Friday, September 26, 2008

New song by the fabulous Jane Jensen.

How do I love this girl? Let me count the ways:

1.) She was a B-movie actress in the 1990's and starred in the cult film Tromeo and Juliet.
2.) Luv Song. Also, Highway 90. Also, King of My Heart. Also...well you get the picture.
3.) She is from my hometown (Indianapolis)!
4.) She is like an American Shirley Manson, but quirkier. (And blonde!)
5.) Comic Book Whore
6.) The CD booklet for Comic Book Whore.

Oh, just stop reading this and go check her out, cause she rocks.

Thursday, September 25, 2008

Dave = Awesome.

Also, Keith Olbermann--will you marry me?

Monday, September 22, 2008

EXCELLENT article in the latest Rolling Stone by the brilliant Matt Taibbi, the best political writer out there. I've been eagerly awaiting his thoughts on Palin, and he did not disappoint.

An excerpt:

Here's the thing about Americans. You can send their kids off by the thousands to get their balls blown off in foreign lands for no reason at all, saddle them with billions in debt year after congressional year while they spend their winters cheerfully watching game shows and footballl, pull the rug out from under their mortgages, and leave them living off their credit cards and their Wal-Mart salaries while you move their jobs to China and Bangalore.

And none of it matters, so long as you remember a few months before Election Day to offer them a two-bit caricature culled from some cutting-room-floor episode of Roseanne as part of your presidential ticket. And if she's a good enough likeness of a loudmouth Middle American archetype, as Sarah Palin is, John Q. Public will drop his giant sized bag of Doritos in gratitude, wipe the Sizzlin' Picante dust from his lips and rush to the booth to vote for her. Not because it makes sense, or because it has a chance of improving his life or anyone else's, but simply because it appeals to the low-humming narcissism that substitutes for his personality, because the image on TV reminds him of the mean, brainless slob he sees in the mirror every morning.

Sarah Palin is a symbol of everything that is wrong with the modern United States. As a representative of our political system, she's a new low in reptilian villainy, the ultimate cynical masterwork of puppeteers like Karl Rove. But more than that, she is a horrifying symbol of how little we ask for in return for the total surrender of our political power. Not only is Sarah Palin a fraud, she's the tawdriest, most half-assed fraud imaginable, 20 floors below the lowest common denominator, a character too dumb even for daytime TV--and this country is going to eat her up, cheering her every step of the way. All because most Americans no longer have the energy to do anything but lie back and allow ourselves to be jacked off by the calculating thieves who run this grasping consumer paradise we call a nation.
See more Gina Gershon videos at Funny or Die

Not as awesome as Tina Fey (who is?) but still pretty damn funny.

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Wednesday, September 03, 2008

Right now you may be asking yourself, WHY is Andie so happy? You may be, but that is pretty damn unlikely because I haven't seen anyone that I know today, and I don't think anyone really gives a rat's ass anyhoo.

But I AM happy!

Sure, it has something to do with the fact that just a few minutes ago in Sebastian Joe's coffee and ice cream establishment, they played "Dirty Creatures" by Split Enz. This made me so ecstatic I almost got up from my comfy armchair and danced the macarena. After that they played the Thompson Twins, who are almost as good. (SHUT UP. Just shut up right now because I am not taking any more crap about my taste in music. Or don't, because I am not even listening to you). (Also, I have to admit that I have not a clue "they" are. Whomever chooses the music that is piped into Sebastian Joe's sound system, I suppose--but I am not entirely sure if it is a CD or somebody's iPod or some sort of sattellite music service that pipes in endless music. Text me if you know the answer to this one. Do it now. I'm serious).

The biggest reason I am happy today is that I have declared myself legally insane.

Jesus Christ on a pogo stick, They are now playing Tears For Fears. Could this day get any better?

Back to my insanity.

The biggest thing that prompted this declaration is that today I am proudly walking the streets of south Minneapolis in sweatpants. You see, long ago, about the time that grunge died, I made a promise to myself that I would never wear sweatpants in public because I believe it is just wrong to do so. (The gym doesn't count, by the by). But today before I walked to Starbucks (yes, first I was at Starbucks, now I am at Sebastian Joe's. Think I may need to curb my caffeine habit?) I consciously swathed myself in a pair of sweatpants and a tank top before leaving the house.


True, these are sweatpants...but not just any old pair of sweatpants.

These are my (relatively) new PINK sweatpants purchased with SIMON REID's money (see previous post) at Vicky's Secret. I capitalize PINK not only because of the color of said sweatpants, but because that's what it says on the ass in big capital letters. I love it. In fact, I picked out this pair of sweatpants at the store largely because the word PINK is emblazoned across the ass. In maroon-colored, high-school-letterman's-jacket style letters, which is even more awesome. (PINK is the name of a clothing line by Victoria's Secret. I really want them to come out with a WHITE clothing line, so I can buy a pair of sweatpants with some guy's money and walk around with the word WHITE on my ass. Actually, it would be even better if the name of this fictitious clothing line were WHITEY).

I almost forgot to mention that there is some small cursive writing above the word PINK, but I can't tell what it says because every time I am admiring my own ass, I am (naturally), looking in a mirror and (naturally) the writing is backwards. I'll post a photo on here soon so someone else can tell me what the writing says.

And I haven't even told about the rest of my outfit. That's right, you don't know the half of it, because even better than the sweatpants (some might argue) is my tank top, also from Victoria's Secret--though not part of the PINK line as far as I can tell--which has a built-in push-up bra that gives me some of the best cleavage SIMON REID's money could buy. I mean, I have really amazing cleavage in this thing. So amazing, that when I was out earlier today this Asian guy I passed on the street walked straight into a parking meter because he couldn't take his eyes off my d├ęcolletage. And every time someone gets to enjoy my appearance in something purchased with that asshole's money, another angel gets its wings.

True story.

So as you can now see, how can I not wear an ensemble like this out in public?

Also, how could I not be happy?

It's a wonderful life.