Photo: This is the shoe section of Mariah Carey's gratuitous closet; I can only imagine how many rooms she has for her teeny-tiny whoreshorts and her itsy-bitsy hookertops. This is not the closet of my dreams, but at least it's organized (BY HER STAFF).
The word 'negro' was hurled at me in one of the comments I deleted; my neighbor and I laughed about that for a long time. Well, he was horrified at first, but then--in a moment of clarity--he said, "I guess you can't write about skull-fucking and how God is dead and expect a key to the city." I had to agree. That was probably one of the most insightful things he's ever said, but even so: negro?! RUDE. If you're going to be racist, at least be accurate about where I'm from. Samoan people are generally known for giving birth, playing football, and converting to Mormonism, so you can start with those juicy details and insult me with puissance from now on--instead of sounding like an uneducated honky with no working teeth.
Remember when I tried organizing my home, only to decide that arson might be more effective? Well, it's time to organize FOR REALS now. My parents are systematically doing their home, and the Esq's parents are cleaning out their garage after a hundred years, which is truly inspiring; getting rid of unnecessary *stuff* is so RELIEVING (see also: hard work and boring). I would just like to know where my socks are, or where my life is hiding. Allison, of www.simplifyorganization.com, is my professional motivator in this endeavor. She came over and had a pow-wow with my closets, getting me all pumped up to seize the moment and simplify my life--and then she left, leaving me to open a bag of Doritos and fall down a time warp on Facebook. Now I'm hitting it hard today, since it's a beautiful day out, and my apartment is too nice to look like utter shite.
It saddens me to say this; I never thought I would live to see this day. But Jon Stewart, America's most beloved Jew, has officially run out of jokes.
Thank you, Jon, for boring me to tears every single day since November 5, 2008. Two seconds after Barack Obama was elected into office, The Daily Show ran into a problem, and that problem was relevancy. It's easy to make fun of Dubya 'cause he's a rootin'-tootin', high-falutin', flaming ignoramus; it's harder for Jon to take on Obama, a candidate he personally championed. Yes, it's been fun watching the screamy religious news shows struggle for relevancy, but they weren't very relevant to begin with; I challenge anyone to convince me that Fox News is an actual news organization. I think Fox "News"--or shows like Bill O'Reilly--exist to keep your fear, faith, and ignorance fresh, and they're doing a great job. Look at all of the people out there, still flying the retarded flag of Sarah fucking Palin; if she was really that smart, she'd stay in Alaska AND DO HER JOB, proving to the people of our nation that she's ready to be a leader. She can't even lead her own frosty people, she's so busy promoting herself (and defending herself) in the media. I wouldn't like it if our Governor was always out of the state, doing her own personal media tour; I want a Governor who does, you know, gubernatorial-type things, and not just Vanity Fair.
Jon Stewart has touched on this a bit, but in the end, his jokes aren't that funny. His punchlines have fallen way short of what they were a year ago--he's losing his edge. Instead of watching a blisteringly-funny Jew, I'm seeing a sad Canadian clown. Where Stephen Colbert is smart and self-depracating, Jon Stewart is the king of dick and fart jokes. Where did all of the hilarious Daily Show correspondents go? Where are the funny women? What happened to the amazing guests and intellectual discourse? I remember when Lewis Black was a Wednesday regular, Stephen Colbert was a senior correspondent, Samantha Bee did perfect interviews; Steve Carrell, Rob Corddry, Ed Helms--all funny guys. Now they have the half-retarded girl from Flight of the Conchords, a square-jawed meathead, and a self-hating black dude who couldn't find 'funny' if it was dancing on his face. That's quite the line-up on a prime-time show that has won multiple Emmy's; no wonder it feels like I'm stuck in Amateur Hour.
I know Jon Stewart can still pull off a good show, but every time I've downloaded one, I'm severely disappointed. Stephen Colbert is poised to have the most relevant fake-news television show this year, since his character is a gun-toting, faith-having, foreign-fearing Republican; he'll be able to go where Jon Stewart cannot. Some of The Daily Show's skits have actually made us turn the show off, ten minutes in; so much of the writing is desperately un-funny, some of it downright embarrassing. I hope that they re-format or something, because I'm only going to give it so many chances--at some point, I won't go back. Not even for my favorite Jew.
It looks like a well-timed bomb--made of clothes, food wrappers, and dirty dishes--went off in my house. I'm determined to figure out the culprit of this mess, but should get my stuff out of the way first before pointing the finger at the Esq. I need to put clothes on and clean up a little before my friend gets here in two minutes (to help me wade through the mire), so enjoy this video while I am away:
I love Demetri Martin. He's the one who changed my views on competition: I don't compete now, I just buy trophies. Now I look good at everything.
Hard to forget when people keep making shockingly distasteful commemorative cakes about it. I have to admit, I laughed when I saw this photo--a nervous, oh-the-fucking-horror kind of giggle, the one I used upon hearing my first *good* 9/11 joke, which was seen on Arrested Development.
Photo: This photo ganked from Smitten Kitchen; my cakes didn't fall in the oven, but her photos turned out better. Hrmf.
David Beckham* demands, almost on a daily basis, that I bake him delicious treats; he would also like to find the bottom of a whiskey barrel, but that isn't good for his eye-blisteringly hot body. So today, I found the perfect medium: whiskey cake!
Yes, whiskey cake: two items that would please your old Southern grandpappy, a stable of bums, and all the Jews on your mother's side. It's a traditional honey cake--eaten on the Jewish New Year--by God's Supposedly Chosen People. I lifted the recipe from Smitten Kitchen, which can be found here. If you're like me, you can't get enough of those tasty kosher desserts, and I hope you're thinking to yourself, WOW--maybe I can bake stuff without rhyme or reason, too!
I've had honey cake before, and it's a wonderful tease for a foodie; it looks hearty, moist, sticky, flavorful, and sweet. What it usually isn't: hearty, moist, sticky, flavorful, or sweet. It usually tastes like the inside of a vacuum bag that's been dunked in sweet mothballs, or like a spicy cloth bandage still clinging to a dusty scab. I kid, but not really. The potential of honey cake--even the name, honey cake! sounds like sunshine-y sweetness and the promise of a new spring day!--never lives up to the hype, much like me and college, me and weight loss, me and my crappy English. So I was happy when Smitten Kitchen adapted a recipe that would ultimately confound and delight me, while also living up to its sugary namesake.
I was happy until I saw the recipe; I'm not Jewish--although I'm a HUGE fan, HUGE--so the word 'kosher' doesn't really register. Whenever I see KOSHER on a package that isn't Hebrew National Hot Dogs (my fave!), my eyes glaze over like I'm in Sunday schoolHebrew schoolschool. I never understood the whole kashrut (kosher) thing but, in a nutshell, it's a religious rule over the types of food the Jews can or cannot consume. Like they can eat animals, but not ones that are defective, and they have to be happy animals, or get slaughtered in some beautifully-specific way... something weird. I love me some Jews, but thanks for making an already sketchy and barely-understandable subject like religion way more complicated than it needs to be (Mormons should also be sarcastically thanked for this, too, although I'm more concerned about their religious doctrine, and less about their lack of foods--more chocolate for me). This recipe included everything under the sun, except butter. I had a small, butter-manufacturing cow when I saw that--okay yeah, you Jews are laughing at me, BUT I LAUGH AT YOU AND YOUR DAIRY-FREE DESSERTS; YOU'RE THE ONE WITHOUT ANY FUN IN YOUR FOOD. Maybe I like my cows angry, and my cakes moist and bad for me. No butter?! What's the point of making dessert if it's not going to induce heart attacks, or at the very least, dangerously-high cholesterol? I looked at the recipe again, and saw that vegetable oil was in the mix, as was honey, orange juice, warm coffee, vanilla, and that time-honored Kentucky tradition: whiskey. All this crap, each ingredient a strain on the stomach lining, and yet no heffer-loving goodness? What kind of immoral, inhumane eating habits are you teaching your poor starving children? NO FUCKING BUTTER?!?!
Yeah, I freaked out. I felt like I was creating a one-armed person; like, sure you can live without an arm and it's not that gross when compared to something like a flesh-eating virus (or frostbite), but still--I'd feel weird every now and then. Like a starfish reject or something.
Anyways, what was I talking about? Oh, right: whiskey cake. It was good: spicy, sweet, tangy, rich, light, moist, made with love and a quarter-cup of whiskey. It was even good without butter, which was generously slathered on a few slices later--by all of us--in a Gentile act of food defiance.
*David Beckham can be seen in the post before this one.
I'm getting tired of the gray weather, and it's only Day Four out of four fucking thousand, or however many hundreds of days our state is the color of old age. It never used to bother me, because I rather liked being depressed: it always made for better poetry, something reminiscent of that vomiting loved-up word jockey, Danielle Steel. The kind that gets made into a book called The Bridges of Madison County.
I want one of those "commercial days", where the sun is always golden and our teeth are always way too white; I want my scarf to blow in the wind as we drive off in our red convertible. I want commercial weather--I DEMAND IT. There's no way that California is located on the same coast as Washington; where's the weather balance, I ask you? And how!
I heard once that if you give something a name--like an illness or something else that's hard to deal with--you can accept it and move on. I gave my seasonal depression the name 'David Beckham' after hearing that, but it hasn't done much good. I thought if it was named after something really pretty, it might feel better and then fuck off--but that's not how David Beckham operates. I wonder how the Esq will feel about him moving in with us full-time; it's like the best worst threesome. At least *something* named David Beckham will be sleeping in my bed; surely that must be good for self-esteem. I guess it's better than getting a tramp stamp (or, if you prefer, ass antlers).
On the brighter side, I am now the owner of three coats; on the dumber side, I'm the owner of three coats TWO WEEKS AFTER THE SNOW, but whatever. I hit the crazy Target sales and came out a woolly winner. Now I'm off to bake something with dark chocolate and orange zest and you're jealous.
I'm kind of totally lovingMarko's post about boredomtoday; sometimes, I know exactly how he feels. It's like the perfect blog post: sad, self-depracating, honest, funny, short and sweet. Go check it outand cheer him up with a story you heard on Oprah. People love it when you do that; it's heartwarming and educational, which everybody enjoys! I wish people would do it more, actually: I truly appreciate receiving third-party life lessons and depressing book recommendations from Oprah disciples. It's like getting an Oprah-approvedSTD, without the sexual contact.
I pity you Oprah lovers, with your free cars and your abnormally-gifted children and your couch-jumping; you're like the Japanese tourists at Disneyland! You're worse than those zombie Mac lovers I MEAN APPLE WHORES. Worship at the swollen feet of your false gods, but not this one... did you ever think about giving Jesus a chance?!
But what about all of the people she helps, Snotty? What about single-handedly trying to save Africa? WHAT ABOUT THE CHILDREN?! I don't need to warm my heart with Chicken Soup, and bully the children. While you people are sniveling with Oprah about LIVING! LOVING! AND LEARNING! [canned applause], I'm making myself useful on the internet, like playing Scrabble and checking my email. I don't have time for television sobfests; I do have time to sob in the shower over my SECOND ASS, but that's another story. At this point, Oprah herself would have to come to my house and stab me in the face to get my tears. She would have to manually squeeze my eyeballs with her own two fingers just to get one drop.
I think she does help people, but I'm pretty sick of the show being one big infomercial for overpriced products, overhyped celebrities, and Spirituality-in-a-Can; I don't watch it, and yet I am surrounded by Oprah everywhere. I can't tell you how many times I've heard, "...this one time? on Oprah?"--in the same reverential tones people reserve for GOD, or band camp. I'm glad she donates money and feeds the poor and turns ugly bitches into beautiful swan-like bitches, but I still think she's a sanctimonious cow. Freak out if you must, Oprah fans. I'm going to go LIVE MY BEST LIFE!
Skeletor: (drunk) Out of all the abortions I've had, she was my favorite. Snotty: I'm sorry? Skeletor: What are you sorry for? Shit happens. Snotty: I wasn't--did you just say out of all the-- Skeletor: (interrupting)--well yeah! Snotty: Out of all the WHAT you've had? Skeletor: Abor--oh! DIVORCES. Snotty: That was beautiful, what just happened here. Skeletor: Divorce ain't beautiful, girlie. Snotty: You just said out of all the divorces you've had, she was your favorite. Favorite wife? Skeletor: Yup. She was my favorite one to divorce. Man alive, I hated that bitch. Snotty: It's like you're speaking in Martian. Skeletor: Parsnip? Snotty: Exactly.
Manthony and I hung out, and did what we do best: shrug, whatever. I like this about Manthony, because I never know where we'll end up. First we meandered around Seattle: checked out the Frye Museum, insulted some ugly children who were featured in an art installation, and lazily flipped through expensive magazines at the Barnes&Noble downtown. We ended up at Dragonfish for Happy Hour where we inhaled some spring rolls, and washed them down with two orders of sushi. That is the second thing we do best together: eat. The third is probably talking shit, which we always do with excellence.
Once home, we headed back out with friends from the apartment building. We walked to Lucid, the new neighborhood lounge and my new favorite place to hang. Happy Hour is from 6PM-10PM, there's no cover, the music is good, the space is comfortable, and the owner is super cool. I think he said he's Haitian. Our group grabbed a pitcher of the Irish Death (!!!) and kicked back for an hour. I was sorry to leave when the band started playing, because I could have hung out all night; it's a really chill space. Check it out if you're ever in the U-District.
We left and met up with more people at The Little Red Hen, a SERIOUS country bar close to our place. I've been for their popular karaoke night, but last night was dancing only. And wow, did people dance! As usual, I was the only brown person in the joint, because--well, because it's a country bar. It was like a dance camp for honkies. A-Train and I tried dancing--me, a dark, shuffling iceberg of a person, and him, a sprightly stick of a white guy--but we just pissed the natives off by bumping into them an' their kind. My neighbor, Michelle, invited her boss--I now think of him as The Hot Boss--and they were having a VERY. GOOD. TIME. I'm not going to blame all of the crazy shots they were doing, but I'm fairly sure the phrase "I'm never drinking again" is going to come out of her mouth later, when she finally regains consciousness. I met an old timer named Jimmy, who looked like an 80-year old Skeletor with feathered, David Cassidy hair--and talked with the only gay couple in the place. One of them was wearing a hot pink, ruffly tuxedo shirt with diamond-encrusted cuff links (I got the feeling this was an understated look for him), and the other was wearing a turquoise number that can only be described as 'honky chic.' Fun was had by all.
Today I kind of maybe sorta totally pooped my pants when I saw that Heather Armstrong, of dooce.com fame (and flipping you off in the photo above), is coming to Seattle (Bothell, really) on her book tour. POOPED, I tell you. I'm so going.
Also, the big news just broke: I wonder who is going to buy the Seattle P.I. now that it's up for sale. Paul Allen, maybe? And then he'll buy the rest of Seattle, and turn it into Allentown. I'm thinking good thoughts for all of my friends employed by the P.I.--hang in there!
Snotty: Where's Philadelphia? Ohio? Manthony: Pennsylvania? Snotty: What? Manthony: And Pittsburgh. Snotty: I thought Pittsburgh was in Ohio, too? Manthony: Well now we have to look it up.
Answer: they're both in Pennsylvania. Everyone knows that.
My longtime BFF and her family moved to [ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME] Nashville, Tennessee this week; her husband is doing post-doc work at Vanderbilt, which is awesome, but it's in Nashville, which is basically the poopier side of awesome. Oh, I'm down with visiting Tennessee (Dollywood, here I come!), but it's more expensive to get there than if she lived in, say, Seattle. Right next door to me.
I was lucky enough to have some time to say goodbye last Sunday, and spend a little time with her wee one, The Nogg (nicknamed for her ginormous, carrot-y noggin). I made a birthday cookie cupcake for her first birthday, which was on New Year's Eve, but better late than never.
The stupid crappy snow cut our visit short, but it was still nice to see Kim and The Nogg before they left. I miss them already, and think they've been gone long enough, thank you very much.
I hope Tennessee is ready for Snotty McSnotterson, because I plan on tearing that place up. Did you know that there are more churches there than actual people? At least that's what I heard (I may be exaggerating). I'm excited to hear Kim's stories about her foray into the religious underbelly of Nashville--it's not really an underbelly, more of an above-board, standardized way of life you must conform to, which I understand. She'd better not come back with big hair and fake boobs, although I think that's a Texas thing, and not Tennessee. Booo, Texass.
Yes, I still hate Myspace, but Facebook does something that I don't particularly enjoy: anytime you comment, it's posted for all of your friends to see. So when I write on someone's Facebook Wall: "THANKS FOR SETTING FIRE TO OUR HOUSE LAST NIGHT AND SLEEPING WITH MY RETARDED BROTHER", all of my friends see it, too--they see everything. The same goes for photos: I can leave a small note of congratulations on the photo of a newborn (IT'S A GIRL! YEAH, GOOD LUCK WITH THAT), and everyone will see it; they're even allowed to comment on my comment, like it isn't hard enough to come up with ONE clever thing to say--now I have to defend its' honor and come back for Round Two. Not my idea of a good time. Sounds more like 'work' (or what others have described to me as work).
Now I may have misled you in saying I don't particularly enjoy this Facebook feature, because that's not entirely true: I enjoy it immensely, when it's other people being monitored. I found a favorite tonight, a comment that popped up on my screen--it was made by an old high school acquaintance on the wedding photo of another high school peep. There were a bunch of people from high school in the actual wedding, and apparently the person commenting wasn't invited. I changed their names, but not because they were innocent; just so I can have a little leverage, should anyone angry come a-callin'. The comment went like this, with nary a linking verb to be found:
Bob and Betty Boop! Congratulateions! I wish i woiuld have been invited! You had the RADDEST Wedding Party Ever! May we can do part two in Frebruary I would love to kick old style with all the fellows! We did have fun adn i was one of the guys. :) Where are you registered? I want to sentd you something. And Grover is still HOT, Brendan looks a little grizzley but hot grrrr. Hoorig. Looking good RED! I am so happy for you...seriouser where aer you registered? Pleasel I love buying weddinhg gifts. I am so happy for you that you have you swan,,, you will be together for every. And Bob is superstar who allowed m to hang out while chaptan churcn would practive in Hoover's basement. I have a pic.
The author appears to have been rendered completely useless by some kind of stroke, which impaired either her typing or spelling skills, possibly both. I also thought she might have unwieldy hooks instead of hands, which would have explained the typos--but I checked her profile, and she has photographic evidence of possessing human hands. This is someone who used to be on the school newspaper. Seriouser. Seriously. It was embarrassing to read the first time around, so I only read it out loud another ten or twenty times--then decided it needed to be featured on the blog. I like to fly under the radar, as you can see.
I know it's a little rude to call out someone so specifically, but this shit was tres gauche, mes petite filles; it had a big scoop of Pathetic with a dollop of Desperate on top. I'm also curious to know what language it's in--Arabic, maybe? Esperanto?--but I'll leave that to the linguistic experts.
I personally hope that the Esq and I will be together for every, because he's a superstar who allowd m to hang otu whewyg nvf387% capn crunch /jkfw78349523-ji opgnmksv&%$jhg!wg8 derka. Gah, I'm being a dick, but I *do* wonder: why is this a necessary feature on Facebook?
I went without a cell phone for over a week, and without the intarwebbs FOR AN ENTIRE DAY... I felt like we were living in the Dark Ages. You know, back before the first iPhone came out (you were but a wee babe, I'm sure).
In happier news, I'm leaving Blogger--so the blog will look completely different in the next couple of weeks. Why am I forsaking them? 1) I've outgrown it, 2) I need more control, 3) Blogger can't make it snow on my blog, 4) I'm tired of all the ERROR ERROR DOES NOT COMPUTE messages, and 5) there's no expandable summary tag, which is redonkulous. So you can suck my expandable summary tag, Blogger; I hope you can keep up with technology in the future. Rick wants me to, I don't know, finish the Esq's degree in Computer Science and start my own web design company, but I'm lazy wary; I look forward to learning more about designing a webpage and customizing the blog, but for now, I'm focused on content. Namely getting some content on here. Once that happens, I'll let you know. (It might not be obvious.)
Now that the internets are back on, I'll be back on tomorrow morning; I need to post on the cake blog, and then catch up with correspondence. Thanks again to Bangs McGee for sending me to Smitten Kitchen; I made the salted white chocolate oatmeal cookies, and they were pretty darn good. Especially since I'm not a fan of white chocolate or oatmeal--that's usually the best test. Do I hate all of the ingredients in this item? Heck yeah! Then it makes sense that I should put all of those ingredients in my mouth! Sounds smart! (Well, it worked out this time.)
Addendum: if you would like to see why I do not want to design my own website, in the words of someone else, go here. She says it better.
Oh, you Mac losers users, you're all so adorably predictable; I'd be an Apple Sheep, too, if the Esq would let me. But we live in a Mac-free home, and I can tell by the look on his face that living in a Mac-free world is the ultimate goal.
I received my first 2009 Meme Challenge, although I don't think it's actually called a 'challenge'; it's more like a thinly-veiled way for me to talk more about myself. If that's even remotely possible.
The meme in question came by way of the Comedy Goddess, who in turn received the 'award' (how is it an award?) from someone called A. Every time I see A's mysterious moniker, I think of MR. F (of Arrested Development fame).
I don't usually like these, but this one is delightfully free from structure--except for two things: I have to tell the truth--TEN TIMES, that's like a deposition or something--and I have to pass it on to someone else. To be quite... ah, honest ... "honesty" and "sharing" are "concepts" I don't exactly "believe in". But it's 2009, and anything can happen, so I'll give it a go.
10 Things About Me That You Probably Don't Need to Know:
1. I'm adopted, but I've met my biological family. Growing up, I thought I'd been kidnapped from Polynesian royalty by my extremely-white parents; isn't that how every adopted kid's fantasy goes? Turns out they weren't royalty, but happily confused Mormons.
2. I hate these words: moist, emo, and fan-fucking-tastic.
3. I love these words: umlaut, twitterpated, and freckle.
4. I loved the movie Enchanted, and have seen it five times. No, I'm not kidding. At least it's a parody, and not a real princess movie like The Princess Diaries, which I own.
5. My number one travel destination right now is Iceland--and my preferred travel partner, after the Esq, would be Anthony Bourdain; and if I thought permission could be obtained, I would totally have crazy Icelandic Bjork-sex with him. (When I asked for permission just now, he said 'Maybe... if you poison him afterwards.') Works for me.
7. I think the coolest homes are the ones with bright red doors. My grandparents always had these China Red doors, which were pretty progressive for their day, design-wise: front door, back door, garage doors. I hope to carry on the tradition one day; I know the Esq will be on board with anything Communist-colored.
8. I did a New Year's Cleanse with Byron Katie in Los Angeles, a couple of years ago, with my parents; it was really strange, and really awesome. The Work has helped my family become closer to each other, and learn about self-inflicted suffering, which is totally fucking pointless. I think it gave us a way to work on our own shit, rather than expecting people around us to change or act differently. I would also like to say: Oprah knew about Katie AFTER me, thank you very much.
9. I've dated three drug dealers. Bleh. Are you looking for a winner? Because HERE I AM.
10. When I imitate the Esq, I always sound like a foppish, 18th-century upper-class Victorian; I imagine he's wearing a top hat and a monocle. The best part about this: I'm not the only one, because most of my friends do this, too. I have the best foppish boyfriend around.
There you have it. Now I'm supposed to 'tag' seven other people to do this--how about I name seven people, and if they want to do it, fine--if not, no skin off my teeth. Enjoy!
There was some kind of a tag that went with this, but I'm late for a date with Target; plus, those award tags are just so you'll click on it and go to A's page, which you can do through both links I posted. I'm off to see The Wizard.
Check out the comment section of my last post: best religious comments I've had in a while. No joke. It's beginning to rival the comment section about the gift my dad gave me.
Adorable drawing care of the Esq's talented aunt over at Art for Daily Life.
I failed last year, because I never wrote a '2008 Highlights' post, and ANYONEWHO'SANYONE does a '2008 Highlights' post. I know this because every blog I went to had their year in review, like I didn't just suffer through the same year with them. Sure, your 2008 was vastly different from my 2008; in fact, I just got here--I'm new to Earth! I guess if you're an Amish kid who just discovered the demonic zipper, or FALKOR from The Neverending Story, maybe your year was completely different from mine--though I might question how you have access to the internet when electricity is banned from your Pennsylvania village, or how you even own a computer when you're a flying luckdragon--oh! Probably with luck.
Point being, I'm not sure I could tell the difference between blog posts; the same stuff showed up on every single list. It was laughingly predictable. BEST: Obama. WORST: Economy. RIP: Heath Ledger only. *LOL* MOMENTS: Anytime Sarah Palin opened her trap or Tina Fey imitated. FAVORITE NEW POLITICAL FACE : Maddow. FAVORITE FLICK: Iron Man--because he was hot? and smart? and wanted to banish, like, evil and stuff? SEXIEST NEWCOMER: Twilight! Twilight! Twilight! ...really? That kid? He's like a femme, Germanic Harry Potter. But to each his own.
Now that we're well into 2009, I can look back on 2008 objectively and say it was a total wash. I did nothing interesting except go to killer shows, throw kickass parties, and rip the religious right newer, better assholes; finally, life has meaning again. The one thing I did this year with excellence was start this blog, coming from three years of blogging on Myspace, with a first post that recognized this blog would eventually change--and has it ever. I've changed, too, becoming a kindler, gentler person who enjoys making people cry, a person who revels in your failures. 'A better person', is the phrase I'm thinking of; that's what you're thinking, too.
My personal highlights of 2008 also include some of the *YAWN* answers that I read elsewhere; I'll try to make them as unique as possible. If I forgot something you feel should be included, leave your suggestion in the comments. Enjoy!
THE SNOTTIEST HIGHLIGHTS OF 2008
The biggest 2008 shout-out goes to Jesus, God, and Allah, the not-so-original holy trinity for whom thousands upon thousands of people died this year, which has been an annual tradition for the last forty billion years. If there is one thing people refuse to learn, it's that religious wars aren't started so they can end peacefully: peace isn't the point. Jesus and God were the center of so many political tragedies this year, but these were my all-time favorites: the Helen Keller-like acceptance of Sarah Palin, the promotion of hatred and inequality in the pulpits to support Proposition 8, and the nationwide atheist 'scandal' that took over the halls of our Washington state capitol. I was amazed these deities had time left over to party, but party they did, all over Hamas' face. To the person who emailed me yesterday, assuring me that the church is a beautiful safe haven that awaits me with open arms--and sent a photo of Jesus as an attachment, as though we'd never been formally introduced--please tell that to the people who are dying. I get the feeling, though, that people dying in the Middle East over a deity you don't personally worship won't rate too high on the Give-A-Shit meter; that's how a lot of people in this country act. Abenevolent, loving God, indeed.
To understand why I won't be writing about the Israel-Palestine situation--at all, ever--read this.
I'd like to thank Victoria Jackson for this statement about Barack Obama, whom I personally voted for in 2008: "I don't want a political label, but Obama bears traits that resemble the anti-Christ and I'm scared to death that uneducated people will ignorantly vote him into office." Read the rest, here. I think Victoria Jackson's photo can be found under the phrase 'ignorantly voted' in the dictionary.
The award for BEST WORST BLOGGING goes to: K.Lo (Kathy Jean Lopez) at the National Review Online, for her horrible imitation of the abominable Ann Coulter; but K.Lo will never be Ann. She's too weighed down by her own stupidity; at least Ann is entertaining in a 'what will Satan do next?' kind of way. What I loathe about K.Lo's blog is that half is made-up mumbo-jumbo (she rarely checks her facts, just throws caution to the wind), and the other half is filled with religious warrioritis, a condition that many NRO bloggers are afflicted with. Luckily, she's unencumbered in the brain department, so reconciling these two things with her awful writing style makes for an interesting political trainwreck. One of her articles, called Free Sarah Palin!, was a personal favorite of mine.
Award for Dumbest Fucking Thing I've Heard All Year, Maybe My Entire Lifetime: Mr. Ben Stein.
My favorite Snotty blog posts of 2008 were probably about Heaven, or maybe Sex Education. The two are not related. Oh, also the story about poop. 'Twas the first, and only, blog post the Esq and I wrote together. :)
Speaking of pride, we marched for the gays--and for their rights to get equally divorced, just like everybody else--and it was awesome. I marched with all my might and main, whatever that means.
Some of my favorite websites/blogs from 2008 include:
Favorite newfangled internet thingamajig: TWITTER.
Best shows we saw this year: Helio Sequence, Santogold, Cut Copy and The Presets, Justice, Hot Chip, Fujiya & Miyagi, Lykke Li, Tom Morello & Co., and more--but I can't remember them all. Too much fun, had by us!
There are so many other things that made 2008 great--my family, Justin's family, my sweet son, an amazing boyfriend, beautiful friends, the ability to eat bacon whenever I want in moderation, getting out of a job industry I hated--but I'm looking forward to a healthy and *fruitful* 2009 (fruitful=getting on Oprah and then cashing in). 2009 is the springboard I've been waiting for, the Big Jump into new ventures and possibilities; I'm excited to share them with you guys. And now: bacon nom nom.
I found this photo for my cake blog, wading through the pathetic electronic mire of my unorganized digital photos. It's the Valentine's Day cake I made for the Esq, two years ago. As you can see, it's shaped likeIgnignokt, leader of the Mooninites; the Mooninites can be seen on that strangely hilarious show, Aqua Teen Hunger Force. We used to watch the show all the time, but I skipped the movie based on the promotional movie poster; it was too ridiculous, even for me--and that's really saying something. I've seen Save the Last Dance 3. Twice.
One of my favorite pointless past times is the Mooninite Random Quote Generator, which, as stated, gives you a random Mooninite quote from either Ignignokt or his angry, drug-addicted sidekick, Err. It's always good for a secret snort-laugh. You know, the one you make and then look around the room as though you're under surveillance. Like you're anywhere near that interesting.
Ignigknokt: "Alright, when I say your name, you say 'here.' And we will assume 'here' is short for 'here I am... rock you like a hurricane.'
I rocked the Esq like a hurricane with this cake, I'm telling you. That was the year he cooked dinner for me--chicken saltimbocca, I think. He was very proud of himself for not burning down the house; I was happy it was edible--good, even. The cake was so annoying to make, but worth it to see his face light up like a kid in a candy storelike a kid on Christmas morning like a Nazi. Nothing says 'I love you' more than a blue middle finger.
We just watched The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. Correction: we just watched the first 32 minutes of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. Cynics said this movie was smarmy and contrived, another vanity project for Brad Pitt; some went so far to say it was poorly written, badly acted, and laughingly predictable. Those cynics? were us.
The Esq explains: "If Forrest Gump pooped, and thatpooppooped, that is what this movie would be."
I agree. I understand what they were going for, but I felt the charmingly pointless vignettes were foisted upon me. I felt foisted upon. I also knew most of the lines, because cliches are always easy to remember. This felt like a freshman effort, something he did before Forrest Gump. It's like a Forrest Gump redux. Not impressed, but happy I didn't spend money on it in the theater. Watch at your peril.
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