As if the Zombie Apocalypse Wasn't Enough to Worry About

Now we have monkeys with telekinetic powers. Great.

Pancaaaaaakes!

I am totally that girl who sits through horror films with her hands clamped over her eyes, peeking out periodically to see if it's over yet. Even Candyman scared me. So needless to say, I am not a big Eli Roth fan. Or I should say, WASN'T a big Eli Roth fan, until I stumbled across this scene from Cabin Fever:



Please tell me that kid is in the Hostel series, because I am about to run, not walk, to purchase the entire Roth ouvre.

I Would Prefer That You NOT Write Me a Love Song, Thx

Who is this Sara Bareilles person, and why is her song playing everywhere I go? For the longest time I had her confused with Colby Caillat, who was all up in my face for a while and now seems to have gone away, despite occasional appearances on the music video channel on those little TVs on the treadmills at my gym. But Sara Bareilles! At the liquor store, Whole Foods, the crappy deli – she just won’t quit! I would understand if I was at American Eagle or something, but the liquor store that makes 70% of its profits selling nips for $3 apiece? It’s not right.

Shout Out to Maximus in Merrick!

I love going to Long Island and New Jersey. It looks pretty much the same as the Midwestern town where I grew up -- strip malls, cookie-cutter houses, thinly-veiled despair -- but in other ways, it's like a foreign country. A very loud, velvet track suited country. In this video, John Roberts salutes all the ladies who keep the NYC tri-state area classy:




YouTube, via Jezebel

O, No

So, I got out of work early on Friday, and I was lucky enough to catch part one of Oprah’s two-part interview with Tom Cruise. Okay, obviously, there were a whole lot of dynamics going on there that I cannot even begin to address, but man oh man, what a festival of self-congratulation it was. Even more so than Oprah’s average celebrity interview/circle jerk.

My absolute favorite part was at the end, where Tom drove Oprah on one of his snowmobiles to some picturesque spot overlooking the rest of his property, and they’re standing there with their arms around each other, looking at the mountains, and Oprah turns to Tom and says: “You know what I wish? I wish for you the peace that this mountain can bring.” Tom closes his eyes and nods. “I wish this for you. I really do," she repeats.

Um, he already has it. You’re at HIS HOUSE. That is HIS MOUNTAIN you're standin on. I think even the authors of The Secret would be like, Lady, that’s some pop-psych bullshit.

So reader: those pants? The ones that you’re wearing? I want those for you. And if you are not wearing pants? That freedom you feel? I want that for you. I am just. That. Generous.

"With your flip-flops, half-shirt, short shorts, miniskirt…"*

I’m not going to lie: back in their heyday, I was a New Kids on the Block fan. It was 1988, and as a nine-year-old girl, I was their target demographic. When I confided my musical preferences to my 17-year-old babysitter, she gagged herself with a spoon, then promptly popped a Smiths tape into the stereo of her Buick and played it over and over until I forgot all about Little Joe’s angelic voice.

But I didn’t forget, Cathy. Not really. I just buried it, along with all the words to “Cover Girl” and every step to the “Right Stuff” dance routine. (You know: kick left, kick right, left-right-left, oh-oh-ohoh) Until now.

Okay, so it’s basically a warmed-over version of LFO’s “Summer Girls”-- wow, can I just stop and ponder the tragedy in implying LFO as some kind of benchmark for anything? Besides skankiness? -- but it’s good to see them all out there, right? And who would’ve predicted that Danny would age so well? This bodes well for the entire summer.

*Redundant? Or just really 80's? I can't decide.

I Love New York, But...

Every now and then, very rarely, I miss home. I'm not talking about my family and old friends, who I miss all the time, or my rusty smudge of a hometown (which I never miss), but the little pockets of sensory experience that let me know that I'm safe, that I'm home.

The cold air wafting in from the garage when my father went out to gather logs for a fire.

The brackish taste of well water ice cubes melting in a glass of coke at my grandmother's lakefront cottage.

The smell of the black vinyl seats in Dad's '78 Datsun 280Z.

Vernor's ginger ale.

Vegetable thins topped with Spartan brand mild cheddar cheese, served on a white paper plate.

The cluttered mess of my mother's makeup drawer, smelling of talc and pencil shavings.

Snow.

Wherein I Let a 12-Year-Old Boy Write My Blog

Hahahaha. Bwahahaha.

Teeheehee.

Anything Is Possible

This photo makes me feel like anything is possible: a safe and effective exit strategy in Iraq, a free Tibet, an agreement over Kosovo, lower fuel costs, hassle-free air travel, and single-payer health care. This photo can fold your laundry, do your taxes, write your grandmother a thank-you note, buy toilet paper, re-work your resume, alphabetize your DVD collection, clean the top of the refrigerator, and quiet your noisy neighbors. It is just that powerful. The only thing it can't do is tell me how the fuck I can get a baby panda to sit on my lap. Want.

I [Maple Leaf] Canada

I grew up a little under two hours away from Canada, and lived about a half-hour away during college. I've been to Ontario many times on school trips, and always found it to be a very clean, and above all friendly place. And when a native Midwesterner thinks, "Wow, folks sure are nice here!" you can damn well bet that you're dealing with some exceptionally friendly people.

And why shouldn't they be? They have universal healthcare, they can legally drink at age 19, and with the exception of Jim Carey, they gave rise to some of the finest comedians of the 20th Century. The only faults I can find with Canada are their accents, the comic strip "For Better or for Worse," and the fact that their quarters don't fit in our parking meters. I was going to add Celine Dion to that list, but you know what? After reading this article about Canada providing sactuary for Iraq war resisters, I'm not even going to mention her. You're welcome, Canada.

Self-Pity in Verse

Green shoots break through the soil and
the smell of the moist earth fills my nose

He says he'll go for a bike ride today
down to the harbor where across the water
you can almost see the skyscrapers
swaying

And I
And I
And I
Hate his guts

The library can bite me.

What I Imagine It's Like Working at Star Magazine

Is it just me, or does Ashley Alexadra Dupre, a.k.a. "Kristen" look an awful lot like Sarah from Top Model Cycle 5? Check It:

"Kristen"





Sarah

Same nose, right? Star Magazine: call me! If this isn't worthy of a sidebar, I don't know what is.

Best of the Day

Spitzer? But I Don't Even Know 'Er!

That's pretty much all I have to say about that.

Super Tuesday Part Two: Electoral Boogaloo

Is the title too much? I think it might be too much. Eh, whatevs. It's a blog.

So! Theoretically, today could be the day that decides the Democratic party nomination, and I'm afraid I have to admit that I'm just as ambivalent as ever. Issues of identity politics aside, both Clinton and Obama are such a far cry from my one true love, Dennis Kucinich. You can call me crazy, but it's you who's crazy! Crazy with guilt for abandoning every idealistic wish you ever uttered in your dorm's study lounge!

By the time my primary rolled around, my beloved little elf had danced into the mist, so it was down to Hills and Barry, just as today. Up until now I've managed to avoid telling people who I voted for by telling them I voted for McCain, and watching hilarity ensue. Oh, New York City residents! So delightfully predictable! No one even attempts to mask their horror. And that's exactly why I moved here -- for stability.

Liveblogging My Thesis

2:14: Six hundred words in two hours. I rule.
2:15: I need a Diet Dr. Pepper.
2:19: Those gnocchi I made last night were amazing. I should’ve taken a picture.
3:03: Dammit! Why are all of my sources in French? And why can't I understand any of them? I took French for seven years.
3:05: I can finally admit that I deserved that B-minus in French 231.
3:17: Apparently it's snowing. And I'm in a library basement.
3:39: Pretzels?
3:41: Pretzels.
4:23: Christian was totally robbed in the denim challenge. Just sayin's all.

The Tracks of My Tears

There's nothing I hate more than an indigent blogger. Really. And I also hate it when bloggers make excuses for not writing more frequently, like how they have so much "stuff" going on and whatever. So I'm not going to do that.

Ahem.

Yesterday, the Washington Post's tattooed, vegan, celebrity gossip blogger Liz Kelly began her live chat by asking herself: "If I didn't have to pay and I knew that they would be done by a good stylist, would I try hair extensions?"

I don't even have to think about this -- I would do it in one hot second. I've heard that it hurts, and that the braids can potentially pull your hair out, but oh my god what would I give to be able to throw my hair around as though I were auditioning for The Pussycat Dolls Present: Yet Another Excuse to Reference Boob Pads. I think it would give me the courage to finally try the hip-hop aerobics class at my gym.

Honorary Dermatologist

This is going to sound crazy, but I’m just going to throw it out there. I have observed that if leave a pimple alone rather than incessantly picking at it, it actually goes away faster. Crazy, right? But TRUE. I’ll take my Nobel Prize now.

Crap I’m Bonkers About

New year, new crap! Actually, all of this crap predates 2008, but I'm either just now catching on or am still obsessing months later:

• The word “bonkers”! I’m up to about three uses per conversation. Try it!
• Joshreads.com. I used to read the comics every day as a kid, all the way through high school (on actual paper – pre-Internet, kids!). Read Josh “Comics Curmudgeon” Fruhlinger’s blog and I promise you, Herb and Jamaal will never be the same again
• My new slippers. Sometimes I put them on and pretend that I’m Kate Hudson circa 2004
• Natasha Bedingfield’s “I Wanna Have Your Babies.” Never has the ticking of a biological clock sounded so damned catchy
• Nigel Slater's easy bread recipe. I've been mucking around with the ubiquitous NY Times no-knead recipe, with fairly consistent, but uninspiring results. But THIS one -- this one made my dream of opening my own bakery (to be called "Yeasty's") feel within reach

Halloweak

Thank god Halloween is over. I hate the crowds, I hate the rowdiness, and I hate the cheap, slutty outfits. I realize that this pretty much describes New York on every other day of the year, but believe me, on Halloween it’s actually worse. For starters, I definitely noticed a sharp uptick in the number of puddles of puke on my walk from the subway this morning. But I’m fine with it, as long as it means that the cashier at my local deli will not be dressed as a slutty pirate.

Now. Let’s proceed to the next holiday, shall we? It’s the one where I get to sit at home and stuff my face with starches.

Love Her

How can you not love a lady who writes a recipe like this:

Start cooking those noodles, first dropping a bouillon cube into the noodle water. Brown the garlic, onion and crumbled beef in the oil. Add the flour, salt, paprika and mushrooms, stir, and let it cook five minutes while you light a cigarette and stare sullenly at the sink.

Also? She called it “Skid Road Stroganoff.” RIP, Peg Bracken. You are totally my deceased BFF of the day.


Love to Cook? You're Damned If You Do, Damned If You Don't [Jezebel]
Peg Bracken, 'I Hate to Cook' Author, Dies at 89 [NYT]