Man, America. I know you all like to get drunk, but can't we just admit it and stop making up holidays to celebrate? Or why not claim it National Drinking Century? That should clear everything for a while.
Whatevs. Until that happens (which, duh, it will), here are some things I'll be drinking to for the next few weeks. These are real holidays, celebrated by totally normal people, all across America, particularly in those parts of America where the majority of citizens have garden gnomes, and seasonal flags.
Ok, let's start things off right with June 19-25: Carpenter Ant Awareness week. Only one day left to get all your carpenter appreciation out! I'll start you off with a little factoid (for your awareness)-- carpenter ants hollow out sections of trees to make wood, but they DON'T eat it! That's termites, son. Now you know.
June 27 - Decide to be Married Day. Watch out James. I'll be doing shots and dreaming up my best proposal speech, which will probably contain the word "di'ntcha."
ALSO on June 27: "Happy Birthday to You" Day. This is especially offensive to people actually born on the day of June 27, so I'll be spending most of my partying time pouring one out for all those homies.
June 30: National Hand Shake Day. Germaphobes, get your gloves on. And peace be with you.
July 2: I Forget Day. Man, if there was ever a holiday to drink through, it's this one. Plus it's fourth of July weekend, so get to it!
July 6: Take Your Webmaster to Lunch Day. So, uh...yeah. Looks like you better hurry up and get yourself a webmaster. Preferably one who likes to shotgun beers.
July 10: Don't Step on a Bee Day. A grueling day for beekeepers everywhere. Cheers to you, beekeepers! Whew! Well, after all those hard-partyin' celebrations, I'm going to need to take a little breather. But rage on America, you crazy, crazy bastards.
While we're on the topic of Jeopardy!--which, let's be honest, aren't we always?--Alex Trebek got a little more personal than usual tonight. Maybe it's because it was the final day of the Teen Jeopardy tournament, and Alex likes rappin' with the kids. He's just a rappin' fool, that Alex Trebek. Just snappin' and jivin' and pronouncing things all funny. Things like neanderthal and quinoa.
Long story short, Alex's favorite animal is the muskox. That's just something he wanted us to know. He even recommended one of the 15-year-old contestants go visit a particular farm in a particular town in Alaska that raises muskoxen. He doesn't just like them, he knows where they live.
Alright Alex. We all know you're an odd guy. You spend a lot of time memorizing obscure Shakespeare passages and probably really like the smell of must. But the muskox? Really? The animal known for its "strong odor in males" and tendency to "mock copulation" when asserting dominance? Basically, this is the weird, smelly frat bro of the animal world. And it has about as much intrigue as a lump of cabbage.
I think it's safe to say Trebek's real reason for liking this generally boring creature is extremely esoteric, as all of his preferences are, I'm sure. What can you really say, except that's Alex.
Now let's humanize him a little bit by seeing him drunk!
So... blah blah blah, it's fashion week. This time of year does nothing but make me feel short, poor, and covetous. Well, pass me the Ben & Jerry's and a gift card to Forever21, because I'm diving in head first.
Alice + Olivia are kind of the coolest, right? And they're, like, almost in my price range. There's this glimmer of hope that some day within the next decade, I can walk into an Alice + Olivia boutique and be like, "BAM - Grab me that dress in a 4, woman. Mama's taking it home with her tonight." And then I spill like a milkshake or something on it and my cat cuts a hole in the sleeve that night, but WHATEVER! It's still mine.
So um, the 20s? Yeah they're kicking it. It's good because in nine years it'll be the 20s again and then, shit, we'll all be ready to shimmy and party and just roar it the fuck up in golden age part two. It's gonna be the bees knees.
Also maybe this is the sign of the end of the prohibition coming? Eh? Eh? Wink wink?
Whatever.
Look at this couch that's almost ten times better than those clothes, but also very reminescent!
This photo was taken in the dressing room of what is clearly the coolest place to buy clothes on the planet: Post Script. It's all vintage shi shi run by ex-model Julie Skinner, whose life basically makes my existence look like a modern tragedy. Check it out.
This is some sort of *totally amazing* item you can apparently buy at her store, *if your life is made of silk and diamonds and unicorn tears that you sprinkle in your champagne to make all your dreams come true that day.* I would sell a sizable portion of my soul to wear this out to a disco dance party.
Speaking of... whatever it is I'm saying, Swirl by Daily Candy is now selling vintage bags from Balenciaga, Dior, Chloe, Gucci, Valentino -- you know, all the kids at the popular table. Really, "vintage" here means "totally outdated-looking a la 1998-2003." This was not a good time for bags, folks. Remember the tiny little u-shaped slouchy ones? And the saddle bags? Say what you will, I was not a fan. I am even less of a fan now. These things do not translate well over time. That said, this little number is pretty tight (and kinda goes with my theme here):
Skunk. Who'da thunk it. I could add this to my odd varieties of fur collection... or my curio collection. Whichever. I want to wear this in the rockiest of ways, even though that's about the lamest thing that's come out of my mouth in days. What I'm trying to say is that this bag would look best with some skin tight leather pants and a BMI of about 2.5. You should definitely only hold it if you also have a cigarette in your hand. I mean, your mouth.
It's like if Kate Moss and Nancy both had time machines, and they collided mid-trip and smashed down in 1924, you know? It's not hard, people.
By the way, 1920s chicks were totally badass. Look at these broads, just out on the town, broadin' it up. They're probably about to go flap. And drink moonshine.
On a final note (finally) this is my favorite one. Give me that head, right now.
Holy shit, guys. Holy shit. And I don't say holy shit often (?), but it's officially been more than a week since I've rattled off some meaningless garbage on the good old internets. We haven't even talked about how much I'm totally obsessed with the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills (or more specifically Richard Lawson's recaps of their finer moments--seriously, check it.)
I have been so much more of a legitimate adult than I've ever intended in these past few... 8 days?... 8 weeks?... whatever, but I've also gone on some honest-to-god journeys which were totally reminiscent of my high-school-going-on-college days (and Irena was here, and there was New Year's and such). The great irony is that in light of all the story-making, the storytelling mechanism gets cut from the schedule. And so there is so much life experience sludge, left to fossilize, and only emerge one day when memories get skewed.
Let's cut to the clam jam chase here. I came to talk about Icypoles by Alpine, and how it's so good and how I left my iPod in New Jersey, and how much that sucks. Fortunately, I found Icypoles on a playlist, and by the time I got to this moment the next song had begun to play. It's pretty fun. And thus it takes over. (Still check out Icypoles. It knows how to fucking rock a morning commute.)
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.)
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.
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:
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:
The Tom Commandments (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.
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).
Whoa guys, I've been mad MIA for the past two weeks. My clammiest apologies. I went on the most epic east-coast tour of all time during which I did tons of shopping with my mom and tons of drinking with my clams. After that it was my birthday, and I make a habit of not doing anything three days on either side of that glorious event.
After spending about a week doing nothing around my parents' house and playing with cats, I made the trek southward to play with Erika's cat, Gary Busey. He haz one years now, and a pretty epic birthday celebration to go with it. To be fair, I think we all had way more fun than he did. We invited about 20 people into his house, gave him his first dose of catnip, made him wear silly hats, and sang "Happy Birthday" loudly and off-key into his sensitive cat ears.
Gary haz nip
Oh, and then we left him all alone while we continued on to the fun part of the evening. It was my long-awaited foray in to Bulgarian Bar , "New York City's ultimate multi-national drunken-Balkan disco dive barextravaganza." Check out the live video feed, you won't regret it.
Ladies: you look fly as fuck. Boys: Open your eyes.
All good things must come to end, though, and soon I was on a plane back west where I accidentally watched the end of the most recent episode of Teen Mom. I really spoiled things for myself, since I still have a good six hours of Teen Mom to watch before that. Somehow, I think I'll make it. More importantly, though, I realized that five days is simply not enough time to properly express my love to all my clams in the city. So next time, I hope you're all prepared because I may never leave.
When I finally made it home, though, it was the day before my birthday and so celebration times could begin. I share a birthday with our dear friend and roommate, Thomas Daniel Spencer XII so it's usually a pretty good time. We left to go to the grocery store, and when we came back there was a birthday party for us! It wasn't even a surprise, just excellent timing. We were rewarded for making it to age 24 with gifts of funfetti cake and excessive amounts of tequila.
Birthday Dans!
I received many wonderful gifts from my nearest and dearest, including a kick-ass surprise kindle case that came in the mail! The gift to end all gifts, however, came from boyfriend.
Seriously, boyfriend doesn't fuck around. Do you see that basket?? the cloth part comes out and turns into a bag that I can take around town. Also, he painted the whole thing so now it matches my helmet.
Thank you all for reading this boring post about mine and Erika's cats birthday. Starting tomorrow, I will get interesting again. Scouts honor.
A few days ago, I awoke to the warm California sun shining in through the skylight in my bedroom. I splashed some water on my face, pulled on my favorite sweatpants, and walked barefoot down my newly carpeted staircase. What lovely scene greeted me in my sunny, airy living room?
10 dudes, about 100 beer cans and the unmistakable stench of bleach and barf.
Our dear friends, Dani Nash & The Villainsare at the tail-end of a month-long west coast tour with their friends, Clepto. Dani Nash and The Villains hold a very special place in our hearts, ever since they let us dress up like jazzercise zombies in the music video for their jam "Eating at My Brain." Our deep and abiding love for their music aside, hosting two punk bands in one house has been an interesting experience. Two of our three toilets are currently tainted with the byproducts of a leisurely game of Edward 40 Hands. There are two separate Ford Econolinesdying in front of our house. One of our roommates now has a black eye (he kind of deserved it). But, they did bring a super cute dog named Elvis with them who looks just like Benji, and we love him extra tons.
The boys are playing a show tonight at Johnny V's in San Jose, so stop by in the unlikely event you're in the area. After this show, they're headed back to home base in LA. Dani Nash & The Villains play shows around the city almost every weekend, so check them out if you ever make it to the second most important city in the entire world.
