Has it been a week yet? Shut the clam up.
Thank you, Kent, for showing us a video we had never seen, nor known of existing, which already has 4million+ views. Officially beginning the crawl out from under a rock.
(Kent is kinda pissed.)
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Friday, October 29, 2010
Omigod, Shoes (Part 3 of Infinity)
Okay, so no more apologies for writing about shoes. They're awesome and we need them to go outside and we spend at least 8% of each day thinking about them, so there's no reason we shouldn't constantly be talking about them.
Remember duck boots? I had to get a new pair every year since my feet were always growing and it was such a practical choice for those harsh Boston winters. I remember I would wear them to school, but then change into different shoes once I got there because they were so ugly and made your feet hot once you weren't standing in snow up to your chest.
But like most things that weren't that great in your childhood (remember skeggings?), they're experiencing an exciting comeback. Tommy Hilfiger managed to take a shoe I never really liked save for its practicality, slap on a 5 inch heel and $300 price tag and make me fall in love all over again.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Clam Jam #1
Alirght, so the video for B.I.G. E.G.O by Wise Blood is, well, not a video. But this song is so effing phenomenal today, I don't even care. It's officially the first installment of the weekly Clam Jam.
Check it:
All I have is sweet sweet visions dancing in my head of us making a slow-motion video, where everyone is wearing hoodies and making snarly mouths with cigarettes hanging out of them and smashing fruit, or maybe turning over tables covered in confetti and glassware. And obviously throwing up hood signs.
If anyone is interested, I am the opposite of kidding, so let's hook it up.
Check it:
All I have is sweet sweet visions dancing in my head of us making a slow-motion video, where everyone is wearing hoodies and making snarly mouths with cigarettes hanging out of them and smashing fruit, or maybe turning over tables covered in confetti and glassware. And obviously throwing up hood signs.
If anyone is interested, I am the opposite of kidding, so let's hook it up.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Adventures in Lobster Land
If it was a sad day for clams everywhere when this blue whale showed up all dead on the shore, then they were definitely mourning this weekend when I went to Red Lobster in Times Square. (Seriously go to that site and just listen to the sizzle.) To quote a certain Adrienne M. on Yelp, "I mean really, who lives in NYC and plans a birthday outing to Red Lobster in Times Square? WHO DOES THIS?"
Yes, that's right. I went out and paid for a ($75!!) dinner out of pure irony. It was so good and so awful at the same time, my opinion spun into a vortex of lightning speeds, creating a giant black hole, flavorless, yet full of shrimp.
At one point in the meal, James literally yelled out, "I surrender to shrimp!" I was busy surrendering to bad service, worse decor, and the confused Indian man who got reamed out by a militant, middle-aged black woman when he walked into the women's bathroom, but didn't know enough English to get himself back out. No seriously, that happened.
When we arrived for what seemed an appropriate "Early Bird Special"-style meal at 6:30, we were told it was already a 45 minute wait. There was no going back, so we took a beeper and came up with a plan. One trip to the Gap and one piña colada later, we were on our way, so we thought, to the corporate commercialized meal of our dreams. But, oh no, this was Times Square, the shittiest of Red Lobsters that inexplicably still gets the largest crowds. We were led upstairs into what looked like a mass of herded sheep -- which they undoubtedly were -- grazing on the stair landing, and waiting to be seated once again.
Finally it was our turn, and James and I were led, much to our delight and dismay, to the windowless, ventless, generally joyless back room, where three other awkward parties awaited, yet not a single painting hung on the wall. The glare of what may have been the same heat lamps used to warm my entrée shone down directly into my eyes and cast such a strong glare I could hardly read the menu. All the better, I suppose, as I was otherwise left to vulnerably stare directly at the 16-year-old girl out on a date across the room. Not even a placemat lay on tables before us, not even a chair on the other side of the table to offer some sense of personal space, comfort or privacy.
It was at this point we began to notice the conversation of the morbidly obese gentleman to our left. He was discussing an "all-you-can-eat extravaganza" he had recently had with a former lover at iHOP, and described with adulation her ability to eat five servings of short stacks. That's 20 pancakes, folks.
I'll skip ahead through all the gory details of going through the menu and making actual food choices, though it is worth noting there was both a menu with words and a separate binder of pictures to just point at while mumbling incoherently about loving shrimp. Maybe if you could point with your drool, that would be ideal.
Whatever we ordered, it doesn't really matter. Thanks to our waiter, Jason, we didn't get forks until about 6 minutes after our first course came out. You know, Jason, it's after blunders like that when all the "I'll think about bringing it out" jokes stop being funny, and start becoming facts. Yes, Jason was a waiter of the classic NYU theater school variety, who made supposedly witty comments after our every request. Oh, you don't give refills on water, Jason? Oh, you don't say!
Throughout our hyped-up cheesy biscuits, salad and, yes, appetizer, James and I tried to muster up the courage to ask Jason for this:
We did it! Although it took two takes of uncontrollable laughter, and alienating each and every other patron in the room, we got our picture. "It's good to see you're having fun," Jason said while they all stared at our unapologetic mockery. He was probably trying to hide some shame, or maybe he just didn't get it at all. It's hard to say.
Despite the fact that this meal stretched the definition of "palatable,"James had a miserly plan to transfer his shrimp scampi onto my shrimp scampi, so as to execute at least one round of his "Endless Shrimp" refills. In the end, we were left with a lot of food that we didn't really ever want to see again. But we didn't let that stop us from all the fun of carrying out leftovers!
We took their gloriously branded bag and Styrofoam out to the streetz, to show off our accomplishments in front of all the banality of Times Square.
Yes, I literally paraded back and forth across the street twice while James took pictures of my Gap and Red Lobster bags. I think it goes without saying what a high point in my life this was.
But don't worry! James got in on the fun too, on the L train home to Williamsburg:
Culinary victory is ours!
Yes, that's right. I went out and paid for a ($75!!) dinner out of pure irony. It was so good and so awful at the same time, my opinion spun into a vortex of lightning speeds, creating a giant black hole, flavorless, yet full of shrimp.
At one point in the meal, James literally yelled out, "I surrender to shrimp!" I was busy surrendering to bad service, worse decor, and the confused Indian man who got reamed out by a militant, middle-aged black woman when he walked into the women's bathroom, but didn't know enough English to get himself back out. No seriously, that happened.
When we arrived for what seemed an appropriate "Early Bird Special"-style meal at 6:30, we were told it was already a 45 minute wait. There was no going back, so we took a beeper and came up with a plan. One trip to the Gap and one piña colada later, we were on our way, so we thought, to the corporate commercialized meal of our dreams. But, oh no, this was Times Square, the shittiest of Red Lobsters that inexplicably still gets the largest crowds. We were led upstairs into what looked like a mass of herded sheep -- which they undoubtedly were -- grazing on the stair landing, and waiting to be seated once again.
Finally it was our turn, and James and I were led, much to our delight and dismay, to the windowless, ventless, generally joyless back room, where three other awkward parties awaited, yet not a single painting hung on the wall. The glare of what may have been the same heat lamps used to warm my entrée shone down directly into my eyes and cast such a strong glare I could hardly read the menu. All the better, I suppose, as I was otherwise left to vulnerably stare directly at the 16-year-old girl out on a date across the room. Not even a placemat lay on tables before us, not even a chair on the other side of the table to offer some sense of personal space, comfort or privacy.
It was at this point we began to notice the conversation of the morbidly obese gentleman to our left. He was discussing an "all-you-can-eat extravaganza" he had recently had with a former lover at iHOP, and described with adulation her ability to eat five servings of short stacks. That's 20 pancakes, folks.
I'll skip ahead through all the gory details of going through the menu and making actual food choices, though it is worth noting there was both a menu with words and a separate binder of pictures to just point at while mumbling incoherently about loving shrimp. Maybe if you could point with your drool, that would be ideal.
Whatever we ordered, it doesn't really matter. Thanks to our waiter, Jason, we didn't get forks until about 6 minutes after our first course came out. You know, Jason, it's after blunders like that when all the "I'll think about bringing it out" jokes stop being funny, and start becoming facts. Yes, Jason was a waiter of the classic NYU theater school variety, who made supposedly witty comments after our every request. Oh, you don't give refills on water, Jason? Oh, you don't say!
Throughout our hyped-up cheesy biscuits, salad and, yes, appetizer, James and I tried to muster up the courage to ask Jason for this:
We did it! Although it took two takes of uncontrollable laughter, and alienating each and every other patron in the room, we got our picture. "It's good to see you're having fun," Jason said while they all stared at our unapologetic mockery. He was probably trying to hide some shame, or maybe he just didn't get it at all. It's hard to say.
Despite the fact that this meal stretched the definition of "palatable,"James had a miserly plan to transfer his shrimp scampi onto my shrimp scampi, so as to execute at least one round of his "Endless Shrimp" refills. In the end, we were left with a lot of food that we didn't really ever want to see again. But we didn't let that stop us from all the fun of carrying out leftovers!
We took their gloriously branded bag and Styrofoam out to the streetz, to show off our accomplishments in front of all the banality of Times Square.
But don't worry! James got in on the fun too, on the L train home to Williamsburg:
It's the Shopportunity of a Lifetime!
Sorry about the title of this post, but I read it today on a scrapbooking website and I couldn't think of any other time in my life when I would get the shopportunity to use it. (Twice!)
Anyway, while crossing the street in San Francisco recently, my mind was blown by a bus stop advertisement that looked a lot like this:
I experienced a full range of emotions upon viewing it. First: utter confusion about what a "tregging" actually was. Second: anger at whoever invented the word tregging. Third: acceptance that I needed to go out and buy these immediately. And finally fourth: depression after realizing I live nowhere near an H&M.
Treggings are essentially your average legging, with a faux zipper and button, faux front pockets but real-live, semi-useful back pockets. I assume they have a bit more structure than regular leggings as well, so you don't look like a weirdo or Lindsay Lohan or something.
Several days later I was on an epic (unsuccessful) journey in search of sports bra, which took me to the mysterious land of mothers and aunts: Macy's! I came upon the hosiery section where I discovered that Hue is making leggings in all sorts of fabrics with all sorts of funny names. The brand's corduroy treggings are by far my favorite.
Whoever is naming products over at Hue could possibly be my BFF, though. Instead of the ridiculously named jeggings, they opted instead to refer to them as Skinny Jeanz. (Yes, with a z.) And who could forget the ever-unpopular "skegging." I know; I too thought they were referring to skanky leggings. But unfortunately it's a combination of a skirt and leggings, just like when we were little and spent too much time climbing things to worry about who could see our panties!
I Have Fallen in Love with a Camera
This is me:
This is me with a Werra 1 35 mm with a Tessar 2,8/50 lens:
This camera is so badass. Made in 1950s, communist-controlled East Germany, it came out remarkably well made and attractive, and it probably overheard at least three people talk about the Gulag while it was still in the factory! And guys, you should hear the sounds it makes when you snap a shot and wind the film. It's like going back in time, without having to become a repressed house wife.
The best thing is, the camera takes straight up 35mm. It is just standing the test of time so well. It makes me a proud German. überproud.
Perhaps you're wondering how I could be so lucky as to get my paws on this little sex-machine of a gadget. It is all thanks to the seriously, mind-blowingly cool Levi's Photo Workshop. I don't understand how they make everything so free, accessible and awesome, but they do it. Let me give you a run down of the kind of Funland production they have going on down on Wooster Street:
So... duh, you're going, right? The workshop is going on until December 18th. Basically, it will be taking over my life until then. Also, look what I found on eBay that I am about to blow a bunch of money on:
God, Werra, I love you so, so much. Update clearly coming when I get my film developed.
This is me with a Werra 1 35 mm with a Tessar 2,8/50 lens:
This camera is so badass. Made in 1950s, communist-controlled East Germany, it came out remarkably well made and attractive, and it probably overheard at least three people talk about the Gulag while it was still in the factory! And guys, you should hear the sounds it makes when you snap a shot and wind the film. It's like going back in time, without having to become a repressed house wife.
The best thing is, the camera takes straight up 35mm. It is just standing the test of time so well. It makes me a proud German. überproud.
Perhaps you're wondering how I could be so lucky as to get my paws on this little sex-machine of a gadget. It is all thanks to the seriously, mind-blowingly cool Levi's Photo Workshop. I don't understand how they make everything so free, accessible and awesome, but they do it. Let me give you a run down of the kind of Funland production they have going on down on Wooster Street:
- There are about 40 vintage cameras like my beloved Werra, spanning several decades and a world wide range of manufacturers. For a $100 or $200 deposit, you can take the camera of your choice out on the town for 24 hours and take all the pictures your heart desires. Return it, and get the full deposit back. It is so deliciously f-r-e-e, free. Bonus: put down your deposit on Sunday, like I did, and get the camera for 48 hours, because the workshop is closed on Mondays. Huzzah! (what's with that?)
- They also have GIANT photo printers, also for free. Just burn your digital pictures on to a CD and get on the queue. (Warning: it's usually about an hour wait, and they tend to run out of larger paper, so get in early!) You can print pictures on paper up to 30 x 40 inches. That's an honest-to-god poster of your artsy fartsy photos, for free. And that's just down right incredible.
- You can also go in and have an artsy fartsy photo shoot. You guessed it -- for free. They have all these wild cameras and lighting and back drops, for which I know absolutely zero terminology, and you can just go to town with your inner model/designer/Andy Warhol self. When I popped in, there were chicks dressed as goth bunnies with peacock tails strutting around for the camera. So, yeah, do what you want.
- There's a cute little photo booth (see pictures above) that you can hop in front of for free as well. And if you're not so selfish like me, you can leave your pictures there, and they'll go in a "yearbook" which will be produced when the work shop ends.
So... duh, you're going, right? The workshop is going on until December 18th. Basically, it will be taking over my life until then. Also, look what I found on eBay that I am about to blow a bunch of money on:
God, Werra, I love you so, so much. Update clearly coming when I get my film developed.
Friday, October 22, 2010
One More Thing (About Teen Mom)
Despite this being a disgrace to real clams everywhere, I'm pretty pleased with myself over Gary Clam. He is way fatter and lazier and worse at proposing marriage than any clam I know of. But he may be more fun to watch on TV, I'll give him that.* Just in case anyone's interested in taking this to the next level, here's Gary Shirley's very own Twitter feed. Right now there are already 1,917 people with equally odd interest in this deadbeat dad!
Also, be sure to check out the Teen Mom Wikipedia page. It's packed with all sorts of fun, stalkery information about the whole cast!
*No wait, I'd be WAY more excited about seeing clams on TV.
Also, be sure to check out the Teen Mom Wikipedia page. It's packed with all sorts of fun, stalkery information about the whole cast!
*No wait, I'd be WAY more excited about seeing clams on TV.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Look What Sarah Can Do!
As some of you may know, September 26 to October 9 was a whirlwind of birthday celebrations. Most importantly, it was Gary Busey's very first birthday! And he hated his cake so, so much.
Thankfully, Sarah Tosh is a master of scissors and glue, and is the craftiest craft queen I have ever seen. Someone should probably hire her over at Kate's Paperie (because then I could get a bunch of cool free stuff and be the craftiest craft queen in training).
Look at this card she made for a cat!
It even folded from the top like a real card, and was filled with giant neon bubble letters -- Gary's favorite.
Now, as you also may know, Gary is much, much more popular than me, and had a lot more guests at his birthday than I did. But don't worry! Sarah and her paper skillz came to the rescue and made sure I was not to be outdone. First she brought me 70 glowsticks and a tiara. And THEN, she brought me this:
It's a real live card rendition of me, wearing the tiara she brought! It even has green glitter eyeshadow on, just like me!
This is nothing less than incredible. And that's that.
Thankfully, Sarah Tosh is a master of scissors and glue, and is the craftiest craft queen I have ever seen. Someone should probably hire her over at Kate's Paperie (because then I could get a bunch of cool free stuff and be the craftiest craft queen in training).
Look at this card she made for a cat!
It even folded from the top like a real card, and was filled with giant neon bubble letters -- Gary's favorite.
Now, as you also may know, Gary is much, much more popular than me, and had a lot more guests at his birthday than I did. But don't worry! Sarah and her paper skillz came to the rescue and made sure I was not to be outdone. First she brought me 70 glowsticks and a tiara. And THEN, she brought me this:
It's a real live card rendition of me, wearing the tiara she brought! It even has green glitter eyeshadow on, just like me!
This is nothing less than incredible. And that's that.
The Best/Worst T-shirt in the World
Yes, it's true. We love Teen Mom, almost as much as we love clams. The only problem is, while going around the world expressing love for clams is fun, easy and only mildly alienating, showing love for Teen Mom just comes out like this:
While this is awesome, it's definitely sending the wrong message. I guess I'll just have to keep my Teen Mom love to my self. (By which I mean talking about it incessantly and posting it on the internetz for everyone to see.)
While this is awesome, it's definitely sending the wrong message. I guess I'll just have to keep my Teen Mom love to my self. (By which I mean talking about it incessantly and posting it on the internetz for everyone to see.)
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Hooray for Catelynn and Tyler!
As some of you may know, Erika and I are totally obsessed with Teen Mom. We are obsessed with hating Amber and Gary because they're dumb and lazy; obsessed with calling Farrah a bitch because she is; obsessed with how fucking cute and perfect Bentley is (he gets it from Ryan); and obsessed with feeling really bad for Catelynn and Tyler.
Catelynn and Tyler are clearly the most morally upstanding people on the show. They gave their baby up for adoption because they were ill-equipped to raise it and their parents are hateful drug addicts. It breaks my heart how little support they have even though they deserve so much. Every time Catelynn's mom blows smoke in her toddler son's face, my hopes for humanity are crushed a little more. Every time Butch thinks he can teach them a lesson about "raising children" while being sent off to rehab again, I want to adopt Catelynn and Tyler and give them a whole new life. (In case you're not in the know, Butch is both Tyler's father and Catelynn's Stepfather. Those poor kids.)
Anyway, now I won't have to feel too bad for them. Jezebel has started a donation fund to help Catelynn and Tyler go to college! If I remember correctly, Catelynn wants to be an X-ray technician and Tyler wants to be an EMT. These are both very attainable and admirable goals and I think it's super awesome that strangers on the interwebs would reach out to help them on their way. If you're thinking about donating, click here.
Oh, and remember this, you guys? I loved it.
Omigod, Shoes (part 2)
Irena had a post about shoes, so now I can too.
I just got trapped in Moxsie's stranglehold, and fell helplessly under the spell of their "Moxsie First" newsletter, which gives its unsuspecting victims the opportunity to pre-buy amazing stuff months before it actually gets released. They even have a little clicking timer on top, showing how long the pre-sale will last, and reminding you that you are a shopaholic idiot, just like the woman calling into HSN talking about her rhinestone cat brooch. (Order in 10 minutes and get two rhinestone kitties for the price of one!)
Whatevs. They sent me a follow-up email with a 15% off coupon, so I crumbled. I've decided $75 is a totally ok price to pay for what will be the first item on my Christmas List I actually know I'm getting. (Still holding out for the bedazzled, white pony with the rainbow mane.) These won't ship until the end of December, but they're mine. All mine:
I just got trapped in Moxsie's stranglehold, and fell helplessly under the spell of their "Moxsie First" newsletter, which gives its unsuspecting victims the opportunity to pre-buy amazing stuff months before it actually gets released. They even have a little clicking timer on top, showing how long the pre-sale will last, and reminding you that you are a shopaholic idiot, just like the woman calling into HSN talking about her rhinestone cat brooch. (Order in 10 minutes and get two rhinestone kitties for the price of one!)
Whatevs. They sent me a follow-up email with a 15% off coupon, so I crumbled. I've decided $75 is a totally ok price to pay for what will be the first item on my Christmas List I actually know I'm getting. (Still holding out for the bedazzled, white pony with the rainbow mane.) These won't ship until the end of December, but they're mine. All mine:
The Miley Cyrocist
Alright, so the title isn't very clear. But Miley Cyrus needs an exorcist fast!
If I was a writer for Weekly World News (creator of Bat Boy and "The world's only source for reliable news."), I might say ... actually, I can't even do it. Make fun of tabloids all you want, people. Those scathing headlines are tough to think up. How about:
See? That's not even that good. You're not even quite sure what I'm talking about. How about:
We're getting there. Let's just forget the title and look at the picture, taken directly from the top banner of the official, corporate bloodsucking, Miley Cyrus website.
Seriously, someone stick a wooden stake in that or something. I am so scared, I can't even shake my hips like "yeah" to her new hit, "Who Owns My Heart." (Please forgive me if this is neither new, nor a hit. It's the latest video on her evil, evil demon blog.)
If I was a writer for Weekly World News (creator of Bat Boy and "The world's only source for reliable news."), I might say ... actually, I can't even do it. Make fun of tabloids all you want, people. Those scathing headlines are tough to think up. How about:
Head Spinning Revelations About Cyrus Possession!
See? That's not even that good. You're not even quite sure what I'm talking about. How about:
Teen Pop Act Taken Over by Demons!
We're getting there. Let's just forget the title and look at the picture, taken directly from the top banner of the official, corporate bloodsucking, Miley Cyrus website.
Seriously, someone stick a wooden stake in that or something. I am so scared, I can't even shake my hips like "yeah" to her new hit, "Who Owns My Heart." (Please forgive me if this is neither new, nor a hit. It's the latest video on her evil, evil demon blog.)
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
This Literally Existed on the Internet
I can't believe I didn't have to make this; it actually already existed on the internet. The original file name? "George Wants Clams." We all do George, we all do. I'm not quite sure who made this thing, but we'll be making babies together as soon as I find out.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Why the MTA is Broke
You guys, I think I figured out why the MTA is cutting services, raising rates and generally sucking at being a modern, economically viable train system:
This is my Transit Chek card, and I don't mind sharing all the info on it with you. Here, I'll even give you the PIN. It's 10005. You wanna know why that doesn't matter? Because this card is absolutely useless after the moment I use it once. I get it in the mail, I use it that afternoon, and then it is a worthless piece of plastic that I have to throw away.
In the olden days, a.k.a. April through August 2010, I would receive an actual Metrocard in the mail, just your typical yellow and blue, laminated cardboard. I would use it all month, and that was that. The new one would come on the first of the next month, and I never had a problem. (Except maybe the fact that the card had to come wrapped in plastic, but that was something I was willing to overlook.)
Now I get the Transit Chek card in the mail. I take that with me to the train station, pop it in the machine like a credit card, punch in my pin, and out comes the same exact card I used to get delivered to my desk. At this point I am in the same situation I was in under the old system, minus an extra three minutes of my time, and plus an extra 2 ounces of plastic headed straight for a landfill. Meanwhile the MTA just wasted about 50 cents on the extra postage to mail me the heavier card, and the cost of producing the card along with the original Metrocard I used to get in the first place. Now multiply that by 8 million.
Simply put, this is fucking moronic. And now on the first of every month, I have to be reminded about this fact. Evey month as I stand at the kiosk, with my one-time-use credit card, I will be thinking about the dwindling intelligence of mankind, and about the extra $14 I will be paying each month for the same service, because the MTA was running so inefficiently, they had a giant loophole of a new program whose sole purpose was to pay for and make me use two cards every month, instead of one, and they didn't ever stop to think that maybe this was part of the fucking budget problem.
You know it's not the only thing they're messing up. It's just (hopefully) the dumbest one.
This is my Transit Chek card, and I don't mind sharing all the info on it with you. Here, I'll even give you the PIN. It's 10005. You wanna know why that doesn't matter? Because this card is absolutely useless after the moment I use it once. I get it in the mail, I use it that afternoon, and then it is a worthless piece of plastic that I have to throw away.
In the olden days, a.k.a. April through August 2010, I would receive an actual Metrocard in the mail, just your typical yellow and blue, laminated cardboard. I would use it all month, and that was that. The new one would come on the first of the next month, and I never had a problem. (Except maybe the fact that the card had to come wrapped in plastic, but that was something I was willing to overlook.)
Now I get the Transit Chek card in the mail. I take that with me to the train station, pop it in the machine like a credit card, punch in my pin, and out comes the same exact card I used to get delivered to my desk. At this point I am in the same situation I was in under the old system, minus an extra three minutes of my time, and plus an extra 2 ounces of plastic headed straight for a landfill. Meanwhile the MTA just wasted about 50 cents on the extra postage to mail me the heavier card, and the cost of producing the card along with the original Metrocard I used to get in the first place. Now multiply that by 8 million.
Simply put, this is fucking moronic. And now on the first of every month, I have to be reminded about this fact. Evey month as I stand at the kiosk, with my one-time-use credit card, I will be thinking about the dwindling intelligence of mankind, and about the extra $14 I will be paying each month for the same service, because the MTA was running so inefficiently, they had a giant loophole of a new program whose sole purpose was to pay for and make me use two cards every month, instead of one, and they didn't ever stop to think that maybe this was part of the fucking budget problem.
You know it's not the only thing they're messing up. It's just (hopefully) the dumbest one.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Animal Planet, You're Disgusting
Do you remember when Animal Planet first came out, back in 1996? It was so wild and exciting and promised to deliver all the big cat specials my 9-year-old heart desired.
For a couple of years, the station remained my wildlife haven, but now I have my doubts.
First of all, specialty cable stations have lost all their novelty. I get like eight different MTVs. There are now two versions of Lifetime, as if the world really needed two options for 24/7 rape stories and moms doing things on their own terms. While cable was busy ramping up the competition and creating about 800 stations to vie for my attention, Animal Planet gave it a big "meh" and started sucking hard.
Now it's all cat whisperers and crazy people who live with 60 birds. Oh, and this:
To this I say, WTF, Animal Planet? You are disgusting. Why must you clarify it's a dance instructor's colon? As if a giant mass of decaying bugs inside an ass wouldn't be of any interest unless -- oh wait, it's in a dance instructor? Let's watch!
I miss the late-90s, when a girl could watch whales migrate and antelopes roam with a simple British voice over and no frills cinematography, and run absolutely no risk of seeing the "Hey, Check Out What's Growing Inside Me!" show.
Oh, and in case you were interested in vomiting today, or wanted to crawl out of your own skin, check out the episode! Animal Planet wouldn't let me embed it, lest I take all the credit for their groundbreaking poop joke series. Reason number 12 why I'm now totally over it.
For the record, it looks like the new Nat Geo Wild is a fail as well, with a host of new shows that sound equally terrible, like My Dog Ate What? and Swamp Men. (Concession: Rebel Monkeys sounds 100% incredible.)
Where oh where have all the animal kingdom cowboys gone??
For a couple of years, the station remained my wildlife haven, but now I have my doubts.
First of all, specialty cable stations have lost all their novelty. I get like eight different MTVs. There are now two versions of Lifetime, as if the world really needed two options for 24/7 rape stories and moms doing things on their own terms. While cable was busy ramping up the competition and creating about 800 stations to vie for my attention, Animal Planet gave it a big "meh" and started sucking hard.
Now it's all cat whisperers and crazy people who live with 60 birds. Oh, and this:
To this I say, WTF, Animal Planet? You are disgusting. Why must you clarify it's a dance instructor's colon? As if a giant mass of decaying bugs inside an ass wouldn't be of any interest unless -- oh wait, it's in a dance instructor? Let's watch!
I miss the late-90s, when a girl could watch whales migrate and antelopes roam with a simple British voice over and no frills cinematography, and run absolutely no risk of seeing the "Hey, Check Out What's Growing Inside Me!" show.
Oh, and in case you were interested in vomiting today, or wanted to crawl out of your own skin, check out the episode! Animal Planet wouldn't let me embed it, lest I take all the credit for their groundbreaking poop joke series. Reason number 12 why I'm now totally over it.
For the record, it looks like the new Nat Geo Wild is a fail as well, with a host of new shows that sound equally terrible, like My Dog Ate What? and Swamp Men. (Concession: Rebel Monkeys sounds 100% incredible.)
Where oh where have all the animal kingdom cowboys gone??
Friday, October 15, 2010
A Sad Day for Clams Everywhere
When a member of our underwater family dies, clams everywhere mourn the loss. However, that doesn't mean that we don't go take pictures of its decaying body, because dead sea creatures are cool like dead space creatures. 2 weeks ago, a blue whale washed up on shore on Bean Hollow State Beach, outside Pescadero. Blue whales are the largest creatures on earth today, possibly even in the history of the world. This particular whale was 80 feet long and weighed 75 tons (150,000 pounds).
Look at how tiny those people are!
Scientists think this whale got hit by a boat, possibly because she was sick or confused, since whales are usually way too smart to get hit by stupid boats. But not's not even the coolest/saddest part! This monster of a sea creature was 9 months pregnant at the time of her death so the fetus washed up a few feet away.
Blue whales gestate for about 12 months. The scientists think momma whale was heading north to give birth to her calf in a few months. BUT LISTEN TO THIS: baby blue whales gain 200 pounds A DAY when they're young. That figure almost makes my head explode. Supposedly there was some kind of gas buildup inside the mother and her calf was literally expelled from her because of it. That may account for why a large portion of her midsection is missing, but I'm not really sure. I'm not scientist, I just happen to have a digital camera.
Hands down, my favorite part of this whole experience was the two guys who brought a six pack of Coors Orig and perched on a rock to just look at it. For some reason, I felt shame in taking a picture of them, but not this majestic dead creature. I'm not sure I can convey to you guys just how smelly 150,000 pounds of rotting flesh is, but it's definitely not the ideal atmosphere for sipping on a Banquet Beer.
Oh, and just in case you weren't grossed out before:
you know, just some giant intenstines
Holy Shit
Holy shit you guys, I just found the most amazing moment in time ever recorded. Pee Wee Herman, Regis Philbin, and CANDY? Are you kidding me?!
Also the soon-to-be most amazing moment in time ever recorded is when I go out to Dylan's this weekend and stage the world's biggest gumball heist. Who wants to be the photographer?
Alright, alright, I know you just want more Pee Wee. Fine:
He's also in the Washington Post today, proof that Pee Wee Herman is BACK, people. Get used to it.
PS - Why doesn't he AGE?!
Also the soon-to-be most amazing moment in time ever recorded is when I go out to Dylan's this weekend and stage the world's biggest gumball heist. Who wants to be the photographer?
Alright, alright, I know you just want more Pee Wee. Fine:
He's also in the Washington Post today, proof that Pee Wee Herman is BACK, people. Get used to it.
PS - Why doesn't he AGE?!
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Please Let it be a Midget
Clam o' the day. Now, I know what you're thinking. (Well, really you're thinking, "What's with all the clam pictures?" But let's get beyond that.) You're thinking, "Is that clam made of fur?" and the truth is, I don't know. But if a clam can also be like a stuffed animal, then why ask questions? Just enjoy it.
Right now you're also thinking, "Is that girl kneeling in the clam, or is she a midget in a floor length dress?" The answer is, incontestably, midget. She is a midget. And I don't want to hear any other possibilities. So good day.
Right now you're also thinking, "Is that girl kneeling in the clam, or is she a midget in a floor length dress?" The answer is, incontestably, midget. She is a midget. And I don't want to hear any other possibilities. So good day.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Re:form School
This Saturday, Redu had a pop-up art show in NYC to raise awareness about how god awful the school system is in the U.S. It was called Re:form School, and it was pretty damn great.
Over 150 artists participated, and I didn't take the time to learn a single one of their names. This was partially because it was my birthday, a time when my brain totally shuts down to all information aside from the names of exotic new shots I can get people to buy me, and partially because I went to a god awful U.S. school, and therefore don't learn too good.
At least I managed to take pictures...
First of all, there was this giant clam painting. It's a clam using a computer. I like to think he's working on this blog.
There was also a pretty sweet bus made from reclaimed materials taken out of an old school. You can also watch a video of it being made, and hear the artist get all deep and shit. (Oh, hey, his name's Eric Otto! Education system win!)
For those of you who like infographics, this one is a littel surprising. California and New York have only 50-66 percent of high school students graduating? Maybe we should stop talking so much smack about the south...
Um, this next one was neon shapes. That's about all I got. (Neon shapes followed by two more pictures I have nothing to say about except a plebeian, "cool.")
This was pretty crazy too, especially considering it was part of a 30 second time stop animation made entirely of moving thumb tacks. This is only two panels of a board that spanned the room. It also defines "tedious."
Ok, now go build a new school or something!
Over 150 artists participated, and I didn't take the time to learn a single one of their names. This was partially because it was my birthday, a time when my brain totally shuts down to all information aside from the names of exotic new shots I can get people to buy me, and partially because I went to a god awful U.S. school, and therefore don't learn too good.
At least I managed to take pictures...
First of all, there was this giant clam painting. It's a clam using a computer. I like to think he's working on this blog.
There was also a pretty sweet bus made from reclaimed materials taken out of an old school. You can also watch a video of it being made, and hear the artist get all deep and shit. (Oh, hey, his name's Eric Otto! Education system win!)
For those of you who like infographics, this one is a littel surprising. California and New York have only 50-66 percent of high school students graduating? Maybe we should stop talking so much smack about the south...
Um, this next one was neon shapes. That's about all I got. (Neon shapes followed by two more pictures I have nothing to say about except a plebeian, "cool.")
This amazing 15-foot plus mural was made of kids' cut up school work. You can see some unused pages on the floor.
This was pretty crazy too, especially considering it was part of a 30 second time stop animation made entirely of moving thumb tacks. This is only two panels of a board that spanned the room. It also defines "tedious."
Ok, now go build a new school or something!
Saturday, October 9, 2010
It's Erika's Birthday!
Happy clamday, Erika! I hope this day brings you all of the clams you could ever desire.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Omigod, Shoes
While recently procrastinating by looking at clothes on the internetz, I think I found the world's most perfect pair of shoes. These little guys are only $48 at Urban Outfitters and they come in tonz of colors and materials like suede, canvas and wool. This mustard color is particularly perfect for fall and reminiscent of a nail polish I've had my eye on.
Maybe I've been watching a little too much Mad Men, but these shoes are crying out for me to go spend money on them. There's really no reason for a person who spends the majority of her life in either sweatpants or bathing suits to own a pair of shoes like this, but I'm breaking the mold. Working from home just got a bit more sophisticated.
The Most Giantest, Clammiest Clam in the World
Look at all those thumbs up! These kids really know how to do it right.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
This is a Post About Bats!
I'm getting a little psyched for Halloween -- mostly because of the huge candy stash that started appearing in the freezer. (I'm going to get diabetes!) Aside from the all the twixing and snickering, I'm also psyched because of the decorating and costuming. (I'm going to wear the coat!)
Did I mention I'm also kind of psyched about the bats? Greenpoint Tavern is currently covered (COVERED!) with cheesey bat and ghost decorations, and it's really kitschy and great. Also just last night I hallucinated that some leaves dangling off a branch were actually a bat, and I got all excited... and then really disappointed. So, yeah, they're on the brain.
These bats are from my new favorite discovery, Brand New. Also did you know that a group of bats is called a colony? I wanted it to be a battery, but I guess that's asking too much.
Did I mention I'm also kind of psyched about the bats? Greenpoint Tavern is currently covered (COVERED!) with cheesey bat and ghost decorations, and it's really kitschy and great. Also just last night I hallucinated that some leaves dangling off a branch were actually a bat, and I got all excited... and then really disappointed. So, yeah, they're on the brain.
These bats are from my new favorite discovery, Brand New. Also did you know that a group of bats is called a colony? I wanted it to be a battery, but I guess that's asking too much.
The Tom Commandments
I can't believe it's taken me this long to write about my one true love in the city: Pinkerton Wine Bar. Basically Thomas Hudson, the bar's owner, is my favorite new best friend who sometimes gives me free wine, and always makes the best playlists. (And we all know how important the playlist is.)
Now, I have a lot of magical times at Pinkerton -- most of which involve "bar cigarettes" -- but last night was particularly spectacular, as evidenced by what I discovered written on a crinkled newspaper in my bag this morning as I lugged myself to work:
Now, I have a lot of magical times at Pinkerton -- most of which involve "bar cigarettes" -- but last night was particularly spectacular, as evidenced by what I discovered written on a crinkled newspaper in my bag this morning as I lugged myself to work:
The Tom Commandments
(quite obviously in order of importance)
Now, I don't know about you, but I consider this the new end all be all of bar rules. If every bar lived by this simple creed, the world would be a better place, particularly on account of numbers four and six (which, coincidentally don't go together very well).
(quite obviously in order of importance)
1. Thou shalt not speaketh of butt plugs.
2. Thou shalt not slam dance.
3. Thou shalt not ask to play thine own iPod.
4. Thou shalt not leave Pinkerton until the owner says you may.
5. Thou shalt not leave thine keys at the bar.
6. Thou shalt not apologize about trivial matters.
2. Thou shalt not slam dance.
3. Thou shalt not ask to play thine own iPod.
4. Thou shalt not leave Pinkerton until the owner says you may.
5. Thou shalt not leave thine keys at the bar.
6. Thou shalt not apologize about trivial matters.
Now, I don't know about you, but I consider this the new end all be all of bar rules. If every bar lived by this simple creed, the world would be a better place, particularly on account of numbers four and six (which, coincidentally don't go together very well).
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