Wednesday, December 31, 2008

2 to the 0 to the 0 to the 9


Happy New Year everybody! Although I have been AWOL for the last week, celebrating the magic, peace, love, vodka, and family dysfunction that is Christmas (and Hannukah—lets not leave out the Jews. After all, 8 nights of stressful family time is way worse than just one), you may notice (OK, probably you won't, unless you are my own personal insane stalker a la Mel on Flight of the Conchords) I reached my last New Year's resolution to post at least 220 times in 2008. In fact, I have posted (drumroll, please) 271 times, suckas! So I will resolve to post 272 times in 2009. Gotta keep challenging myself, you know how it is.

In cae you are wondering, my other New Year's resolution is to finish (oh, and start), my collection of essays, to be called Unabrow. I am so serious. Dec. 31, 2009, I will have the makings of a book. So help me Tyra.

One last thing before I cross the space-time continuum into 2009, a world of magical unicorn presidents, economic depression, and even worse reality TV (but hey, also Season 5 of Lost!): This makes me unexpectedly sad. So wear your 2009 glasses with pride.
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Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Early Christmas Gift: ObABama

Is anyone else starting to feel like we're living in some TV show like 24? Who ever heard of a US president with abs of steel?


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Friday, December 19, 2008

Ludachristmas

So last night I descended on Planet Rose with some coworkers for the 2nd annual Ludachristmas party, named for our patron saint Ludacris a.k.a Chris Bridges. These photos were all taken within the first hour, so you won't get to see my furniture-climbing rendition of "We Belong" by Pat Benatar, but you will get to see me pulling my best Brooklyn gangsta face:


Merry Ludachristmas, and a Happy New Kids on the Block year!
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Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Holly GoHomely: It's A Wonderful Life


So, for Christmas, like crack for my heart, I Netflixed my favorite Christmas movies: Scrooged (best ever); A Christmas Story; Muppet Christmas Carol; and Santa Claus: The Movie (Ok, full disclosure, I own that one. What? Dudley Moore and John Lithgow = holiday magic, people). I threw in It's A Wonderful Life for good measure. And tonight I watched it. ANd you know what? I've never really watched it before.

Sure, I've had it on in the background while wrapping presents and stuff. But tonight I realized that I had never actually paid attention. For instance, did you know that two of the characters are named Ernie and Bert? And that they play a kind of slapstick scene together? Is that where Jim henson got the idea? Also, there was a store in Park Slope, where I grew up and still live, named Zuzu's Petals... and I never realized that it was named for this movie. Also, Donna Reed is fucking beautiful. I'm just saying. And I'm not even drunk! I have a cold!

It's great when you discover something for the first time. Merry Christmas, you wonderful old Bulding & Loan! Merry Christmas, Frank Capra, you old sap!
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Blog Post From the Edge

Ack! I haven't posted in six days, and here's why: my laptop had a stroke. Seriously. It wasn't enough for it to just die, it shuddered and sputtered and went all static and then died. Just when I was writing a piece de resistance on the shitty production of The Fantastiks that I was a part of in college. And now you will never get to read it.

I'm also having a busy week at work, so ... it's doubtful I'll post a lot before Christmas. But look at all of the real life entertainment we have to watch: someone threw shoes at Bush! And that Blogdogajavevich-whathisname with the Ned Flanders hair! I'm sure you don't miss me that much.

Love and Christmas kisses,
U

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Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Stretching the Dollar: Shitty Travel Edition


Hahaha. Oh, MTA, you so CRAZY! First the fare hikes, then the incomprehensible track work that makes me think someone is just spinning a Twister wheel every weekend to decide which lines to re-route and which, BTW, never makes the tracks actually work, and now this. Seatless subways. You know, to pack more people in, make it feel more like a urine-soaked cattle car, denying straphangers everywhere the simple pleasure of wedging onseself in between two surly strangers in the unlikely event that one is able to find a place on the hard, coccyx-bruising, dishwater-gray plastic that passes for a bench. It's good to know that my $2 is going towards progress! What's next? Flintstone-like, bottomless cabs to save gas? No, REALLY, MTA. I REALLY want to know.
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Tuesday, December 9, 2008

The Dangers of Online Shopping

DISCLAIMER: For those of you worried about me due to my frequent mentions of being drunk on this site, please note that events tend to be funnier when they involve alcohol, and therefore I edit out many, many, MANY days and nights of non-intoxication. If you don't believe that I tend to be funnier when drunk, I will sit you down and read you my teenage diary and you will BEG me to do shots with you just to numb the pain.

Aaaaanyway, I've done 99% of my shopping this year online, which suits me just fine, since crowds of idiots tend to harsh my mellow, and Christmas in New York is full of idiot crowds who congregate in Macy's and clog 5th Avenue from 34th Street all the way to the park. One evening, while nursing a glass of wine, I decided to excavate from my wallet the gift cards of Christmases past that I had not used. Therein, I found a bounty of Christmas cheer: $17 at Sephora (spread over 3 cards), $12 on an American Express gift card, and $39 at Pottery Barn. I popped open my (now deceased) laptop and decided to buy myself something through my favorite commerce hub: the Internet.

While I did nurse the wine, the glass was pretty full (one of those great big balloon glasses that hold like 3/4 of a bottle), and I found myself tipsily scouring PotteryBarn.com for something—anything—to buy. I wanted something that would use up the entire $39 in one go, something I would never buy unless I had "free" money to spend. I wanted decadence, frivolitiy, and uselessness. I had no time for sets of colored glassware or bud vases; I wanted something .... amazing. Which is how I found myself ordering a monogrammed whisky decanter at midnight. How very Chuck Bass of me.

Right after I ordered it, I was instantly ashamed, and decided that I would lie and tell Jeff that it was an ill-advised gift from a coworker (oops, cat's out of the bag, honey. Also Anna didn't buy me that Color Me Badd CD I have in my collection). But ultimately, I suppose, the greatest Christmas gift of all is that I am married to a man who finds me endearing in all of my pudding-for-breakfast-eating, crappy-TV-watching, irresponsible-monogrammed-whisy-decanter-buying glory. So thanks, baby. And in return, I will buy you some nice whisky to drink out of my complete waste of money.
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Friday, December 5, 2008

So, He's Not The Messiah After All?


OMG, sad! But upon closer inspection (thanks, HuffPo!), totally not true!


He can so grow facial hair, it would just look like this:


Good call, Mr. President.
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Thursday, December 4, 2008

Fun With Crosswords, Part Trois

JEFF: Quiz me, quiz me!
ME: Okay ... um, "Morning deposit."
JEFF: Turd.
ME: No. It starts with a D.
JEFF: Dump!
ME: [sighs and closes magazine].

Later ...

ME: Okay, "Bank holding," four letters.
JEFF: Loan.
ME: Yes! Oh, no ... it must be lien. [writing] Leee ... yen.
JEFF: You mean lien. Lean.
ME: That is stupid. I don't even know what lee-yen means.
JEFF: That's because lee-yens don't exist. It's pronounced lean.
ME: I hate the English language!
JEFF: I'm pretty sure it hates you, too.
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Monday, December 1, 2008

Guys Don't Make Passes at Girls Who Pretend to Wear Glasses


I have always, secretly, wanted glasses. Well, not always—but at least since middle school. I think the glasses-lust set in then because glasses were something that you could take off to make yourself look better. Since I had nothing to take off I had to live with myself at face value, which was difficult, since I sported an unholy trifecta of unibrow, braces, and acne. Glasses, in retrospect, would have made it worse initially, but then when I whipped ‘em off I would have looked that much better, right? Right??

I used to talk a lot of smack on the hopscotch course at recess, telling all of my friends that I had 20/10 vision, which I did. It meant that I could see from 20 feet what most people could see from ten feet, but none of my friends believed me. Despite a diet of almost no carrots and a lot of antisocial reading in dim light, my eyes were positively bionic, and I took a private, nerdy pride in the clarity of my vision. I still wanted glasses, though, the same way I secretly hoped to someday break a limb. Luckily I didn’t have the willpower to whack my shin with a hammer or to stare directly into the sun, so I continued on for many years with laser-like sight and healthy bones.

On a trip to Los Angeles when I was twenty-three, I finally broke down and bought a pair of eight dollar glasses in Venice Beach. The lenses were plain glass, so they didn’t fuck up my eyes, just made me look kind of scholarly and standoffish. I was in love. I took to wearing my glasses to work and making a big deal out of saying that I had forgotten my contacts at my boyfriend’s house, as if anyone actually gave a shit. To others, I may have looked dowdy and square, but I was thrilled. All day long I would feel like Clark Kent pre-phone booth, just waiting to transform. I wanted to admit to my coworkers that I didn’t really wear glasses, but understood that it would have been creepy for them, and confusing. So I kept my little secret.

It wasn’t until six months ago that I started to actually lose my sight, or, at least, to notice. I wasn’t going blind or anything, but suddenly I had to strain to read street signs (in the dark, on the highway, with my relatively unused license ... scared yet, Mom?), and my computer screen at work looked way too bright. I found myself constantly squinting, so I made an appointment with an eye doctor, perversely excited to finally fail an eye exam.

Today was the big day. I left work early to make my ocular pilgrimage to Brooklyn Heights to visit Dr. D, who came highly recommended by regular physician. Dr. D's office displayed a photo of him posing with Donatello from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, so I knew I was in the right hands. First, he made me put my chin on a little shlef and my forehead against a bar. I looked into a telescope-like thingie that showed a little pastoral scene with a red barn going in and out of focus, but it made a suspicious beeping sound, so I'm pretty sure it was just distracting me with the barn while it took some sort of scan. Then I had to hold up those budget-looking eye sticks and read letters off of a screen. I did OK until the letters got flea-sized, and when I gave up the technician sighed and said, "You need glasses."

The elation I had expected never came. Instead, I was filled with dread. First, and most basically, it sucks to not be able to see things. It makes me feel old. And I have enough white hairs on my head, in my eyebrows, and in places that should never grow old to need another reminder that I am aging. Also, I can't have nice things, especially when I pay for them myself. I stepped on my retainer once in eighth grade, and the bottom part bent out of shape so that when I stuck it in my mouth it jutted out like a cruel nightguard. I have also lost almost every umbrella, pair of sunglasses, and glove that I have ever owned. And now I will have to pay upwards of $300 for a delicate pair of glasses that I cannot just toss in my purse to jangle against my keys and discarded bobby pins and mismatched earrings. I will have to take care of them. And wear them when I drive and when I go to the movies. The way my parents have to find their glasses before reading anything. I will have to squint and rustle in my purse, saying "Ace Ventura who? I can't read the screen!"

So lesson learned, kids: be careful what you wish for. And if you ever find yourself with a hammer raised above your own leg, with visions of pudding and cast signatures dancing in your head, for God's sake, put that thing down.
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Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Giving Thanks


Thanksgiving is so stressful, blog post-wise. I don't want to write something sappy and boring but I also don't want to ignore one of the greatest food-based holidays of the year (not necessarily the greatest, as Passover, gefilte and all, has dayanued its way into my heart). Jeff and I are driving up to Spencer, Mass tonight, with my mother, two pies, and lots of wine in tow, for a Zorabedian Family Thanksgiving. To Jeff's mind, this is like a Manson Family Thanksgiving, only less fun. But I love family holidays, perhaps for the very reason that a room full of old emotional scars plus alcohol always makes for good writing material.

Seriously, though, I am very thankful this year, and not just for Jeff, President-elect Obama, and all of the serious reasons. For instance I am thankful for Steve Guttenberg for climbing out of my 1980s memories and into the present day media, and for jogging pantsless for no reason. I am also thankful for Paris Hilton's My New BFF, for giving me my new favorite line of all time to yell while intoxicated: "They call me bikini Corrie because I've earned it!" I am thankful for the ShamWow infomercial guy, who really makes me want to sop up an entire carton of orange juice with a handtowel, and for the fact that someone has hooked up a live feed to a litter of Shiba Inu puppies. I am thankful for Will Shortz, who keeps me humble, and the IRS, who keep me honest. I am thankful for body wash with moisturizers, because putting on body lotion is a pain in the ass, and not at all the sensual process it looks like in TV ads. I am thankful for the man who painted my building's front door the color of dark chocolate, because now every time I come home I think of candy. And I am thankful for the unfathomable number of people in New York city with gimpy legs, without whom I would have no place to channel my irrational rage.

Have a wonderful holiday!
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Friday, November 21, 2008

Thanksgiving Moment of Zen: Sarah Palin (Remember Her?) Edition

Oh man, this should be an SNL skit, but it's real. Now that she's not threatening to take over Congress and change the presidential crest to a six-pack of Pabst, I kind of like her.
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Thursday, November 20, 2008

Getting Over Getting Older: Christmas List Edition

There are a few things that make a person feel old. Knowing people who buy real estate ... babysitting someone who's never seen the original 90210 (and has never seen Dirty Dancing, which there is no excuse for, I don't care if you're thirteen)... not recognizing the celebrities in UsWeekly ... realizing that your favorite Gossip Girl actors were born in the '90s... but I digress. The biggest red flag comes but once a year, at Christmas.

I used to ask for elaborate toys that required a lot of assembly and which I promptly ignored after I used them once. Those were the days. I ended nearly all of my lists to "Santa" with the word "Suprises" followed by approximately twenty exclamation points. I was fucking excited.

I still get excited about Christmas, but now I'm excited about, like, eating and drinking excessively. This year I finally broke down and actually asked for socks. My mom always gets me socks in my stocking, but this year I really need socks, and I don't want to spend my pitiful disposable income on them.

I specifically remember being a kid and watching my parents be excited about things like socks or a book and making a mental note: That will never be me. Jokes on you, kid! And P.S. Your parents spent a lot of money on that dollhouse, so fucking play with it.
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Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Christmas (Una) Comes Early!


This morning as I was pathetically trudging to Duane Reade to stock up on Ricola drops, I noticed some small white flecks in the air. My first thought was trash, since in New York it tends to fly around. Then I thought: Ash? Where's the fire? Finally I looked heavenward and wondered, could it be ... snow?

I had resigned myself to never seeing snow again, at least not south of Massachusetts—global warming seems set to turn New York into the new South. And yet, miracle of miracles, there was snow for five minutes on Flatbush Avenue this morning. Which means it's time for ....



XOXO,
Christmas Una
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Saturday, November 15, 2008

Jeff Speaks: Video Blog Take 2


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Saturday Sloth


Jeff laughed when he saw that I had "Sloth" written down on my to-do list for the day. But with all the working out (uh ... 20 minutes), writing, grocery-shopping, baking, cleaning, and dishes, I was worried that I wouldn't have time for ass-sitting and catching up on Paris Hilton's My New BFF (season pass, baby!).

A girl has got to keep her priorities in order.
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Friday, November 14, 2008

HollyGoHomely Has a Monopoly on Pathetic Pasttimes


So here is what I'm obsessed with lately: playing Monopoly on my iPod nano. I was not going to blog about this (because it is LAME), until last night when Jeff staged an unwitting intervention. He came to bed and nuzzled me, but I was too focused on the fact that Iron REFUSED to land on my slumlord hotels on Mediterranean and Baltic ... and I got a little cranky. Okay, a lot cranky. OK, I had a shit fit.

"He won't land on my HOUUUUUSSSEEEEEEEESSSSSS!" I wailed, as Jeff openly laughed at me. I didn't tell Jeff that the real reason I was pissed was that I cheated and still wasn't winning. You can cheat pretty easily by making the computer player stupid, so that if they have only $46 and you land on Boardwalk, they will let you buy it for $47 instead of mortgaging their properties. Oh my God, I just realized how incredibly sad this post is. I need help. But just one more roll, guys. Just one more, and I promise I'll stop.
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Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Totally Dismembered Barbie!

Christmas is coming, dear readers, and if you've been looking for a gift for that special someone you've been creepily stalking, and/or a preteen girl with bloodlust, have I got the jewelry for you.




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Monday, November 10, 2008

I Don't Even Know What to Call This Post. That's How Bad It Is.

So, I realize I haven't posted in almost a week, but I think you'll understand when I say I'm experiencing some post-electoral depression. Not about Obama, obviously—he continues to light up my life, and the Huffington Post's slideshow of him kissing his kids, as well as this live feed of adorable puppies, are my go-to feel-good sites.

I just don't really know what to do with myself now that the election is over. Now I have to focus on my actual life. But don't worry—I'm sure I'll be back to normal soon.
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Wednesday, November 5, 2008

YES WE DID!





A Change Is Gonna Come - Sam Cooke
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Tuesday, November 4, 2008

Almost ...

Oh my GAWWWWWWWDDDDD this day is so long. I want to write something profound, but I can't think anything except that this could be the greatest night of my life to date, with the exception of my wedding. Don't fuck it up, Florida, Virginia, and Ohio!

And now, your moment of Zen:


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McCain Accidentally Votes Blue


D'oh! What a dumbass.

In related news, Barack Obama takes about a freaking year to vote, presumably because of the dreaded Bradley Effect.
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1st Black President also World's Largest President

LOL, my Dad is such a lovable dorkus malorkus. He lined up his collection of Marx Presidential figurines with his new Obama doll.


What? I have to do something to pass the time, people.
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More Serious Post on the Seriousness of the Historic Election That Will Undoubtedly Make Me Cry at Some Point Today

Jeff and I got up at 6am to vote, honestly believing that we would be some of the only people in our neighborhood to do so (I think our naivete was caused by the fact that we routinely wake up at 8, so 6, to us, is like the witching hour). Imagine our surprise, then, when we were faced with a half-block-long line at 6:07am. In all my years of New York voting, I have never seen a line like that, especially at that hour. And by 6:30, there was a line just as long stretching out behind us.

The great thing was watching people approach the line. Instead of cursing or complaining, almost across the board people smiled, even as their mouths dropped open in surprise. There seemed to be an understanding that the long line stood for something, well, more than just standing in a line. While New York is far from a swing state, and one could argue that one's individual vote matters less than in, say, Florida or Indiana, people of all ages stood in a ninety-minute long line with a look of astonishment and pride. I overheard one mother say to her young son, who was getting restless, "You are going to tell your grandchildren that you stood in this line. If there had been no line, there wouldn't be a story."

I couldn't have said it better myself.
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Hitting McCain with the Sock of Justice

I am going to write a more serious post, I promise, but for now... These photos were taken on October 15 during the third and final presidential debate, but Beth only just sent them to me, which actually is kind of perfect. Below, a pretty clear pictorial guide to who I support in this election:



(For emphasis, here is a close up of my Muppet-like face of anger as I hit John McCain's blurry visage with a sock).




IT'S FINALLY HERE, I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!!! This is like the most intense Christmas ever.
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Monday, November 3, 2008

Surprise!

Here it is, liberals, the dreaded October November Surprise!


Obama is actually Latino!!! And McCain is actually one of the California Raisins!!!

Discuss.
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Friday, October 31, 2008

A Misanthrope's Guide to Political Canvassing

My dad wrote on his blog today about his refrain from political canvassing and phone banking due to his dislike of talking to strangers, and I can't help but marvel at how close the apple has fallen to the tree in this case.

My friend Betsey has set up a Facebook Group, The Barack Obama Swing State Challenge (she has recently relocated to Indiana), and has become a crazy activist, in the very best way. She often sends mass emails urging her friends to "wake the fuck up" and make a difference in the campaign. These emails mostly make me feel guilty, because wild horses—even trucks full of Tootsie Rolls—could not drag me to knock on the door of a random person.

It's not just that I hate street lobbyists and the like; it's that I have a deep and abiding avoidance of talking to strangers. It's inborn, I swear. When I was a kid, I had the most passive lemonade stand ever; it might as well have been performance art: me, sitting silently behind a "Lemonade" sign, watching people bike past with a look of relief. There's a reason that I've never worked in sales. And when I am the buyer, I live in fear that a salesperson will talk to me; I have been known to refuse to enter a store unless there are already other customers inside to distract the merchants. As for the phone, I sometimes avoid calling my own friends, so strangers are definitely out. I would totally go with robocalls—I feel McCain on that one.

Look, I do care, deeply, about this election, and I do feel a lot of guilt over the fact that I can't get over my own fear/discomfort. However, on the other hand, I honestly feel that my lack of enthusiasm would undermine my efforts in this arena. I would rather allow people who are truly gregarious and passionate and confident (with strangers, at least) to win over the swing state voters. I, for my part, will be sitting behind an "Obama" sign on my stoop, silently giving away free lemonade.
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Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Survivor: Electoral Island


From 236.com, here are Eight Ways to Survive the Next Eight Days (oops! Now it's 6!)

I would like to add, however:

*When any CNN Ticker headline begins with the words "McCain says"—or even worse, "Palin says"—DO NOT CLICK. It will only make you angry.

*Give up hope that CNN or MSNBC will ever cover that video footage of Sarah Palin's supporter yelling that Barack Obama is a n***er. They blew their load on "Terrorist! Kill him!" and they are not going to ever care what another Palin supporter yells ever again.

*Tape McCain's photo to an old dot matrix printer or broken scanner, take it out to a field, and go Office Space on it with a baseball bat.

*Drink heavily.
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Preempted Reality

Well, I have finally caught plague from Jeff and am sitting here happily doped up on Tylenol Cold (no matter what cold medication I take, I always feel like I'm on Xanax... a nice side effect.) And even though I am weirdly blissed-out right now, I have a major bone to pick with Barack Obama, namely: Why must your hope-omercial interfere with my favorite show of all time? That's right, America's Next Top Model. And no, I don't even have cable, let alone DVR. Why you gotta make me choose, Barry? If I watch your heartfelt message, then I will miss the first, and possibly even the second TyraMail! I will miss the challenge! I won't know my ass from my elbow, basically; I will be lost. And it will be all your fault.

Understand, the only reason I wouldn't watch is because my vote for you is locked up tighter than the Hope fucking diamond. You could shoot someone in the face at this point, or yell "Black rage!" or moon the audience, and I would still vote for you. Isn't there an all-stupid-people network you could run the ad on? Oh, you're already running on Fox? ZING!

But seriously, I will watch, because Jeff will make me watch , as he always makes do the right thing, like not eat mini Snickers bars for dinner, or turn off the burner on the stove after I cook something.

So you win, Barry. This time. And hopefully next Tuesday.
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Monday, October 27, 2008

Sarah Palin Does Not React to Supporter Calling Barack Obama a N***er

I really wish I was kidding.
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Amazon: McCain Also a Terrorist!

Man, this is just like that time I posted an ill-conceived rap and then forgot to blog for like a week. I want to write something witty that will distract from the absolutely ridiculous video I posted on Saturday, but I'm tired and cranky and out of ideas. So instead I'll just distract you with this:

I just read that Amazon.com listed a Barack Obama mask as a "terrorist costume." BUT. I searched "terrorist costume" on Amazon just now and this is what I got (third item down).


Um ... way to be ... bipartisan?
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Saturday, October 25, 2008

First Ever Video Blog: FAIL

So Jeff got a new iMac that records video from a cute little camera (I'm sure most of you have this already, but my iMac dates back to the Prohibition, so it's new to me). I thought I'd do a supercool video blog for the first time ever, but apparently when I can see my own reflection, I cannot speak at the same time.



P.S. FAIL Blog is hilarious and you should check it out.
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Holly GoHomely: The Horror, The Horror

Since I was a preteen, when I discovered the works of Stephen King and spent the better part of my time reading and re-reading It and Needful Things and The Stand, I have thought of myself as a person who likes the whole horror/thriller genre. I spent a lot of slumber parties shrieking through The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Carrie, and Children of the Corn (even though I should have known I was kind of faking it, since I was—and continue to be—the person who shuts my eyes through all of the gory parts, tapping the person next to me and whispering "Whats happening? What's happening???"). But although I do have a sort of morbid fascination with horror (especially true crime), I think I'm coming to terms with the fact that my horror-watching days are over. And I think I know why: Horror movies are getting increasingly fucked up.

Let me explain: On a tip from my friend Anna, I Netflixed The Strangers this week. All I knew about it was that it was a creepy home-invasion story about a couple getting tormented by masked assailants in their remote country home. When it arrived in the mail yesterday, I immediately felt a sense of dread—now I would actually have to watch it, when the plot was enough to give me the willies. I waited until Jeff got home and then popped it in my computer for a safe, well-lit viewing. But as the credits rolled, I found myself inching further and further away from the screen and turning the volume down. My brain said yes, but my body said a loud and aggressive NO.

This is where you can tell that I am not a real horror fan: To calm myself, I decided to read the plot on Wikipedia so that I would know what was coming. (If you don't want to ruin it for yourselves, stop reading now). A couple (Liv Tyler and Scott Speedman) returns to their family home somewhere very dark and far from neighbors (naturally) after attending a wedding, during which the Liv character turned down Scott character's marriage proposal. They fight and cry and then start to work it out, when immediately there is a knock at the door. A strange girl asks for someone who doesn't live there, they turn her away, and then, after a few more negligible plot points, three masked strangers descend on the couple and torture them for absolutely no reason. By this point, somehow the couple has reconciled and loves each other and are good people who have done nothing wrong, but they get killed anyway, and the movie ends with the scary strangers getting away scot free. (I also read up on Funny Games, a horror film with a similar storyline, and it ends the SAME WAY, except that in that one, the couple is married and has a ten year-old son who is ALSO killed. Good times.)

Forgive me, but aren't the good guys supposed to live through a horror movie? I mean, the whole payoff is that at least one hero or heroine makes it out alive, with psycho killer(s) either getting their comeuppance or at the very least disappearing mysteriously to return in the sequel. A movie in which the good guys all die and evil triumphs seems to me to be—at the least—a real downer, and at a higher level, a kind of fear tactic. I mean, in both The Strangers and Funny Games, strangers break into the home of good people, torture and kill them, and then leave to go do it again. There's no Halloween-like backstory; we never find out why the killers kill. They just do—no big whoop—and, hey, it could happen to you! Sleep tight!

I realize that this attitude may make me seem like a prude, or at least like someone who doesn't 'get' horror, both of which may be true. But the horror movies of my youth were not like these movies. They were more fun, less sinister, and a lot less bleak (even with all of the carnage, Jamie Lee lived to see the end of all of the Halloween franchise movies, and even though Leatherface was a random psycho killer, a few of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre kids made it through). The thing that made horror movies feel safe was the idea that if you were strong enough and smart enough and were basically a good person, you could live. If there's no hope even for the good guys, it stops feeling like horror to me. It just feels like torture.
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Thursday, October 23, 2008

ALL CAPS RANT: Bathroom Edition


Listen, ladies. Do you know when you go into a bathroom and the woman before you has peed ALL OVER the seat? You know who pees on seats? PEOPLE WHO WON'T SIT THEIR ASSES DOWN FOR FEAR OF GETTING GERMS FROM THINGS LIKE OTHER PEOPLE'S PEE. If you are getting herpes from a toilet seat, YOU ARE DOING IT WRONG. So please, for the love of God, use one of those paper thingies, say a prayer, whatever—just SIT THE FUCK DOWN. YOU CAN'T AIM FOR SHIT.
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Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Wacky GOP Wednesday News Roundup

McCain really is getting desperate: "I love you," he told New Hampshire voters, before getting down on one knee and proposing.

Sarah Palin says that she is the right kind of feminist, whereas Obama is the wrong"kind of feminist (who doesn't even have a woman on the ticket!!!! Misogynist Muslim!!!!). Clinton supporters are the right kind of feminists as long as long as they are voting for John McCain; otherwise they are a bunch of fucking cunts.

Speaking of the C-word, John McCain actually said it during a speech! Seriously.

Oh! Also he called Pennsylvanians racist. Hee.

Oh and oops! The RNC dropped $150,000 on Sarah Palin's wardrobe during the biggest financial crisis of our time. Ruh-roh.
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Fun With Crosswords II


Last night I was working on the Sunday magazine crossword when Jeff wandered in and asked me to quiz him, as he often does. I scanned the clues for anything having to do with history or baseball, but found none. I settled on 8-Down, a literary clue.

"Poet known as 'the Tentmaker.'" I said.

There was a pause.

"Boner Keats." he said.

"Percy Boner Shelley!" I cried, almost in unison. Much laughter ensued. We are eleven years old.
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Tuesday, October 21, 2008

Writing Is Hard: Week ... Something

So I am writing this story right now and I am racked with insecurity, not just about whether it's good, but whether it has a plot at all. I'm not allowing myself to start anything else until I finish this bitch, which is a shame, because I am really good a first sentences. Like check this out:

I often wonder how fat I could get if I really tried.

You want to read that, right?

Or how about this:

My sister and I have this agreement that if I ever fall into a coma, she will come visit me every day and pluck my eyebrows.

The sucky thing is that the first sentences are better than the whole rest of the story. I have to work on my follow-through.
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Monday, October 20, 2008

Monday Night Minutae

It was Jeff's and my one year anniversary yesterday! We made it a whole year without divorcing, which is more than many celebrities can say. We spent a romantic 48 hours at the Annual Gowanus Artists Open Studio Tour (otherwise known by its acronym as A.G.A.S.T., which my mom says was meant as a joke). It was awesome: Jeff showed his work for the first time ever, to very positive feedback, and I drank wine and ate cheese all day. Smoked gouda is my new BFF.

I want to give a shout out to Micah Q. Allen, who came in from Cambridge, MA, and Ellaree M. Yeagley, who trekked down by bus from Silver Springs, MD just to bask in the glory of Jeff's lens. Thanks also to all of the other friends and family who came to support Jeff. And to those of you who said you'd come but didn't make it, you are dead to me. Kidding! You're just in a coma, but you can ply your way out of it with drinks and Tootsie Rolls.

It's been a rough week, and a long weekend, so I apologize for my lackluster blogging. But apropos of nothing, here is a pair of photos that perfectly capture my debate-watching ritual:

Obama:


McCain:

The wine, obvi, is a given. Only 15 days to freedom!
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Friday, October 17, 2008

I Dream of Claudia Kishi


It has been a long week, y'all. Drama. Intrigue. Deception. Prosecco.

Project Runway finally finished with a giant yawn. So that was something. I am so tired I can't even blog. So I am so lucky that my friend Adri had a fabulous dream about me last night. Thanks for the fodder, baby!

Everyone is on a cruise ship to celebrate Una and Jeff's first wedding anniversary. There are lots of bright blue margaritas. I'm asked to get some for people which means that I need to carry three. On my way to get them, I pass [Una's] mom and ask her what she thinks about carrying that many big glasses. She didn't like the idea.

I want to use the toilet so I go into the small room. Settle on the pot and start reading a book on display. It's Una's old diary from when she was a kid... I read an entry in which Una says that she loved that one book from The Babysitters Club in which they had a wedding on a cruise ship. Young Una wrote that she thinks that the coolest idea ever.

Then we all move into the ballroom for the meal. Jeff and Una finally get to see each other. Jeff takes a bow from one end of the room. Una tries to curtsey behind a banquet table and doesn't do it as well as she had practiced.


This dream is crazy and totally true. My mom would hate someone carrying three margaritas at a fancy party! I did love the Babysitter's Club Super Special series, and there was one when they went on a cruise. And my dream self would surely be as clumsy and self-defeating as my real self!

Happy weekends. Come see Jeff's show.
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Thursday, October 16, 2008

Sometimes Pictures Are Worth 1,000 Words


That's not Photoshop, my friends. That is God hugging us a little closer.
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Tuesday, October 14, 2008

This is What Happens When You Update Your Netflix Queue While Drunk


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Monday, October 13, 2008

CNNspiration


(Turnaround...)
Every now and then
I get a little bit angry
that I’m losing to Barack

(Turnaround... )
Every now and then
I get a little bit tired
and I need to go lie down and take a nap

(Turnaround... )
Every now and then
I get a little bit nervous
that Palin might have been a bad call

(Turnaround... )
Every now and then
I get a little bit terrified
when I see my Gallup poll numbers fall

(Turnaround maverick)
Every now and then I pull a stunt
(Turnaround maverick)
Every now and then I pull a stunt

(Turnaround... )
Every now and then I get a little
bit restless and I cancel my campaign

(Turnaround... )
Every now and then I get a little bit
helpless and I’m lying right on prime-time TV

(Turnaround... )
Every now and then I get a little bit angry
that Paulson went and ruined my rise

(Turnaround... )
Every now and then I get a little bit terrified
that I won’t get my October surprise

(Turn around maverick)
Every now and then I fall apart
(Turn around maverick)
Every now and then I fall apart

And I need your votes tonight
And I need them more than ever
And if I can only beat this punk
We'll be holding on forever
And we'll only be making it right
Cause we'll never be wrong together
We can take it to the end of the line
The economy’s like a shadow on me all of the time

I don't know what to do, the Ayers thing didn’t work
And now I come off old and mean and like a racist jerk
I really need something fast
I need to make my legacy last
I need to make my legacy last

Once upon a time I was destined to win
But now I'm only falling apart
There's nothing I can do
It's a total reversal of the electorate
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Friday, October 10, 2008

Stock Market for Dummies Me


So Jeff called me at the end of the workday yesterday...

Jeff: So 660 points.
Me: Yeah ... I don't really understand those graph thingies. I basically don't understand the stock market.

(Embarrassing note: I had to call Jeff again today to get his explanation below again because I didn't take it in the first time.)

Jeff: Well, the Dow Jones is basically showing the value of the collective stock prices of the best and most profitable companies that are publicly traded. So when it falls by 2,000 points or whatever over ten days, stock basically has little to no value.
Me: Uh huh. And what's this I hear about a credit crunch. Does this affect my AmEx?
Jeff: No, it affects people who need a loan to buy things, like a house or a car. Or students who need loans for school.
Me: Then people won't be able to buy anything?
Jeff: Pretty much. Even big companies can't get loans, so some schmo looking for a mortgage is definitely shit out of luck. You can't get a loan unless you're Warren Buffet, basically.
Me: But couldn't Warren Buffet pay cash?
Jeff: Right. Unless you can buy something outright, you'll have to go without.
Me: But if people stop, say, buying cars, what will happen? Will their value go down? Will I be able to buy a car for a dollar?
Jeff: (audible sigh)
Me: What?
Jeff: Remind me not to let you manage our mortgage.
Me: Don't worry, we can't get one.
Jeff: Exactly.

I know that we are in a major crisis right now, and I know it will affect me, but I am genetically incapable of understanding the stock market. It's like the whole down system in football. What does 3rd down mean? No matter how many times you explain it to me, I will never know.

In 7th grade, one of our social studies projects was to create and manage a fictional stock portfolio (yeah, I went to Hunter). We had something like $100,000 pretend dollars that we had to invest in various stocks. I put 60% in a no-risk savings account, and the other 40% went into Jiffy Pop, Reebok (it was 1992), and something called BurkHa, which some friend suggested based on an insider tip from her Dad (to this day I have no idea what BurkHa is). I think I made like $50 on my portfolio. And I chose all of my stocks based on their names.

My current understanding of the stock market, 16 years later, is holding steady at "no fucking clue." At least I'm not rich, cause boy would I have fucked myself over. I'd probably have invested in, like, Sassy and snap bracelets. Hoo-ey, I'm glad I'm broke.

Happy Greatest Depression, y'all. Have good weekends!
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For 24-hour media outlets, important details seem to get left out ... a lot

Why hasn't one gat-damn person brought up the fact that Bill Ayers—the Weather Underground bomber who then became a huge pubic figure in education reform, during which time he served on a board with Obama, which counts, I guess, as being BFF— was voted Citizen of the Year by the city of Chicago in 1997? Would this sully the entire city of Chicago by association?
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Thursday, October 9, 2008

Camp

Today I offer you, gentle readers, a brief respite from my vodka-fueled political rants to offer you an unsolicited glimpse into my formative years. I got a book for free at work last week—Moose, by Stephanie Klein, who is a blogger with a cultlike following. It's about her years at fat camp, and it reminded me that I have been meaning to write something about my years at camp ... a Quaker camp, if you can believe it, in Ottsville, PA.

In the interest of full disclosure, I wrote these little vignettes as part of my "Word Bag" exercise a few weeks ago. And because today I am lazy, I am forcing you to read them. Enjoy!


ABOVE: Me and Tulpehocken, circa August 1990. Original arts & crafts frame, also circa August 1990.

The first thing I remember about Camp Onas was that I was put in tent Tulpehocken while my best friends Adri and Tara were in Tinicum. I went to camp because of Adri and Tara, but I was 6 months older, which in camp years put me in a whole other Indian tribe. I had brought, as advised by the camp staff, a large trunk to hold my clothes, but unlike the other girls’s trunks, mine didn’t fit under my bed, so it had to go on the floor, where it took up an embarassing amount of space. I got the top bunk, which I liked until I realized that the cabin had no walls, just tarps, meaning that if I rolled off in the middle of the night I would either fall directly onto my enormous trunk or ten feet onto mud and grass. I didn’t sleep very well that first night. I had brought my Pound Puppy, Harold—who back then still had both of his eyes—but other than him my bunk was relatively unadorned. After all, I was only a two-weeker, whereas other (perhaps more secure and independent) kids stayed for a whole month. I never really loved camp, but even at age 10 I knew that it would be good for me, like vegetables and classic literature and travel are good for people; I thought it would make me well-rounded. It was probably obvious to anyone who saw me that I wasn’t a born camper: pale, skinny, and shy around people I didn’t know, I took every chance I had to go to the arts and crafts cabin, where I could make yarn God’s eyes or SpinArt paintings or gimp keychains for hours with absolutely no physical exertion or contact with anyone else.


ABOVE: A letter home, on homemade UnyToon stationery, 1991.

There was always a dance at some point during camp, which took place in the cafeteria and which I looked forward to much more than I let on. I looked forward to it because my elementary school crush, Charles Kee, also went to Camp Onas, and I always imagined that he would ask me to dance to “In Your Eyes,” which I did not yet know was from Say Anything but which I found beautiful and painfully romantic all the same. The dances were always the same, though – my friends and I would dance until a slow song came on, and then we would line up against the wall, petrified that someone actually would ask us to dance. Everyone at camp was between the ages of 8 and 13, and so there was always the possibility that someone would ask you on a dare. For some reason they always played “Cecilia” by Simon and Garfunkel, and we would act out the words, getting down on our knees and begging each other please to come home.

The showers at Camp Onas were prison-style, one big room with a bunch of showerheads sticking out. I don’t remember being too uncomfortable for the most part, except for when my boobs started growing in, because one sprouted before the other and for awhile I just had one nub. The counselors would shower with us–they were probably only 15 or 16 but they looked like adult women to me, and I was intrigued by the various methods they each had for shaving their legs. My parents always sent me to camp with two-in-one Pert Plus, and that smell will always remind me of communal showering.

And that's all folks. I hope you enjoyed that mental image of lopsided nubs, and I hope that "Cecilia" gets stuck in your head for days, because it is a great song.
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Tuesday, October 7, 2008

Debate Smackdown: Live! Or at least as fast as my slow-ass computer can go!

Oh man, I am so mad already! Let the games begin!

9:02 pm Tom Brokaw seems to have a time delay. Eerie silence.
9:02 pm When did Tom Brokaw get so fucking old?
9:03 pm McCain already looks like he's going to punch someone. This should be good! Also: fake hug!
9:03 pm McCain sits like a girl.
9:04 pm They get to stand up. It's like theater.
9:06 pm Obama "middle class" tally: 2 Now it's 3.
9:06 pm "Senator Obama, it's good to be with you at a town hall meeting." BURN! He's totes like, "If only you had agreed to my 25 town hall meetings, this debate would not be such a shit storm!"
9:07 pm He's like about to sit on Allen Schaffer's lap. Awkward? Or brilliant?
9:08 pm McCain "my friends" tally: 2.
9:09 pm Brokaw says "Hank Paulson." BFF?
9:09 pm McCain has no problem looking white people in the eye. Even calls Brokaw "Tom." Also loves women. Hear that, Hillary supporters?
9:10 pm McCain name-drops eBay. What up, Internets?
9:11 pm Obama "middle class" tally: 4. Oh, now it's 5.
9:11 pm Obama has skinny legs.
9:12 pm McCain suspended his campaign! In case no one noticed ...
9:13 pm Love Obama's fake smile while McCain talks.
9:14 pm McCain remembers first questioner's name! Short term memory: check.
9:14 pm "I've got to correct a little bit of Sentator McCain's history, not suprisingly." Oooooh, BURN. FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! I need another screwdriver.
9:16 pm Obama: "You're not interested in politicians pointing fingers." Pre-emptive strike. Take that, Walnuts.
9:17 pm McCain still writes letters! Awwwww. Importers and exporters. Art Vandelay enterprises?
9:19 pm Budgets, schmudgets. I paid $30 today for an iTunes season pass to "The Girls Next Door."
9:21 pm Obama also preempts tax issue. Nice work. Next he'll mention Bill Ayers.
9:22 pm McCain "my friends" tally: 3.
9:24 pm McCain has no idea what Tom Brokaw said because he doesn't know what America's priorities are.
9:25 pm Joe Lieberman DOES NOT COUNT as across the aisle anymore.
9:25 pm McCain "my friends" tally: 5.
9:26 pm Nice JFK ref, Obama.
9:28 pm Why doesn't Tom Brokaw just cut them off? Stop complaining about them going over. Speak up motherfucker.
9:29 pm McCain takes question from 78 year old person on Internet. Fake! Old people don't use the Internets.
9:30 pm McCain wants to freeze spending, except for veterans. Duhvsies.
9:34 pm I want a smackdown! This is way too cordial.
9:34 pm There is a woman in the audience who loooooves Obama, you can tell.
9:35 pm "High on the hog" ... another veiled Sarah Palin reference?
9:35 pm McCain "my friends" tally: 6. What a dick.
9:36 pm YES, Obama wants to raise taxes ... on rich fucks like you. (Got my second screwdriver. Can you tell?)
9:37 pm McCain got news that economy is bad ... approximately 20 days late.
9:38 pm "Straight talk express lost a wheel." Or the driver is drunk. Whatever.
9:40 pm Obama "middle class" tally: 6.
9:41 pm McCain "my friends" tally: 7. Nice Ronnie Reagan reference. "My friends" up to 8. By the way, McCain "middle class" tally: 0. Oh, "my friends" up to 9. 9!
9:42 pm McCain can't pronounce his BFF Liberman's name. Also loves nuclear power.
9:46 pm Obama keeps mentioning computers, probs to make Walnuts feel old.
9:47 pm (Jeff) Obama says McCrusty voted against alternative energy 40 bazillion times!
9:48 pm (Una back from bathroom) Tom Brokaw needs to man up and just tell them to shut up. Stop complaining about timing.
9:49 pm McCain "my friends" tally: 10! Calls Obama "that one." Oooh, "my friends" tally up to 11! He's unstoppable!
9:50 pm Jeff says McCain is cribbing his energy plan off of Paris Hilton. "My friends" up to 12!
9:51 pm McCain touching his own boob in background while Barry talks. Heart attack?
9:52 pm Health insurance, yawwwwn. I already pay more than I make. And I haven't even broken a bone.
9:53 pm McCain spends a minute repeating question. Also, we already have walk-in clinics, dumbass.
9:55 pm Hair transplant joke falls flat. Ha!
9:59 pm "Did we hear the size of the fine?" FUCK YOU.
10:00 pm McCain "my friends" tally: 13
10:01 pm "My friends": 14.
10:02 pm "There are some things I don't understand. I don't understand how we ended up invading a country that had nothing to do with 9/11." DAMN. Gloves be off, bitch!
10:03 pm Jeff mixing me third drink.
10:04 pm Obama doctrine: no ethnic cleansing. Good answer!
10:06 pm McCain doctrine: "my friends" tally": 15. 16. Surge surge surge. "Cool hand at the tiller." Jeff says this means "rudder". Who is driving a boat? Jeff says it's "the ship of state." Okaaaaaaay. But who's running the country? Cap'n Crunch? Nice also how he dodged the ethnic cleansing issue.
10:09 pm Katie totally did not write that Pakistan question.
10:11 pm McCain has a big stick? I don't get the Teddy Roosevelt reference. So Obama talks loudly AND carries a big stick?
10:14 pm Can't get enough of "Bomb, bomb, bomb, bomb, bomb Iran." Can the Beach Boys release a single?
10:15 pm McCain looks at Obama! "My friends" tally: 17.
10:18 pm Boooooring. Victory, defeat, whatever. This war has been going on for over 5 years.
10:20 pm McCain: Saw KGB in Putin's eyes. Woah.
10:21 pm Why so much fuss over Georgia? Is that even a swing state? (Kidding!)
10:25 pm Vom. Obama couldn't serve because he was in kindergarten when Vietnam started. Shut up, old bag. "My friends" tally: 18.
10:30 pm Aw, Michelle loves Barry so much.
10:32 pm I love me some Barack but he's dodging some questions.
10:32 pm McCain doesn't know the future. Um, ok.
10:34 pm AGAIN with the tiller! WTF is the Tiller?
10:35 pm Tom Brokaw can't see for shit.

THE END.
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Project Runway: LL Cool J, Eveningwear, Fail to Sink Kenley; or, Kenley is a Giant Tulle

We've already established that I have failed miserably at my attempt to recap Project Runway this season, and I've already given you all of my excuses (apathy, laziness, booze) so let's just call a truce and keep marching on towards Bethlehem ... er, Lifetime.

So what has even happened on this show? A few weeks ago they dressed each other up like fools and had a parade in front of LL Cool J. What fun! Let's review:

The designers had to dress each other using music genres as "inspiration" (but hey, I guess it beats Zodiac signs and Saturn seat belts).

Leanne dressed Korto up as a country western singer. And she was damn cute!


Suede made Jerrell into Lenny Kravitz without the hair (oh, if only they had access to the Dread Jacket), and daaaaaaaaaamn those pants were tight. We even got a nice close up camera shot during judging, and daaaaaaaaaamn. What? A girl can look.


Korto took schlubby, punky, Manic Panic-abusing third-person wonder Suede and turned him into a schlubby, punky, Manic Panic-abusing, scary Goth teenager who I swear went to my high school.


Jerrell tried to turn Kenley into Britney Spears. Which just goes to show that you can put silver pasties on a whiny bitch, but she still doesn't get booted from the show. I would have loved to see her get auf'ed wearing that get-up. Sigh.


Finally, and wonderfully, Kenley got to show us what she believes hip hop is all about, sartorially speaking. And the answer is, for Kenley, gangsta = Nelly Furtado. And maybe a little Snork action. But that might be all Leanne.


Ohhhhh, those pants are horrible. And I'm only focusing on the pants because the outfit gives me tunnel vision. The best part was when Heidi goes to LL Cool J, "Does this say hip hop to you?" And he's all, "Um, no." And Kenley rolls her eyes and you can tell she is thinking (in her nasal Kenley voice), "It totally is hip-hop, LL. I went to an Alicia Keys concert once and she was wearing basically this exact thing." And then Kenley totally blames the outfit's ridiculousness on Leanne (who, granted, looks absurd, but who also did not ask to be dressed as the token African-American Pussycat Doll).

Anyway, Kenley's inherent whiteness gets her in the bottom two with Suede, who is punished for making Jerrell (and his penis) look pretty normal. Suede finally goes home, and Kenley survives for another week, giving me more time to hone my impression ... and plan my Halloween costume (mwahahaha).

Yawn. Okay, on to last week's epsiode, which I watched thanks to JetBlue's wonderful in-flight DirectTV (I also watched like four episodes of Tim Gunn's Guide to Style and three of the Rachel Zoe Project. I am so Bravo's bitch.)

Anyway, it's the last episode before Fashion Week, which always means evening dress. The designers are unleashed at the NY Botanical Garden, where they met with a L'oréal Paris makeup consultant for no reason and take out-of-focus pictures with product-placements cameras.

Leanne becomes enamored with a lavender plant; Korto likes something that looks kind of like a Bomb Pop and is orange; Jerrell likes purple and pink (duhvs); and Kenley likes some scaly shit that looks like poison ivy (of course).

Off to Mood, where the designers pick their fabric, and Kenley has, like, a 'gasm when she finds some scaly-looking magenta disaster. When, at the end of the show, she whines, "I wasn't going for elegant, Heidi," you can look back to this moment and know that bitch don't lie.

Back at Parson's, Kenley realizes that she forgot her tulle, which provided me with new fodder for my Kenley impression ("WHERE'S MY TUUUULLLLE?") All of the other designers basically openly hate her now and spend most of the episode laughing at her. Heh. Sadly for us, Kenley is allowed to go back and get her tulle, and during her pilgrimage to Mood we learn that she has had a hard life because her father was a tugboat captain. Is that a euphemism for male prostitute? Because if not, that sounds like an awesome childhood. Toot toot!

The half-done dresses pretty much look assy across the board: Jerrell's is kind of unfinished and messy; Korto's looks like a pageant dress and incorporates some truly heinous beige lace; Leanne's has the cheap, satin-y lavender look of a mid-90s Jessica McClintock prom dress; and Kenley's has a mermaid tail made out of puffy scales.

Runway! Only three will show at Bryant Park. Wait, what about one being OUT? You can totally tell that they are about to change the rules.

JERRELL

I don't hate this dress, but it looks too short on both ends. It feels like her boobs should be up higher, no? And the colors are just this side of tacky. The only saving grace for Jerrell is that his is the least ugly of all of the dresses. Yes, you heard me right. Scroll down at our own risk.

KORTO

I'm sorry, I'm sorry. What I initially identified as a Bomb Pop is obviously a Creamsicle. And Korto, remember, as Miss Tyra says, shiny fabric is not your friend. Preach.

LEANNE

This bodice is 1996 Jessica McClintock. I know because I wore it to my junior prom! So stop fronting, Leanne! The jersey skirt and ruching detail I feel kind of meh about. And in the back, Leanne for no apparent reason stuck a bolt of blue fabric. You can't see it, but it's not pretty.

KENLEY

What did I tell you??? The girl was not going for elegant. She's going for Tight N' Dowdy, which I just decided shall be the name of my discount chain store.

At elimination, Kenley gets all defensive and bitchy with the judges, especially after the other three designers wax poetic about how much she sucks (to their credit, they were asked). Jerrell wins the challenge, but Heidi basically tells him he was just the prettiest ugly girl, and Leanne is safe. But no one gets to leave the runway, and without even trying to fake us out, Heidi announces that everyone is going home to create a collection, and no one will get kicked off until they get back to New York. Sigh. This to me seems to indicate that Kenley is going to make it to the final three, at least to keep people watching, Because how interesting is it to watch three people who love each other compete? Of course, it could also mean that Kenley is forced to work really hard on a collection only to have her dreams dashed right before Fashion Week which would be AWESOME.

Tug on that, bitch.

(Oooh, I am testy today! Imagine what my drunken liveblogging of the debate will be like!)
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Babies Can Smell Fearmongering

Like an adrenaline shot to the uterus, here is an entire website devoted to pictures of Obama holding babies. My mom sent it to me (in the interest of full disclosure, she herself is a devoted baby holder—see below).


Anyway, I know that baby-holding is saccahrine and mushy and has nothing to do with the fact that we will all be elbowing Joe Six Pack on a bread line soon, but I need something to calm me down before I scream at watch the debate tonight.

Also, presented without commentary:



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