Tonight, at 11:30 pm I am taking off for MAINE (via Washington DC and a really annoying almost 2-hour layover). I am SO EXCITED. OMG. SO. EXCITED. SO.
I’ve been counting down the days to my trip to the GREAT STATE for what feels like forever. I haven’t been home since Christmas and couldn’t be more thrilled to take a 4 day vacation to Vacationland.
The thing I am most excited for? An Italian. I am not talking about some random man of European descent I might come upon wandering the streets of Portland. I am talking about a sandwich. And not just any sandwich. THE BEST SANDWICH EVER. EVER.
The Italian is the perfect combination of the following:
Sub roll Ham American Cheese Green peppers Pickles Olives Salt & Pepper a little bit of oil & vinegar and a lot of perfection
Most people also get theirs with onions and tomatoes, but I choose not to. The other debate is regarding the olives because the Italian seller of my youth, Town Landing Market, down the street, makes their Italians with black olives whereas Maine’s favorite chain sub-and-pizza shop Amato’s uses kalamta olives. I think I prefer Town Landing, but mostly for the idyllic setting and nostalgia.
In any event, my mouth is salivating at the mere thought of this delectable taste of heaven and I’ve instructed my father to pick up at the airport, sandwich in hand, and I don’t care that it’s 10 am and I haven’t eaten since I was in LA, I WANT THE SANDWICH.
Other Maine treats I can’t wait for? Too many to count. (Worth mentioning are fresh blueberries, fresh seafood, homemade Moose Tracks ice cream, Moxie, and really just oh so many Italian sandwiches).
True to the large sign you pass on I-295 heading North from Boston: Maine, The Way Life Should Be.
Remember way back in March when I wrote this post about some cool ads that I found to be not only effective in promoting their brand, but in just being beautiful pieces of art?
Well, Sony has another one and it is just as cool. My one question--why do they only air these in the UK? Can't Americans appreciate artsy advertising as well? Maybe not...
And here's a similarly themed show of physical advertising from Fido in Canada. Also cool.
I had just written some really stupid post about some cereal and then stupid blogger told me I couldn't post it and then I was going to rewrite it and then I decided not to because I realized it wasn't all that interesting so you are getting some of this drivel instead. I can't decide what's worse: Monday or Wednesday. It's also highly pathetic how much I talk about the miserable days of the week.
While watching The Hills last night I couldn’t notice a strange sensation sneaking up on me. I tried to ignore the feeling while I watched Lauren’s shock and awe when Speidi surprised Stephanie Pratt at her birthday. I tried to fend it off when observing Whitney’s crazy ass boss get all Devil Wears Prada on her team. And I really tried to deny the slow dawning realization of a new truth watching Audrina debate the impending World War III, or in her terms “dark hairs vs. light hairs.” (So articulate that one). But I couldn’t fight it and I can’t deny it.
I think I might be over The Hills. It sucks. Like really sucks. As in, the Speidi obsession with hating Lauren (seriously—Spencer referring to LC as the girl he hates most in the world or something like that) just had me wondering... wasn’t that last season, or two seasons ago? Can’t the dredge up some other faux drama to make new subplots with?
I mean obviously I am going to keep watching, if not only to see what color She-Pratt’s skin will be next week (seriously honey, lay off the coffee, cigarettes, and self-tanner, like yesterday). But I do feel that my love/hate for the show has now turned into hate/love. If that makes any sense... You know, these post-episode responses are nearly as vapid as the subjects that I am not even sure my blogging is worth it. But let’s see how I feel next week, shall we?
Bienvenida a Tijuana Bienvenida mi amor De noche a la mañana Bienvenida mi amor
Unfortunately, I did not hear these lyrics pour forth from the musical genius that is Manu Chao at his concert last night in Tijuana. Did I think about going? Yes. Did I almost go, before being repeatedly told that TJ was pretty much the opposite of safe? Still yes. Did I attempt to convince the nice man who worked at Bank of America that he should accompany us on said trip to Tijuana? Yes, yes I did.
At this point you may be confused. You might wonder what could be so great to have me seriously considering crossing into Mexico via the most-used border crossing and then spend some quality time in the largest, and arguably most dangerous border town. I will tell you what is so great, and what might inspire me to go almost anywhere:
You might be thinking Manu Who? Too which I will say SHAME ON YOU. Everyone should know Manu Chao—if not for his status as a musical Che, a Bob Dylan-like global figure embodying principles of anti-globalization and radical leftism—but for his eerily beautiful voice, his profound lyrics, and his capacity for combining politics, love and winsome thoughts of hope in a style of music that could not be more diverse.
But I don’t listen to Manu Chao for his message or political ideals (he sings mostly in Spanish, French, a little bit of English, and occosionally Portuguese, Arabic, Basque, and a bunch of other languages so I can’t always understand what he’s saying). I listen to Manu Chao because, well, to put it simply—he gets my toes a-tapping! Manu Chao (and his band, known as Radio Bemba Sound System) blends a crazy mix of reggae, ska, punk, rock, merengue, and a bunch of other musical styles I don’t have the first bit of knowledge about. All I know is he’s probably my #1 favorite musical act there ever is or was (possibly tying The Talking Heads for that first spot in my heart) and when I saw him perform last year at Bonnaroo it was the best live performance I had ever seen.
It was killing me that I wasn’t at Outside Lands in San Francisco Friday night, where Manu was set to perform before Radiohead (talk about musical geniuses!) especially because he rarely plays in the US and usually only on the festival circuit.
So believe my excitement when I found out he was playing the Plaza Monumental (the bullring) in Tijuana, Mexico last night. And get this—tickets were only $25. Incredible! How could I pass up a chance to see to my all-time favorite musician for that price, and when he was just a three hour drive from LA? I’ll tell you how: TJ.
Let’s do a little examination of my thought process of the “Manu in TJ or Bust” idea.
Thursday night: I spend a few hours in Panera (we still didn’t have internet) to use their wi-fi and with the intention of doing some writing (I'm so LA). I ended up downloading music and watching music videos on YouTube. Then I started looking at flights to San Francisco to catch the set at Outside Lands. When I came to my senses that this was NOT a viable option (too expensive, too soon to call out sick from work) I settled on buying a very rare and hard to find copy of the DVD Babylonia En Guagua (look for it on Amazon for upwards of $94!—don’t worry, I bought my copy for $25.)
Friday night: Ashleigh and I were sitting at home, drinking some beers and just hanging out before going out when I started to look up Manu Chao online again, only to find that lo and behold—Manu would be playing in Tijuana on Sunday night. Five minutes later (after viewing the low ticket price, determining the short distance to the concert, and the likelihood of what was sure to be an epic evening) we were set on going. 100% determined. In fact, if Manu had been playing that night we would have driven right there and then. Thrown caution the wind, gotten in a car to San Diego, then taken the lovely Mexicoach bus across the border and straight to the Plaza Monumental. We were about to buy tickets online, then decided we should recruit others and get more info—buy them on Saturday morning.
Annie came home, and we told her of our planned adventured. She looked at us like we are crazy and said, “you guys are insane. And I don’t mean fun insane. I mean it’s a bad idea.” Our resident expert on border relations then gave us full details on the true stupidity of our plan.
Saturday: Somewhat dissuaded by Annie’s warnings of potential kidnapping, stray bullets, and just general high DANGER alerts, I was still determined to make it happen. As a group we went to Bank of America to open up a joint account for our apartment (a great idea btw, I highly recommend—makes things like paying rent and electric bills VERY easy). While Anthony, our well-dressed banker helped set up our new account I casually asked him if he’d ever been to TJ—and he had! He was a little surprised at our interest in going and when I declared “Manu Chao is playing!” he perked up—he’d seen Manu last summer at Coachella. After the poor kid struggled through endless questions from the three of us (mine mostly about TJ, Ashleigh's about some story she'd heard about some man shitting on the floor of that bank, and Annie asking him if his job ever made him depressed—“no not working at the bank, but at this building in particular!”) I gave him my number and said if he had any interest in going he should call us.
Next up I called my brother who freaked out BIGTIME (which definitely convinced me that calling my Dad for his opinion would be a BAD IDEA) so I listened to his advice, and stories of people getting raped and shot and what not and then decided to call around to few more friends to get some info.
Putting my plans on hold I went to Malibu (listening to Manu Chao all the way there, bien sur) but that night, still determined to go, I decided I would take it easy—I mean if I were going to spend my Sunday night in TJ then maybe I should spend my Saturday night doing normal Sunday night things like laundry and cleaning my room and passing out in front of the television early. All were accomplished but laundry and cleaning my room. (Wow, what an eventful Saturday night!)
Sunday morning: I wake up and go to yoga, and at this point I sort of felt it in my gut—TJ wasn’t happening. Sure tickets were cheap and it would be incredible to hear this music icon singing “Bienvenida a Tijuana” IN Tijuana, but it wasn’t worth being packed in with 10,000 rowdy Mexicans in one of the most dangerous cities on the continent. So much for staying in Saturday night. Oh and Anthony, our banker, never called—if we’d had a Spanish-speaking male with us, chances of the journey happening would have been much higher. I think Anthony was scared of by our barrage of questions. That or the fact that 3 girls he didn't know were attempting to convince him to go to Tijuana with them.
Driving back from Malibu Sunday evening we blasted my favorite Manu Chao album, the live Manu Chao Radio Bemba Sound System and I wistfully imagined catching the show. I vowed that I WILL see him in concert again, and soon.
Until that undetermined date, my Manu DVD is set to come in the next week and there’s always YouTube--I guess I'll have to settle for the next best thing.
In fact, here are a few of my favorite songs—definitely worth your time.
This morning was... interesting. It began with my alarm clock going off much too early, me snoozing for a half hour then barging into DiTonto's room to awaken her with my own rendition of "O What a Beautiful Morning!" from Oklahoma. I don't have a good singing voice in the early morning.
Thus began the 7 levels of hell, by which of course I mean the seven times I was transferred to various departments within Verizon, none of which were capable of solving the problem at hand--getting our recently installed internet to work. Around transfer #6 I declared, "I am extraordinarily frustrated right now so why don't we skip ahead to the part where you tell me how to fix my internet!" Because who has time for constant formalities anyway?
Finaly 1 hour and 9 minuts of phone time later, success! Internet was ours for the taking. And all I wanted to do at the time was upgrade my iTunes, download volumes of music and maybe pirate some TV shows but instead I had to get ready for work.
Breakfast on the road consisted of a Capri Sun and a granola bar. Happy Friday.
Hey remember all that worry about an Actors' Strike? I think it was resolved, but hey no worries--who needs actors anymore when you've got Emily. Or as many Emilys as you want.
I hope they find someone to replace Katherine Heigl soon.
HOLY CRAP YOU GUYS. Blogger just blew my mind. (In the words of Tobias Funke, I just blue myself.... HAHAHAH ew.) As you can tell, I just now, this moment discovered that I can change up the font AND color of my blog posts.
OH MY GOD. THIS IS LIFE CHANGING.
Not really, but maybe this thing will start looking a little more interesting? My dad likes to send me other blogs so I can see examples of what something more "polished" might be. I prefer that my daydreaming, self depreciation, and nerdy obsessions will just get me a job at Entertainment Weekly... someday.
Holy Smokes! It's been far too long since I've posted a favorite movie/tv show/song of the past. Here's one to kick back into gear.
PEE WEE HERMAN. Despite the man behind the mask (and his exhibitionist tendencies) my brother and I grew up stark raving mad for Pee Wee and his adventures. Which explains a lot about me today. For example--my penchant for really weird shit.
Enjoy!
I remember just really wanting to live in his wild house. I also remember that as much as I loved this show, I was also very frightened by it. And upon a second viewing--who wouldn't be?
Today's Lesson: I don't have any unemployed friends, but if I did, they'd be making more money than me. Such is assistant life--living well above your means.
The Hills makes me want to vomit. A little bit. And then it makes me want to cry. And maybe laugh a little bit too. But the overwhelming reaction is nausea. Last night I literally couldn’t help myself from repeatedly spitting out crumbs of my dinner (Ritz crackers and string cheese... Ritz are very crumbly so it shouldn’t be too surprising that I encountered this issue, but I am including this detail to emphasize the urge to vomit, not my pathetic dinner) and the ironic thing is—I couldn’t really tell you what happened. Not because I blacked out or anything, but because I am pretty sure the plot was thin. Gratuitous scenes of LA were ever present, and once again had me wondering how do they make this city look so great? Last time I checked Hollywood was pretty nasty.
If I really think about it (which means I am devoting all too much time to processing The Hills), then I think some key plot points were these: Lauren has a date, Whitney’s facial expressions could narrate an episode, Lo’s a bitch, no Audrina’s a bitch, no they're a both bitches (but I would totally want to hang out with them), Heidi, Spencer, and Heidi’s sister come in a three way tie for worst acting ever, and there was something about never being friends or something but I am not sure who it was about.
Right.
In all, I was underwhelmed by the premiere, hence my delayed review and shorter than normal commentary. (One great thing? None of those weird Dove commercials with Alica Keys. Those made me want to kill myself). Thing is, I think The Hills peaked last season. I just am not sure how much more “plot” they are going to get out of these vapid creatures. Sure Speidi wants to get married in front of the camera, but their scenes are already so incredibly intolerable, I just can’t imagine there being viewer interest. Then again, the show is something akin to a bloody car accident—you just can’t look away. At the very least, I am thankful to have renewed blog fodder. I am also thankful this is likely to be the last season of the show, so I will stop thinking about how I’ve spent about five years of my life watching Lauren Conrad grow up on TV.
Current status on my love/hate relationship with The Hills? Hate.
Since when is power walking an Olympic sport? No seriously. I decided to check out some of our DVRed Olympics yesterday to find that we'd recorded a segment of power walking. My initial reaction was "what the..." because I couldn't really figure out what was going on or why a bunch of toned athletes looked like every mom from my hometown on an average weekday morning. I didn't even believe it until new room mate Annie (Roomie #3, Annie #2?) walked into the living room and said "Oh, Olympic Power Walking!" So yeah, I guess I did miss the official Olympicization (new word?) of walking.
My love for The Talking Heads knows no bounds. They would definitely rank in the top three of my top five favorite music acts (also up there would be Queen, The Police, Paul Simon, Manu Chao and probably a lot more than five) and Byrne is definitely the weirdest and coolest musician out there. He's recorded da new album with Brian Eno which is streaming live and you can order from their site. I listened a little bit this morning and highly recommend.
Okay I know it's late summer and all, and a particularly icky August for those New Yorkers out there, and probably a lot of people are vacationing right now, or pretend vacationing (aka day dreaming while at their cubicles... aka me), but WHERE have all my readers gone? Seriously!
Is it me? It could be, I know that. I mean, since I've started the new job I would say posting has been somewhat lack luster. But in the past week I feel as though I've made a roundabout effort, zeroing in on such themes as Hot Tamale love and inspecting the contents of my garbage can, among other things. So while I am out here posting away every day, potentially endangering my career, procrastinating my work, and really just pouring out my hopes, thoughts, and dreams to the anonymous readers of the interwebs, you all just need to get ON BOARD. By which I mean you really need to start emailing Jaw Wired Shut to EVERYONE YOU KNOW RIGHT NOW.
Seriously. I want to see today's page views sky rocket up to 100. All it takes is a conversation or an IM--"oh hey check out this blog it's so cool" or "Wow this chick Annie is a fucking genius and I WISH I were only as smart and as cool as her" or maybe "yo that Stamos girl is painfully annoying, read this shit and then let's make fun of her" or "my friend Ann told me to tell people to read her blog so here it is" and you get the idea.
It looks like a bird vomited in my garbage can. Take a look:
My trashcan, which sits next to me, smells disgusting. I am getting constant wafts of the following scents:
1. Remainders of the Tomato Bisque soup I had for lunch (lower left) 2. A soy yogurt I started eating and quickly aborted when I noticed the expiration date of August 4th. 10 days ago (upper left). 3. The wilting lettuce leaf, tomato slice, and solitary hot pepper (sides from a grilled cheese, in large plastic container) 4. Sunflower seeds aka bird vomit. Not much of a smell actually (everywhere).
Today's Lesson: People who don't take themselves seriously or are self aware are extremely rare in this town. When they do exist, it's a comic genius. Example: Tropic Thunder.
For the first time ever I have joined a Fantasy Football league. This is both exciting and intimidating because I think I have a very weak grasp on playing fantasy football.
When it comes to sports, for a girl, I would say I am above average with interest/fandom. I've always been one for school spirit and in fact, that was a high ranking criteria when I was doing the dreaded college search my junior and senior years of high school. I played a sport every season, grew up skiing and figure skating, and thanks to my Dad, was raised a rabid Michigan sports fan. Thanks to my geographic location I grew up a massive Boston sports teams fan as well. Today I still hold true to my first loves the Red Sox, the Celtics, the Patriots and the Michigan Wolverines, with a few other teams interspersed.
Now, I think that my sports devotion is going to be not only tested but deepened as I battle the virtual playing field (wow that sounded lame). I guess what I am trying to say, is that beyond the QB and maybe a line backer here and there, I don't have extensive knowledge of many teams or of individual players. So, this should be interesting.
Another thing I am looking forward to about Fantasy Football? Yet one more procrastination tool. All right!
Oh and I am going to my first professional US Soccer game tonight, to see the LA Galaxy duke it out against arch rival Chivas USA (or so the press release says). I wish I were in Europe watching this game, which would probably be a lot more interesting and have a lot more fans. Whatever, it's a sports event and it will be fun! Goooooooooooooooooooooooooooo TEAM!
How much caffeine is too much? For example, I've started the habit of having a cup of coffee when I first get into work. Then I have the issue of being constantly frozen, and therefore to achieve warmth I will drink cup after cup after cup of tea. This morning, without realizing, all those cups of tea were caffeinated. I feel borderline unwell at the moment. All shaky and crazy, like a boarding school kid who snorted too much adderall. (See, even my anaolgies are all out of whack!)
The caffeine combined with the large size of my computer screen and hours spent staring at it are making for one helluva headache/brain warp/confused state of being.
So not meant to sit at a cubicle for 12 hours a day...
Damn people at Apple have found another way to sucker in all the freaks and the geeks to buying more of their gadgets. How? Why, by making special limited edition X-Files ipods. SO COOL. If it was 1999 back when I was obsessed. Don't worry, the '08 geek version of me wouldn't be caught dead with one of these puppies. With the 90210 ipod maybe... my love for all things X-Files goes only so far. Especially when they crushed my happiness with that miserable excuse for a movie this summer. No, I'm not bitter.
It’s been a while since a real Stamos-Stamos tête-à-tête, so I’d like to bring back this special feature to all of you.
Seen here : Stamos (me) asleep in a chair last Christmas. (Alcohol may or may not have been involved... read: may)
Seen here : Stamos (John) questionably (answer: yes) drunk after an appearance on an Australian talk show last summer
Challenge: who does drunk better?
Let’s dissect the evidence.
In the first photo there I am, sleeping sound like wee little baby, all snuggled up and happy in my comfortable puffy coat. Don't you just want to snuggle up with me? Aren't my brown tights so shiny and nice?
In the second photo there he is, the normally effervescent Uncle Jesse looking demonized and scary, after he (according to People) “wandered around the set of the morning show, read host Kerri-Anne Kennerley's lines from the teleprompter and made lewd gestures in front of her.”
Winner? Stamos by a landslide.
Oh yeah... ME. That Stamos.
The judge of the Stamos vs. Stamos competition is biased in judging in every way possible. Work with me people, he's a goddamn movie star! Okay, that's an exaggeration--he's a goddamn TV star! From the 80s! Currently experiencing a television comeback! With great hair!
I just had the WORST lunch. Some nasty spinach salad with too many bacon bits and a lot of onion. I don't even like onion! So NOT what I was hoping for.
Just wanted to complain. My dad used to make me wear a "no whining" pin when I was little so now I like to complain at various sporadic opportunities.
Recently I have started telling people I am lactose intolerant. I am not sure this is actually a fact, as I seem to sometimes eat cheese, ice cream, milk, and other dairy products without any problem. BUT, I sometimes eat cheese, ice cream, milk, and other dairy products and I have a LOT of problems.
According to some book I read once (or maybe in some article in some newspaper) everyone is actually a little bit lactose intolerant and we either grow out of it or into it. I might be making that up, but it seems to suit my situation. Like I think I might be a little lactose intolerant.
But that won't stop me from having some frozen yogurt later on. No, sir. I might pay for it with 20 minutes of buckled-over pain, but I don't believe in self-deprevation. Unless I am doing the master cleanse or something. Then it's cool.
Saturday morning I spent 6 hours waiting for the Direct TV technician to come install our new satellite service. While Ashleigh and I bitched and moaned that he was supposed to arrive by noon at the latest (I mean honestly we had big plans to go to Malibu) we also found ourselves lamenting that there weren’t enough pretzels in the munchie mix we were enjoying. We were also in our pool loungers with really no due reason for our many complaints, especially when one of our neighbors handed us a case of Bud Light, just because he’s a nice guy.
All was made right when at last Eli arrived to install the best TV programming ever. EVER. Seriously. We went from no channels to thousands of channels (I think it’s actually around 600 or so) and from playing cards on the balcony to watching people playing cards. Actually that’s not true... we didn’t watch anyone playing cards but I bet we now have a channel where we could watch other people playing cards if we wanted to (that channel is probably just ESPN2 or something but for the moment I am going to pretend there is some totally sweet card-playing channel).
Anyway, the true benefits of DirectTV didn’t kick in until last night (for Ashleigh it was after going out Saturday night when she fell asleep watching the Olympics and didn’t move from that sofa until close to noon the next day). Last night I realized with our new service that we now had access to one of my favorite channels ever, Fuel TV.
Fuel is AWESOME. Pretty much it’s all about extreme sports. It plays endless hours of surfing, skateboarding, biking, wakeboarding, snowboarding, skiing, etc. It is so easy to just turn on the channel and become totally mesmerized by whatever is happening onscreen. Last night, thanks to Fuel TV, I watched the surfing documentary Riding Giants. And last night, thanks to Fuel TV and Laird Hamilton, I decided that I am going to quit my job, and move to Hawaii’s North Shore, in pursuit of big waves.
Okay not really, but kind of. Have you seen that movie? It is a fascinating look at the history of surfing, and profiles some of the big wave surfers who revolutionized the sport. It’s got some incredible footage, a great soundtrack and some interesting interviews with all the guys who helped bring surfing to the mainstream. Last night I dreamt about surfing and this morning when I woke up before my alarm I contemplated taking the board in my living room (that I have gotten on once) down to the beach for a pre-work surf. Then I went back to sleep. Thing is, I don’t actually know how to surf. But oh how I plan to learn.
Thanks to Direct TV I can now watch all the Fuel (in HD of course) I want—which means hours more of surfing, skateboarding (I watched a cool segment on dudes skating in empty pools yesterday) and hopefully some skiing. And of course if I am looking for mainstream sports—the Olympics! And even though I thought I didn’t love the summer games, I couldn’t help getting into them over the weekend.
Right now my head is thinking, all sports, all the time. Thank you satellite...
Seriously. I watched it a few weeks ago and have since been obsessed. It's beautiful, mesmerizing, and just a profound filmgoing experience. Two thumbs up.
Dear Sir (or Madam, but maybe wouldn't it be cool if maybe one day using “sir” it could really be anyone you are addressing, kind of like how it is on Battlestar Galactica? That is a great show. Do you watch the show sir? I recommend that you do),
I am writing you for a very important cause. A cause that I hold dear to my heart. That cause is to say THANK YOU. I believe in Thanksgiving. I believe that once the Pilgrims and the Indians (I think now they are called Native Americans. No, no now they are American Indians. Actually I am not so sure. I am lacking in political correctedness but I make up for it in my love for THANKS) sat down to dinner together and they broke bread (or rather, tore at it) and thanked each other. So, with that I write.
Thank you for inventing Hot Tamales. They are my most favorite of all candy, followed in no particular order by the following:
Twizzlers Good n’ Plenty (anything that supplants “and” with “n’” is genius) York Peppermint Patty
But really Sir Inventor, I feel that you need to know that my love for Hot Tamales far surpasses my love for many other things, including the following (in no particular order):
Yellow highlighters Alarm clocks High-heeled shoes Kleenex (which I love a lot)
This week I have purchased a pack of Hot Tamales almost daily (I say almost because my memory is poor and I think there was one day I did not buy one of these small packs, but I am not sure, therefore to preserve my credability I must include the word ALMOST). Around 4 pm I seem to regularly develop a craving for those succulent cinnamon treats.
In the world of cinnamon treats, by the by, you win. Red Hots have NOTHING on Hot Tamales. Fire balls are overrated. Cinnamon Altoids are a joke. A JOKE.
I especially love Hot Tamales because sometimes when I am eating them they are so cinnamony they hurt and it is a strange sadistic experience. (Please note I am using sadistic in the LEAST sexual way possible. That is to say, it is not always a pleasant experience to eat these Hot Tamales because they are so HOT. But this makes the experience memorable and delicious. Thus it is sadistic. It is painful and awesome. Actually I am not sure I know what the definition of sadistic is. If you know, would you kindly share?).
Sir I implore you to explain to me the idea behind your slogan “Get Fired Up!” It’s genius! I am so fired up about Hot Tamales right now. They are both fat and calorie free, and certainly, as your packaging informs me, a cinnamon-charged candy.
I especially enjoy the package with a net weight of 2.12 ounces, or 60 grams. It is the perfect snack size. And it is under $1 which is really quite wonderful as I do not have a multitude of accessible funds, or as I like to say “I have negative bones.” That saying might not make much sense to you but trust me, it means I do not have a lot of cold hard cash. I bet you do. Why, you invented the most delicious of all delicious cinnamony treats, and perhaps candy in general (I say perhaps because I am not a statistician, and therefore cannot make bold claims I cannot support. I am a man of my word)!
Sir, beyond giving thanks I would also like to offer my services. I would like to put THIS on the table: I would be so happy to be a quality control taste taster. I do not know if there is current need for this, or if perhaps you have control over this (maybe after your invention you moved onto other candies? Say, were you the inventor of Mike and Ikes? Is your name Mike? OOH IS IT IKE? I bet it's Ike. Mike & Ikes are okay. Similar to Hot Tamales but less good).
If you have need for quality control taste tasters feel free to alert me of this need. I am ready and willing at your service to taste test and control quality. I know what makes a good Hot Tamale.
"These aren't Cheech and Chong plants," said John Walters, director of the National Drug Control Policy.
Good one, John. You've not only shown you are up with pop culture, but you clearly understand how kids today think of pot. And, clearly you've got a sense of humor.
"People who farm now are not doing this for laughs, despite the fact Hollywood still thinks that. They're doing it to make a lot of money."
Ooooh methinks Mr. Walters was not a fan of Pineapple Express. And that's a bold statement against Hollywood, sir, and as a member of the aforementioned Hollywood community, I resent that.
Over the last eight days, a federal, state and county law enforcement initiative called Operation LOCCUST has eradicated 420,000 marijuana plants here worth more than $1 billion on the street.
Check out this chick's blog--she is knitting a scarf that will eventually depict the entire first level of Super Mario Bros. She's taking her geekdom to a place all other geeks envy: yarn. Okay, maybe not--but I personally think that's quite an impressive side project. My geek side projects include re-reading Watership Down once a year and watching Star Wars whenever I feel homesick (odd, because I am not from a planet called Tatooine or a galaxy far, far away... I just grew up pretending I was?)
I knit a scarf once. That's right! I know how to knit. It was really scratchy and I think I gave it to my mom or something. I don't really remember.
To knit is one of those words that is the same in the past and present tense. It throws me off. I think that all the advances in technology have resulted in a decline in my own grammatical understanding. Or something.
I'm exhausted. Which is not surprising because I was up at 5:40 am for a spinning class because why not waking up three hours early for some self-inflicted pain, sweating, and intense exercise on a Friday. This morning is moving veeeerrrry slooooooowly.
Who is excited for the Olympics to kick-off tomorrow on the eerie date of 8/8/08?
Not me.
Really, I'm not. I have never been a huge Summer Olympics kind of gal. The things I would want to watch, like sailing, don't seem to air at times conducive to my TV watching schedule. I am much more into the winter games. There are a lot more opportunities for Norwegian sweaters, cowbells, and zinc in the Winter Games. Actually, beach volleyball allows for zinc so I guess that is cool too. Are surfing and skateboarding Olympic sports? I am guessing not. If they were maybe I would watch. Something to think about, IOC.
I guess it might be interesting to watch the world's greatest athletes compete in severely polluted conditions, but I don't know, something about the words "summer" and "olympics" in one grandiose title just makes me sweat uncomfortably at the mere thought. I much prefer the winter games--all that skiing, the luging, the bobsledding, the figure skating! Gymnastics has NOTHING on figure skating. Sure it might require a little more athletic prowess but where figure skating is lacking in sheer physical feat, it makes up for in FLARE. And there's nothing quite like getting to watch a shitty figure skater. Call me an asshole, but it's entertainment.
I would say I am pumped for the opening ceremonies, but again--not so much. That's probably because our cable hasn't been set up just yet (Saturday morning Direct TV, NFL Sunday Ticket and like 900 premium channels will be in FULL EFFECT) so it's not really even an option. Anyway, I have bigger plans for my Friday night... like laundry and maybe Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2. Just kidding. Hah. Sort of.
I've been seriously lacking in posts today (obviously--considering it's almost 5 pm PST and all you East Cost Jaw Wired Shut readers were probably like "F that" and are home for the evening) and all because I've been in insurance hell and it's sucked away my life force. Okay, not my life force but my creative juices. Thanks to one uninsured kid driver named Reynaldo I've got another lovely claim with my lovely insurance company to deal with.
I think my co-workers must associate me with the following: unable to properly operate a motor vehicle, confused sense of style (i.e. trendy/hippie outfit I am wearing today vs. preppy/casual outfit yesterday), obsessed with Maine and some sandwhich that can only be purchased in Maine, in denial of lactose intolerance, and I am sure there are more I could speculate on.
Anyhoo, I've got more insurance questionnaires to fill out and need to further ruminate on perhaps why my luck has yet to turn (fingers crossed it will now) and then maybe I will be back with a review of Pineapple Express or something.
If all else fails I am considering investing in a nice and safe bike (actually it's a family joke how pathetic my bike skills are) or perhaps a motorized scooter.
Every time I send an email it automatically stamps "Sent from my iPhone" on the bottom. Which really just means my default settings are on "pretentious asshole."
I couldn't be more thrilled right now. I was just tooling around on my iphone (working hard, right?) and was browsing some of the new tunes available on iTunes (wow Apple sure does have a hold over me) and am so pumped that Huey Lewis & The News have a brand new track written just for Pineapple Express.
HUEY LEWIS!!!
I love Huey Lewis. Not enough to fork over around $50 two summers ago to see him in Boston (boy was I cheap then--granted I was an intern making $10/hr which is sadly not too far off from what I make now), but enough to convince my roommates that we NEED a framed photo of Huey Lewis for our apartment. Ashleigh went a step further and ordered an issue of Rolling Stone from 1984 with Huey himself on the cover. It's going to be AWESOME.
And now I am going to download this hot new jam... oh wait, no I am not. It's available on "Album Only." Damn you iTunes, that's $10 that can be used to payoff one of the many car-related fees I owe right now.
Yep, still that cheap.
And here's Huey Lewis & The News, performing the new single on Jimmy Kimmel recently. God his hair looks great.
P.S. Pineapple Express is the kind of POT they are smoking (apparently). hehehehe.
Some dude decided to capitalize on the Lord of the Rings frenzy and take fandom to a whole new level--replicating The Shire, or Hobbiton--with real homes for real people to live in.
That's... impressive? Hilarious? Crazy? Genius? You decide. Apparently, no one's actually buying any homes because the real estate market is so bad. Or MAYBE no one is buying because who really wants to have their friends over for a dinner party and have to say, "Oh watch your head on that round door there, it's meant for a 4 foot tall hairy man with disproportionately large feet, not some human of Gandalf-like proportions!" I mean, not me.
A. I didn't shower B. I went to a UB40 concert Sunday night C. I text messaged almost everyone in my phonebook "I am at a sweet UB40 concert" D. After having my new car for three days, I got in another car accident E. I stayed up into the wee hours of the morning Saturday night... cleaning my room F. Everynight I fell asleep while watching the same episode of The X-Files G. All of the above H. None of the above
This morning I get an email from my dad entitled "Chewy" with the following message inside:
Isn't this your dog?
Ah Dad, again, so clever. The backstory would be that I have grand plans of naming my first dog Chewbacca and calling him Chewy. If I have two I might call another one Wookie. Or maybe Bobba Fett? I'm sure there are countless other Star Wars fans who've chosen similar names for their pets, but whatever.
Pet of my past would be the following:
Stripey, cat (was given away because he was evil) Zanzibar, cat (My brother's first words: "Zanzi eat mouse, head all gone") Chutney, cat (She was beautiful) Maizie, yellow lab (I grew up with Maizie. She used to stand guard by my crib.) Gravy, cat (Was enormous and had the most incredible personality) Tinker, cat (My favorite cat--I hold a very special place in my heart for Tinker) Ren, fish (Few memories) Stimpy, fish (Again, few memories) Hoover, yellow lab (He was AWESOME. And so fat he looked like a seal with legs.) Mr. Man, fish (Lived for a surprisingly long period of time) Mr. Man II, fish (And thus all future fish shall be named Mr. Man) Neva, cat, still living, in my brother's possession (We have a love-hate relationship) Moon, cat, still living somewhere (The devil incarnate, belonged to former Roomie #2, was given away)
Hmm, I forgot about that time I loved Ren & Stimpy. What a show that was! Seriously twisted if I remember correctly. Here's the intro (which one's the cat and which is the dog again?):
I am not talking about some random man of European descent I might come upon wandering the streets of Portland. I am talking about a sandwich. And not just any sandwich. THE BEST SANDWICH EVER. EVER.
I think I prefer Town Landing, but mostly for the idyllic setting and nostalgia.
Other Maine treats I can’t wait for? Too many to count. (Worth mentioning are fresh blueberries, fresh seafood, homemade Moose Tracks ice cream, Moxie, and really just oh so many Italian sandwiches).
