weeks – still as a stream
galaxie500 – blue thunder
frou frou - let go
pete yorn – crystal village
nick drake - one of these things first
ben kweller – how it should be (sha sha)
jude - you mama you
dolly parton - dagger through the heart
joan baez – it’s all over now, baby blue

oh, i've had office romances...loads

my mom sent me a couple of boxes of books (oh, madeline l'engle, how i have missed your masterworks) as well as these trapper keeper folders that i haven't seen since i graduated form high school and packed up my room. there were papers and notes and discs of old emails that i kept for some reason. this was depressing as i discoverd that in regards to academics and sheer hilarity of email, i really peaked in high school. also, i knew and could use in asentence the wor d"quixotic" when i was thirteen years old. since i don't really have tons of time to create all new fabu entires in this time of stress, i'm just going to post some of the crap i found in those old boxes. following this, i've put an email i wrote to my friend heidi sakuma in 1997. as backstory: jim scott took over as president of my school that year and i guess announced his intentions to get rid of win healy, the principal of the academy and the smartest man alive and replace him with some college crony. hmm.

I've just got to say, "What the HELL is Jim Scott thinking?" Oh yeah, that rat bastard Healy. I'm gonna fire him, cuz I'm the President, nuh-hyuk!. What a collossally stupid move. Does he realize that he's just alienated the entire faculaty, staff and Board of Directors?

Someone's been hitting the crack, methinks.

"Wow. President of Punahou. Whoa...I'm God now! Man, I'm gonna fire Healy! I can fly!"

What a moron. The man is toast. Toast, says I. I mean, everyone will hate him. If there was anyone to canonize at punahou, it was Healy. I mean, aside from being the tallest human being on the planet (well, I guess his son Than is the tallest human being on the planet now), he’s COOL. Tall AND cool, what a concept.

Scott should just kneecap himself and save his administration for the misery of the next 15-20 years.

“OW! What was that for?”

“You’re an idiot. It’s all part of the service. Have a pleasant day.”

I wouldn’t be surprised if armed uprisings were in the works. You know…enthusiastic… how the Academy teachers get when they’re mobilized behind something.

“President Scott? We have a status report: we’re steadily losing ground around Dillingham. The theatre department has somehow dug an underground tunnel to Montague and the Music reinforcements are pouring down our front lines. Also, machine-gun towers were erected around the perimeter of the Academy. Any attempt at entrance has been met with excessive force. We lost an entire squad of sappers to a nest manned by a cadre of English teachers. They’re animals—cheering and screaming Ayn Rand and Doestoyevsky quotes while gleefully mowing down our troops!”

“Bloody Hell! Where are the troops I was promised from Buildings and Grounds?”

“Sir, they’ve thrown their loyalty behind the revolutionaries…”

“TERRORISTS!!! I’ve told you a million times, they’re TERRORISTS!!!”

“Sorry, sir, the, uh *terrorists* are currently buzzing about the campus in modified go-carts, dousing our troops with napalm and beating them over the head with Norton Anthologies.”

Oh. This could go on for days. We could have Jon scott as played by Gary Oldman, Tim Roth as one of Scott’s evil henchmen who dies horrifically, John Rhys-Davies as Norm Hindley and someone heroic, tall and cool as Healy…Oh, Liam Neeson! With stilts. Throw in Harvey Keitel for a token nude-male scene and we’ve got ourselves a flick here.

you know, light-hearted, fancy-free

i thought i would be remiss in not pointing out that i just ran into jason ronbeck walking the streets (not in a prostituty way) near my office. i don't think i'd seen him in person for like two years. weird. oh, and he got really cute--mothers, lock up your sons!

so i'm like asthma?

my updates may be less frequent as our death march towards workforce reduction continues. everyone's pretty freaked out and gross--and i'm no exception. i've actually found a job at which i am good and like at the same time. oh, and that pays well. management hasn't decided on anything yet--they really have no idea what direction the company or the division is going, so we'll see how it all goes. cross your fingers for us kiddies in luxury positions.

at the late night, double feature picture show

gary ridgway pleaded guilty to 48 counts of murder this morning. apparently, this makes the so-called green river killer the most officially prolific serial killer in american history. my bus runs right by the courthouse. i was within 200 feet of this guy today. i feel dirty all over.

you guys are melvins, and i'm not one of you; so you go ahead and be melvins and leave me alone

i suppose i should have some post about the halloween festivities of this weekend, but like every other year ever halloween has come and gone and no wacky hijinks have ensued. didn't see any particularly awesome costumes. there were like 8 wolverines and 17 wonder women, though, which was sad because it turned perfectly good costumes annoying. beth's boyfriend dave came as that verizon guy after meeting an angry mob. this made my heart hurt because i love the verizon guy--he is nice and cute and his nerdy glasses perfectly compliment mine. rachel came in a remarkably good mr. hanky the christmas poo costume which made me 1) laugh heartily then 2) feel kinda grossed out because i was talking to someone dressed as crap and later 3) get a little uncomfortable because however, unintentionally, she kinda looked like she was in blackface (see jason's post on a related subject) i enjoyed chris byron's turn as a mormon on his mission, mostly because of the bike helmet. oh, and at the team-costume party i went to on saturday night, i saw a dawson, a pacey and a joey *and* a buffy, a spike, and an angel. yay for love triangles!

but other than that, this halloween weekend was like every other weekend, just with costumes. oh, and i cried once each day: on friday, as i stood waiting for a cab in my cheerleader outfit and 27 degree weather, i cried because i was so cold. i wasn't sad, i think it was the only way my body had of expressing itself. on saturday, i cried terrified tears at a victorian haunted house. oh, and sunday--i sobbed uncontrollably at the end of disney's brother bear. that movie was sad...and happy. like the lion king, only with bears and phil collins.

hello, gorgeous

i've always assumed that the inability to deliver a compliment on a woman's physical attributes without coming off as a skanky pick-up artist was a genetic anomaly endemic to straight men. i feel obliged to record what struck me as one of the least genital-retracting compliments i've ever received:

i went to the halloween party at jon and johnny's house in full cheerleader regalia. all agreed that the incongruity of my personality and the costume was hilarious. beth came as yeoman rand and some random girl was a very under-dressed wonder woman. much later in the evening, beth and i were talking to johnny and he said "you know, i'm trying to figure out which person has been more distracting to conversations this evening: you (meaning me), beth or wonder woman." when pressed to explain, johnny maintained that according to his observation, when one of the three of us walked by, at least all the males engrossed in a conversation would turn and look.

complimentary, but non-threatening.

me like.

all i'm saying is one of us might need a little nap

okay. i'm not making any sort of judgment right here with this. let's make that clear.

so there's a guy. his name is adam gehrke. back in the old college days, he was the king of KUPS, 90.1 The Sound. now he is adam the traffic report guy on the radio and on Q13 morning news. he is very good at it.

in addition to being good at what he does, adam has a website. please peruse his modeling shots.

no judgment.

please.

i never saw such a bunch of apple-eaters

okay. while i do not condone violence as a solution to our problems (even though i think a well-timed kick to leslie moonves' head might help the UPN and CBS line-ups) i really have to say that catholic schoolgirls unleashing their inner demons on a sexual predator is the greatest thing that has happened in a long-ass time. the only thing that could have made that better would be if they had pelted him with rotten fruit as well.

happy halloween

now leave me alone.

this song is called the CIA: our maligned little brother

i saw the new jane campion film in the cut the other night and i have to say, i was pretty well disappointed. the first disappointment came with the realization that nicole kidman would no longer play the female lead, but rather meg fucking ryan in her "in case you didn't see when a man loves a woman i can sort of act in a dramatic role" role. there's been a lot of re-bop about the film, as the international version, apparently, is extremely sexually explicit. the oral sex scenes have been cut for the american release (but rent the dvd if you want to see america's ex-sweetheart get eaten out), so they scraped by with an r-rating. meg ryan's breasts, as far as i can tell, are about the only legitimate reason to see the film. the direction and camerawork were, i will admit, very well done. nicely dark and cramped. i liked it. the acting was so-so (with a nice turn by kevin bacon, which is weird because i usually hate him and i thought he did a great job in this as well as mystic river). i only bought meg ryan as being capable of pseudo-sexual-perversity because she cheated on poor ex-anorexic/awesome dude dennis quaid with that fat kiwi russell crowe. oh, is it just me or is my ex-boyfriend mark ruffalo getting fatter, skankier and more vincent d'onofrio-like with every passing minute?

as i was saying: the movie was disappointing. jane campion has some moves, but the story was pretty lackluster and unimaginative. oh, and for all of its artistic integrity bullshit, it somehow failed to evade the acrid stench of soft-core pornography.

remind me to cut off your balls later

so this morning, i'm going to work. on the corner of 6th and pike, i stop and wait for the little walky dude to light up so i can cross. i look up and the traffic light has turned yellow, there are no cars coming, so i step out into the crosswalk. i get four steps in and the light changes, the walky dude comes up, all clear. i get to the sidewalk and then, a siren bleeps. a really mean voice yells, "miss, come over here." i look around. a motorcycle cop has just pulled my pedestrian ass over to the curb. i am, for a second, mortified. for about three seconds. when i realize that he is about to chastise me for sort-of-jaywalking, it all becomes borderline-hilarious. "why did you jaywalk right in front of me?" i think about it for a milisecond. "because i didn't see you?" he looks at me, well i'm assuming he was looking at me from behind those shiny cop sunglasses (which he was wearing in total absence of glare-producing sunlight, i'd like to point out), and uses his respect my authoritay voice: "well, that's a $47 dollar citation. wait for the light next time." then he tools off on his copper-cycle.

i start laughing. everyone who witnessed the interaction begins laughing as well. this guy in a suit who looks uncannily like a young john travolta walks up to me and says something like that was so funny, blah blah, i'm glad you didn't get a ticket... we walk down the block and i look at the guy and i say, "do i know you from somewhere? you went to UPS didn't you?" and he did. weirdly enough. his name is brendan or brandon and he was in my environmental science class with eriks (plural). i don't remember if i thought it then, but man, this brendon/brandon guy is hot. makes me want to watch stayin' alive.

you know what i want to do now?

strut.

take it down a notch, charlemagne

due to the whole stress fracture thing, i've had to make some short-term concessions. those pointy shoes with kitten heels i love so much: replaced with plain jane flats. also--i've had to dial back on the physical exertion, which, at first glance, doesn't appear to be much of a problem seeing as how i don't so much do the exercise thing. don't do it. no running, no pilates, no gym, nothing. i don't like it. i will pay for it later, i'm sure, but doubtless i will be able to counter that with an eating disorder of some kind. so i figure, comfy shoes, no exercise, i'm home free. then i remembered that i walk to and from work every goddamn