Great Britain - The home of cheese racing since 1997

Gorgonzola Dave: a man after my own heart.

Safe, Legal, and Never

Hillary's got it dead on when it comes to the abortion debate. For years, I've been so angry with both sides -- one refuses to admit that abortion ends a life, and therefore is a terrible thing to have to do and should not be discussed as glibly as buying a pint of milk. The other side won't be realistic and acknowledge that if you don't want abortions to happen, then you have to do something to make them unneeded, like maybe sex education and accessible birth control.

This is not rocket science, people.

I love Hillary. She's got it exactly right, and she's got the stats and the rhetoric to shut up any opposition. Can we please have her for president in four years?

Some kind of muse

This Saturday is the oft-mentioned gig for which CB let me pick the setlist. He'll also be inflicting Miracle Baby, the song you may have heard at my birthday party, on the unsuspecting public, so maybe letting me pick my faves will make up for my MB embarassment.

Come on down to Freddy's and see what all the fuss is about. Of course, I'm dying of sudden onset severe flu (serves me right), so I might not actually be there to enjoy my dotage, but if you go you can tell me all about it! (bring soup, please!)

The All-Request Hour
featuring songs both new and old!
all about heartbreak and drinking!

Saturday, January 29, 2005
Freddy's Bar & Backroom
485 Dean Street, at 6th Avenue, Brooklyn, NY
no cover!

Directions to Fred's go here.

Lord of the Romulans

"Oh, and Merry and Pippen ride around in a tree for an hour. But, so what? Before Jackson got involved, the only people who cared about this crap were dudes who could speak Klingon. Now, my ophthalmologist is just as into it as any Romulan sub-commander."

The best LoTR review ever.

~*~ Secret Diaries of Middle Earth~*~

While we're looking back at the glory days of the LotR trilogy, let's not forget these brilliantly funny diaries.

words fail me

the horror...

Signed, sealed, delivered

Today I told Stan that CB is having a show of all my favorite songs this weekend, and so I have to stay in town to see it, and I can't go back to London as he suggested.

Stan: This is the guy you hung out with until four in the morning, and nothing happened?
Me: Three in the morning, but yeah.
Stan: And you still think he's not interested?
Me: Of course he's not. I've moved on.
Stan: A guy doesn't do something like this unless he's interested. I'll bet you that you two will hook up within a month.
Me: It's not going to happen. Anyway, he'll be out of town.
Stan: Fine, 45 days. Bet me.
Me: No.
Stan: Bet me a dollar.
Me: NO.
Stan: Come on! See, you guys are so totally about to hook up!

So fine, I bet him a dollar that CB and I will not hook up in the next 45 days. Here it is in writing to make it official.

Yes, I'm fully aware that I keep writing about all these boys, but never get any action with any of them. Maybe I need to sign up for Aphrodisiac of The Month.

Update, Jan. 27: CB's not going out of town after all, so the term of the bet is back down to 30 days. And Stan's finally realizing he's probably going to lose, for many reasons including that I ask CB for advice about other guys, which is apparently a Bad Move.

Friends and relations

Did you miss me? I'm back from my London weekend. Saw two old friends from Smith, admired one's baby and the other's engagement ring, took in a bit of culture, and filled a suitcase with the much-sought potato crisps.

But the bulk of the weekend was spent with two great guys. One is tall, dark, responsible and upstanding; the other is devilishly charming and attentive. One fed me well and did my laundry; the other bought me cigarettes and cheeky underwear. Of course, both are stunningly handsome. Honestly, how is a girl supposed to choose?

So I didn't. Come on, this is me, you know nothing happened with either one.

London Calling

I'm off to London. Wish I could chat more, but I'm running so late, I've barely even packed! Though I did remember to pack an extra bag to bring back plenty of Chargrilled Steak & Peppercorn Sauce-flavoured crisps (how's my Brit-ness?)

I'll try to blog while I'm there, to keep you all informed on my adventures, and I promise to take scads of pictures. Cheerio!

A Gallo is just an Italian cock, after all

Indulgent SoHo chocolatier Vosges has discontinued the Vincent Gallo truffle collection, or rather, renamed it the Collection Italiano. The eponymous, taleggio cheese-flavored, uncircumcised penis-shaped Gallo has become the Rooster, and the collection's other truffle flavors -- Tuscan fennel pollen, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, Sicilian sea salt -- have been translated in the other direction.

When asked why the name had been changed, a Vosges representative stated only that "We have ended our relationship with Mr. Gallo." Which, when you think about it, is the best choice in all sorts of situations.

What happened?

I'm really broken up about the whole Brad and Jen thing. Today, I finally got out to the drugstore to buy US and People's special editions. After all, I indulge so rarely.

Wisdom in e-mail

I got one of those chain e-mails today, but the message it contained was pretty cool. So if I post it here, then you don't have to e-mail it to everyone you know to avoid bad luck. You can just read and enjoy the wise thoughts. Thanks, Maria!

Lotus Totus

• ONE. Give people more than they expect and do it cheerfully.


• TWO. Marry someone you love to talk to. As you get older, their conversational skills will be as important as any other.


• THREE. Don't believe all you hear, spend all you have or sleep all you want.


• FOUR. When you say, "I love you," mean it.


• FIVE. When you say, "I'm sorry," look the person in the eye.


• SIX. Be engaged at least six months before you get married.


• SEVEN. Believe in love at first sight.


• EIGHT. Never laugh at anyone's dreams. People who don't have dreams don't have much.


• NINE. Love deeply and passionately. You might get hurt but it's the only way to live life completely.


• TEN In disagreements, fight fairly. No name calling.


• ELEVEN. Don't judge people by their relatives.


• TWELVE. Talk slowly but think quickly.


• THIRTEEN. When someone asks you a question you don't want to answer, smile and ask, "Why do you want to know?"


• FOURTEEN. Remember that great love and great achievements involve great risk.


• FIFTEEN. Say "bless you" when you hear someone sneeze.


• SIXTEEN. When you lose, don't lose the lesson


• SEVENTEEN. Remember the three R's: Respect for self; Respect for others; and Responsibility for all your actions.


• EIGHTEEN. Don't let a little dispute injure a great friendship.


• NINETEEN. When you realize you've made a mistake, take immediate steps to correct it.


• TWENTY. Smile when picking up the phone. The caller will hear it in your voice.


• TWENTY-ONE. Spend some time alone.

The problem with being a stubborn Luddite

...and refusing to have a computer at home, is that when you have a great thought for a blog post while you're brushing your teeth, you may very well forget it by the time you get to work. And then you spend all day with that gnawing feeling of forgetfulness, and you end up talking to your co-workers about boy trouble, which is never a good idea.

Who was Harvey Wallbanger, anyway?

Idle thoughts, late in the day. Better than obsessing over boys, at least.

not just my subconscious

Freaky. Right after I posted that last entry, thinking of BG, I couldn't remember where he works.

Just then, my inbox bings with a daily message from New York magazine's Best Bets, and it's mentioned right there, complete with a link to the website!

Is the universe trying to tell me something? Or maybe do I have a mind-reading fairy godmother at New York?

Update: A little pop psychology over IM later, and I've concluded that the whole thing, dream and follow-up, was a response to my efforts to loosen up in 2005. I associate my wilder New York days with the club kids, so my dream was probably just about trying to go back to those times. Why BG? Maybe because he was my favorite, and I always thought he found a good balance between wild and responsible.

the subconscious speaks

Sunday morning, I dreamt of the club kids, with whom I haven't hung out in almost two years. There was some huge party, possibly at the apartment where we drank bag wine at the White Trash Party (for good or bad, I had nothing to wear). Then it may have devolved into an orgy, or that may have just been Big Guns Boy and me. Regardless, I awoke really wanting BG. Of course, I would never sleep with a married man, but a lot can happen in two years, so maybe that's no longer an issue.

I wish there were some way of checking on a person's relationship status, like you can look up their phone number. After all, had I known the 22-year-old had broken up with his girly-crush, I would have gotten back in touch much sooner.

Receding waters

Here's an excellent set of before and after photos of the tsunami damage in Sri Lanka and Indonesia.

Finally, a ray of hope for Andrea

Andrea Yates has been granted a new trial. I never understood how anyone in their right mind could have convicted her -- personally I thought her husband deserved the legal actions. Turned out the jury had been lied to. The prosecution's psyc witness purjured himself and said that Andrea saw the drowning on Law and Order and got ideas from it. That would make me believe in premeditation as well!

Let's hope that this time around she gets a fair shake, and that they take her husband in for spousal abuse and sadism.

Lucky Enrique

Gawker ponders why NYC tabs dropped the ball on this photo of La Kournikova, which is totally NOT work safe.

for the record...

Last night I came home at a reasonable hour, immediately got ready for bed, and went to bed, do not pass couch, do not collect $200.

I only had one whiskey and two smokes, and I slept at least seven hours, in my bed, with the mouthguard in.

I took the train to work, did not drive in, and got here very close to on time.

And yet, despite all those good efforts and reslutions kept, I still felt like crap all day. massive headache. It took advil *plus* two cups of coffee to beat it into submission. I'm going to the gym (another resolution success!) to try to sweat it out. Then off to the Hootenany...

Regularly Scheduled

If you're looking for me...

Weekend: In Boston, but you should all go to Lillie's and drink for me.

Monday, January 10: Attention all Rockstars! It's Dr. Fact's first anniversary, and we must make a good showing! I have to do my shift at the coop -- having missed the last two and put on double-evil suspension, I can't miss this month's. I'll come by the Buttermilk after my shift, around 11.
Until then Alex, who has so graciously rescheduled his monthly Poetry Night just for us and the greater trivial good, will be manning the helm. Do me proud.

Stop me oh oh oh stop me...

This morning, only the fifth morning of the year, I woke up
1. on the couch -- resolution failure rate 40%
2. at 9:00 am, when I should be leaving for work -- on-time failure rate 60%
3. fully dressed, contacts in, uncharged cellphone, unbrushed teeth, no mouthguard, unwashed face -- nothing to do with any resolutions, as I usually manage to get fully ready for bed and then still fall asleep on the couch
4. with eye makeup still on -- resolution success rate 90%!
5. having drunk three Jamesons on the rocks last night -- success rate 50%
6. and smoked one cigarette -- failure rate 100%, in fact it seems to be inspiring me

Although the bed-head was very cute, it was full of massage oil, and that wasn't going to fly at work. So I had to wash it, which took time, which meant
7. I drove into work today -- failure rate 40%

Last night, I went to Exhale for a Fusion Massage. It was possibly the best massage I've ever gotten, except maybe for the Russian in Cambridge years ago. I also bought a yoga mat, and soy candles, and picked up some sushi at Whole Foods, and had every intention of going home, washing the last of the New Years dishes (I know, I know), and getting to bed all early and healthy.

Instead, 80sDave and I went to Buttermilk (someone make those folks a half-decent website of their own, please). Three whiskeys and a bummed smoke later, I'd undone all the good of my visit (and sleeping on the couch was the nail in that coffin). The country boy decided it's okay if I think the cowboy's hot, since he's a rock star and all. Don't worry, baby, I still love you best. I just have to find someone who's not afraid to sleep with me, is all.

Jukebox playlist, just for Dave:
Don't Fear the Reaper
Ain't that a Kick in the Head
Break My Body
Just Like Heaven
Future 40s
Pablo Picasso
Ever Fallen in Love
and I'm missing one, if you remember, Dave?

more or less

In addition to More Drinking, Less Driving, I seem to have also resolved to blog more this year (lucky you!). I think it's just because I finally got the hang of that little Insta-Blog button I installed on my toolbar who knows how long ago. I mean, I haven't even told you about the weekend shenanegans, nor about Denise's wedding LAST week!

Eh, whatever. To everything there is a season.

More of:
blogging
writing
honesty
boys
whiskey
dancing
going to bed at a reasonable hour (possibly difficult re: the last three list items)
getting to work reasonably on time
trips to the gym
new job
salary
organization
eye makeup

Less of:
negativity
self-doubt
size of my ass
sleeping on the couch
smoking
pouting
belittling gossip
criticism

Basically, I want to get back to being the fabulous woman I used to be before I came to New York. Shouldn't be too tough, right?

I'll fill you in on the weekend's gossip soon, promise. Right now I'm still downloading the photo evidence.

hot braided cowboy

Here's a video clip of the boy I met this past weekend. The website sucks, but at least you can see how cute he is.

New York state of mind

Hmm, I think this song title thing is already getting old....
I've got dating issues. We all know this. Heck, we all discussed it ad nauseum all weekend, which is the bonus prize for getting me drunk. Still, it's nice to hear that others agree with me on the state of Dating in New York.

Maybe Brooklyn is another story?

Baby you can drive my car

I'm going to make an effort in 2005 to label all of my posts with song titles. It's something we used to do on the old Maggie columns on Enormous Fun.

As I got to the end of these directions, my heart did a little leap, and I thought "How sweet!" But that's the very problem with the country boy; you can never tell. Maybe he's being sweet, or maybe he's poking fun. I don't understand his point anyway, as there are no directions from Manhattan anywhere on the page. (And if you're wondering what he'd be teasing me about, that would be it -- my nitpicky tendencies.)

Anyway, were I to go to Lillie's this weekend, there's no way I'd drive. Another effort I seem to be making (at least so far) in 2005 is More Drinking, Less Driving.

Don't believe the hype

Musical legends? Maybe not so much.

"It's food like this that makes eating a habit!"

Ah, that Lileks, so brilliant with the regrettable food. (And if you're wondering why we should care what Sam Cowling ate, he was a singer/comedian in the 40s.)