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 7-foot tall African American 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.

Hey, Pat Robertson is giving you the finger! Go kick his ass!

Bossman just walked past me humming--I swear to God--a song from The Wizard Of Oz. Man, is he a dick.

So, life is going well. I'm exercising every day, I'm keeping up with my writing, I had an article published by 3am magazine, and I made some money at my bead sale over the weeked. I can't complain, but I will...

...cause Emily sucks! She sucks so hard she blows! Like a hurricane she blows! She took the TV. Bitch took the damn TV. This was about a month ago, so I guess I'm a little behind on my bitching. But unlike her, I can live without a TV. Because I, you know, read and stuff when I'm home instead of being zombified by America's Next Top Model or whatever the hell she watches. The original plan was for her to take the large TV, which I had, and let me borrow her small TV with the attached VCR until I get my own or move, whichever comes first. But, like a total douche, she reneged on the deal. When I asked her why, she said "It's my stuff--I don't have to justify my actions to you." Sadly, it's about what I've come to expect from her. She's emotionally retarded. You know what though? I don't care. She can keep the TV and shove it sideways, 'cause she sucks!

And, oh yeah--did I mention that she sucks?

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.

Angela and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Movie

Woah. I just (voluntarily) watched the worst movie ever made. And keep in mind that I've seen Modern Girls, Under the Cherry Moon, Lady Beware, From Justin To Kelly, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, Mr. Deeds, and Coyote Ugly (those last two were accidental). But nothing compares to the horror that I witnessed today. It was hideous. Ghastly. Appalling. Deplorable. Shit, was it bad. I'm talking about Liquid Sky.

My friend Mike warned me about this movie. He described the plot. I thought it sounded hilarious, and decided that I had to see it. I looked all over, and finally found a copy at the St. Paul Library. I wish fate had been kinder, and kept it out of my reach. Here is a synopsis of this "film," which I've copied from another site since my brain hurts too much to attempt to describe its "plot." I've bolded the gist of it, in case you're too afraid to read the whole thing. Believe me, I'd understand.

From badmovies.org:
Few movies are specifically tailored for appeal to those on controlled substances, here's one film though. Heralded as a great work in science fiction and so on... ...well, my ass. There is no damn way this thing sits alongside Alien, Bladerunner, or The Thing. What you have is a great number of lifeless and disturbed people having sex with Margaret then dying. Aliens come to Earth looking for heroin but find that the chemicals produced by human brains during orgasm are even better. So they park their flying saucer, it's about two feet wide, on top of Margaret's apartment and begin killing everyone who has sex with her. Then we have a barely understandable German scientist who is studying the aliens, at least he describes the plot to us. Throw in a crazy girlfriend and a few other weirdos to fill gaps. Margaret finally goes completely bonkers, it's difficult to find that special someone when everybody you sleep with dies, and gets vaporized. In addition, her face is always covered with smudged makeup, probably to disguise that the actress played Jimmy as well. My main problem with this movie wasn't that there are aliens. Nor that these aliens were after heroin or human brains. You just have all these dysfunctional relationships between the characters and nobody ever goes postal. Even talking to most of these people would be like getting beaten in the head with a sock full of quarters.

...Okay, that's putting it mildly. This movie hurts. Seriously. It caused me pain. And I think it's fair to say that I'm no amateur when it comes to bad movies. I've seen a lot. And this is the worst of the worst. Bottom of the shitheap.

Here are some random thoughts and lines of dialogue that I managed to scribble down while viewing this monstrosity. Enjoy.

(The following is a dialogue between Jimmy, played by Anne Carlisle, and Margaret, played by Anne Carlisle. No, that's not a typo. Same actress. Male and female roles. I shit you not).
Jimmy (taunting Margaret): One day the Chickenwoman had chicks and everybody stepped on 'em, because they were so ugly. Cluck, cluck.
Margaret: Such a sweet boy, Jimmy.
Jimmy: Cluck, cluck.
Margaret: Don't make me hate you, Jimmy!

Here's more, because I feel the need to share my pain.

Margaret (after screwing Jimmy to death in front of a crowd of people): I killed him.
Random on-looker #1: Where's the body?
Random on-looker #2: Somebody go look on the roof!
Random on-looker #3: If we think clearly, this can all be explained.

Same scene--
Adrian: I'll bet you $300 I can fuck Margaret and not die!

I have to have a mild rant here about the chick who plays Adrian (Margaret's lesbian lover). I hate her. She wears an eye/sleep mask thingie on her forehead through most of the movie. I don't know why. But that's not why I hate her. She is easily the worst actor of the entire lot (and believe me, that's saying something). Every time she opened her mouth to speak I wanted to give up and switch off the movie (and that's also saying something). She sucks so hard she blows. Like a hurricane. Christ Almighty, she's bad. I really, really wanted to see her die. Thankfully, she does when she has sex with Margaret (in front of the same crowd of on-lookers). She mounts Margaret, fakes an orgasm, then turns into a wad of tinfoil and vanishes. It's the only high point of the movie.

And then there's the music. Yes, Mike warned me about the music. The music is wretched, but it pales in comparison to the acting. And the hair. And the clothes. And the makeup. And the sets. And the dancing. Yes, there is dancing. And it made my eyes bleed. I'll put it this way...ever seen the video for Blondie's "Dreaming"? Remember the extras dancing on the sidelines? Worse than that. Much, much worse.

The only part of Liquid Sky that made me laugh were the quotes from critics on the video box. Here are some of them:

"A triumph of originality!" --The Washington Post

"Smash of the year!" --Rolling Stone

"...perversely beautiful!" --New York Magazine

Okay, I can buy that quote from Rolling Stone, a publication that I used to respect before it began slapping Britney Spears on its cover every other week. But the other ones? Those critics (if they indeed wrote that), should be rounded up and shot.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, this movie sucks.

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.

Okay, I'm sitting here trying to get some writing done and work on my resume and cover letters, but I keep getting distracted by the damn internet. It's evil. Here is something I've just come across that about made me piss myself. I wish I had thought of it, but I don't have Photoshop.

Go here and enter a bizarre parallel universe where Alanis sings "I love my life!" Christina Aguilera covers up her ass (in a nun's habit and a burqa), Rob Zombie sings his favorite alpine yodels, Eminem sings about Jesus, Michael Bolton is a gangsta rapper and Yanni is a pimp. Pure comic gold.

In the "oh shit, I forgot about these" category (addendum to yesterday's list).

Honorable Mention

Talk Show - The Go-Go's

Stunt - Barenaked Ladies

Disintegration - The Cure

Black Celebration - Depeche Mode

This Year's Model - Elvis Costello

Screw it! I'm not waiting til Tuesday to post my latest list.

Okay, this could change in five years, but probably not much--the only albums that risk getting bumped are the ones currently occupying spots eight through ten. So without further ado...

My All-Time Top-10 Favorite Albums

10. Central Reservation - Beth Orton
This is my favorite Beth Orton album (Trailer Park is a close second). It's one of those CDs I can play continuously for an entire day and not get sick of. Best tracks: Central Reservation (both versions), Sweetest Decline, Stolen Car.

9. The Joshua Tree - U2
I tried to resist picking this one as my favorite U2 offering, mostly because everyone seems to pick it as their favorite. But when I mentally ran though the track listings of Achtung Baby and The Unforgettable Fire (my two runners-up), I had to admit--this one kicks ass. Best tracks: Where the Streets Have No Name, I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For, Red Hill Mining Town, Trip Through Your Wires.

8. On My Way, Don't Know Where I'm Goin' - Paul Simon
Is it lame to have a "best of" compilation on my list? I don't give a crap. This is the only Paul Simon that has all my favorites. And the title is cool, too (although I wanted to pick There Goes Rhymin' Simon, another cool title, but it doesn't have much on it that I really like besides Kodachrome). Best tracks: Mother and Child Reunion, Me and Julio Down By the Schoolyard, Late In the Evening, Graceland, Slip Slidin' Away. (I can't listen to that last one too much though, because it makes me sad. Yes, I am a sensitive soul).

7. The Best of Blondie - Blondie (duh)
Yeah, another best of. Sue me. This is the only Blondie album that has the version of Rapture with the cool intro. (Even Auto American, the album that Rapture originally appeared on, doesn't have the cool intro version. Not the copy I own, anyway). But I digress. This one rocks. Best Tracks: All of them! Okay, I never liked (I'm Always Touched By Your) Presence Dear. But everything else is stellar.

6. Footsteps In The Dark - Cat Stevens
Okay, this is also a best of. But it's the only Cat Stevens release I've been able to locate that has all the Harold and Maude songs (there was never an official soundtrack album for the movie). Best tracks: The Wind, On the Road To Find Out, Father and Son, The Hurt, Trouble.

5. Rubber Soul - The Beatles
I'm a pretty big Beatles fan. Not a Beatlemaniac, but close. This album is from my favorite Beatles era, after I Wanna Hold Your Hand but before Strawberry Fields. Best tracks: Drive My Car, You Won't See Me, Michelle, I'm Looking Through You, In My Life. (And in case you're wondering, my favorite Beatle is Paul).

4. Blood On the Tracks - Bob Dylan
Not much to say about this one, except that it's the greatest Dylan album ever. The overall tone is pretty melancholy; I think I read that he was going through a divorce during the recording. Best tracks: Tangled Up In Blue, If You See Her Say Hello, Shelter From the Storm, You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go.

3. whitechocolatespaceegg - Liz Phair
This is the album that turned me on Ms. Liz and her music. This one's more melodic than her first two, and the arrangements and lyrics are kick-ass. Best tracks: Perfect World, Polyester Bride, Johnny Feelgood, Go On Ahead, What Makes You Happy, Headache, Fantasize---hell, the whole damn thing rocks.

2. Temple of Low Men - Crowded House & Every Picture Tells A Story - Rod Stewart (tie)
Okay, I had to make it a tie because I just couldn't decide between the two, and I didn't want to bump any of the others. To this day, I can't believe how little success Crowded House had in the U.S. (compared their native New Zealand). Maybe I should move down there, where music like this is more appreciated. Anyhoo, this album is considered the darkest and most contemplative of their works, which makes it all the better (good thing Prozac wasn't as widely used in 1988...it may have made it a different album entirely). And as for Rod, c'mon--this one is definitely his greatest. Best tracks (Temple): I Feel Posessed, When You Come, Into Temptation, Never Be the Same, Better Be Home Soon. Best tracks (Picture): Reason To Believe, Every Picture Tells A Story, Mandolin Wind, Maggie May.

1. Rio - Duran Duran
Was there any doubt that they'd be number one? And choosing among their albums was a difficult task. Notorious is my alternate number one choice, but since that one was the "pared-down" DD, and Rio features The Original Fab Five in all their glory, I had to go with that one. Best tracks: New Religion, The Chauffer, Save A Prayer, Hold Back the Rain, Rio.

I've been thinking...maybe link day should be list day? Anyway, I thought of a list today:

Cool Women That I Like

Anais Nin. I've been sort of obsessed with her lately. I checked out some of her writings from the library, which included excerpts from her Diaries and a few short stories. I also bought an audiotape of a reading that she gave in NYC in the early 70's, not long before she died. I think she's my new hero.

Beth Orton, because I'm in love with her voice and her lyrics.

Liz Phair. No matter what anyone says about her new album, I still love it. (She's been criticized lately for "selling out," but I don't agree). I know that the popular opinion is that she went downhill after Exile In Guyville (her first album), but I think it's completely the opposite. Although Guyville has its charms, I think she's actually gotten better with each album. And I'm seeing her for the second time this Thursday in Minneapolis (at First Avenue-- "the Purple Rain club")!

Deborah Harry, because she's the coolest.

Catherine Keener. I can't find a decent website for her, so here's the imdb link to her film Walking and Talking, my favorite chick flick ever.

Of course, all my female friends are on this list as well, because they're awesome, but they don't have their own websites, (at least, none that I know of). Someday I'll figure out how to post your photos on here, though!

I'm in such a Girl Power mood today! (Ugh, I really wish that term didn't conjure up images of The Spice Girls).

More to come....

I've been dilligently working on a bad movie review for Purple Rain, but who knows how long that will take me, so I decided to do a "mini" review on another one that Marcus and I watched, The Incredible Shrinking Woman.

First of all, this is a movie that I saw when I was around 8 years old. I remember watching it at my friend Lisa Doerr's house--her parents had a Betamax, or, as I excitedly told my mom, "one of those things where you can watch a movie anytime you want!" (I was so up on technology, even then). There were repeated viewings of this movie, along with The Black Stallion and The Wizard of Oz. I remember having a fondness for TISW--particularly due to the scene where Lily Tomlin gets to live in her daughter's dollhouse with Ken. (I used to want to shrink myself down so I could ride my model horses...Christ, I was an odd kid). Anyhoo, that and the scene where she falls down the garbage disposal (komedy!) were my favorite parts, and the only ones that stood out in my mind before Marcus and I rented this for one of our Bad Movie Nights a while back.

Seriously, though--looking at this movie twenty-some odd years later--man, does it SUCK. Lily Tomlin stars as a housewife who, due to exposure from some chemical compound in household cleaning products (or something), begins to shrink. And the wackiness ensues! Except not. This movie made no sense whatsoever, and I'm not talking about the plot, (what little of it there is). First of all, Lily Tomlin plays two characters--the housewife and the nosy neighbor. And it's not like an Eddie Murphy/Nutty Professor thing, where he plays multiple characters under heavy makeup. The difference between Lily Tomlin's housewife and Lily Tomlin's nosy neighbor is....a pair of glasses. The characters are not supposed to be related or anything, so why the dual role? The movie is full of shit like this that doesn't make any sense. All the scenes look like they were shot (on really cheap film), and just slapped together randomly. About twenty minutes in, there's a "hilarious" scene where Lily Tomlin (as the housewife), is doing dishes and gets her hands stuck to the plates with "Galaxy Glue" (which is, BTW, the big account her ad exec husband is working on. I think this was a major plot point, but I can't remember). Her kids come running in, and they all end up in a pile on the laundry room floor, as the jingle for "Galaxy Glue" plays. They roll around on the floor, stuck to one another, and the scene goes on for like 10 minutes. At this point, I turned to Marcus, confused, and asked, "What's going on here?" Marcus grimaced and said, "I think it's supposed to be a spoof on advertising, but they're not doing a very good job." The rest of the movie is about as coherent. Another "what the fuck?" moment: after Lily Tomlin shrinks, her Spanish maid (who had appeared in earlier scenes demurely dressed in school-marmish outfits, hair in a bun) suddenly begins wearing florescent tube tops and hot pants, dancing around the house to bad mariachi music. She completely changes personalities, and it's never explained! At the "funeral" for Lily Tomlin, (her family mistakenly believes she was ground up after falling in the garbage disposal, see--komedy!) the maid is back to her previous demure, school-marm threads and hair. Again, it's never explained! Lily Tomlin's family finds her again, but then she gets captured by mad scientists, or something (at the risk of sounding redundant--this movie makes no sense), and is locked in a cage with a guy in a really bad gorilla suit. She escapes, with the help of the "gorilla." Then more stuff happens, and she returns to normal size. At the very end, the process reverses itself somehow, and she begins growing. Did I mention the whole thing makes no sense? The director, the "esteemed" Joel Schumacher (who went on to direct other instant classics like D.C. Cab, St. Elmo's Fire, and Dying Young), was either on some serious psychotropic drugs, or suffering from ADHD. As Marcus commented during our screening of Shrinking Woman, "Joel Schumacher couldn't direct his way out of a paper bag."

I don't reccommend this film, even for a laugh. It's not a fun bad movie, like Xanadu or Six Pack. It's just bad. It may be fun to watch stoned. Then again, it may suck even worse.

Okay, I feel like I must weigh in on all this brou-ha-ha concerning Mel Gibson's new movie--of course, I'm talking about The Passion of the Christ. I don't really have anything against the film, I just don't feel a strong need to be subjected to Mel Gibson's "vision." From what I've read, he's not really bringing anything new to the table, aside from the violence shock factor. I attended Sunday school growing up, had four years of Catholic school, and I still go to church, so I think it's fair to say that I'm familiar with the story of the crucifixion. I don't need the star of Bird On a Wire to explain it to me.

Happy Fat Tuesday!

Here are some links:

KiKi makes and sells quirky, retro items ranging from jewelry to journals to toilet seats. I want the space girl toilet seat so bad I can taste it! It takes all of my willpower not to whip out my credit card and buy, buy, buy! I'm totally serious. When I have a little more money in the bank, that toilet seat is mine.

One-hit wonders! Ever 'wonder' what happened to 'em? This site has an extensive list of one-trick ponies and their songs, arranged by decade from the '50s to the '90s. While the lists are impressive, they need to do a little more research on the artists to provide more bio information (many of them have none available). Still, it's fun to look through and see how many you remember. One conspicuous omission, however, is Martika's Toy Soldiers. Okay, I admit it, I kinda like that one. The site more than makes up for it, though, by listing artists that are a lot more obscure, like Alison Moyet, Regina, and Hipsway. It scared me when I realized how many of these I remember.

Click here to go to the animal rescue site and make a free donation. Good site, good cause, and it's free.

The corporate trainer at work ordered pizza today for the sales class. After lunch, I ventured into the kitchen to scope out the leftovers, and was disgusted to find the remaining slices of pizza piled high with pepperoni, sausage and other assorted pigstuff. Which brings me to this wonderful site, which is chock full of information about becoming a vegetarian, the health benefits of going veggie, and even highlights the different types of vegetarian diets, (ovo-lacto, vegan, etc.) so that you may choose the lifestyle that's right for you.

Take this quiz and see if, (based on your vernacular), you are more Yankee, Dixie, or somewhere in between. I scored roughly 60% Dixie--pretty typical for someone from Indiana, I think. Of course, it could also be the influence of all the Dixie Chicks CD's that I listen to in my car. :-)

Edited to add....

Read someone else singing the praises of About Last Night.

It's link day, so here ya go. And I'm running out of ideas on this, so if my regular readers (and you know who you are) could send me some links to post, I'd be much obliged.

I'm not sure how accurate some of the stuff on this site is, but it's entertaining anyway. The section on weird laws is my favorite. Apparently, in my adopted home state of Minnesota, it's illegal to mock a skunk. This begs the obvious question--how would one go about mocking a skunk? By painting a white stripe down your back and farting a lot? I guess I could see why it would be a bad idea to piss off a skunk, so maybe that's the rationale behind it.

Here are some more bad movie sites that I've come across Oh, The Humanity! and The Stinkers. Neither are as good as Jabootu, but I was pleased to see that both sites mentioned The Forbidden Dance, which is fast becoming one of my favorite bad movies of all time (well, it's probably in my Top 5, anyway). Speaking of which, I might have to do another bad movie review, stat. I'll need to ask Marcus for his input, though (hint, hint).

Okay, this is apropo of nothing, but who the hell is this little Clay Aiken butt-dart, and why is he famous? I mean, I know he came in second place after the fat guy on American Idol, and ordinarily I'd take this opportunity to make a cheap joke about how he must've blown that snotty British judge, but...he didn't even win. So, again--why is he famous? Is he considered talented? Attractive? I mean, is this what the little girls are drooling over these days? If so, then the whole Justin Timberlake phenomenon is starting to make a little more sense. Not much, but a little. And speaking of Justin Timberlake, I heard one of his songs today on the crappy internet radio station at work. I don't know the title (and I'm not looking it up), but I know it features a "rap" with Nelly and a sample of AC/DC's Back In Black. This guy is trying really hard to convince everyone of his "street cred" now that he's supposedly finished with the pussy Boy Band scene, but I ain't buying it. He was on the Mickey freakin' Mouse Club. He does MacDonald's commercials. Okay, you could make the argument here that I'm old and I just don't "get it." But come on, already. The guy looks like Screech. Seriously.

I am happy to report that I've now seen several episodes of The Surreal Life, thanks to the marathon that the WB ran the other day. I knew I'd love that show. It's got to be one of the greatest programs ever created. I mean, it's not in the same league as Mystery Science Theater 3000 or anything, but it's a damn sight better than whatever passes for comedy on the networks these days. It's just so durn entertaining. I'm actually not ashamed to admit that I find Vanilla Ice sort of attractive, despite his frequent tantrums. (Well, okay--I'm a little ashamed). And is it wrong that I'm developing a strange affinity for Tammy Faye Bakker? I guess that's the whole point of the show--to brainwash you into caring about people that (on the surface) aren't all that likeable. It makes me wish I'd seen the first season, when Webster and Corey Feldman were on. I can't wait to see who they'll put on next season. You just know that Pauly Shore will wind up on it at some point. Unlike Vanilla Ice and Tammy Faye, who I couldn't have cared less about in their respective heydays, back in like, '90-'91 I really dug Pauly Shore. I thought he was hot. And I watched Totally Pauly on MTV every day during summer break. Of course, I also watched Beverly Hills, 90210 each week (without irony) and thought Married...With Children was hilarious, so that should give you some idea of my mental state at the time (or lack thereof). Ah, the nineties. Thank God they're over.

But seriously, watch The Surreal Life. It's brilliant.

Links for today....

I can't get enough of this crazy shit. It's a good thing the internet is so chock full of this sort of weirdness, otherwise, what the hell would I do all day? And I've only made it through the Halloween cards and the Valentines. While this is my favorite in the latter category, this one looks eerily familiar to me. I think I got it from one of my exes. Seems appropriate, anyway.

You know those stupid "Successories" posters usually found adorning the walls of soul-crushing, cubicle-filled hellholes? Someone else hates 'em, too.

I was going to post more about Lost In Translation, but I need to go home before the cleaning personnel kick me out of the building.

Okay people! Listen up! I have an announcement. Are you ready?

Here it is: Go see Lost In Translation. It's still at the dollar movies, and it might be out on DVD--uh, now, actually. It's brilliant. See it. Now.

I'm serious.

Go!

(More tomorrow on this, BTW)...