At Guo-li-zhuang, you're a dick.
"Pandemonium did not reign. It poured."
If ever there was a plane in need of snakes:
Martha: "Why the hell would anyone want to live [in NOLA]?"
Opie: "I went there once, all them black people, never again."
(mind) - Thanks for the info, Grand Wizard.
(mouth)- I see
Walter: "I sure am glad that they ain't gonna rebuild that place."
(mind)- What the fuck you say, motherfucker?
(mouth)- You're incorrect there sir.
Wiggum: "All I got to say is I wish you people would leave Atlanta."
(mind)- Umm. I'm a white guy.
(mouth)- Who are "you people?"
Opie: "All y'all from New Orleans. Everyone in Atlanta is tired of supporting y'all. Y'all need to go home."
(mind)- You know, my hands would fit around your neck perfectly.
(mouth)- Sadly there are not really any homes left.
Martha: "Are you living in a tent?" [giggles]
"It's a beautiful city," he acknowledged, "but I subscribe that to God, not to anyone up in San Francisco."
"OK, OK. I need three pizzas, all of them extra large with anchovies."
"Anything else, sir?"
"Yeah. Throw in some hot wings, and a couple of crazy breads."
"How many crazy breads, sir?"
"Three, I guess. And throw in one of them big grape sodas."
"How will you be paying, tonight?"
"Cash."
"The address for delivery?"
[snicker][snort]
"I'll need your address, sir."
"Heaven."
Rats at a rave are the new snakes on a plane.
Among rats given the high dose of ecstasy, those exposed to 95 decibels--the maximum noise legally allowed in Italian nightclubs--had ECoG readings half as high as rats not exposed to sound. Brain activity for rats left to trip quietly returned to normal after 1 day, but raving rats' brain activity stayed low for 5 days.
phrases that led to peacedividend.com ~2hr ago, in order:
beef jerky snorting*
cockblocking constitution
adopting a panther
CRUSHING LIKE A BUG
huffing air freshener
acting sexy*
I thought it was over, but I was wrong. Today this southwest facing window was the scene of many slow agonizing deaths. Sunbeams pass through its ancient warped pane then reflect off its west-facing, beam conveying, corner-forming neighbor to form a dizzying vortex that no insect can resist. It gets messy. Last Halloween we installed what turned out to be a pretty effective sentry - call it a scarebug - and that seemed to be the end of the daily deathmarches. Then today a swarm of ants (including one great big red one who in the course of things was nibbled to death by the others), a mother spider, and a loudly buzzing bee overcome their innate fear of plastic hatchling serpents and succumb to the lure of sunset refraction. Dammit. Here's hoping the spider babies help to keep the area tidy.
"If changes in management at [the Corporation for Public Broadcasting] signal to Democrats and Republicans alike that C.P.B. will be nonpartisan and programming decisions will be made on a nonideological basis, that's (sic) a very positive development as we go about seeking support from Congress."
That's super-duper positive, esp. for a lobbyist: signaling nonpartisanship way more fun than actually practicing it.
As to the challenges public television faces, Mr. Lawson said: "I think raising money is always No. 1 on the agenda[."]
I kind of hate feeling like a point in a demographic cluster, but I kind of love Spike Jonze's Miller Auditions
(1) Get tattooedby Patrick Conlon at MacDougal Tattoo. He's a brilliant artist with a quick, agile hand, and more integrity in that hand's little finger than [your favorite geological formation here]. Plus he's funny. And while venue prestige is never high on my list of considerations, I've already sent friends and friends-of-friends to MacDougal (which is actually on Sullivan). That place is chock full of maestri, yet somehow devoid of attitude.
(2) Stand in line for an hour and a half in the alley outside The Colbert Report. It's worth it. Let two coke-addled twits lie their way past security and cut in front of you just as the line starts to move, too; if they snatch the last seats in the your section, you might get to sit front and center, behind the Camera 1 mark. The DP and crew are awesome: watch, listen, and behold the magic of television. Stephen Colbert has personal charm to match the telegenic charisma, and his timing is just as flawless when observed from inches away: see the ear trick, hear The Bear Story, and join the robot army. In stark contrast to a December Late Show taping's lingering "tight production, but I'm taking away its Tivo thumb" aftertaste, the Colbert Report is 100% brisk minty freshness.
(3) Miz Uffish. Or at least buy her dinner.
Not at the Broome Street Bar, though, if you're established as regulars by the third day of this week-long trip. Drag her out to LaGuardia Grill and stay there until closing: the free wine, it turns out, is pretty drinkable.
(4) Sprint the distance from Kitchenette to Century 21, and buy some earmuffs already. Damn.
(5) See The Erwin Olaf show at Hasted Hunt. The weather's turned downright balmy in the time it took me to post this, but Chelsea galleries are probably schvitz-like even without freezing rain. This show peers into the psyches of several somehow-familiar characters as they examine their respective roles in almost-familiar scenes. Backdrop details are painstakingly revealed in flattened wide-angle panoramas rendered in rain-drenched Technicolor.
These are frames excised from the nostalgia reel and discarded from cultural memory. Each candid “shot” captures a shift between introspection, self-awareness, and decision; subjects become aware of the camera and confront, or engage, or flinch from the spectator’s gaze. They're not figures so much as characters, for whom you'd wish a better future than the ones to which they are about to yield.
It's what Norman Rockwell might have painted, as he mourned the loss of one too many friends to a military-sponsored addiction. It's special. And it's free. And so warm you can smell crayons melting on the radiator. And right down the street is Half King, where you can (6) enjoy fortifying pints of Guinness as part of a healthy breakfast. I'd warn against eating first, if dead things make you queasy: Hasted Hunt also offers a two-wall mini-retrospective of the work of Joel-Peter Witkin.