Friday, November 30, 2007
Thursday, November 29, 2007
I Love the 1700's!
- the average child had a roughly 50% chance of surviving to adulthood
- slavery was legal in all 13 colonies
- all cooking was done in or around the fireplace
- women could not vote, hold public office and unless widowed, own property in most colonies
- travel was slow and uncertain; by water, ships relied upon the wind for locomotion; by land, a rider on horseback might hope to cover 30 miles in a day, a passenger in a coach, just 20
- aside from sunlight, the sole source of heat was fire, usually in an open fireplace; after sunset, illumination was either by moonlight or candlelight
- there was no indoor plumbing: the flush toilet, the bathroom and the kitchen faucet are 19th century innovations--chamber post, outhouses and buckets were a way of life
- privacy was a rare privilege for most: people, including children at home and strangers at inns, routinely shared beds
- aside from a minority of city dwellers, almost everybody was a farmer
- there was no anesthesia for surgery or childbirth
- every household produced some, and in many cases all, of the candles, soap, foodstuffs and clothing it required
- the medieval notion of the four humors still dominated medical theory, so bloodletting and purging were employed to restore the balance of black and yellow bile, blood and phlegm, and thus, presumably, good health
*From December 07's Smithsonian Magazine I "borrowed" from my doctor's office
To the meow, to the meow.
To the meow, to the meow.
Everything you own in the box to the meow.
To the meow, to the meow.
Don't you ever for a second get to thinking
You must not know 'bout me
You must not know 'bout me
I can have another you in a minute
Matter fact, she'll be here in a minute...
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
So, the show sucks. The hosts are annoying, the judges are annoying, the majority of the contestants? Totally annoying. I don't mind the dancing part, I suppose.
And everyone is orange.
I really feel compelled to throw her off of something, like a cliff or a ledge or very high place, and I realize that's not nice.
But I never said I was nice.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
-Source: Ankeet Shah
Monday, November 26, 2007
A-hole #1: The line for the restroom at a Connecticut Rest Stop was snaked nearly out the lobby, yet a broad was using stall #2 (of a measly 6) as her private office to make a loud phone call. In Chinese. As I neared the front of the line, I heard other broads hissing and seething with anger, "Somebody should knock on the door. That's not right!" When I got into Stall #1, checked underneath the partition to see what she was doing in there to give her the benefit of the doubt, and sure enough, there was no sitting, only standing and blah-blah-blahing. I took that opportunity to throw a nice big wad of fresh toilet paper under the partition which landed on her shoe. And another wad over, for good measure. That seemed to free up the stall quickly.
A-hole #2: My latecomer seatmate on the MetroNorth Railroad who busted an otherwise pleasant train ride with the following:
- Massive bags a-plenty from a shopping trip to Buy Buy Baby or some crap like that.
- Screeching constantly (from the time she approached to the time she got off) on her bluetooth earpiece in a foreign language so loudly and unapologetically I was simply beside myself--except I was beside her. The one-way conversation sounded like this: "BONG BONG BONG BONG BONG BONG BONG BONG BONG BONG BONG BONG BONG," etc...
- Ruffling and crumpling with plastic bags inside of her purse for candy and settling on a lollypop. Slurp slurp slurp slurp slurp.
- Eating pistachio nuts out of an entirely different crumply rumply bag and throwing the shells on the floor (ie: my lap and my luggage)
- Fumbling through her cosmetic bag and brushing hair. Into my face.
- Applying various makeups to her grill piece while elbowing me in my grill piece.
- Instead of saying something to this horrible human being about her 2000 revolting violations of etiquette, I chose my usual entirely ineffective passive aggressive route of staring at her an inch from her face with the dirtiest, most incredulous look I could muster and plugging my ears with my forefingers.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
No, no, and no.
Today, 99% of the 4,702 folks who clicked on my blog today were googling for the video of two girls eating caca from a cup. Since I haven't posted the video, clearly they were disappointed. Waa waaaaaa...
What about that 1%, you ask? Well, they were less concerned with the poop show and more concerned with "What happened to McDonald's Southwest Chicken Salad." I was able to help them out there, at least.
Two Can Anne: Your #1 News Source Sort Of.
34 43.59% two girls one cup
9 11.54% 2 girls one cup
4 5.13% 2 chicks in a cup
3 3.85% two girls-one cup
3 3.85% 2 girls one finger
2 2.56% two girls one finger
2 2.56% two girls one cup video
1 1.28% two girls and a cup
1 1.28% 2 girls one cup video
1 1.28% two girls one cup original
1 1.28% two chicks one cup video
1 1.28% two girls one cup official video
1 1.28% two girls in one cup
1 1.28% two girls and one finger
1 1.28% 2 chicks & a cup
1 1.28% 2 girls and 1 finger
1 1.28% two girls and cup real or fake
1 1.28% 2 girls 1 finger video
1 1.28% two girls and cup
1 1.28% tow girls one cup
1 1.28% two girls one cup
1 1.28% 2 girls and a cup, the real one
1 1.28% what happened to mcdonalds southwest chicken salad
1 1.28% two girls one cup link
1 1.28% two girls one cup real video
1 1.28% two girls and 1 cup
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
I tried explaining these things to someone last night and it sounded as absurd as it... sounds.
Sounds about right.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Get over yourselves, today's parents/marketers/whatevers.
Let's go play with some rusty cans now.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Anyhoodle, this dollhouse is probably made of lead paint and not suitable for licking, but it's cool because they don't make houses like this anymore. One car garage? Please. Today's fat and flashy Americans who can afford a house demand more in a house. A sprawling 15 thousand square feet of "townhome" on a golf course with rooms they never use and bathrooms they never take dumps in. And a chandelier. And a gaslit fireplace. I hate gaslit fireplaces. This place has a real fireplace, yo.
Wow. Bay window? Bay window next to picture window? Nice features. Anderson windows, I presume?
Your average two bedroom one bath. I'd probably knock the kitchen wall down to give the space a more open feel. Maybe put in an island so I can make my Rachel Ray meals with an audience.
A window seat in the Anderson bay window and a fire in the fireplace! What's sweeter than that. Though, if I lived here I'd consider rearranging the furniture, perhaps moving the t.v. away from the flames (wicked big fire hazard) and the chair away from the front door (wicked big safety hazard)? I'd think that the simple act of shutting the front door might cut down on heating costs too.
The second floor doesn't appear to be load bearing, but
Washer / Dryer? Sold.
Our biggest client came in for a meeting last week. He is quite fond of himself and thinks himself to be quite an unusually attractive man (not), an accomplished man (depends on your definition of accomplished), and a powerful presence (depends on your definition of powerful). I'd say most people would describe him as an "egomaniac", "difficult" and "stinking rich." At any rate, even though we've been introduced, there's no reason for this guy (I'll call him El Diablo) to know that I exist, other than that I work for the boss as his assistant. He probably knows me as "the chick that sits outside the conference room." And that's if he looks twice.
After the meeting, those involved congregated around my desk. Involuntarily, of course, as my desk sits right next to the conference room. They were discussing our company's holiday luncheon, something I had sent invitations via email to these particular folks a week and a half prior.
"What party?" said El Diablo. "I didn't get an invitation to a party."
"Our annual luncheon," I heard my boss say, reassuring him. "Invites went out last week."
"I didn't get an invite."
"I didn't either," said his colleague.
"Nope," continued El Diablo, "No invite."
"It was an email," said my boss.
El Diablo fumbled with his Blackberry. "I didn't get an email. Nope."
My boss leaned into me, "Anne, you sent out the invitation, right?"
"Yep, they went out Wednesday of last week."
"Nope. I didn't get an email," insisted El Diablo.
Incredulous, I asked, "Really? Because your assistant called me on Monday to RSVP for you...so...unless she has ESP, I..."
"THE ONLY REASON YOU HAVE THIS JOB IS BECAUSE I GIVE YOU BUSINESS!" said El Diablo.
"No," I countered, "the only reason I have this job is because I'm a Red Sox fan." (true)
Sunday, November 18, 2007
IT CAN HAPPEN!
I want some McDonald's french fries right now. I won't go get some, I'm just saying I want them. Tom might call and all.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
She's a Great Girl. I Had a Great Time. I Think I'll Send Her an Unsolicited Picture Phone Shot of My Aroused Man Stuff.
(YES, it was the first time I had seen it. YES, it was small. NO, I haven't deleted it. YES, it's been seen by the entire office and more)
Oh, well. I never saw that coming! Literally. Phew! Dodged a bullet. And here I thought he had potential! He graduated from a NESCAC school for crying out loud!
Sigh. What an asshole.
But I digress. There's a refreshing November chill in the air, yo. Finally. And that means it's time for some Jameson's. So, bring it. Bring. It. On.
Cheers! Rather, Sláinte!
And if under the influence of this delicious caramel nectar of the gods should you ever decide to send me a dirty picture via your cellphone, decide again, won't you? Keep your junk to yourselves, yo. That is, unless I ask for it*. Thanks.
*I won't ask.
The people who are starting college this fall across the nation were born in 1988.
They are too young to remember the space shuttle blowing up.
Their lifetime has always included AIDS.
The CD was introduced the year they were born.
They have always had an answering machine.
They have always had cable.
Jay Leno has always been on the Tonight Show.
Popcorn has always been cooked in the microwave.
They never took a swim and thought about Jaws.
They don't know who Mork was or where he was from.
They never heard: "Where's the Beef?", "I'd walk a mile for a Camel", or "de plane Boss, de plane".
McDonald's never came in Styrofoam containers.
They don't have a clue how to use a typewriter.
Do you feel old yet?
For the record, I felt old before I read this, but that's the way I roll, all glass half-empty style.
The Green Room
45 Bleecker Street
A show about growing up in "middle class" 'Merica, featuring stand-up and stories that examine a blue collar youth from the other side.
Paul Case (Here TV)
Pat Candaras (Nick-at-Nite)
Kambri Crews (Comix)
Shawn Hollenbach (The Back Room)
Elon James White (Shades of Black)
Hosted by Carolyn Castiglia (VH1) and Baron Vaughn (Aspen Comedy Festival).
$12, with 50% off using discount code 8T2FOR1. Admission includes passes to see ukelele rapper Jon Braman! BYOB!
Friday, November 16, 2007
So, there you have it. AA. Actual proof I've only made it to the top because of my given name and surname. And stunning physical beauty. None of which I had any control over.
Did I mention that the show sells out?
The show always sells out.
Not to brag or name drop or anything like a wicked jerk, but the Patron Saint of Angst, Ms. Judy Blume herself, came to--and fell in love with--the last Mortified show at Mo Pitkin's (RIP Mo Pitkin's).
Here's a photo of me with Judy where I look like a crazed lunatic who is madly in love with her (which I am, so I suppose it makes sense but it's borderline creepy, clearly) and the usually stunning Brandy Brandy Barber on the right, looking like a larger-than-life Mrs. Beasley, and the only one in the photo who looks amazing and remotely sane is Judy in the middle, and that's how it should be.
In short, what I'm saying is, if you want to see this show, get off your fat can and make it happen!
Hailed a "cultural phenomenon" by Newsweek and celebrated by the likes of This American Life, The Today Show, The Onion AV Club, Esquire, Entertainment Weekly, Daily Candy, and more, Mortified is a comic excavation of teen angst artifacts (journals, letters, poems, lyrics, home movies, stories, and more) as shared by their original authors before total strangers. As the largest and longest-running project of its kind, our grassroots comedy collective has spent years sifting through hundreds of otherwise forgotten notebooks on a mission to celebrate the extraordinary lives of ordinary people. Mortified is co-produced in New York by Brandy Barber & Anne Altman.
Presale tickets: $10 (Day of show $12) Buy tickets here!
Before you run out and watch Two Girls One Cup, be forewarned: Greenberg claims that viewing this feel good flick has ruined his life.
Have a great morning!
Anyway, when I have my wits about me, I'll explain my week and the stuff that happened to me. It's full of so many douches you're going to roll your eyes right out of your heads. So, so many douches.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
I said a Boom chicka boom. Geez.
Did you just fart? Geez.
An appearance on The Today Show with Matt Lauer?
''Why would I look for somebody who I don't believe is missing? She's just gone. She's where she wants to be,'' said Drew Peterson.
Face down and dead in a ditch is where she wants to be? Really? I can think of like, twenty places better than that. Way better. Even the very back of a snaking line at the DMV is better.
I don't think Stacy Peterson is where she wants to be. Wherever she is, she's finally away from a creepy mustachioed killer cop, so... there's the pathetic silver lining, I suppose.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Monday, November 12, 2007
Anyway, I digress, because this post isn't actually about my show, it's about how fantastic I looked in the video of me onstage doing the show. My hair had recently seen up close and personal by a professional. My suit fit me like a glove, my legs were long and strong, my posture was regal; I was superbly poised. And my profile, well, something that the very glimpse of in a mirror or photograph normally sends me straight to Nausea Town was streamlined and swan-like. I was, in a word, smokin'! Smokinggggggggg.
And seeing this video for the first time in a few years I have to say, I was simply mesmerized. With myself. Laughing out loud at my own jokes. Admiring the broad on stage in the t.v. and thinking, Who is this girl?!?
What sucks about this revelation of fabulousness is, is that at the time, I'm sure thought I looked like shit. I no doubt was referencing the same tattered laundry list of crap to beat myself up with back then that I use now, and that's just sad, people. Sad. What's wrong with human nature that makes us unappreciate the beauty in the now? Why can't we love who we are today? Why don't we love ourselves? Why can't we be free to be you and me? They say you should look in the mirror and grin because today you are one day younger than you will be tomorrow or something like that, and that's obviously true. Time marches, yo. Can't stop it. Don't even try.
And that sigh is where I leave you with the moral of this post, which has clearly revealed itself to me just now:
We all need to realize what's really important. And that is that I looked really fuckin' good three years ago. (Or was it four?)
The fella from Brooklyn says "Lengthwise." The fella from Connecticut says, "Circles. How else can you eat it on a hard roll?"
Connecticut is such a weird state. Total identity crisis.