Before the party: my fancy bejeweled pumpkin (decorated by moi) eagerly awaits the guests' arrival. 

Little Red Riding Hood kicks back with Michelle. 

Cesar Chavez (Elizabeth), Johnny Ramone (Jason) and Shelby discuss current events. 

Hangin' in the kichen: Anna, Mario and Alex. 

Michelle, Me, Mario. (Check out my monkey!) 

Anna enjoying some chips and salsa. 

Jason does a little comedy with the monkey. 

I'm pretty hammered by this point. I'm also making the peace sign. I know not why. 

Feeling absolutely no pain at this point.

Johnny Ramone + Little Red Riding Hood 

Stockings. It's all about the stockings.  

The morning after: Riley gets a little lovin' from the monkey (HOT MONKEY LOVE!) 

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!

Okay, I know I'm a little early, but I'm having a Halloween party tomorrow night!! Woo hoo! I wanted to have my party this weekend, so I wouldn't be competing with other parties that will be going on next weekend. I've gotten quite a few RSVPs, so I think I'll have a good turnout. I was out shopping for party supplies and other Halloween festoonery til 11 PM last night, then stayed up til 2 cleaning and sprucing up my apartment. Tonight, I decorate!

I've decided to be Pippi Longstocking. I've got my costume all together (except for the monkey. Must buy a monkey! Not a real one, of course....) My friend Jason is coming as Johnny Ramone, and Linda is dressing up as Little Red Riding Hood. I hope everyone else comes in costume, and that none of those "This IS my costume" T-shirts will be in attendence. I made it BYOB too, just to cut costs. Anna is bringing a dish and Jason is bringing a dessert, and I am providing the appetizers and other assorted munchies. That means Bagel Bites and chips and salsa all around! Actually I got these cute little miniature pizza pocket things--a little classier than Bagel Bites. And organic salsa, which makes all the difference.

I'll post the party pics this weekend.

I'm still stuck at work, slaving away on the monthly bulletin while my eyes glaze over and my brain begins slowly leaking out of my ears. But enough with that, I need a break.

I saw that Marcus mentioned Xanadu in his last post over on Waye's World. It was a film that he and I rented for one of our bad movie nights back in the day; a film that--coincidentally--I recently re-watched. (Yes, psychotropic drugs were involved. Why do you ask?) Anyhoo, I realized that Xanadu makes a lot more sense when you're baked, something that most people who've seen the film have probably figured out long ago. I've also heard that if you watch Xanadu with a candle burning, you will see your entire future. (Almost Famous reference--email me if you don't get it.)

Maybe I should clarify my earlier point--Xanadu doesn't actually make more sense when you're high, it's that you notice things that you probably normally wouldn't. Like how much Sonny (played by Michael Beck, the film's "dashing" leading man) looks like a less-cute Andy Gibb, and how he totally rollerskates like a girl. Actually, that's an insult to kick-ass roller derby chicks everywhere. Scratch that. I meant to say that Sonny rollerskates like a guy trying hard to look like he doesn't rollerskate like a girl. And he skates into a brick wall, too. (But that's a big plot point...I shouldn't give too much away). Needless to say, he sucks. But his suckiness is just one of the many things that makes Xanadu so awesomely bad.

You have, as Marcus alluded to in his post, Gene Kelly on rollerskates. I know, but bear with me here. Gene Kelly totally steals this film. He acts, dances and--yes--rollerskates circles around Michael Beck and Miss Olivia, literally and figuratively. Although Beck's character is supposedly the "dreamy" (gag!) hero, Gene Kelly is the one with the charm and the sex appeal (and dude was pushing 70 at the time!).

And Olivia? So pretty, but so, so vapid. I liked her clothes, though. And she at least seemed pretty comfortable in the glittery disco montage scene at the end (if only because she was in her natural habitat). She's also a lot easier to watch than Michael Beck, but that's not saying a whole hell of a lot.

The plot? Nobody cares about the plot. Xanadu is much more than the sum of its plot. When you have Gene Kelly on rollerskates, you don't need no stinkin' plot. But the director was nice enough to throw in some Don Bluth animation, Tron-like special effects, a little Greek mythology, dance sequences, montages featuring a bad swing orchestra and a Spinal Tap-like "rock" band and Olivia Newton John singing "Magic," which has got to be one of of the greatest bad songs of all time.

I'm actually stopping with my review here, because I'm going to try and sucker Marcus into contributing a few of his thoughts on Xanadu, so I'll update this later to include them. He and I are a little like Ebert and Roeper, except that we're not gross and old.

Dude, I gotta get home. Screw the bulletin, I'm outty.

Last night after work I came home, smoked a little herb and watched Chopper Chicks In Zombietown, a movie that looked like a good idea when it was sitting on the shelf at the library, but turned out to be so bad that I lost interest after about 20 minutes. I also fell asleep. But I did manage to stay awake long enough to catch Billy Bob Thornton's first big scene in the film. Yes, that's Billy Bob (Slingblade/"I fucked Angelina Jolie") Thornton. He plays some doofus who rekindles a romance with one of Chopper Chicks. The girl in question was a redhead with some seriously bad eighties hair (think Reba McIntyre before she chopped it all off) and even worse acting "skills." Billy Bob was no prize himself--he delivered all his lines in this dull monotone (even when he was begging his redheaded Reba chick to come back to him, which was pretty damn funny). And there was this broken down school bus with blind orphans on board (komedy!), and I swear to God, one of the kids was played by Hal Sparks. It was hard to tell though, because he never took his shades off in the scene that I stayed awake for (all the blind kids wore these "cool" eighties sunglasses), and they all smoked, because they were like, rebel orphans. Since I fell asleep about an hour and a half before the closing credits, though--I never got to find out if it was really Hal Sparks. And Martha Quinn, the original MTV veejay (and the best one, in my opinion) was in the movie too, but I didn't see her beyond the first scene in which she appeared outside a house hanging up laundry on a clothesline. (She may have been in later scenes, but again--I was unconscious pretty soon after that).

I rented the film thinking it would be one of those good bad movies--stupid or cheesy enough to be entertaining--but it was just dull and annoying. I did, however, rent Army of Darkness for the fourth time, because Bruce Campbell rocks! (My ex Josh turned me onto the charms of the Evil Dead series). Now that is an AWESOME movie to watch when you're baked!

I am becoming a juice fiend, and I think more people need to buy my favorite brands so they might come down in price a little. My first favorite, (and the one I buy the most) is Naked. I love the Green Machine (apples, pears, green tea, spinach, broccoli, and about a dozen other types of juices. It has all this stuff in it, but all you really taste is the fruit juice). It's so incredibly healthy. My other favorite Naked juice is the Just O.J., which is ONLY orange juice--no water, no added sugar, no nuthin' but orange juice. After drinking it, I swear you'll never go back to that Tropicana bullshit ever again. Naked juice rocks, but it only comes in little single serve bottles, which go for at least $2.60 or more (almost the same price as a Corona! Damn!) But once you've had it, you pay the money. Believe me. This stuff has magical powers.

My other favorite juice is Pom. It rocks, but I can't buy it very often because it's $3.99 a bottle. Yes, $3.99. The price sucks, but the juice is awesome, and the bottles are so damn cute! I've kept a few and used them for vases. Now they're making them all plastic, though, which affects the cuteness factor but may cut the price a bit. I'm actually too much of a wuss for the straight pomegranate juice (tastes like very bitter cranberry juice to me), but the blueberry/pomegranate blend rocks, and both juices together are extremely good for you.

Seriously, try both brands. Splurge. And tell your friends, because I want lots of people to drink my favorite juices and I want to be able to afford them on a regular basis!

Together, we can make a difference.

Today is the first day that I haven't been totally bombarded at work, and it feels weird. I'm not complaining though, believe me. I think days like this will be few and far between. I haven't been doing a whole hell of a lot--started on a few projects and putzed around, pretending to look busy. And now the day is almost over, so that's good. I think I need a day like this at least once a week, if not more.

Yesterday I had a dream about a book I had as a kid, Teaser and the Firecat, and I've been sort of obsessed with tracking down a copy of it ever since. It was written by Cat Stevens (yes, that Cat Stevens) and he did like, a whole album based on it too. (I think the album came first actually, but I only had the book). The book was awesome--it's about this guy who hangs out with this orange cat called Firecat, and they're out one night and they find that the moon has fallen out of the sky, (I think it lands in a stream or something?), and then they get this flock of owls to take the moon back up to the sky. The illustrations are simple but funky (especially the owls. They rock!) Anyway, I feel compelled to find the book since I had this dream about it. I think my old copy is probably long gone (my mom got rid of a lot of my childhood stuff in garage sales over the years...including my Go-Go's records, dammit! I want them back!) so I checked on amazon and of course it's out of print--the used copies are going for like $80 and up, which sucks. I'm going to start scouring the used and rare bookstores to see what I can find. Like I said, I'm suddenly obsessed because of this dream.

God, we make such an adorable couple. I can't stand it. You can tell he likes me. Seriously.

Okay everyone...remember when I nearly went insane trying to post those pictures in the aftermath of the fabulous Finn Brothers concert back in July? Well, thanks to the scanner here at my new job and being at work during non-work hours, (I got a key and an alarm code. Heh.) I was FINALLY able to post one of my pictures from the show. Above, Neil and I are standing by the tour bus after the concert. We're so damn cute together. My boob is touching his arm and we're both smiling. It's called destiny, people. We are meant to be.

I'll post the rest of my photos the next time I'm alone at work with free access to expensive equipment.

Holy shit, people!!! Britney Spears got married??? Where have I been????? Why didn't I hear about this sooner????

Oh, wait, I just remembered. I don't give a flying turd.

And by the way, doesn't this new buttmunch she's with look like one of those toolios you'd see working at the pretzel stand in the mall? You know what I mean--one of those nineteen-year-old dweebs with the crooked trucker hat, creative facial hair, stoned eyes, and big silver chain connecting his wallet to his saggy pants--half-assedly wrapping up your pretzel, sloshing most of your Diet Coke onto your tray, and handing over your change with a slight nod and a grunt. (Did I go far enough with that analogy? I don't know.)

Has anyone else seen that one TV commercial for Viagara? I bring it up because it bugs the shit out of me. In it, a middle-aged balding dude is out with his trophy wife/girlfriend--she's kind of dragging him around while she shops for shoes and clothes. So they're on the sidewalk and they pass by this lingerie store. He pauses, gets this creepy smirk on his face and as he's leering at the window display, cartoon horns come out from behind his head that turn out to be the points of the "V" in Viagara. Then he grabs his chick by the hand and pulls her into the store. Okay, here's what bugs me. It's not the implication that the middle-aged guy wants to have sex. It's not even the way he leers at the bra and panties in the window. It's the way the pointy horns pop out of his head when he sees them. Is that supposed to symbolize him popping a boner? I think it is. Ew.

To be fair, I may be over-analyzing it a little. But still.

This is genius (thanks for this, Jason!)

Last night, I checked out Martin Scorsese's 1988 film The Last Temptation of Christ from the public library. I'd never seen it; I was a freshman in high school when it came out, (a freshman in a Catholic high school), and seeing a Biblical movie-- any Biblical movie outside of Religion class is not an idea that would have appealed to me at the time. Plus, being fifteen years old, I think most of it would have been lost on me. But now, being so much wiser and infinitely more mature....

I was surprised by how much I liked it. I'm not much of a Scorsese fan, but I thought it was well made and the directing and acting weren't too heavy-handed, (as is the case with most Biblical films. Speaking of, remember when Richard Gere played King David? Dude, that was funny). Here are some of my thoughts:

• Willem Dafoe, you may remember, played Jesus. Dafoe's other notable performances (in my mind, anyway), include a greaseball bad guy in the Diane Lane "rock n' roll fable" Streets of Fire, and of course, the excellent Auto Focus ("Bob Crane's a loser!") He did a good job as Christ, I thought, but being Dafoe, he was most believable in the "wigging-out" scenes, like the whole going-postal-on-the- merchants-in-the-temple part. Yeah, he nailed that one. (Oops! Bad pun.)
• Mary Magdalene was played by Barbara Hershey, who I will forever remember as the woman from Beaches. Not that I loved that movie or anything, but you gotta remember--I'm a chick. In the late eighties, I think it was required by the government for all females over the age of twelve to see Beaches a few dozen times. Seriously. Look it up. Anyway, Hershey was sporting this massive Cher wig throughout TLToC--a glaring reminder that this puppy was definitely made in the eighties.
• Okay, Scorsese? I realize that this was probably the fault of the costume designer or whoever, but women with flawless manicures and shaved pits? Not happening in the Jesus times, dude.
• Harvey Keitel (the cop from Thelma and Louise) played Judas, and another guy I recognized from a gangster movie (probably Goodfellas) played Peter. Keitel was his usual aces, but again--Scorsese? (and this one is most definitely your fault)....I'm not a theologian or anything, but I'm like, 99.9% sure that Jesus's desciples did not have Brooklyn accents. Seriously, I mean--ever hear of a dialect coach?
• Harry Dean Stanton (Molly Ringwald's dad in Pretty In Pink), played Saul (Jewish zealot who converted to Christianity and was later known as the apostle Paul). Jeez, I understand this now, but looking back, it's no wonder I had such a hard time in religion class.
• Dude, if you're a sheep you don't want to be anywhere near Isreal during Passover. If I wasn't already a vegetarian, this one particular scene would have done me in. Holy shit. (Literally!)
• David Bowie was in this! I totally forgot about that! He played Pontius Pilate, and--I'm not just saying this cause he's David Bowie--he kicked ass! He's a damn fine actor. And to be completely shallow for a sec--he looked really good. I think he looked his best in the eighties. In the seventies during his Ziggy Stardust period I always thought he looked too gaunt (not to mention the orange mullet. Ick). But in the eighties he had updated his look; he started wearing the suits with the skinny ties and that blond pompadour (I guess I'm mostly remembering him from his Serious Moonlight tour, circa '83). Even if you're not a Bowie fan, you gotta admit. He looked hot.
• During the dream sequence/hallucination part towards the end of the film, when Jesus sees the apostle Paul witnessing to a group of people about his conversion, how he "saw the light" and all that, Jesus basically calls him out and says, "I never appeared to you, why are you saying this?" etc. and Paul (Molly Ringwald's dad) argues with him that "the people" need hope and something to believe in, and that basically the message is what's important, not the truth, etc. Although I might be reading too much into this (and I'm sure I'm not the first person to come up with this theory), I saw this scene as Scorsese's sly indictment of TV evangelists and their ilk (remember, this was the eighties--you had Oral Roberts on TV begging for money, the PTL scandal with Jim and Tammy, shysters with the fake healings, cashing in on people's beliefs, etc.) If you ever see the movie, pay attention to that scene. It's pretty cool.
• Oh, and the synthesizer music over the closing credits? Yeah. It was definitely the eighties.

I just realized that I could mess with text color, so today it's red.

It's Sunday on a holiday weekend, and I'm sitting here at my desk at work. I biked in today to try to get a jump start for next week (classes at the Temple start on Wednesday--this week, all hell officially breaks loose). I've gotten a little bit done, I don't know how much of a difference it will make in my week, or if it was at all worth it to come in today, but I'll find out on Tuesday.

Stuff that I've been up to that doesn't involve my job:

• Movies...I saw Stepford Wives at the dollar theatre last week. My verdict: Eh.
• Books...I've just started You Shall Know Our Velocity by Dave Eggers. It's holding my interest so far, even though his writing style is a bit unconventional, to say the least. And I suspect he's batshit crazy, but that's part of his charm. I managed to get through his other book last year, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, and I was glad I did. Hopefully this one will grow on me. I'm also listening to The Da Vinci Code (the audiobook version, obviously) in my car. It's good so far, but I hope it gets better. Everyone I know who's read it has built it up to be the best book ever, so I'm a bit skeptical to begin with.
• Projects...I haven't done as much writing as I should be, but I've managed to steal away to the coffee shop across the street at least two or three times per week and do some brainstorming in my notebooks. I really, REALLY need to buy a laptop. My computer access has diminished considerably, since I'm unable to use the lab at the law school (Emily's login and password, which I've been using for months, are no longer valid). This has really cramped my style, since the law library has great hours (open 'til midnight during the week) and is only a few blocks from my apartment. I've been forced to use the computers at the public library, which are old and suck ass, plus it closes at 9pm during the week, 5pm on weekends. So I am leaving the little donation thingie up, just in case anyone wants to contribute to my laptop fund. I hope to save up enough to buy a decent used one within the next few months (or at least by the end of this year).
• I will also be selling my jewelry and other wares at the Fall Festival in St. Paul, which is sometime later this month. I'll have to check my calendar to see when exactly it is...I still have a lot to make before it happens.

Okay, time to get out of here before someone wanders in the building and asks me to do something for them.

FUCK!
This day has sucked dog balls. My job is mind-numbing and I am officially burnt out after a month and six days. I wonder if that's a record for this position? I'd be interested to see that data on that. It's not like it's really hard, I'm not splitting the atom or anything, but holy shit--it's just piles and piles and piles of more shit and deadlines and I still don't know what I'm doing and people are asking me questions about shit I'm supposed to know and fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!!!! I'm in need of some good old-fashioned controlled substances right now. Maybe this is a good time to start cultivating a full-blown heroin addiction, or at least begin drinking heavily.

At the end of the day today at around 5:15 I was still there trying to get stuff done so I could go home, and then this scary woman walked in. Damn, she freaked me right the fuck out. She was a midget--well, not officially, but midget-sized anyway--with tiny, fat hands. She was wearing too much jewelry and odd clothing and--worst of all--she was cross-eyed! Well, just in one eye. The other one was fine, I think (although I can't be sure--I couldn't stop staring at the one that was crossed). It was some evil, evil shit. Anyway, she comes in to make a donation, and the woman in charge of the donation-taking was gone since it was after 5:00 and all, so I told her if she wanted to leave the donation slip and the money I'd put it in the donation-taker's mailbox. This midget peers at me with her one good eye and starts quizzing me, like "Are you sure she'll get the money? Are you able to take it? Should I give it to someone else? Maybe you should put it in an envelope for her," and of course all the while I'm thinking "Jesus! Get away from me you troll!" Not only had I had a day from hell, but then I had to deal with this? I managed to assure her that I'd take the donation and put it safely in an envelope and place it in the donatee's mailbox, but she was still hesitant, like as soon as she left I was going to crumple up the donation slip, toss it over my shoulder, look at the $10 bill, slap my thigh and gleefully shout, "Ooooh buddy! Mama's gettin' fucked up tonight!" She finally entrusted me with the money (after watching me slip it in the appropriate mailbox) and waddled out of there, much to my relief.

Can you believe they let someone like me work for a religious organization? I mean, I can't even muster up any compassion for a cross-eyed midget with bad fashion sense. I am a shallow, empty shell of a human being. Maybe I should go into politics.

So I'm officially 31, and it's a nice feeling so far. Hopefully my 31st year will be better than the mind-fuck that my 30th turned out to be.

On my birthday last Thursday I finally got to go to Ecopolitan, a vegan restaurant in uptown Minneapolis that I have been salivating over for months (ever since I saw the Yellow Pages ad), but had never actually visited. My friend Anna went with me. She's pretty adventurous cuisine-wise, I suppose, but she is definitely not a vegan, vegetarian, or anything in between. She does enjoy her meat and potatoes, that one. But since it was my birthday, she agreed to go with me after some blackmailing and a little bribery, and she even paid. She had quite a different experience of the food there than I did (she hated it), but, as I pointed out to her, all she had was a salad--and a cabbage salad at that (who eats cabbage salad? That really is rabbit food). I, on the other hand, enjoyed a raw pizza (they don't cook anything over 105 degrees there because, it's like, healthier or something). The pizza consisted of a buckwheat crust (awesome), spread with spicy red avocado sauce, sprouts, finely sliced green peppers, and pine nuts (yes, pine nuts! They rock!) All this and a side of grapes, too. Anna tried some of my pizza and she liked it (again, I told her to order more than a damn cabbage salad), but she declined. I'm glad it was my birthday, because it was the only way I could have gotten her to go there with me. I don't think she'll be a repeat customer, but I will definitely be back--give me some carrot juice and raw pizza! Woo hoo! I'll be so healthy I'll be shitting whole cucumbers.

Since I finally got paid (no more donations please, but I'll leave the Honor System icon up a bit longer in case you really really want to), I was able to buy a new bike as a birthday present to myself. It's a very cute little hot pink mountain bike that kicks all kinds of ass, even though it's a bit girly. I think I'll name it Christine, after the murderous car in the Stephen King book. I like the idea of having a deadly hot pink bike.

So I'm working for a Jewish organization now (which is funny, because I look pretty damn goy-ish, according to most Jewish people I know), but they hired me anyway. They don't mind a Gentile or two hanging around, I guess. I work in the Education Department, and even though I like the place and my co-workers so far, the job itself is giving me migraines. I've been there three weeks now, and although I feel like I'm getting the hang of certain aspects of my job, there is so much shit to do and still so much to learn before the girl training me (my predecessor) leaves next week. And what sucks is, although I have full-time hours (+ full-time pay and benefits, thank God), she is only there part-time because she has a kid and stuff. In a way, it's good that she's not there all the time, because it forces me to try to figure out shit for myself instead of asking her, but on the other hand it's a giant pain in the ass for me because I'm fucking up a lot, since there is no one there to ask (a Catch-22, as they say in Boogie Nights. "That's not an M.P. That's a Y.P....your problem!" Sorry, I love that movie). So, aside from the boss (a nice woman, BTW) looking at me like I'm mildly retarded from time to time, I think I'm doing all right. At least, I don't think I'm in danger of getting canned anytime soon.

I rented a movie last night out of sheer boredom (oh yeah--when I left my old job they gave me a TV and a VCR as a going-away present! Yay!) I wasn't in the mood for anything heavy, since it was Sunday night and all, so I rented the latest Adam Sandler epic, 50 First Dates (out of the newly released comedies that I hadn't seen, it was either that or Lizzie Maguire Takes Manhattan or whatever, so Adam Sandler won). Anyhoo, it was actually pretty good....while the first half hour featured a lot of unfunny slapstick, it got better after that. The ending was sweet without being too cloying, and both Sandler and Drew Barrymore kept the shameless mugging down to a minimum, for a change. I didn't used to be so wary of Adam Sandler comedies. I loved The Wedding Singer, (more for the eighties references than anything else), and Happy Gilmore was pretty damn funny. But The Waterboy made me lose a little faith in Sandler's comic ability, and Mr. Deeds made me lose a little faith in humanity (good God, I hated that one). But after seeing this latest one, I haven't totally written him off. I'd still like to see Punch Drunk Love, although most people I know who've seen it have told me not to waste my time.

Okay, I just caught a glimpse of the date on the computer. I turn 31 in three days.

Holy shit.

See the obnoxious box to the right? Yeah, that one.

Here's the deal:
I just got a new job (more on that later). I started on July 26th. It's a good job, good pay, non-profit organization (more on that later, too). But here's what royally sucks--I get paid once a month. Once. On the 20th. This is really going to fuck me over for the next few weeks, because not only do I have the usual paycheck gap you get when you switch jobs, I also have to wait extra time to get paid. How does this suck? Let me count the ways. Well, I guess I just did. It sucks twice, because of, um, what I said above. So I got this idea....my birthday is coming up (August 19--Leo, for those who care). So I thought that any of my friends, family, etc. who are regular visitors to this site could help me out (if they wanted to) by clicking the icon on the right to donate. It's really not as shameless as it sounds. Look at it this way...say you were going to buy me a birthday card or something. Take the $2.00 you would have spent on the card and give to my fund instead. That way, I can buy some beans and rice at the store. This will help hold me over until I get paid. And only give if you want to...and only if you were going to buy me something anyway. At the same time, don't deprive yourself. For instance, say you were shopping for a birthday card for me, but decided to buy one of those monster bags of Peanut M&Ms for like, $1.60 instead. I'd still love you. And also, I'd never know. So give if you want. Or buy M&Ms.

Oh, and if you don't know me from Adam, but you like reading this blog? You can still click 'n give to my August Food Fund--I won't stop you. In fact, that would totally rock.

Okay, I'm still trying to find a way to post my pics here. I tried photobucket on the advice of Serena (thanks, BTW) but my pics didn't turn out too well when I posted them there (probably has something to do with my own picture posting ignorance). Looks like I might actually have to shell out some money to get decent image hosting. Since I spent two hours trying to get these linked, I'm leaving the captions that I typed up, so my work isn't in vain. Captions without pictures. I know, it's dumb, but I need something to show for it. I'll come back to this post and edit the photos in when I figure out how. I must log off now, before my brain explodes and I put my platform heel through this computer monitor.

Before the show.
I spotted the tour buses and got so excited I had to take a picture. I am a dork.

During the show.
This pisses me off---I got some great shots during the encore. You can't see shit though, because my disposable camera sux. But Neil told me he liked it (see earlier post). Maybe he was just saying that to get in my pants. Hopefully.

I love this man.
Neil Finn, chatting with fans by the tour bus (this is before our fateful encounter).

Me and Neil.
Wow, check out the chemistry between us. He's smiling. I'm smiling. My boob is totally touching his arm. We're in looooooooove.

Tim Finn signing autographs.
He's cute.

Me and Tim.
We look good together too, but my heart belongs to Neil.

So that was my night. Sigh.

BTW--the Finn Brothers new album Everyone Is Here will be out August 24, so be sure to buy it or at least check it out online.

Dammit, I can't buy a break. I haven't been able to figure out how to upload my concert photos here, because I'm dumb and this Picasa program is stoopid. If anyone has any tips for me about posting pics to blogger, please enlighten me. In the meantime, I'll keep trying to figure things out on my own, which could be dangerous.

I'm going home to finish off my pint of Haagen-Dazs and take a long nap. I started a new job today (more on that later), and I forgot how taxing it is to work in a position where I actually have to do something. (Usually I just drink coffee and surf the 'net all day, like a normal person).

Cheerio!

 

I'm so excited I could poop! I saw the Finn Brothers last night (Neil and Tim Finn, both formerly of Split Enz  and my beloved Crowded House). I've been a hardcore Crowded House fan(atic) since 1987, when most kids my age were listening to Debbie Gibson (not that I'm a music snob or anything. Well, maybe a little). I never got to see the Crowdies live while they were together, but being a devout fan for--shit, more than half my life now (I'm thirty, for those keeping score), and seeing them perform for the first time last night just made the show that much more amazing. 

Some of the highlights of the concert:

• Before the third song of the evening (I need to get a set list for the show, dammit!) Neil announced that he was "going to take the loooong way round to the piano," and did this awesome, Harold-at-the-end-of-Harold and Maude-type saunter/stroll around to the other side of the stage. (You had to be there.) 
• A rendition of Split Enz's Dirty Creatures that kicked serious ass. I've never been particularly fond of that song, (the video--one of the first ones I ever saw on MTV-- freaked me right the fuck out when I was eight years old), but it was awesome hearing it live. The version on the LP doesn't do it justice at all. It almost made up for them not doing Message To My Girl, which is my favorite Split Enz song by far.
• Although the only Crowded House songs they played were from Woodface, they did all my favorites from that album: It's Only Natural (why was that song never a hit in the U.S.?), There Goes God, (I always loved the story behind that one!), Weather With You and How Will You Go--a dark song that's actually about alcoholism, but Tim dedicated it to "anyone who's struggling to find their place or going through a difficult patch right now--we're there with you." (Awwww! I wanted to hug him for that.)
• At one point, during one of the songs from their new album, Neil and Tim were harmonizing and it was so perfect (those gorgeous trademark Finn vocal harmonies! Anyone familiar with Split Enz or Crowded House knows what I mean) that I just closed my eyes and listened. It was almost a religious experience!

And the best part...after the show I staked out the tour bus for about an hour, along with about a dozen other hardcore fans and groupies, and when they finally came out I got autographs and several pictures of (and with) Neil and Tim! Of course, when I met Neil I tried to think of something original and profound to say, but all I got out was "That was an amazing show!" I was just glad that I didn't make a complete dork out of myself, and kept from lapsing into wide-eyed, trembling, awestruck groupie mode (I was only shaking a little bit). Neil complimented my camera, for some reason (it was a disposable one. Maybe he's near-sighted?) but it was cool anyhow.

So I'll post the photos this weekend after I get them back from the developer...since I don't have one of those new-fangled digital thingamabobs, I have to scan them in the old-fashioned way.

Stay tuned!

    

Marcus sent me the link to this website, and it completely hooked me--I spent two hours last night reading through the whole page. Very, very interesting, in-depth celebrity gossip, reportedly more accurate than most sites. Of course, I was most interested in who is gay, bisexual and "closeted." The site is called The A List, and it's extremely addictive, so proceed at your own risk.

Some of the items that gave me pause: (my comments in italics...)

Alger, Horatio. Pederast. (This is an established historical fact, not mere gossip.) I had to look up the definition of "pederast". It means, as I suspected, something very unpleasant).

Baio, Scott. Closeted bisexual. Rumors of his having forced himself on women. Former regular at the Playboy Mansion. Former unrestrained relationship with Erin Moran; also linked with Pamela Anderson, Nicole Eggert, Heather Locklear, and Denise Richards. Jodie Foster claims to have made out heavily with him, as well. Jodie? Did she mistake him for a really masculine chick? Maybe it was the feathered hair.

Bass, Lance. Self-described "power bottom." For those not hip to gay lingo, "bottom" is code for, um, "catcher." Also, my own little bit of gossip--my chiropractor friend worked on Lance Bass when the N'Sync tour came through Indy. Okay, I didn't say it was particularly interesting gossip...

Bernard, Crystal. "Hypocritical Christian who engages in lesbian affairs and then quickly retreats to religion and her boyfriend and pretends to be Miss Moral." Linked with Morgan Fairchild. In the book You'll Never Make Love In This Town Again, which I'll sheepishly admit to owning, a girl who worked for Heidi Fleiss said that Crystal was always hitting on her and trying to get her to engage in 3-ways with her and her current boyfriend.

Brandy. Diva-in-training. "Controlled by her ignorant, crazy stagemother Sonia. Problem with diet pills. O.D. on at least one occasion. Difficult to work with is an understatement. Hygenically challenged--girl, wash your cooch! Multiple hidden tattoos. Secret Husband couldn't take any more of this little bitch and left her ass after a year. You also have to "hire" her brother Ray J and father to work on a project with her...everyone hates her." Linked with Tyrese. None of this comes as a great shock to me.

Brown, Bobby. All-around asshole. Married to and merkin for Whitney Houston. Linked with Madonna. Wife-beater and generally abusive towards women. Slut, alcoholic and drug addict. Most likely riddled with every sexually-transmitted disease so far discovered. Unpleasant personality. Some of the worst humanity has to offer. Again, I think by now this is all common knowledge.

Dre, Dr. Bisexual. Hmmm, he always did seem awful friendly with Snoop Dog...

Guttenberg, Steve. "Very personable, very nice to his fans." "Major pothead. Is stoned out of his mind almost all of the time." I used to have a major crush on him when I was a kid, and while my feelings for him didn't follow me into adulthood--he'd probably be cool to hang out and smoke with. ("Dude! What the hell was up with Can't Stop the Music?")

Harry, Debbie. "She is the nicest, most down to earth person in the business." Yay!!! Debbie rox!

Hatch, Orrin. Deeply closeted gay male with a penchant for leather & rent-boys. I'm more surprised that he can find men who will have sex with him...

Hoffs, Susanna (of the Bangles). "Quite enthusiastic about girls." Bisexual. "Enthusiastic," is she? Y'know, I always preferred the Go-Go's to the Bangles, but now that you mention it...

Igelsias, Enrique. Gay, or perhaps Bisexual. Grabby and gropey. Linked with Christina Aguilera, Whitney Houston, Anna Kournikova, and Justin Timberlake (woof!).

Lil Kim. Might not be the biggest diva on Earth, but she tries harder. Closeted Lesbian. Running tightly drawn neck and tightly drawn neck with Cher for most plastic surgery. Sold herself before she made it big: "She had to give Diddy a turn a few times in order for some career help." Linked with Christina Aguilera, Pamela Anderson, P. Diddy, and Queen Latifah. I'd stay the hell away from anyone who swapped fluids with P. Diddy.

Lohan, Lindsay. "A sweet girl whose current and recent success have her trying to grow up a little too fast." Okay, I'll admit--I'm a fan. Mean Girls was great.

Nabors, Jim. Gay as an Ungaro Spring Frock. Reportedly had long-time relationship with Rock Hudson. "Pyyyyle!!"

Perry, Anne. A murderer while a teenager. See the movie Heavenly Creatures. Very disturbing.

Priestly, Jason. "Rumored to have gotten a major part bent over a producer's desk." Drug user. Drunk. Gay. Bad tipper. Vain. Dude, Brandon Walsh??? He's a huge Barenaked Ladies fan, which is okay in my book.

Richards, Denise. The light's on in the attic, and it's a hell of a view, but nobody's home. Breast implants. Clean freak/germphobic. Former Heidi Fleiss worker. Linked with Scott Baio, Patrick Muldoon, Charlie Sheen, and John Stamos. Dude, how the hell did Scott Baio get so much tail?

Rogers, Kenny. Openly admits to enjoying using 1-900 numbers & being talked dirty to. (Points for honesty, anyhow.) Did he sing to the phone sex girls, too?

Scott, Seann William. Gay, and quite the little minx in high school. Linked with the Rock and Justin Timberlake. He was Stifler in the American Pie series.

Thicke, Alan. Pothead. I'd be a pothead too if I were forced to work with Kirk Cameron. Oh, wait--I already am.

Zellweger, Renee. Cokehead, and none too bright. (But nice nonetheless). Anorexic/bulimic. Supposedly worked as a stripper in Austin (Texas) for a time. Linked with Jim Carrey, George Clooney, and Jack White (of the White Stripes). Guess her dance background helped her land the lead in Chicago.

Zombie, Rob. A very nice man. I still ain't forgiving him for House of 1,000 Corpses...

Note: on The A List site, they use F.O.D. (Friend of Dorothy) as a code for gay male. (probably to avoid lawsuits? I don't know). I've "translated" it to gay for the above postings, just to make things less confusing.

I went out to Nye's Polonaise Bar in Minneapolis last night. It's a Polish/German 50's style polka lounge. The crowd was an odd mix of old Polish people and young ironic hipster types. And they had a real polka band--two old men and one fat old woman with very few teeth, sitting on a stool rocking the accordian. It was awesome! The best part--Loni Anderson was partying there! She is (apparently) a Twin Cities native, a fact that was the subject of a huge debate among the group of friends I was there with. I just assumed Ms. Anderson was from the south somewhere (probably Texas)--I guess it's that heavy makeup, cosmetic surgery, bleached hair, massive fingernails thing. (No offense to southerners--I actually like the south, but y'know--it's the stereotype). My friend Anna, however, kept insisting that she was a Minnesotan. I looked Loni's info up on imdb and, holy shit--Anna was right. Who knew?

The woman looks exactly the same as she did on WKRP, by the way (I'm sure her plastic surgeon had a hand in that). I have to say though, I hope I look that good when I'm pushing 60. She was with a large posse consisting of several young women (daughters? nieces?) a few young men, a short black gay guy with bleached hair and what appeared to be a transvestite (or an extrememely masculine woman) in a black wig. Loni even hit the floor a few times with some of the cute younger guys in her entourage to do some polka dancing. It was pretty surreal. I got a good look at the action, because the section of the club where the band was playing was small, and a few times I actually brushed elbows with her. Some of the older bar patrons kept trying to cut in and dance with her--there were some terse words exchanged. (That was sort of creepy--these drunk middle-aged men about to come to blows because they just had to dance with Loni! fucking! Anderson!) It was quite a sight.

So now I have another celebrity to add to my list of sightings. Oddly enough, none of the encounters I've had with famous people have been in California or New York or any place you'd expect to see the rich n' famous. In no particular order, here's my list:

Troy Aikman and Michael Ervin: In 1998 I nearly ran into them while I was walking out of of Chammps (ugh) restaurant in Indianapolis (they were in town for the Indy 500). I only got a good look at Troy--he was extremely tall.

Craig T. Nelson (the dad from Poltergeist! Also, Coach): Summer of 1992--saw him in New Orleans. He was shooting a made for TV movie. I didn't get close to him, but got a few good pictures that I still have somewhere.

Liz Phair: August 2003...Okay, this one wasn't really a "chance" encounter--Marcus and I loitered outside the Vogue after her concert in Indy and had her sign our ticket stubs. I told her I liked her necklace.

Graham Greene: (my favorite!) May of 2001. I saw him in the "smoker's lounge" of the Denver airport, which was really just a bar. I sat next to him at the bar (the only available seat), completely unaware of who he was until I got a good look at his face. He was the coolest guy ever--we chatted for about 20 minutes about cats and beads, then he said he had to catch his flight and gave me his pack of cigarettes (he didn't want his wife to know he had been smoking). Before he left he signed a cocktail napkin for my mom.

The entire cast of Mystery Science Theatre in Minneapolis, at their convention in 1996. Okay, I'm the only dork impressed with that.

Robin Leach at an art opening in Las Vegas, 2003 (got close, but never talked to him).

And now Loni Anderson! Woo hoo! Random celeb sightings rock.

I had a good July 4th weekend---Michael from Indy came up to visit me. I'm grateful that he came to see me and that he drove all that way, but he kinda pissed me off (as per usual). Same old, same old. Still, always good to see someone from home.

Saw two movies The Terminal, which I liked. It was the typical Spielberg feel-good mushy stuff, but it was well done and Tom Hanks was in good form. Could have done without Catherine Zeta-Jones, though. She was a waste of space.

I saw Spiderman 2, which rocked. (Best part: Hal Sparks's elevator cameo. Love him!) I also have a huge thing for Tobey Maguire, and I don't care who knows it. I can't look at him without wanting to violate him in ten different ways. Cute, cute and cute.

Michael and I discovered a cute little diner on Grand Ave. that I hadn't even thought to go in before (it just looks like a tiny little snack shop from the outside). It's called The Uptowner, and it rocks. It's my new favorite place. I had the best breakfast burrito of my life there. Eggs, salsa, green peppers and hashbrowns rolled into a giant tortilla and covered with cheese. Mmmmmmm, cheeeeeeese......

I'm a little tired and pissed off today, because this morning at oh, about 2:45 or so I was roused from a sound sleep by a group of drunken fucknuts outside my window. I live on what is technically the first floor of my building, but my apartment is actually about 10 feet up from the street level because of the basement that is sort of above ground, if that makes any sense. I don't know--I'm still half asleep.

Anyhoo, when I first awoke I was a bit confused, thinking my alarm had gone off or something and it was time to get up (why else would I be awake?) I glanced at the clock and realized it was a quarter til 3:00, and that's when I heard the drunken voices outside shouting and laughing, and the sound of some dude just repeating over and over "No way, man. No fuckin' way." (Real brainiacs, this crowd). I was like, okay, who are these dickweeds and why are they parked outside my window at this hour? I stumbled out of bed to peek outside saw this group of lamers having a pow-wow on the front stoop--one of them strumming tunelessly on a fucking guitar! Cursing to myself, I started slamming all my windows shut, then flipped on the lights and began searching through the packet of papers from my apartment office. I thought surely there was a number to call for noise complaints or drunken asshole removal or something. I didn't find a damn thing in all the papers, so I called the main office number hoping there'd be info on the recorded message about who to call in situations like these. Sadly, there wasn't a damn thing--just a number for "emergency maintenence." I tossed the papers to the floor in disgust, and realized I could still hear the little fuckers with the windows closed and the fan going. I thought about calling the police, but I didn't know any number besides-- of course--911. At that point I said "fuck it," stuffed my ears with cotton balls, pulled the covers over my head and somehow managed to get back to sleep after about a half hour or so. As I was lying there, I was wishing I had a hulking, 7-foot tall boyfriend named Icepick I could send out there to kick the shit out of them. Or a hand grenade I could just lightly toss out the window and shut them up permanently. I'm completely unashamed of my murderous thoughts--lying there listening to these primates cackle and strum an out-of-tune guitar at 3:30a.m. would be enough to send Gandhi over the edge.

No fuckin' way, man.

I just want to go on record saying that I don't give a crap about Reagan kicking the bucket. And it has nothing to do with my political leanings, really. I just don't care. Dude was 93. That's seven years away from being 100. He lived long enough--let it go! What I'm really pissed off about, though, is that since the mail wasn't delivered on Friday, (National Day of Mourning and all), I didn't get my paycheck this weekend, which blew. I guess one could argue that it's not really the fault of whatever dildo decided to close the post office that day, or even the fault of Reagan for dying so inconveniently. It's my own damn fault for not getting Direct Deposit like a sane person, in which case the late delivery of my paycheck would have been a moot point. But it's so much easier to blame other people--especially dead ones. A good life strategy, I think.

Speaking of dead people (or "dead" people), I learned something new today. Remember the novel Go Ask Alice? It was the real life "diary" of some chick from the sixties who smoked a joint, fell in with the wrong crowd, then quickly became a junkie (heroin, 'ludes, and probably some LSD, since it was, y'know, the sixties) ran away, sold herself to dirty hippie dudes for drugs and/or cash, lived on the street, and died of an overdose of some sort. Anyhoo, throughout her fall from grace she apparently kept this diary detailing every minute detail (even, according to the sidenotes, scribbling down entries on paper bags, scraps of paper, etc.) I read this book when I was about eleven or so. I remember the tagline on the front cover: "You can't ask Alice anything anymore..." (Ooooh, eerie!) Well, it turns out that the book was/is totally fake! It was penned by a ghostwriter and intended as a cautionary tale for any impressionable young kids who may have been contemplating smoking a joint or staying out past curfew. The book's bogus-ness (hey, I just invented a word!) has probably been common knowledge for quite some time, but I'm just now finding out about it. And all this time I thought it was real. I feel so used.

I'm having a little too much fun with this site...

It totally reminds me of that scene in the '80s classic Better Off Dead when John Cusack's father sits him down for a heart-to-heart and he's trying to use an outdated book of slang to relate to him. "Lane, you are really--" (glances at book)--"bringing me over, man." Apparently this site is for youth ministers, teachers, parents, etc. who want to be clued in on the meanings of teen lingo. I'm sure it's a useful tool for the intended audience, but for the rest of us smart-asses, it's just good snarky fun. Here is the "disclaimer":

This dictionary isn't so you can try to talk like someone you're not. But it is a good reference for those who are seeking to understand a piece of youth culture today. These words are used differently by various teens around the world. Some of these words may have different meaning for teens in one area than another. But overall, this list contains words actively used by mainstream teens today. You will not find many "old school" or outdated terms such as "bad" or "radical."

You mean those crazy kids today don't say "bad" or "radical" anymore? Then again, neither did I. Guess I just wasn't "cool" back in my day.

More highlights from the definitions (see my comments in italics):

ax
1. ask. "Let me ax you somtin!"

baller
1. n. Someone who flaunts money. "Check out that baller over there . . . let's jack his car!" (yes, this is, in fact, the first thing I think when I see a "baller").

for sheezy
1. (derived from "for sure") A statement of agreement. "Are you sure you want to go to ice cream?" "For sheezy!" (I'm totally going to use this next time someone in the office asks me to lunch).


M&M
1. alright. A little above mediocre. "Do you like that youth pastor?" Yea, he's M&M." Or, in the case of rapper Eminem, it can also mean--how you say?--"sucks."

MILF
1. A very foul term for someone’s mother that is very attractive. The word is an acronym for a “Mother that I’d Like to Fu**” See also: American Pie

vogues
1. Wide wheels, sometimes with white walls. There's a Madonna joke in there somewhere. If not, there should be.


Okay, I'm done now.

Holy shit, no posts for two weeks? What the hell is wrong with me? I have no excuses, other than that I've been a bit preoccupied with my jewelry and other assorted artsy shit lately (I'm in another craft sale this week). My latest creation (and addiction) are duct tape purses. I've made two and I'm working on another. Seriously. Duct tape comes in different colors now (red, black, white, etc.) and you can make really cool shit out of it (the finished product comes out looking like vinyl). One duct tape manufacturer holds a contest for the best prom dress made out of duct tape, which, in red or black (maybe even white?) would totally rock. You'd definitely have to line that sucker with some kind of fabric, though, because unless you have nipples of steel, the chafage (is that a word?) would kill you. I'd totally wear a duct tape prom dress. Too bad I'm not in high school. I should start trolling, like, shopping malls and Taco Bells for cute high school boys so that next year I can be someone's 31-year-old prom date and wear a bad-ass duct tape prom dress. Come to think of it though, it'd probably be pretty hard to find a high school kid cool enough to appreciate a duct tape prom dress. He'd have to be as perverted as I am, and that's saying something.

Can I just talk about my cats for a sec? They rock. I woke up yesterday morning to find Riley (fluffy Maine Coon) and Shelby (little gray and white kitty) all curled up together; Riley was lying behind Shelby, totally spooning her. It was so cute I nearly pissed myself with delight. I love my cats. In fact, I am dangerously obsessed with them. I'll probably be committed for it one day (but at least I'll have a lot of time to make my duct tape purses!) Seriously, though. I make up nicknames for my cats, I sing to them, and I hold lengthy one-sided conversations with them. Skeptical? Here are some nicknames I've come up with for Riley (just a few): Mr. Cat, H.R. Fluff n' Puff, Big Guy, Big Boy, Rile Cat, Big Rile, Rile Dawg, Fluff Daddy, Mr. Big Fluff, and holy shit I need serious professional help. I've also walked around my apartment singing (to the tune of Christina Auguilera's What a Skank Wants): "What a cat wants, what a cat needs, whatever keeps you purring sets me free..." I don't know what's scarier--the fact that I sing bad pop songs to my cats, or the fact that I'm freely admitting it, right here in front of God and everyone. I would blame the copious amounts of marijuana I've been inhaling over the past year, but I've always been like this about my cats. They just have that effect on me.

Okay, here are some obscure movies that you need to check out:

New Waterford Girl Good movie, although it's a bit slow. It's really funny and well-acted, if you can get past the leisurely pacing. Andrew McCarthy is in it, playing a high school English teacher. Since the story is set in the 70's, however, his character sports some unfortunate-bordering-on-pork-choppy sideburns, but he's still cute.

Blue Car Another coming-of-age, losing your virginity/innocence, blahblahblah movie, but a good one. It's much "heavier" than New Waterford Girl, though, and a bit on the depressing side. If you rent the DVD, be sure to watch the director's commentary.

Lost and Delirious Sigh. Love this one. It's about lesbians, it's set in a boarding school, and the three lead actresses are extremely cute...especially Piper Perabo. She does such an amazing job in this movie, it's hard to believe she was the same chick skankin' it up in a big ol' turd of a flick like Coyote Ugly. Oh, and my buddy Graham Greene is in it! If you know me and I've never bored you with the story about the time I met him at the Denver airport a few years back, email me and I'll give you the full scoop.

That is all!

The word for the day...decoupage! I've spent most of the day glued (ha) to craftster looking for ideas for new stuff to make. I am literally salivating over the decoupage tables (my favorite is the second one pictured), as well as the vinyl record clocks, the microbead mosaics, the recycled Dr. Suess journals, the comic book art--it's all too much for me. I'm hyperventilating. I'm selling at a craft fair this weekend and in addition to my jewelry I am going to try my hand at making some funky little bubble magnets and a few coaster sets and see who bites.

I've been buying so many supplies for this weekend (while still managing to keep my costs down, thankfully) that I'm now firmly ensconced in Shopping Mode. I took some stuff to the consignment store today and while I was there I had to physically restrain myself from buying the coolest little powder blue bowling ball bag/purse I've ever laid eyes on. The cost? Five dollars. The amount of money in my pocket? Five dollars. Channeling the will power to overcome my handbag addiction? Priceless.

Okay, here's my useless website for the day--(this won't be a regular feature or anything, so don't get excited)...and the winner is: www.wackyadvice.com It's both hilarious and utterly nonsensical, which is what I appreciate most in a useless website. It reminds me of the Bold Type column that ran in the '80s music mag Star Hits (which became Smash Hits, after they combined with their British counterpart. Smash Hits, incidentally, was the magazine started by Neil Tennant of The Pet Shop Boys, back in the days before he had a music career. Jeez, I'm babbling...) Anyhoo, the Bold Type column was funny. Bold Type was the pseudonym of the columnist who gave "advice" to readers (or snarky editors posing as readers) who wrote in with truly pointless questions. One that I remember was a letter (supposedly) sent in by a reader who wanted B.T. to address the eerie resemblance between Peter Cetera (former lead singer of Chicago and mid-80's lite rock mainstay) and Herman Munster from, y'know, The Munsters. In response, B.T. ran pictures of Herman and Peter, with the captions under the photos identifying Peter as Herman and Herman as Peter. I laughed my thirteen-year-old ass off at that one.

Maybe you had to be there.

Dude, I need to do better than these once-a-week posts. I'll work on that. Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it. (That was dumb, but I just felt that a Ferris Bueller quote was appropo. I'll try to throw in those John Hughes references whenever possible).

Willie Nelson's younger brother is in the office today. He probably isn't his brother, I'm kidding of course, but some wiry dude with craggly features, strawberry blond hair and a big long braid is here and he won't leave me alone. He needs to talk to someone in the training class. It involves a fax that he sent and some equipment that he needs to get back from the instructor. He keeps asking me exactly when the training class will be out and if the guy got the fax and what he's doing about the fax and a bunch of other stuff that I will never care about. It is sort of refreshing to hear a southern accent, though. I never thought I'd say that, but I'm getting a bit tired of "the Minnesota O" or whatever they call the strange Scandanavian brogue everyone seems to be afflicted with in this fair state.

I shouldn't talk about this, since I tend to be annoyingly superstitious and I don't want to jinx it, but here goes anyway: I got a call today from a bona fide arts organization that I sent a cold cover letter and resume to back in February. They have a position open that (I think) they want me to interview for. I had a short, bullshit phone interview today, (which I was totally unprepared for), but I did my best and when the lady said that she'd "definitely" be calling me back (presumably for a real interview?) I don't think she was jerking my chain. So anyway, yay! She did ask me if I plan to settle in the Twin Cities long-term (at this point, no) but of course I said yes. (Lying to a potential employer. Isn't that illegal?) I'm such a renegade.

Okay, I read a little blurb on msn today naming some of Blender magazine's Top 50 Worst Songs of All Time. It sort of inspired me, but no way I'm going to come up with 50 (I don't want to put that much effort into this), so here goes my list:

My Top, Uh, I Dunno--14 Suckiest Songs

14. The Bangles -- Walk Like An Egyptian Hated! This! Song!

13. Puff Daddy/P. Diddy/Whatever -- Every Breath You Take (remake) Thanks for shitting all over a good song, dumbass. He recorded it as a tribute to his friend, the fat rapper who bought the farm--yeah, that was sad and all, but if Puffy was going to capitalize on the poor guy's death anyway, couldn't he have just written his own damn song? What a tool.

12. Eminem -- Lose Yourself The misogynistic homophobe trying to get all deep and inspirational on us. Fuck off, Eminem.

11. Crash Test Dummies -- Mmmm, Mmmm, Mmmm I didn't smoke enough weed in the early 90's for this song to sound cool. But I tried. Really, I did.

10. Toni Basil -- Mickey Dammit, why is this piece of shit song considered a classic? It sucked then, it sucks now, it will continue to suck forevermore.

9. Benny Mardones -- Into the Night Otherwise known as The Child Molester Song, it begins "She's just sixteen years old, leave her alone they say." If you don't remember this one, consider yourself lucky.

8. Color Me Badd -- I Wanna Sex You Up My sister liked this song. I still make fun of her for it.

7. Jennifer Lopez -- Jenny From the Block She's an easy target, but that doesn't mean that I can't snark on her. I mean, come on..."Don't be fooled by the rocks that I got, I'm still, I'm still Jenny from the block"(!) If you want a good laugh, check out out her lyrics. Any of them.

6. Christina Aguilera -- Anything she fucking records I hate it when people say "But at least she can sing!" You know what? So can my dad. But he doesn't prance around with fugly hair extensions and his butt crack hanging out.

5. Jewel -- Intuition This was supposed to be a joke, right?

4. Guns n' Roses -- Sweet Child of Mine I know he's somewhat of a sacred cow in heavy metal circles, but I think it's high time that people face up to the fact that Axl Rose sucks. I mean, his voice is worse than that guy from the Scorpions. I'd rather be woken up by two cats doing the nasty outside my window at 4am than to hear W. Axl "sing" this one ever again. Which is why I don't listen to classic rock stations.

3. Kid Rock -- Bawitdaba Pardon?

2. New Kids on the Block/N'Sync/Backstreet Boys/Yadayadayada -- Hangin' Tough/Bye Bye Bye/The Shape of My Heart/Whateverwhatever First of all, NKOTB? Hilarious. Maybe I shouldn't even pick on them, because they went away and never came back. So thank you, Donny, Marky, Biff, etc. Second of all, N'Sync? I've read several music critics actually singing their praises, which proves that 1.) music critics are stoopid, 2.) the critics in question are twenty years old, and 3.) have got to be severely doped up on a cocktail of Ritalin, crack cocaine and Nyquil. Thirdly, that Backstreet Boys song? Sounds like something rejected by Richard Marx.

1. Hit Me One More Time -- Britney Spears Oh Britney, don't tempt me.

Dude, WTF? Where have I been? What happened?

I was on a journey. A journey not of sight and sound, but of mind. Ironic, because my mind is definitely not sound. Ignore me, I'll be okay in a bit.

I just took this cool quiz and found out that I'm a 1970's geek! It's due to my hippie leanings and concern for the environment. Here is my official geek stamp:

I'm A 1970s Geek

You've decided for the world that it's time for a change. JOIN THE GEEK REVOLUTION!

find your geek decade at spacefem.com

Cool, huh?

Okay, I'll update tomorrow, and I promise to be less weird.

Here are some prints from despair.com, which pretty much sum up my mood today (and they make me laugh)...

Risks

Flattery

Teamwork

Power

Discovery

Nepotism

Persistence

Okay, I'm done for a while.

I forgot to mention...I'm a redhead now! I got bored Saturday and spent the evening dyeing my dark rooted blonde hair a nice, deep shade of red. (Nice n' Easy #110 Natural Light Auburn). It turned out pretty well--I've gotten positive feedback from co-workers. The only problem is that the color faded a bit when I washed it this morning--the roots are still red, but the ends are now a vague, blondish hue. (It's hard to dye over hair that's already dyed, or so I've heard). The good thing is, though--at only 7 bucks a pop, I can just keep buying boxes of the stuff and redo it whenever this happens...I figure sooner or later it's gotta take. Hopefully it won't make my hair fall out though, because a decent wig would probably be pretty expensive.

I'm not feeling the movie list today (the one that I started last week), so here is a list of some cool ezines I've come across:

smallspiralnotebook Great writing, especially the non-fiction.

Bust Electronic version of the print magazine.

3am magazine My favorite of the lot, mostly for the story about the porn writer.

All Things Girl A zine created for women, by women--featuring art, photography, poetry, prose...a little bit of everything.

Fishheads Actually just a random archive of stuff culled from the brilliant (now defunct) Fishheads magazine...the coolest publication ever to come out of Indianapolis.

If I could create the perfect man, I swear he would be a carbon copy of Steve Martin. He's funny, smart, handsome, self-effacing, and he can write! I just finished his novella The Pleasure of My Company, and it was exquisite. I haven't loved a book this much since Wonder Boys. I read Shopgirl, his other novella (Ugh. I don't like the word novella. It sounds pretentious) last year while I was on a plane to Vegas. It was cute, but I didn't like it nearly as much as this one. I just finished the book, and I've already started re-reading it. I've also ordered the audio version from the library (read by Mr. Martin himself). Yes, I'm a little obsessive.

And speaking of odiferous eruptions of intestinal gas, here is someone defending Britney Spears and her "talent." I don't think this is a joke. I think discotrash1119 is actually serious. That makes it even funnier.

"She def has some talent!" Uh, talent for what, exactly? Also, "def"?

"...it wouldn't kill all you people who hate Britney to give the girl a little bit of a chance." I beg to differ. I think that it would kill me. And it would be a very gruesome, very painful death.

"I dare you to download 'Don't Let Me Be the Last To Know'..." Is that a double-dog dare?

"Listen to this and then tell me she can't sing." I'll do you one better. I won't listen to it, and I'll still tell you she can't sing.

"I'm sure some people will tell me she can't sing after they hear this anyway, but those people are just being mean for the sake of being mean." Well, nobody said life is fair, princess.

"Give the girl a chance before you tear her down. It's the nice human, American thing to do." That's what Dubya said.

Heh, heh. This is from my beloved engrish site. It's a "smoker's courtesy" sign from Japan. I like the little arrow thingie coming out of the guy's butt, and how the stench from the fart or the cigarette smoke (I can't tell which), seems to have taken the other guy's head off.

I'm such an ugly American--I didn't know I was supposed to look behind me first. I just let it fly!

I was lying in bed at 6:30 this morning, trying to muster the strength to get my ass up, and turned on the TV for some noise so I wouldn't fall back to sleep. I didn't notice what was on, just flipped on the TV and cranked up the volume. It turned out to be Reading Rainbow. They still have the same theme song they had when I was a kid! I used to love that show. I felt kinda dorky lying in bed watching it this morning. But I did learn a lot about trains.

I thought of a new idea for a list today, this time having to do with movies. I'm going to have to split it up, because I came up with way too many for one list (I want to keep it at a manageable length), so I'll keep adding to this periodically.

Movies that most people haven't heard of or seen, but should:

All the Real Girls This movie was recommended by a friend, and aside from her, I don't know anyone else who has seen it. (I'd never heard of it before she mentioned it). It's a sweet, low-key movie about a group of--well, for lack of a nicer word--hicks in a small southern town. The great thing about it is how well it treats each character. Even the ones who initially come across as dim or obnoxious are given a certain amount of depth and something interesting to say. The love story at the centerpiece is beautifully played by the two leads in performances that are so authentic they don't even seem like performances. Be forewarned--the ending doesn't come giftwrapped and leaves several loose ends. I liked that about it though--it has an almost poetic feel.

Racing With the Moon Anyone who doesn't believe Sean Penn worthy of his recent Oscar win should take a look at this 1984 film, because he's excellent in it. And so is Nicolas Cage, another actor who's been accused of being hammy and over-actory in recent years. (It's also interesting to see Nic before the receding hairline and bulgy eyes, because he was once quite the dish).

Threesome "To me, sex is like pizza. Even when it's bad, it's still pretty good." This movie was unfairly overlooked, probably dismissed as another generic college sex comedy when it came out, but it's actually very funny and has some surprising depth to it. It's about how the lines between friendship, infatuation, and even sexuality can be blurred and crossed in close relationships. (I also posted about this on Fametracker, if any of this sounds familiar. I'm stealing from myself). And the soundtrack (featuring vintage B-side Duran Duran and U2, among others) totally kicks ass!

Shag Okay, this movie is adorable. And I mean that in the best possible way. It's like Dirty Dancing without the power ballads and veiled social messages. Don't get me wrong, I like D.D. okay. I just like this one tons better. It's much more fun, and everyone in it (the guys, the girls--everyone) is just so durn cute. Great eye and brain candy.

Me Myself I Great Austrailian comedy about a single thirty-ish woman who gets a glimpse into what her life would have been like had she married an old boyfriend and settled down in the 'burbs. The eerily similar Family Man came out the very next year...I can't decide if it was a remake, a rip-off, or an homage to this one.

Five should be enough for today--I'll continue the list next week.

I just went on amazon and ordered Beavis and Butthead's Chicken Soup for the Butt. See, I'm an intellectual, and I need reading material that challenges and stimulates. Most people don't understand this.

I miss B&B.

I saw Something's Gotta Give last night. I liked Diane Keaton's character and the fact that she was a writer. (I like "writer" movies). And I liked Jack Nicholson sort of making fun of his lechorous reputation. I just wish the film had been, like, an hour shorter. Seriously. There's no reason for a comedy to be that long. The imdb lists the running time as 128 minutes, but it felt like they stretched it out to at least 3 hours. I thought the seemingly endless 'make-up/break-up' love triangle thingie with Keanu Reeves and Jack was totally uneccesary. I also really disliked the "they lived happily ever after" scene tacked on at the very end. It's insulting when movies do that. I mean, we see the two leads get together at the end, most of us are smart enough to draw our own conclusions. But then the writers have to connect the dots for us, in case we're too stupid. And I know the point of the movie was two older people falling in love, etc., but I kept hoping for an unconventional ending with Diane Keaton ending up with Keanu. I mean, I know I would have. It's like, "Gee, who do I pick--a 36- year-old, gorgeous, well-read, kind, sensitive doctor who worships me, or a 63-year-old womanizer with a heart condition?" I mean, I like Jack Nicholson and all, but in real life, that decision would have taken me about three seconds to make.

There's this guy I work with. I'll just call him Pree-vert, to protect his privacy. (I know it's spelled and pronounced pervert, but pree-vert sounds funnier). I call him that because he's the office pree-vert. There's usually one in every office. Sometimes they are amusing. Sometimes they are offensive. Sometimes they are just sad. Pree-vert fits into that last category. He just ran in here brandishing a can of whipped cream. I'm serious. He was in the kitchen (you have to pass my desk to go into the kitchen) and I heard him let out a cry of delight. After a few moments, he trotted out to my desk with the aforementioned can o' cream.

"Who brought the whipped cream?" he asked excitedly.

"Uh, I think it's left over from the caterers yesterday. From dessert." I answered.

"That's great!" said Pree-vert.

"Yeah, you can put some on your coffee and pretend you're at Starbucks," I replied, refusing to play his sexual innuendo game.

"Well, I can think of some better things to do with it, but I won't go there," he said, as he turned and headed back to the kitchen.

Okay, a little background on Pree-vert. He's around 45, recently divorced, and, (I suspect), lonely. So I do feel sorry for him. It's hard not to. All that aside though, he's a dick. An inappropriate dick. He's made numerous sexual comments to certain women (and men) around the office. He's been written up three different times for sexual harrassment. And he hasn't been fired, which I find mystifying. (I heard someone defend him once by saying, "But he's good at what he does," like that excuses everything. And I don't even know what it is he "does," besides wander around the workplace making bad sex jokes and rude comments. I think he's in good with Bossman, which says a lot about both of them). And he's a massive dork, to boot. I don't have anything against dorks, really. Sometimes I like dorks. But this guy is a DORK. He complained to me once that Minneapolis was "too liberal." Now what kind of a dork complains that a city is too liberal? Even people who aren't liberal usually don't complain about a place being too liberal. Whatever, hombre.

There's also another guy here who we'll call Troll. He works out of the office most of the time, but once a week or so he'll come in here just to annoy me. He has a Porsche. Don't ask him about it. Don't comment on it. Don't even look at it. If you do, you'll get stuck talking to him for an hour. And he'll go apeshit if you pronounce it "Porsh." It's "POR-shah." Two syllables. As in Di Rossi. And don't you forget it!

I use Troll to illustrate my point that as bad as Pree-vert is, there's someone even worse. And that would be Troll. Troll has it in his head that Pree-vert is gay. You see, there was an incident where Pree-vert grabbed another guy's butt. Here at the office. He did it jokingly. But still. It was creepy. And the butt-grabee did not appreciate it. So news of the butt grabbing spread around the office, as it tends to do, thus leading Troll to believe that Pree-vert is gay. Not only does he suspect that Pree-vert is gay, but that Pree-vert (for some UNGODLY reason), wants him. To which I say, come the fuck ON! Troll looks like a troll. He is short. He is squat. He is butt-ugly. And most importantly, he is unbearably obnoxious. I don't care how many POR-shahs he buys. The dude ain't getting any. Not from men, women, or anything in between. So why the hell would he assume that Pree-vert (if he is gay, which I don't think he is. I think he's just desperate, and has no concept of socially appropriate behavior) would want HIM, of all people?

See what I'm dealing with, here?

Happy St. Patrick's Day! From me to you. I love St. Patty's. I remembered to wear green today, but unfortunately it's sort of a pukey baby-shit green instead of a healthy Irish green.

Bossman is in the Wisconsin Dells today for business meetings, which rules. I heard that he's sick too--so maybe he won't be in tomorrow.

The meetings in the Dells (I'm starting to talk like a Minnesotan) have to do with the "restructuring" that's been going on in some of the regional offices, which (according to my sources) means that Corporate Big Cheese at the Milwaukee headquarters is canning some people he doesn't like. He's already "released" two of his employees this past week; one of the guys had taken the day off the same day that Cheese was planning to fire him. (The employee's reason for taking a personal day was that his dog was dying. Okay, it may have been bullshit, but being an animal lover, I can totally understand. Hell, I'd understand a leave of absence for something like that. But I'm a posey-sniffin' treehugger). Anyhoo, instead of waiting til the next day when the guy came in for work to give him the boot, Cheese went to the guy's house to fire him. Yeah, that's what I said. If I'd been in the unfortunate dying-dog owner employee's position when the dickhead showed up at my door to can me, I'd have stuck my foot so far up his ass he'd need to have it surgically removed. And then I'd sic my dying dog on him. What an asshole!

I must link to this blog. It is fabulous.

N is for Neville

I'll set up a permanent link when I figure out how to manipulate the thingie to the right.

I won't forget this, either.

While I'm on my "favorites" kick, I've decided to link to all my favorite articles from The Onion. Here they are, in no particular order.

Marijuana Linked To Sitting Around and Getting High

Gore Camp Denies Putting Bush Camp's Canoe In Treetop

U.N. Orders Wonka To Submit To Chocolate Factory Inspections

Stoner Uncle All the Kids' Favorite

Aging Gen-Xer Doesn't Find Bad Movies Funny Anymore

Area Daughter Wearing Next To Nothing

Fun Toy Banned Because of Three Stupid Dead Kids

New Wonder Drug Enables Users To Get Higher Than Hell

I forgot to add an update about the Liz Phair concert on Thursday night. Shame on me!

As I mentioned before, it was held at the infamous First Avenue club in downtown Minneapolis, where most of the movie Purple Rain was shot. They have a new sign out front, but for the most part, it looks about the same inside. Except it's a little smaller than it looks on the big screen, which is usually the case. The acoustics were actually pretty good, and it's a fairly intimate venue--definitely a plus, since Liz Phair is one of those artists where it's better to be up close and personal.

I went with my friend Jay from work, who is a new "Phair phan" (hey, did I just make up a cool handle for her followers? I think I did! I'm probably not the first to come up with it, though, so whatever). Liz had two opening acts, but we missed them because we decided to hang out at the Irish bar across the street until it was closer to showtime. After some greasy pub food and a few beers, we arrived at the club about 20 minutes before she took the stage. Jay decided to wander around the club to try to find the best angle to watch the show, but I stationed myself up front and to the far right of the stage. I had a pretty good view of her, even if it was just of her left side. And I was close, so that was cool. While she was performing, I kept trying to will her over to my side of the stage so she could slap hands with me or something like the rock stars do on TV. No such luck. She pretty much just stayed center stage during most of the show. She also switched guitars a lot, more than I remember her doing the first time I saw her back in Indy last August. Jay had a theory that the guitar switching was a power trip thing, because she had this cute little younger guy come out to wait on her and dutifully hand her guitars and adjust the strap for her. He said that she probably just did that "because she can." I argued that maybe she wanted a certain sound for each song, and wanted to acheive that using different guitars. Or maybe it was a power trip. (If so, what's the problem? I'd probably do the same thing!)

As for the music, she did a pretty balanced mix of stuff from all four albums, (in contrast to the show in August, where at least half of the material she performed was from her latest CD). I think my favorite this time around was the encore, where she did two of her "dirty" songs, "Fuck and Run" and "H.W.C." (short for Hot White Cum. Yeah, she's naughty). It was a good show overall; she seemed more confident and relaxed than last time.

I didn't get her autograph, but that was okay since Marcus and I met her in Indy after the Vogue show and she signed my Liz Phair promotional sticker. This time around, I wanted to bring one of her CDs that she could sign for me, but I forgot. I didn't see her outside doing the meet-n-greet thing on Thursday, probably because it was butt-clenching cold, and she didn't want to freeze (she was just wearing a little camisole thingie and jeans). I did get another souvenier, however--after the show we were standing around while her roadies were loading up her equipment, and I ripped off a huge piece of masking tape that was stuck on one of her instrument cases that said Marco -- Liz Phair on it. One of her roadies, this dreadlocked hippie guy, saw me do it and said "That wasn't very nice." I tried to give him the doe-eyes and said, "I'm sorry. No--I mean, I'm really sorry." He just shook his head and said again, "That wasn't nice." No, it wasn't. And I felt so bad about it that I went home that night and cried myself to sleep.

Oh, except that I didn't.