This jam is so jammy it's not even up on youtube, man. The band is The Terror Pigeon Dance Revolt! -- not exactly a name that connotes video making and self promotion. Mostly it just connotes oddball awesomeness, which is, coincidentally, what the song Snow Day is all about.
This is in honor of the snow that fell on Thanksgiving. I am now totally ready for the deluge, and anxiously awaiting a snow day. (Which, thanks to the nature of my job, may never exist for me again. But I can dream, dammit.) The song.
Ok. This is serious. I think that maybe the world is ending. We're done. There's no hope left. There is only ... Bridalplasty.
This is a show that has young brides-to-be competing for obscene amounts of plastic surgery. This is about 18 different types of depressing. Two of the main types are a) girls who look perfectly perfect and still have a laundry list of invasive surgeries they'd like to go through, and b) girls who should really just go to the gym once in a while instead of getting liposuction on every major part of their body at once.
Type A: Type B:
Yes, I am judging, and judging hard. I am judging both the contestants and the producers, not to mention society as a whole. My only hope is that maybe these girls are willing to go through all the surgeries because the "winner" (debatable) at the end also gets a celebrity-style wedding. But god, isn't that just as tragic?
It's the most tragic. And everyone who works at E! is going to hell (which we already knew), and everyone who watches the show should be ashamed (which I will).
Well, now that Thanksgiving is out of the way, and we're done stampeding each other on Black Friday, let's take a moment to talk about all the boatloads of Christmas lists we're going to be bombarded with from every magazine, blog, and morning news show over the next 29 days.
Actually, let's just talk about mine.
First, there are some things which I've mentioned before. I'll recap real quick so they're not lost and forgotten by Santa, or whoever else might want to contribute to the cause.
As for the rest, well... this could get pretty long.
6. Dirty Pillowz. This is going out to Irena, because she of all people knows that any product with a Z in its name is something worth owning. Adding to the awesomeness is the Dirty Pillowz tagline: For Lovers of 70s Crafts and 70s Porn. I didn't know there were people in the world who don't love both those things, and I'd like to believe there aren't. So I guess that makes this the world's number one gift. Yup, everyone wants a pillow that combines 70s crafts and 70s porn. I think these are going to be the next Tickle Me Elmo craze, don't you?
The best part is you get to make the pillows yourself using yarn and a pattern that comes in the Dream Pillowz kit. Man, you're gonna make so many friends on the train. (Icing on the cake: The dude who came up with this is from Brooklyn.)
7. Zoe Chicco Bow Ring. It's the cutest! 8.Sky Umbrella. Now, I am not a fan of umbrellas. Perhaps I lived in Boston too long and saw one too many helpless victim of the wind get their umbrella destroyed (and a picture of their struggle on the cover of the Globe). My general umbrella philosophy is that by the time the rain is bad enough for you to need one, the wind is also strong enough to render them frustratingly useless. In short, it's a waste of money. It's literally paying to look like an asshole.
That said, Tibor Kalman's iconic sky umbrella is the exception to my rule. It makes me want to tap dance across rainy West Village stoops, belting Singing in the Rain. I like to think if I owned a sky umbrella windy rains would cease to exist.
9. Pure Poison. Seriously, guys. I have been asking for this for every birthday, Christmas and miscellaneous gift-worthy event for the past two years. It's time. 10. Eggling Herb Kit. Ok, these are the cutest. Growing herbs is already a really cute thing to do. Growing herbs out of little eggs is so cute, it probably makes Asian school girls giggle. Oh wait, it's "extremely popular in Japan" you say? Called it!
So yeah, I'll take a baker's dozen.
11. Squirrel Candle Holder. Say what you want about Jonathan Adler. He makes a whole lot of stuff I want. Look at this little guy: Um, did I mention Jonathan Addler makes a whole lot of stuff I want? Ok, well give me this whale candle holder too. 12. An aquarium table. I don't even think we have enough room in our house for this table, but I don't care. I will knock down walls. This would make Gary so happy, he would probably just kill himself with joy. And that's what Christmas is all about, isn't it? And while we're on the subject...
13. An indoor waterfall. This would actually make Gary way, way happier than any old fish tank ever could. It might also make me and James the coolest people you know.
14. Kittenz! All of them. Tell Santa to bring them all.
15. A ModKat Litter Box. Once I get all those kittens I need to get them something to poop in, don't I? Really, this is just another example of Gary taking over my Christmas list. Not that I wouldn't love watching him bounce in and out of this thing like the cutest maniac on the planet.
Ok, I'm going to stop there for now. 14 more items on the way -- one for each day of the countdown to consumer appreciation day.
Holy crap, Campaign for Tobacco Free Kids, thanks for giving me all the information I needed about Camel's latest branding campaign, including showing me all the images you are trying to ban!
In case you live under a rock, or have been too drunk off Four Loko in the past week to catch the news, Camel has unveiled a brand new marketing campaign geared at the hip, young, anti-mainstream demographic.
[Redacted: 5,000 word rant about the futility of marketing to anything hip, young, or anti-mainstream]
The campaign is a basic redesign of Camel's classic cancer stick packaging, turbo-powered with a social media concept that will actually work on a maybe young, probably not hip, blinded by the mainstream demographic.
The campaign goes like this: Camel's gonna give you 10 clues about 10 cities as it goes around the country showing you how cool it is! Guess the city and you can win some shit!
Apparently these are the best places to smoke cigarettes in America:
Austin. Out of all the cities on the list, Austin is the most likely to have people showing off these packs without a drop of irony.
Bonneville Salt Flats. Is this even a place? Moot.
The Haight San Francisco. I bet California is really, really pissed about this.
New Orleans. These people have been shit on by natural disasters and not-so-natural disasters. Let them have their cigarettes.
Route 66? That's either a major shun to a city along Route 66, or living proof we need more maps and such.
Seattle. Yeah, yeah. Kurt Cobain.
Sturgis SD. At least they specified the state here, Bonneville.
Vegas. The hookers are gonna be so psyched!
Williamsburg. Ok. Ok. .... Okay. This is the only one I can really talk about with indefatigable truth. But it's not worth it, man. It's just not fucking worth it.
Winston-Salem. Duh
If this campaign is really targeted toward the 20-somethings of Williamsburg, The Haight, New Orleans, etc. then it's just pitiful. In trying to express their fear of this campaign, CTFK is marketing these cigarettes to me way more effectively than Camel ever will. At first, this makes me think it's time for R.J. Reynolds to find a new marketing team. But then I stop for like two seconds and think about Billy the 16-year-old bass player who just started to get his brother to buy him Natty Lights. He wants to smoke Camels so, so bad now. R.J. Reynolds, you are an evil genius.
Obviously, there is some uproar. All the politicians and public health officials in of each of these perfectly respectable party cities are pissed to admit their hood is a great place to get really drunk and chain smoke in.
But in the grand scheme of R.J. Reynolds' schemes, it's really not that bad. It's not like they're sending promotional packages filled with 5-shot drink recipes and coasters that say "Layer it on, go 'til daybreak." That was so 2005.
In some ways, R.J. Reynolds is kind of like North Korea. No matter how many sanctions they get, they're going to shoot off some missiles now and again. And you can't let an ad campaign lead to nuclear warfare. I say we all just sit back, relax, take a deep carcinogen-filled breath and let Camel have their little ads. Everyone knows the cool kids are smoking American Spirits and rollies anyway.
Today, National Geographic Channel introduced me to the personal title, Local Metal Detecting Enthusiast.
You see, there is this field in Litchfield, England that has been farmed "for centuries," according to the show, Lost Gold of the Dark Ages, and there is sure to be mad loot under there.
With mad loot comes mad metal detecting, and that is where you find Local Metal Detecting Enthusiasts. They are often, coincidentally, also harmonica enthusiasts and late night whiskey drinking enthusiasts. They might even be really enthusiastic about brushing their teeth after lunch. Who knows.
But seriously, do you know how cool it is to go metal detecting and find gold and garnet relics from centuries of yore? Do you understand?! It's enough to make a girl buy a metal detector and head straight to the hills of Litchfield.
To put my enthusiasm in perspective, I have watched a feature length History Channel documentary about the Dark Ages (complete with dramatic reenactments) twice in the past two weeks, and ordered an A&E documentary about the plague from Netflix. It had to go in my queue and get mailed to me. Moving on.
When you do a Google search for "Metal Detecting Enthusiast" you get this:
I caught this guy from so many angles; he's like the world's most ardent metal detecting enthusiast ever. Also, that looks like some really cool shit.
I don't know if you guys know this yet, but a whole new world has opened up right around the corner from my apartment. You could say, according to current scientific theory, that it's a black hole portal opening up into an entire new universe. That universe... is filled with cupcakes.
The brand new establishment is actually, factually called Cupcake Land. Yeah, it's precious.
These cupcakes in Cupcake Land put all other baked goods to shame. There is literally no way to describe how the flavors are so... flavory... so infused into the frosting... so perfectly textured. (I won't say moist, because fuck that word.) I bet the rulers of Cupcake Land, who undoubtedly hide in the back covered in flour and giggles, look something like this:
(By the way, when you're used to using Photoshop at work, and then you get home and all you have to work with is MS Paint, it's like going from being a healthy, normal person -- maybe someone who runs track--to a paraplegic with Alzheimer's and Autism. It's just that bad. Anyways, apologies for the appearance of King and Queen cupcake. In real life their cupcake tank tops are much, much cooler.)
If I used Four Square, I would dedicate my life to becoming mayor of Cupcake Land. It would make me the happiest girl in New York, and also quite possibly the fattest. Even without Four Square I get myself over to this land of joy, this refuge for all things that must immediately go into my mouth, with shocking frequency.
The menu is so intense. I can't go in without ordering 4 flavors, and it's a problem.
Clearly, Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday is where it's at, but I don't know... that carrot one is pretty good too. And so basically I'm going every day. The first week it opened I spent $25 on cupcakes. I haven't spent that much money on a pair of pants in like seven years.
When I told the owner that her sugary delights were my guilty pleasure/fierce addiction, she kindly told me how wrong I was ("Not guilty! These are good for you! It's cream cheese!"), and informed me the strawberry shortcake was only 200 calories. Having interpreted the Cupcake Land website, I realize this whole "It's good for you" act is just a sinister cover-up for what she really thinks: "Cupcakeland - bakery that will make you high on sugar." I'm pretty sure my favorite flavor -- the peanut butter -- is hovering around 1,478 calories, but I'm totally cool with that.
I'm also alright with how disgustingly cute and perfect it is inside.
These pictures are admittedly awful (probably something to do with me scratching at my neck and blindly fiending for frosting),, but I think you can still get a sense of it. It's sort of like Barbie and Martha Stewart had a baby that grew up in Paris. It doesn't get much better than that.
And thus, my ode to Cupcake Land must end. I'll see you soon, my love.
I just discovered the greatest documentary I have ever seen -- aside from Jonestown, of course. That's the greatest movie I have ever seen, and maybe just the greatest thing I've ever seen, in general, ever in life. Anyway, let's not let Jim Jones run yet another show. This moment is all about
THE WILD AND WONDERFUL WHITES OF WEST VIRGINIA
Alirght, if you haven't figured it out yet from the trailer, this family is filled with the most badass, hilarious, lawless, backwoods, tragically depressed people on the planet. To quote Hank Williams III, "They are the true rebels of the south."
You're gonna laugh and you're gonna cry, but mostly, you're gonna drank. Because I just made a drankin' game. (Warning: the first few minutes are going to do you in, but it's to prepare you for the rest of the film.)
To play, you will need:
A pack of cigarettes
A pint of whiskey
A 30-rack of Budweiser Original
Optional: a couple xanny bars, some crack and/or PCP, and a penchant for murder.
Drink every time:
You see a tap dancer
There is a reference to murder
You are confused by someone’s gender, based on their voice
Something really inappropriate is said around Tylor, and yet he’s blissfully playing with weird toys
You see a cigarette within five feet of a child (and finish your beer when a child actually smokes one)
Fortunately, this video is streaming on Netflix, so if you have a membership, which I'm pretty sure is everyone by now, you can start the fun right away! Yee haw!
Despite how terrible my recent Four Loko night was, this song makes me want to do it again -- and maybe use a fake I.D. to buy it. Also, I'm thrilled me and this G can agree Cranberry Lemonade is where it's AT.
(Thanks to Karen for pointing out this major, major gem.)
So it was a rainy poop day, huh? It was cold. It was windy. It was cloudy. Plus now apparently it gets dark at, like, noon. And here I thought I was all psyched for November. Until I have a giant turkey/cranberry sauce/stuffing Thanksgiving leftover sandwich resting on my stomach while I lean back in fullness and despair, and then just eat it all -- sandwich, despair and all -- in blissful hibernative delight (made it up), my opinion of November is going to remain about as low as my opinion for Keith Urban, and kids who shop at Hot Topic.
Anyway, days like this require a very special kind of music. First of all, you need a fucking pick me up. Second of all, you need to wallow in your gloomy melancholy, and snarl at the city a little, and get pissed at the wind a little -- which, I guess, isn't so melancholy after all. It's a pretty tough conundrum, a melancholic pick me up.
Our dear friend Mayssa, whom you may remember from OMG You're So Jellz of My Pen Palz is on a whirl wind trip around her homeland, America. She stopped in California for a few days on her way back east, so we all went down to LA to do silly things. Thanks to amazing good fortune, LA was experiencing a heat wave and it was over 90 degrees every single day. We went to beach twice and went swimming and weren't even cold. It was like a tropical vacation, except with more smog and traffic.
After a day of spending too much time in the sun, we went to Cabo Cantina in Venice for Happy Hour (2 for 1 drinks!) The margaritas were delicious and I saw a celebrity!
Yep, it was sexy, killy Renee from True Blood. It was my first LA celebrity sighting, and it was very exhilarating.
The real highlight of this trip, however, was our night out at the club. We went to Colony in Hollywood, which is exactly how you would expect it to be. This is the kind of place where Miller Lites cost $8 and you have to give the lady in the bathroom a dollar to dry your hands. They played mad jams like Oh My Gosh and Shots and we danced in a very non-ironic fashion. Most importantly, we looked good doing it. Especially the boys.
Here come the Dans in Black
Do you see how much they love dancing on stage? No doubt one of them used that pole for some sexually suggestive dance moves.
But alas, all good things must come to an end. Mayssa went to Virginia and we came back to Santa Cruz. Mayssa should be heading up to New York in a few weeks, so hopefully we'll getting an update of all the silly things she does with Erika.
This could really go on forever, so I'm just going to suggest you guys go here, and get some 'stache glory of your own. You know, in honor of the month.
Have you ever been busy? Like, so busy you can't really figure out when to eat or do your laundry? Or you get really psyched when you only have four more hours of work and 32 emails in your inbox to deal with? So busy you can't click on all the funny links people are posting on Facebook and just laughing and laughing and joking away while you're drowning in a pile of paperwork and desperation? Or maybe you try to go to bed one night but then you start thinking about your to-do list and start crying and hyperventilating and then someone is suddenly putting ice packs on your face and you realize you're having your first honest-to-god panic attack?
(Alright, I'll admit it, I never stopped dicking around on Facebook.)
Unfortunately, all this business and busy-ness will be continuing on for the foreseeable future, but seeing as today is Saturday, I though I'd take a moment to send out a little prequel to all the soon-to-be restored glory and fullness of... constant dicking around on Facebook. And sometimes writing things. And photoshopping clams. (Oh, how I miss the clams.)
Last night James and I had a romantic evening--just us and three of the Four Loko, which I have lovingly nicknamed Gross, Grosser, and Get The Hell Out Of My Mouth. (You can learn about all the flavors on the "four facts" page, which clearly needed to exist.*)
Seeing as my body has been crushed under the debilitating weight of indefinite big kid obligations, I knew I would need some sort of a pick me up to make it out for Janusz' birthday. After a brief discussion, James and I came to the only logical solution: popping back a nice big can of meme drink. (Plus, we heard it got banned in Michigan, and if a state is going to ban something, I'm going to drink it. Me and every college student in the country that hasn't tried it yet, because, you know, that's how these things work.)
Imagine my surprise and delight when I got home to find this:
That's flowers, a candle, cheese and crackers, wine glasses and three Four Lokos--sitting in ice. Look at how sensual those cans of crazy, crazy madness looked in the candlelight.
Mmmmm.
Alright, before you go getting all hot and bothered, know this: Four Loko tastes like a frat boy made jungle juice with sprite and Hawaiian Punch that was actually manufactured in 1992, then filled it with Fun Dip and rufies, and maybe peed in it a little, just for good measure. James and I started safe, with Cranberry Lemonade, devolved into Blue Raspberry, and then felt too concerned for our health to actually crack Loko Uva, which apparently is a flavor. We saved little Uva for Janusz to drink at his birthday party, but he politely declined our offer as we were being yelled at for potentially "ruining the night," source to remain unnamed.
Here we are taking our first tastes of Blue Raspberry:
James really seems to be taking it in stride there, doesn't he? Maybe we should try to set him up as a Four Loko spokesperson. He can just drink and drink and drink, and die and die and die and we'll make so much money and probably end up on the news somewhere with the title "local idiots."
By the time we made it out for the birthday, I was wholly self-aware of what an asshole I was being, and totally incapable of doing anything about it. It's like watching a train wreck, but you're also the driver... and also the train, come to think of it. And you really have to pee all the time.
Looks like we were keeping some sort of dream alive at the bar... not exactly auspicious.
The best part is you get to make the pillows yourself using yarn and a pattern that comes in the Dream Pillowz kit. Man, you're gonna make so many friends on the train. (Icing on the cake: The dude who came up with this is from Brooklyn.)
Um, did I mention Jonathan Addler makes a whole lot of stuff I want? Ok, well give me this whale candle holder too.
And while we're on the subject...
Ok, I'm going to stop there for now. 14 more items on the way -- one for each day of the countdown to consumer appreciation day.
Yep, it was sexy, killy Renee from True Blood. It was my first LA celebrity sighting, and it was very exhilarating.
