Prince Precise

You're going to give me your money...

2006-11-02T15:56:00.000-05:00

I'm sure this irony has struck many, many before me, but anyway:

Heather Mills doesn't still need him, she doesn't still feed him, now he's sixty-four...

On a less corny note, the £1 billion they're battling over equals U.S. $1.9077 billion. She alleges Sir Paul was violent during their marriage—a side of him I think we've all seen in the forty-three-minute ending of Hey Jude.

Shaka, brah!

2006-10-17T19:05:00.000-04:00

I'm in the middle of my third try reading The Brothers Karamazov, a book I used to think I'd never be ready for. As Kate can testify, I'm plenty bright (for that matter, I also do a heckuva job), but I could never get into the prose. Then one day, last November, this New Yorker article came along and changed everything.

Let's hear it for Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky, who made Bros. K-zov a hell of a lot easier to read. The Times London phrased this more elegantly, saying the translation is nothing less than "a miracle ... Every page of the new Karamazov [is] a permanent standard, and an inspiration."

To give you some idea, here's a sample toward the beginning:

“But why are you trembling? Let me tell you why. Your Dmitri may be honest (he is stupid, but honest) but he’s sensual. That’s the definition and inner essence of him. It’s your father who handed him on his low sensuality. Do you know, I wonder at you, Alyosha, how you can have kept your purity. You’re a Karamazov too, you know! In your family sensuality is carried to a disease. But now, these three sensualists are watching one another, with their knives in their belts. The three of them are knocking their heads together, and you may be the fourth.”

The newer, sexier translation goes like this:

“And why are you shaking all over? I’ll tell you one thing: granted he’s an honest man, Mitenka, I mean (he’s stupid but honest), still he’s a sensualist. That is his definition, and his whole inner essence. It’s his father who gave him his base sensuality. I’m really surprised at you, Alyosha: how can you be a virgin? You’re a Karamazov, too! In your family sensuality is carried to the point of fever. So these three sensualists are now eyeing each other with knives in their boots. The three of them are at loggerheads, and maybe you’re the fourth.”

This really makes a difference over 700-800 pages, and don't let anyone else tell you different. (In Mr. Jealousy, by the way, one of Dashiell's short stories is called The Sensualist. My theory: half coincidence, half conspiracy.)

Prince Precise: Bicoastal and Bipolar

2006-08-28T01:40:00.000-04:00

As much as we at Prince Precise hate context, relevance, timeliness—the list goes on and on—it's worth mentioning that the Minneapolis half of this blog lives in Washington now, while the Washington half continues to live in Washington.

This no doubt confuses you. To clarify: I upped and moved it to Seattle. And it's

e x c i t i n g !

So exciting. Less than a week in, I can tell you that the music listings are much more absorbing than the classifieds, and the novel 8 oz. latte can stretch just as much time as a 12 oz. There is also, how do you say, aqua.

Our one and only Kate (who, if you bother to keep track, which I am, has not posted since February 1*) continues her adventures in the Nation's Capital... But did I mention I live in Seattle now? The top picture is the skyline view from my window.

One last note:

If you find yourself eating a continental breakfast at the EconoLodge in Miles City, Montana, pay this autographed picture of Barry Corbin, aka Our Main Man Maurice, a visit.

*Isn't it funny how a newer Woody Allen film has come out since she last posted about the new Woody Allen film? Oh, I think it is.

Grace Under Fire

2006-06-29T23:29:00.000-04:00

As William Goldman was driving to Beverly Hills with his young daughters some 40 years ago, he asked what they wanted to hear a story about. One replied "princesses," while the other said, "brides." This is how Faces of Death was born.

OK, it was The Princess Bride.

Anyway, today I began rooting around his many, many works to learn more about the book (and movie), and have already found reams of plain hilarious Goldman narrative. Screenplay, novel, personal essay, anything—it's seriously hilarious. Example: An inconceivably funny moment during Bride's filming.

The worst thing I've ever done was on The Princess Bride. During the swamp sequence.
For those of you who don't know, and how dare you not, Buttercup and Westley are being pursued by her fiance, Prince Humperdinck. They are forced to go through the Fire Swamp, not easy—no one has ever come out of it alive.

One of the dangers of the Fire Swamp is the flame spurts.

These unexpected streaks of flame happen there and when I wrote the novel, well, Buttercup and Westley are making their way through the place, and suddenly flames—her dress is on fire.

Westley saves her.

In all the endless screenplay versions, same deal. Buttercup and Westley are making their way through the place, and suddenly flames—her dress is on fire.

Okay. Pinewood Studios. The glorious Norman Garwood Fire Swamp set. This is my dream come true, watching this baby happen, and you can bet I am tense, but for me, kind of almost happy.

Okay. Roll of drums please.

Rob Reiner says "Action" and now here comes Cary Elwes as Westley leading my beloved Robin Wright as Buttercup into the Fire Swamp and they are making their way through the place—

—and suddenly flames—

—and I scream out loud, "Her dress is on fire!"

Whasssuuup?

2006-05-16T00:55:00.000-04:00

Yoni Wolf may have wordlessly, heartlessly dismissed my friendship proposal on MySpace (he's tallied at 1,205 friends in case you're wondering), but this YouTube gem makes me feel just like one of the homeboys.

Setting: The North Hollywood Police Station
Time of Day: Afterschool
Country: America
Year: 2003

The song is only 1:19, but it's my personal theory that they defied time and space (which, afterall, are very East Coast) to physically make this video in 17 seconds' time.

She was obnoxious, anyway

2006-04-15T19:58:00.000-04:00

Here's a picture of the most beloved Doseone. When a tiny, dreadlocked young woman climbs on stage, prepares to dive, and allofasudden hesitates, he steps forward and gently pushes her off with his right foot.

Something blue

2006-03-10T16:57:00.000-05:00

I just couldn't help it; this is too funny.

Above the subtext

2006-03-06T14:42:00.000-05:00

In case you're still recovering from last night's Oscars, cheer yourself up with this nifty Whit Stillman interview. So witty, so mannered, he's my second-favorite writer/director, often credited with influencing Noah Baumbach and Wes Anderson. And here's one of my favorite Stillman exchanges:

Chris Eigeman: Plays, novels, songs, all have a subtext ... which I take to mean a hidden message or import of some kind. Subtext, we know. But what do you call the message or meaning ... that's on the surface, open and obvious? They never talk about that. What do you call what's above the subtext?

Taylor Nichols: The text.

CE (pauses): That's right. But they never talk about that.

I'm just saying...

2006-02-08T16:13:00.000-05:00

To preface my counterpoint, I'd like to say that I'm not about to trash talk my favorite director. In my book Woody Allen is the most (sm)artful, hilarious, and original writer/director ever, and there aren't enough hyperboles in the universe to express my admiration for the guy. He's terrific.

That said, I thought Match Point was pretty good, but not that great.

Tiny irony (Kate) makes some good points about the film's drama and moral ambiguity; the plot gives you a lot to chew on. The importance of luck is visited and re-re-re-visted, plus that whole question, "Can a man live with killing the nutso mistress who threatened his successful—if a little dull—life?," and the movie does a fine job of playing this out.

But let's think back to 1989, to Allen's comedy/drama Crimes and Misdemeanors. In spite of the humorous Woody Allen-Alan Alda subplot, Martin Landau finds himself in a situation with the bewitching and possibly insane Anjelica Huston. She threatens to tell his wife about it and ruin his career. Conflicted, Landau visits his shady-seeming brother Jerry Orbach, who has fantastick hit-man connections. And soon, we ask ourselves: "Can a man live with killing the nutso mistress who threatened his successful—if a little dull—life?"

Of course there are differences, too. If they did film a sexy cornfield love-making scene of Landau and Huston, who were 58 and 38 at the time, somehow it ended up on the cutting room floor. And maybe we're better for that. Landau's Judah Rosenthal isn't as dashing and cocksure as Jonathan Rhys-Meyers' Chris Wilton; one has an extramarital affair with Delores Paley while the other bangs Nola Rice.

Landau doesn't get to shoot the insufferable Lady Tippins from Our Mutual Friend with a shotgun.

And there's Scarlett Johansson, but I'm not that into her. Christina Ricci* played a much better crack/sexpot aspiring actress in Anything Else.

I'll admit there's a lot to like about Match Point: It keeps a good pace without skimping on substance, and the supporting cast members make it believable. The props, music, and costumes aren't as overdone as Melinda and Melinda's were. It shows an upswing, but to me it's a revision; I still hope The Squid and the Whale takes the screenplay Oscar.

And to those who've actually read this far, hats off to you.

*who did a great job in the "Code Black" episode of Grey's Anatomy on Sunday night (who saw it? Hands up!)

Game, set...

2006-02-01T20:49:00.000-05:00

I recently saw Match Point, and I was so enthralled by it, I thought about the characters for three straight days after seeing it. If you like drama, sex, moral ambiguity, and hot people, I honestly can't think of a more edifying way to spend two hours of your life than seeing this movie.

Now, for those of you who don't know, Edie is a DIE-HARD WOODY ALLEN FAN, so you might think she'd rave about this picture. Ha! The only thing Edie likes more than Woody Allen is disagreeing with me!

So I'm teeing it up for her: Even though I saw it in January, this was the best movie I saw all last year.

Frankly, although the indie flick "Hawaii, Oslo" was pretty good too, in addition to being hip and foreign, it regrettably did not have enough sex to top my list.

Say it Ain't So

2006-01-31T15:28:00.000-05:00

A sad piece of celebrity gossip: Did anyone else know that Natasha Lyonne, one of my favorite young actresses, has "fallen on hard times"? She is so better than that.

Maybe she'll come to Minnesota for treatment (when all's said and done, "We treatment you right!" should really be our state motto instead of the simply sleep "L'Etoile du Nord").

Loop de loop

2006-01-23T22:36:00.000-05:00

On a snowy, maroon-tinged night several weeks ago, my amica Jess and I bused all the way to St. Paul just to see local act Mute Era. A little for the trip—a 35-minute ride on the 16 is an experience in itself—but mostly for the dance session. Fierce and faultless, this band's songs build layer upon howling layer and set it all against the brashest, most catchiest beats you could jerk your body to. It's also worth mentioning that the members are a husband-wife duo and look incredibly cool.

Soon we were standing next to the stage, waiting, waiting, waiting, when suddenly:

"Is that Enya?"

And behold: a group I like even better.

For a few weeks I thought their name was Knife World, until I discovered with Sarah and Mark that Knife World is a pretty awful group that doesn't use any samples, let alone samples reminiscent of Enya. But Haunted House, the band I'd meant, is pretty great. In tribute, here's the Milkshake tapestry they include on their profile.

Winning Connect Four in three moves...

2006-01-20T01:03:00.000-05:00

I'm sure that all of you are familiar with Chuck Norris' many feats—they're compiled and illustrated here. Sure, he counts to infinity twice and defeats brick walls at tennis, but we discover his best trait on his own website:

"Being more a student of the Wild West than the wild world of the Internet, I'm not quite sure what to make of (these declarations). It's quite surprising. I do know that boys will be boys, and I neither take offense nor take these things too seriously."

What a sense of humor—the man has balls of steel!

Of course, I care less about Chuck Norris the pop culture icon and more about Chuck Norris the man, who has the occasional case of laryngitis, and maybe a canker sore after he gets his period a week and a half early. Or whatever. So what does he do when his body just won't "maintain the highest level of fitness and health"? Sounds like an...

Emer'gen-C!

That's right, he takes this power cocktail of 32 mineral complexes and B vitamins (plus electrolytes) to stay "in peak condition." And he's not the only one. According to Sly Stallone's celebrity testimonial, he thought he was going to die until he started taking a packet of Emer'gen-C every 45 minutes to an hour. Which, by the way, is way too much. (Can't you see him emptying a packet into the bathtub?)

Anyway, less than a week into my daily Super Energy Booster! regimen, I already feel great—at least, the sore throat's better. I'm still debating whether to keep on with the packet a day, because at $10 a box, this ain't the cheapest vitamin fix. (And some would argue I could achieve this naturally, through that "healthy diet" of lore.) But if I want to kick it up, there are still other options. My boss told me that she likes to mix Emer'gen-C with Airborne (Created by a second grade school teacher!). Will this lead me to "harder" vitamin powders? Hmmm. We do have three more months of winter...

The Avatar

2005-11-25T21:44:00.000-05:00

In Yahoo! mail's ongoing effort to baby me ("Welcome, EDIE!"; "Why not map YOUR CYCLE on our calendar?"; "This article about CANIBALISTIC SLAVONIANS made us think of you, babes!"), it now shows an unsettling silhouette

next to my unread messages folder. FIRST, I'd like to dispel the rumor that I'm from Fraggle Rock—please, let's not mix me up with Kate again. Even worse, the picture's anonymity makes me look like some Fraggle Rock narc (again, see the last sentence).

They call this new feature "Your Avatar goes here!"; it lets you pick a sassy caricature to reflect your Yahoo! identity. To pay full respect to your Yahoo! individuality, they offer five different skin tones, six pages of apparel, and five moods (happy, excited, sad, angry, special) respectively tailored to your life's twists and turns. Example:

"What if I'm wearing my cheerleader's outfit, or a Jeep Grand Cherokee shirt?"
(pause)
"Aha."

It even allows contradictions: Somehow, you can wear your Jeep shirt and not be special; the raincoat oufit doesn't necessarily make you sad. And in case you wish to accurately communicate the time of day you spend at the stadium, they offer both the daytime and nighttime stadium backgrounds.

So where does that leave me and my unread messages folder?

I decided to paste my babyface on the Paula Poundstone-inspired Avatar who is quite obviously a badass. She doesn't know what your bitchface is looking at in front of the stadium when it's visibly dark outside. She's like, "Get lost so I can smoke that hop I bought at the Zemblan jewelry market!"

If anyone has a problem with that, pay my turf* a visit.

*The stadium, at night

Laugh along with me

2005-10-09T21:35:00.000-04:00

to the funniest cartoon I've seen this week. Also, you'll note, available in tote bag form.

Thanks to the d-reg for the foray into this delightful madness.

Everybody feel it...

2005-10-07T00:30:00.000-04:00

...it's Felix's birthday!

For years and years I've been waiting to see Noah Baumbach's "The Squid and the Whale," so I'm delighted to announce that it opened in NYC yesterday and is getting some really goddamned good reviews.* It will even play in the Midwest someday. But before you get caught up in the Anderson associations, the critical praise, and Baumbach's marriage to Jennifer Jason Leigh, remember the old times. Remember Eric Stoltz's muppet walk in "Mr. Jealousy" and the "Everybody feel it" song in "Highball." Consider how "Kicking and Screaming" stars Kevin Arnold's older sister and an "I'd rather be bowhunting" bumpersticker. And treasure it all.

Repartee comedies will never die, bitches!

*btw I refuse to link to the NYT site because of TimesSelect

Kugel!

2005-10-02T19:28:00.000-04:00

In honor of the High Holidays coming up, and in spite of the fact that I am not Jewish, I will say a few things on the subject of kugel.

FACT: Kugel is delicious.

Basically, to a Midwestern Catholic girl such as myself, kugel is a brilliantly imagined hotdish. I find it boggling that I reached the age of 23 before tasting it. If anyone can appreciate a starchy casserole creation, it's tiny irony.

FACT: Kugel is versatile.

One can make many kinds of kugel, as is so well pointed out in a somewhat rambling article by the New York Times. I have so far eaten a potato kugel, a carrot kugel, a non-dairy savory noodle kugel with mushroom, a non-dairy sweet noodle kugel with dried cranberries, and a very-dairy sweet noodle kugel. And yet there must be thousands of kugels I have not yet imagined.

Not to totally change the subject, but I saw America's Test Kitchen the other day, and they made spinach dip without any cream cheese! Does anyone else think that just combining sour cream and mayonnaise cannot possibly give you the necessary creaminess? Come on!

FACT: Kugel can be very rich.

And so it is best that kugel is not enjoyed every day. For what if kugel lost its charm?

Cute Bomb

2005-09-27T21:53:00.000-04:00

Duffy, my littlest one.

Root root root for the home team

2005-09-19T01:15:00.000-04:00

disclaimers: none!

1. The Go-Go's: Head Over Heels
2. Hymie's Basement: "21st Century Pop Song"
3. Devotchka: "Whiskey Breath"
4. The New Pornographers: "To Wild Homes"
5. Low: "Murderer"

The legal kind of tagging

2005-09-01T20:26:00.000-04:00

Having been song-tagged by Mlle. Asymptosy, I feel compelled to respond. I feel also very part of the blogosphere, incidentally.

Here's the deal: List ten songs you currently are obsessing over -- any genre, any format, etc. If you have a blog, do it there; if you don't, do it here. Then tag five people and get them to do it too. Since Edie is the better half of this blog (and way more musically savvy than me), I'll invite her to do half of this list. Then we'll decide who to tag! (Hint: If we have five people we know, it'll be a miracle.)

1. Kate Earl: "Officer"
2. Sufjan Stevens: "Chicago"
3. Postal Service: "Natural Anthem"
4. Liz Phair: "Rocket Boy"
5. Kanye West: "Gold Digger"

I never said I was cool, bitchez. Welcome to Fall!

2005-08-05T02:35:00.000-04:00

Do you ever think you recognize someone, then realize that person looks exactly like a character from Guess Who? I wonder whether any of the faces are friends/enemies of the game's makers. That would be the best claim to fame ever. "You know the bald guy with the orange beard? Yeah, well he fathered my children. Suck on that!"

To think of it, I still use a lot of the deduction tricks Guess Who teaches... But let's not elaborate on this. If someone were guessing my illustration, it would probably start out, "Does she have one of those noses... Um, you know?" Or Kate: "Does she have this amazing curly black-Irish hair, like Helena Bonham-Carter in 'A Room with a View,' but more real and urban-looking?" And you could even add "purple" if you wanted :^D.

Burger bliss

2005-06-22T17:37:00.000-04:00

What could be better than a White Manna burger? Not much, but...

Yesterday I went to lunch with my new coworkers and ate a $12 burger. It was at this eerily warm-colored place called Circle Bistro, which was flush with businessy types as well as ordinary folks.

This burger was a serious deal. Called "Steak Hache" (pronounced Ah-shay)(I think), it was made of Black Angus beef and was topped with herb mayonnaise, roasted tomatoes, lettuce and farmhouse cheese (whatever that is). And served avec frites.

It was also hilarious because (a) my coworkers, all ladies, each ordered a delicate and healthy fish entree, and (b) I looked ridiculous trying to fit the whole thing in my mouth. Emily Post (whose new business etiquette book I was just reading at Borders) would not have approved. Not classy.

But it was so good, it did not matter at all. Plus every once in a while you have to break away a little bit. Washington's a little conservative, even for me, so that's really what it was all about. Eating the best burger of my life (no offense to the Hackensack original, which I also adore), and pretending to stick it to the man (or wo-man) at the same time - I could definitely get used to this.

Screw Don Henley!

2005-06-14T19:12:00.000-04:00

As unsettled as I feel about MJ's acquittal, I can't say it surprised me. I mean, c'mon. A recent New York Times headline says he faces "a daunting road back to pop glory." Ah, the battles we have to fight. Can you imagine what deliberations must have been like for The Pop Culture Icon?

Juror #1: So looking at this transcript, I noticed that... Hey, did anyone think of that one video when he walked in?
Juror #2: Oh my god, yes! I almost felt like the floor was going to light up. But who was that trenchcoat guy?
Juror #3: In the courtroom, or in the video?
Juror #2: Oh (small laugh), in the video. You know how it's like "buh," and then it lights—
Juror #3: I've wondered that, too! There should be, like, a winding staircase in the courtroom. No, seriously, I was thinking about "The Jacksons" — remember how Washington from "Welcome Back Kotter" played his dad?
Juror #1: That was tiiiight. It would be funny if the guards were escorting him out, and he just, like, vanished, like in that video...

You know what really offends me? "Sales of Mr. Jackson's albums have dwindled since the explosive success of 1982's 'Thriller,' which at 26 million copies is the second-biggest-selling record in United States history, behind a greatest hits album by the Eagles." wtf? It reminds me of a "CITIZENS AGAINST DON HENLEY" bumpersticker I once admired. Good stuff.

Stay gold, Ponyboy!

2005-06-05T21:31:00.000-04:00

It was certainly a week of transitions in the world of tiny irony. And whenever there is change and upheaval in my life, I always go back to "The Outsiders," one of the first novels I ever loved. Nothing gold can stay? Pah! Ponyboy will hold on to what was good in his life, his open-eyed view of the beautiful world, even as he changes and the world around him shifts. That's a fuckin' role model. Thanks, S.E. Hinton!

Anyway, first of all, yours truly finally found a full-time job, nearly a year after graduating from a small liberal arts college with a gleam in her eye and the confidence only ignorance can bring about the working world. But this job is neat – it’s for a teensy little nonprofit that does great work, and I get to be their administrative assistant. It’s probably good we don’t say secretary anymore – my ego needs constant coddling, and I usually like to imagine titles for myself like “Full Professor,” “Pulitzer Prize Winner,” or “Senior Counsel to the President.” But it’s funny: for the first time in probably my whole life, I want to go to work tomorrow morning. Since it is such a small office, I’m learning a lot so far about how everyone's job works, and I get to speak to people on the phone who like what we’re doing. I’m a pragmatist – I realize this may not last, especially if the filing part of my job balloons out of control, but I’m enjoying it while it does.

In other news, our house is losing the esteemed hot doorknobs, whom everyone adores but I suspect deserves even more praise and affection than we give him. We do make fun of him for his incessant abbreviations of perfectly normal words like “totally,” and his lackadaisical showering schedule, and his George Foreman burger lunches, but I’m not totes sure how we’ll exist in the 5334 numberless house without his presence. To the guy who gave me a 10 lb. bag of coffee, no more than two weeks into our living in the same house, for accepting that it was really *he* and my boyfriend who were soulmates, bon voyage a NYC with all the good wishes in the world.

And finally, *fuck* it gets hot in DC. Today was so muggy, I wanted to lay over and die. And it’s not even technically summer yet. I think a lot of my free time from now on is going to be split between panting like a Labrador retriever and figuring out how suited people in this town appear so sweat-free. Because I am so not cute in the summer, pink-faced and heaving, let alone professional, and I want these Beltway insiders’ secrets. Perhaps frozen underwear? One can only speculate wildly and irresponsibly.

Holy Crap!

2005-05-24T21:53:00.000-04:00

"The Adventures of Pete & Pete" has hit dvd! As I have no employment at all, the timing couldn't be better. The problem: Chapelle Show season II's also coming out... Lord, don't make me choose!

Watching "Singles" today I found the best cameo appearance ever. Remember the making-out couple on Campbell Scott and Kyra Sedgwick's first date? The man panting and smooching with an almost serene expression is none other than Paul Giametti. Note how, even then, his performance went unacknowledged by the Academy Awards in 1992. (Though I guess at that time he was more of an extra than a cameo.)

It's sad how I've begun to identify with the characters from that movie. Bridget Fonda: "Remember how old 23 seemed when you were little?... I think time's running out to do something bizarre. Somewhere around 25, 'bizarre' becomes 'immature.' " Though I'm not yet 23 (thank God), I can imagine what she's talking about. I hear you, Bridget. Or Debbie and her earrings? *Totally* me. Though, Kyra Sedgwick's still a stretch (it's either her marriage to Kevin Bacon or involvement in the movie "Phenomenon"). Even Eric Stoltz's mime screams out, "U of MN alumna unemployed in Minneapolis!"

With all respect to Cameron Crowe's bravura, it's hard for me to stomach the film's happy ending. The Seattle Tourism Department probably slipped him a cool $100 to take out that climactic Mount St. Helens catastrophe scene. Back to the movie...

Partay

2005-05-14T15:33:00.000-04:00

My last day of college.

Typing From the Swill

2005-04-14T23:32:00.000-04:00

It doesn't look like Kato Katin' is going to post, so... Here's more Eto!

Graduation's coming up, but first, two show-stopping papers. The first will be on the typewriter's evolution from 1870 to 1900.

"Wow! That isn't funny, or interesting."
Tell me about it!

A lot of my sources are these cute older books that laud the typewriter for giving women a role in the workplace (read: "Type this up pronto, biiiotch!"). Here's a quote from Bruce Bliven's 1954 Wonderful Writing Machine:

"Women are not wholly unresponsive to the charms of mere machinery. Some of them, meeting in the supermarket, discuss electric washing machines in the most extravagant terms of praise."

It's like Bliven read my diary -- not this fake online diary that Kate doesn't care about even though she created it, but my real, deepest-darkest-thoughts-on-appliances diary. How often, sitting in a cafe or walking through a Whole Foods, do my eyes meet another woman's and I feel this aching need to whimper about how much I miss my magnificent old dishwasher? *sigh*

The second paper is soulless, but exciting. You see the subject, how library search technology's improved since 1990, on practically every street corner -- needless to say, this is just an excuse to write something sexy. Maybe I'll unleash a reference from the American Association of Law Libraries; who knows? I'll just go where the library search technology takes me.

Not much else to write, other than that I'll be unemployed starting May 5. But I'm going to a show this weekend, so who cares?!

2005-03-02T22:42:00.000-05:00

Papers due today: 2
Papers turned in today: 0

It's always a pleasure to quantify laziness. Yep.

The truth comes out

2005-02-26T12:32:00.000-05:00

"...he favors a pronunciation primer of, 'Shea as in Stadium, Bon as in Jovi.' "

French women don't have tact.

2005-02-19T00:17:00.000-05:00

What to write? I'll detail some of this last week.

Good:
- Receiving Sees chocolates from my dad (I've linked in case you feel like sending me more)
- Picking up lots of holds from the public library (milk it, folks!)
- Seeing Low, Cowboy Curtis and the Olympic Hopefuls

I finished the pound of chocolates in two or three days; I haven't figured out how many Led Zeppelin tracks this equals. Happy Valentine's Day!

Low's performance was rockin', but the show was just OK. Lots of kiddies talking ('twas all-ages) doesn't add much to Sparhawk and Parker's harmonies. Also, I wasn't that impressed by Pedro the Lion. Am I missing something?

Bad:
- Finding out Thursday morning that Michael Chabon had appeared in St. Paul on WEDNESDAY NIGHT. Honestly, I still don't know how to pronounce the man's last name. Kate, gimme some help here...
- Learning Thursday that I had $20 in University library fines. I've been out of it lately.

Neither here nor there:
- On Wednesday in career planning we examined our Strong Interest Inventory test results. According to mine, my highest themes are:
1. Visual Arts & Design
2. Writing & Mass Communication
3. Culinary Arts ( a curveball!)
4. Office Management
5. Programming & Information Systems

The results also said that my interests are generally the same as female librarians' (68/70, as opposed to 22/70 for medical illustrators').

Basically, the results are calling me a tool. I found it disheartening that "Really cool person who like hangs around and wants to write or do writing-type stuff" wasn't in my top-5 list.

Dialogue snippet of the week:
Eden: Don't you see, we're like good copy editor /bad copy editor.
Vlad: What?
Eden: You know... like good cop/bad cop...?
Vlad: OK. I'm going to turn around and read now.

Purple Haze

2005-02-11T19:59:00.000-05:00

I was just reminiscing today about the days when I didn't have to dress up in a black suit and high heels for interviews. My Manic Panic days were terrific. I was especially lucky because I had an experienced hair-colorist (the freshman on my floor!) dye my hair, and he even put lowlights of grape purple in with the violet color. I felt like a total goddess. At this same time, my friend Jonathan (who took this photo) had blue hair and my boyfriend Jon had magenta-red hair, so it was easy finding someone to sit with in the dining hall - we all looked like Trix! Even my mom liked it.

I miss those days, folks. Maybe when I'm eighty and gone totally gray I'll do it again. *That'll* shock the home.

Lent!

2005-02-09T10:32:00.001-05:00

Ladies and gentlemen, it's time again for that tantalizing Christian season of self-reflection, discipline, and good works that is Lent. Now, I'm the kind of person who grew up Catholic and, although I increasingly reject the stringent and often discriminatory teachings of the Church, I just can't let go of the ritual. The "fire and brimstone," if you're Eddie Izzard.

So I like Lent. I go for it. I usually spring for a two-part system - one resolution to be a better human being, and one material restriction to remind myself not to be so indulgent. This year, per the first part, I'm going to try to be more generous: a little less judgmental, a little more willing to share my time and money and self. Hey, think of the bonuses possible if you come to happy hour with me. Ask for some of my onion rings! I'll hand 'em over! Along with my brewski, actually, because for the second part I'm foregoing alcohol for the forty days and forty nights.

That thud you just heard, by the way, was Eden falling to the ground in shock, because she's pretty sure I'm an alcoholic. Which I'm not, but I do enjoy a beer every now and again. I blame it on an Irish upbringing. So now, after a difficult day, I'm going to have to go home and ease into the evening with... friendly conversation. Or, God forbid, a refreshing glass of lemonade.

As Richard Russo's narrator said in Straight Man, "We do not want what is good for us."

That's why we need religion. Or a swift kick in the butt.

2005-02-03T23:33:00.000-05:00

Eden dances merrily around the apartment Wednesday afternoon, singing, "I don't have to work tomorrow night! No work! Yeah-heah!" Bennett sticks his head out the door. "I wish my standards were as low as yours. Then I'd be happy all the time!" Eden nods enthusiastically, then continues singing.

It's the end of the school week, and what better way to celebrate then... post on your blog and teethe on saltines? Today's high was something like 46, so it's pretty hard to complain about anything. To do the weather justice, this morning I decided to take an hour-long walk, forgetting that I'd be walking to, from and to class again. But how many miles did I walk exactly?

A researcher in 2025 will read that sentence and jot down,
"Another obvious plea for pedometer sneakers."

The problem with walking around here is that there's no place to just happen by. I try to stay away from campus when I can, but a lot of the surrounding areas are grimy and industrial-looking. Yuuuuck! Sometimes I walk to a co-op that's a half-hour away, but it's getting old -- psyching yourself for the opportunity to buy organic produce feels kind of pathetic. Which reminds me, Valentine's Day is coming up. Expect a really long, indecipherable post that night.

And some really funny chase stories! But no promises. :^D

I'm going to do something else now, but take care, Kate & Co.

p.s. On copy editing: Last night I discovered that boss-man doesn't use instant messenger because he can't handle peoples' bad grammar. Holy shit!

Copy Editors of the World, Unite!

2005-01-26T20:05:00.000-05:00

Edie and I are crying inside, but as usual the Onion says it best...

2005-01-25T03:22:00.000-05:00

Self-exploration is important. At 1 a.m., for example, I learned that I can eat 7/10 of a pineapple pizza in the time span of two Led Zeppelin live tracks.

Earlier this evening, I found out I'm capable of screwing up the same "humor" column twice within three news days... and not really caring! You see, the boss-man only lets us use acronyms in rare circumstances, so during a quick read Wednesday night I changed an "NEA grant" to a "National Education Association grant." I soon learned this was wrong, though really, either group would have worked in that context.

"That’s what happens when people don’t read books. No cultural literacy. It’s sad, really."

Though Network (the column's anonymous writer) unknowingly wrote this about me, I think it's hilarious, and not in a sarcastic way. I hold my head high as the portrait of cultural illiteracy. Everyone has smart friends, big deal. When my buddies talk about me, I want them to shake their heads and whisper, "She's what happens when you don't read books. She's culturally retarded!" And, so overcome by the sadness, suddenly cry out sadly, "It's sad, really!"

And then faint.

When I first read this I had the urge to run up to Network, shove a book in his face and shout, "UH! See, I carry books! I know how to read! Huh?! Look at this!" But rifling through my backpack, I could only find the January issue of Harper's Bazaar. I half wish I could have taken a Bible out, looked him in the eye, and said, "I have the one book that's worth reading."

Big deal is what I say. The Great Destroyer's coming out, and I have flashy new sneakers that I'll be able to wear outside in a couple months. Someday I'll learn how to post a picture of them, but my new-found role has responsibilities. It's sad, really. :^D

Even though it's only been a week...

2005-01-17T15:30:00.000-05:00

Things my life in DC has been missing since my housemate Alex has been gone.

1. Weboggle.

2. Crazy crunk dancing with swinging arms and dangerous lunging about.

3. The delicious smell of George Foreman grill burgers.

4. Anyone calling someone "an infant," or "not a grown man," as an insult.

5. Mash-ups and odd combinations of songs (J. Lo and Christmas music! You don't think it would be good, but it actually is!).

6. Someone just repeating, "Katz, Katz, stop it," when Jon argues just for the sake of arguing.

7. "Hey, you got a minute for the en-vi-ron-ment?"

8. Someone who knows the correct attire for both slangin' and bangin'.

9. My being called "son," even though I'm a 23-year-old woman.

10. Scottish food.

Hope Portland's rocking your socks, Alex.

Gaff.= Laugh

2005-01-13T13:34:00.000-05:00

Thanks to Edie, I just got a taste of Jim Gaffigan's comedy, and this guy is fucking hilarious. Do yourself a favor if he ever comes to town and go see him. Or, if you're lazy like me, visit his web site and browse the weirdness. Fans of the old squiggly show Dr. Katz might remember his appointment, when he talked about postcards and manatees.

Jim: "You could be a genius, but you try and write a postcard, it's like, 'This city's got big buildings, I like food, bye.'"
Dr. Katz: "Well, you don't have to write that postcard."

Speaking of which, can we get some speed on the Dr. Katz show moving to DVD? I feel strongly about this. I mean, Home Movies is on DVD, for God's sake. And, as HugMug from Slang Editorial points out, the first season wasn't even any good.

Zeppeleeen and potpourri

2005-01-11T22:27:00.001-05:00

George Oscar Bluth II

I've already quoted this too much, but I can't resist:

"I don't do tricks Michael, I do illusions! Tricks are what whores do for money..."

(camera zooms out, revealing a herd of children standing next to the two men)

"Or candy."

***

Could it be...?

D.C.'s predicted high for Thursday: 66
Minneapolis': 6

wtf?

***

"Funny" happens in threes!

Explaining why our journal isn't so much! ;^D

Ooooh, I'm kidding!

Jesus has a birthday, Jesus has a birthday...

2004-12-23T18:44:00.000-05:00

Gosh, this is working. Ah, bask in the technology!

In the gritty Midwest, finals are finished and Madison's remarkably warmer than Minneapolis. I visited Fair Trade Coffee on State Street today to catch a glimpse of Engel's barista crush, but didn't find her. I'm trying to cook up a scheme where he'll talk to her — that's reasonable, non? There isn't much else for me to do here, not that there is in Minneapolis, either. Maybe I'll document my efforts here, especially if Kateness helps.

I think end-of-the-year top-10 lists are hilarious. Why? Because I don't know anything about anything; I probably haven't even listened to 10 albums in the last year, let alone 10 new albums. Songs? I don't think so. Movies? Get real.

Don't worry, the freewrite's in progress, the list will happen.

Dang, I've run out of junk to type. Take care, and don't forget Christ's birthday!

Next, it's vacuuming in heels

2004-12-06T21:47:00.000-05:00

Now that I'm not *currently* a member of the workforce, my days have become a blur of '50's homemaking. Today, for example, I ventured out in the damp morning to buy two circular cake pans, in which I made buttermilk biscuits from scratch. And just because they were *amazing* doesn't mean it wasn't a little ridiculous. Props to Cook's Illustrated for the recipe - if only I lived in Boston so I could apply for an internship in America's Test Kitchen (trademark). Unfortunately, Jon reminds me that, while I was raised in a family of Irish cooks, he was raised by an outspoken feminist, so there is little appeal in my fixing a roast for him when he gets home from a long day at work. Even if he ate meat, that is.

So what is a girl to do but crochet another scarf?

One possibility is going out to (gasp!) get a cell phone. And, you know, join the human race. For a while, it seemed kind of cool to stay land-lined, to reject the blabbing of personal information in public places that seems to inevitably happen when you have a cell, but now it's not. Because my grandmother has a cell phone. It sits there on her counter, charging, laughing at me. Well, now I want in. Especially since phones now have cameras and camcorders and all this totally redundant BUT AWESOME stuff! To buck myself up, while I was home two weeks ago I watched my old "Daria" episodes I'd taped from TV. I think even the "misery chick" would have gotten a cellie long ago.

She's electric

2004-11-21T13:32:00.000-05:00

Meanwhile, in Minneapolis...

I went to "Jump start your job search!" on Thursday, a seminar teaching me about the wonders of internships and networking. Sobbing over thick, cream-colored sheets of resume paper, the only comfort I can gather comes from sabotaging Kate's blog (see this post).

Little did Kate know when she e-mailed me this journal's username and password (smooth move, by the way), I intend to use this information for posting entries. Ha! My cunning knows no bounds.

In other news, I sent a kate(insert Kate's last name)@fmmail.com an extremely silly e-mail describing an unsuccessful directory search. Sadly, mailerdemon never sent it back... which means a person at that address really did get that e-mail. Depending on how many times I screw up Kate's e-mail address, by the end of the year I might know five different women with the same name. What a hoot!

Back to researching the use of Oasis lyrics in cover letters...

p.s. Some of us aren't 5' 3" — some of us are just 5' 2 3/4" and we're fine with that.

Home again

2004-11-17T23:35:00.000-05:00

On this site we commemorate the great Prince Precise, lord of green pens (micro and fine) and hero of two chicks' first collaborative effort. Celebrating all unusual and good things, these two Dairyland girls will vent and chat, obviously with heavy import.

For example, on the Metro yesterday, I heard one of a crowd of out-of-town businessmen swearing profoundly at a man pushing past him on his way to the door. This was, believe it or not, the first time I've heard cursing on the trains in my four months here in the District of Columbia. And it came from an indignant man (blocking the doors, incidentally) who exclaimed proudly after the guilty man shuffled away, "I'm from Idaho!" For the first time in my life, I've been able to legitimately be annoyed by tourists. Or illegitimately. Usually I love the Metro - sleek, underground, plagued by the same delays and repairs I myself cause and need in my daily life. But there's something about hanging by one arm from the top pole (I'm 5'3", so literally just about hanging) and listening to self-amused suits crack wise and mouth off that made me want to bolt. I wanted to sternly say something to that florid-faced man about Metrettiquette, but I just managed a small scowl as I departed the car. Lord, I'm a pansy. Ah well.

More bitching wisdom to come. Adios.