You're so lucky I'm around

Although I watch a lot of DVDs (and now, thanks to Todd, Blu-rays), I am not generally a consumer of romantic comedies, for many reasons. I only rented Dan in Real Life because I didn't know that's what it was, and I am a sucker for both Steve Carell and advice columns.
But, having viewed it, I gotta say, I loved it.
Things I loved about Dan in Real Life:

• The cast. I was going to try to single people out, but it's a big cast, and a phenomenal one. Full of, "Oh, it's that guy!"
• Norbert Leo Butz. OK, I really wasn't going to single people out, but I have a soft spot for him, because I saw him on Broadway in Wicked, where he was delightful. He is also delightful in this film.
• The family dynamic. In some ways, this is a movie about a guy who feels left out of his own family, kind of. I discovered from the special features that the rest of the cast had a week of rehearsal without Steve Carell. It works.
• The line, "You are a murderer of love!" You think that might be the best line ever, certainly the best line possible in this film, and then, a few minutes later, it comes up again, better.
• My own reexamination of "Let My Love Open the Door." God, what a perfect song. Go listen to it right now.

Baby love

My sister had her baby late Tuesday. Which is pretty awesome. She is my first niece, my parents' first grandchild, both her parents' first child. She is amazing and perfect and tiny.

So amazing, in fact, that on Wednesday afternoon, as my parents and brother-in-law crowded around my sister and this stunning infant, my father proudly declared her to be the most beautiful baby he'd ever seen.

Someone (OK, I) pointed out that it would perhaps have been more tactful not to say that in the presence of the people who've grown out of the only other two newborns he's ever seen.*

Whatever, though. We all got what he meant.

(*- Realized in typing that that I can think of a fourth newborn he's known. Oh, well, glad to complete the circle of insult by sharing it here with Cousin Mouse.)

I scream, you scream

I did not grow up in a neighborhood with an ice cream truck.
Where we lived when I was in high school, the truck would come along once in a while. Its tune was weird to the point of creepy. I best approximated it by playing three different music boxes, all playing different songs, at the same time.
Then, no ice cream truck for nearly twenty years.
My current neighborhood has an ice cream truck, with discernible tunes, but again, they're weird. a friend once noted that it was playing the theme from Love Story. I was just impressed that she could identify the theme from Love Story, as she was born fifteen years after that movie came out. But she was right, and I've heard it play a number of other weird tunes since.
Tonight, I jotted down what I could make out as the truck made its rounds:

• "The Battle Hymn of the Republic"
• "Deck the Halls"
• "Clementine"

Proud

Today's a big day.

Some of you know.

40 years ago today, a bunch of misfits in a bar made a lot of noise when the folks who were there to serve and protect (whom?) got rough with them. For two days, a bunch of other people joined them, and a bunch of other people watched. A year later, the first Gay Pride marches happened to commemorate the event. And so, many folks argue, the modern LGBT rights movement was born.

I had, like, a million things to say about this, but I realized I was approaching it like a sermon, looking for a moral. I don't have a moral. I'm queer and out and grateful, and there are lessons to be learned from Stonewall and the more recent battles and our righteous disappointment, but I am unable to pick just one, and who am I to tell you what your lessons should be, anyway?

So, then, a few links for more reading, for those who are interested.

• The Wikipedia version
• An eyewitness account
• Frank Rich's acknowledgement of, among other things, what hasn't changed

And a few questions for folks who feel like having a conversation in the comments. You obviously don't have to answer all of these; pick what strikes your fancy:

• Did you think about Stonewall today (or yesterday)? What did you think about Stonewall today or yesterday?
• Do you remember Stonewall? Tell us a story.
• Do you remember any big queer awarenesses? That you were, that I was, that civil rights matter? Tell us about it.
• Are you mad at Barack Obama? More or less mad than you were at Bill Clinton? Tell us about it.
• What are you celebrating today?
• What are you mourning?
  
• Who are your queer heroes, and why? If you don't have any queer heroes, why? You can't just pick me. (Note I said, "just.")
  
• Why haven't you found me a nice girl yet?

In which I overdo the italics, for what seem like good reasons

This may shock you, but I was a pretty surly 13-year-old, in total contrast to the ray of sunshine I am now. It's true.

At the age of 13, I got what many 13-year-old girls only dream about: A do-over. On my whole life.

We moved the summer between eighth grade and ninth grade, from rural New Hampshire to suburban Massachusetts. I was sure that the dorky, isolated kid I'd felt like would vanish, leaving a totally cool new me — the real me — with tons of friends who really understood. My new school would be filled with people who could appreciate me. Teachers would cease to care that I didn't do any homework because I was brilliant. Students would not be able to believe what a hole had been in their lives before I moved to town. Fashion would suddenly dictate that being a little heavy with giant glasses was the new black.

Yeah, OK. That didn't so much happen. Some things were better in the new school, many things were worse. I survived it and am now the very very well-adjusted blogger you all know and love. You will note my "About me" covers the suburbs differently than the country.

But the point is, when I left the old town, I left it completely, severing virtually all ties. Did not one bit cling to my old friendships. Hell, no.

And then came Facebook. Last night, my childhood best friend found me, filled with nostalgia from thinking about her upcoming high school class reunion. Excellent. I can't wait to hear more about her life. My Facebook stalking suggests she's happy, is married with kids, lives in the town we all used to live in, and is still in contact with many of our old classmates.

This morning, another elementary-school and middle-school friend found me. We were not best friends. He might be surprised to hear that I think of our childhood friendship as sort of love-hate, because I thought we were similar, and I did not want him or anyone else noticing that, even as I thought he was hilarious and neat. He was a little weird, in a way my adult self would love. We were both smart, and not tough, in a place where tough equaled cool. He embraced his weirdness and smartness. I just frantically wanted to be very, very normal.

So, this is getting very long. But let's face it, if you're still reading now, you're going to keep reading. And we both know it. You're all but a hostage here.

So this guy found me this morning. And we traded details of our lives, in a sort of twenty-years-in-twenty-lines format.

I think he might be setting his high school classmates up for a reality-show version of Grosse Point Blank. I am not going to share all of his twenty years with you because:

• I at least sort of respect for his privacy, and
• If we maintain this friendship, I might let him see this blog, and
• You would think it was a work of fiction, and I am mostly sure that it is not.

Suffice it to say that every single year has something as astounding as these highlights:

1988 first daughter born; join Army
1989 graduated [high school] and left New Hampshire for the Army
...
1994 Chop off fingertip after 100' vertical ice axe ascent of Portage Glacier-
...
1997 Traveling announcer for Sport Parachute demonstration team- shatter leg after freefall mishap
...
2001 Third marriage- Decide flying for a living isn't what I want to do after life-changing experience- change jobs (and design a simulator for RPGs now used worldwide in war games)
...
2009 Start two graduate programs (making up for lost time)- first grandchild born in Maine- Moving back to Germany (August)

Which, are you kidding?

Two things:

• What have I been doing for the last 25 years? My list reads like, "moved a bunch of times, got a job as a teacher, got a job as a waitress, got a job as a writer, moved."
  
• This is the kid I was worried about being like? Because we have not done one thing that was similar since 1985.

In the sun I feel as one

So, I'm sorry, gang.
I haven't been posting because I wanted to keep fixing the design, but I haven't been fixing the design because I don't know what I want to do yet.
I do know that this is not the final redesign, much as I know that I am not going to leave my bathtub peeling and multi-colored, but in both cases, it'll have to do for now, because I need to post and I need to bathe. If you have great ideas for what I should do, other than keeping black-on-white (which I will do) and getting rid of the scary cat (which I will probably do), let me know.
Meanwhile, onward and upward.

Minor changes

I like to call this one "minima lefty (not stretch) with scary awesome cat picture."

Thoughts?

Shopping

So, this week, I'm going to try some new themes in the design of the blog. Those of you who read regularly, please check in and see what you think. I'll post a post every time I post a theme, and I'll try to leave each theme up for at least a day. Comment to tell me whether you like it or not, and what aspects, specifically, you do and do not like.

A dear friend of mine and regular reader of this blog, who just did a big redesign of her own, said, "It feels to me like putting on a new outfit, or buying a new pair of shoes."

And that's the thing, isn't it? The old wardrobe feels outdated, both in terms of fashion and in terms of who I am right now. But also, I get inclined to stick with the old stuff, because shopping feels like such a pain, even though I am almost always pleased when I do get the new thing. Periodically, all my old shoes wear out at the same time, and like it or not, I have to shop for new ones. Which I generally love so much that I wear them pretty much exclusively until they, too, wear out.

This is way too long a post to say, here's Minima Lefty Stretch.

Debating, rather than dueling

Some coworkers were listening to A Prairie Home Companion last weekend, and heard k.d. lang assert that playing the banjo was "a chick magnet."
The coworkers in question have extrapolated that to mean that I should start playing the banjo.
Discuss.
(Oh, and feel free to share and solicit opinions from your banjo-playing or chick-magnetic friends.)

Why all these dudes wearin' brown flip-flops?

When I lived "in D.C." the most recent time, I actually lived in Arlington, one of the closer-in suburbs in Virginia.
In fact, my employer, which had "Washington" in the name, was also in Arlington.
Arlington is most famous nationally as the home to Arlington National Cemetery. But it is famous in the Capital Region for, well, all the stuff in this video, which has been sent to me by approximately 16 different people, as well as popping up on bunches of Facebook statuses.
Enjoy, friends.

Ivy update

(Previous ivy updates here)

Sick and tired

Hey, gang. There was a long post in the works about how sick I was last week, and how I'm also a hypochondriac, which makes everything more difficult. It was hilarious and rambly. But I did not have the attention span to finish it.

I'm better now, but very, very run-down and weak. Which is sad; between the sick and the tired, I have missed:

• several major family events,
• one major work event,
• one minor social event,
• three and a half days of work,
• and fireworks

So yesterday, with a little help from my sweet mother, I made my way back to the urgent care center to see if maybe there wasn't something major going on, on top of strep throat. There isn't. I'm fine.

The guy who did my blood work (which, in this case, means both drew the blood and ran the tests) was awkward and made a lot of noise about how drawing blood is his least favorite part of the job, and he doesn't usually do the blood drawing.

That became clearer when we were able to see what happens when he does:


That is after a day of healing, folks. Yesterday, it was just that color and size, but also swollen and weirdly lumpy. Hurts like hell, too.

Rollin', rollin', rollin' ...

So, for the second time, a friend I thought was already on my blogroll asked if he could be on my blogroll.

Yes.

And since I am embarrassed not to have had him on my blogroll all along, allow me to direct your attention to I Peed on My Kid. It's every bit as funny as it sounds, and the guy who writes it used to write for both V.I.P. and the animated Spider-Man series. And porn. Plus, we went to high school together.

Perhaps more to the point, if you have a fabulous blog, and you can't understand why I hate you and haven't included you on the blogroll, it's probably because I thought I added you months ago and failed. Give me links in the comments.

Travel Tips: Lessons from Manchester, NH

You can complain all you want about Durham, North Carolina, but if you want something to eat in the Manchester, NH airport, on a weeknight, get there before 7 p.m. Yes, 7 p.m. in the town we call "ManchVegas."

A request for maybe the awesomest ongoing post ever

CousinMouse writes:

As a leading expert on the fashions of the 80s, can you please explain what the differences are between the styles of those days and those of today? Seriously, I have not observed any big differences. The 90s, too. I hear young folks saying "that looks so 90s" and I see no distinguishing features other than it looks contemporary.

Maybe a subject for City Mouse or a facebook note?

There may be others out there who struggle with this same very important issue. It is our responsibility to help them out.

Send me your pics of the 80s and 90s, specifically those that highlight differences between the fashion of that time and this one. Or post links to them in the comments. I'll add to this post regularly (sorry if you're reading this in a reader; you'll just have to keep coming back), and we will do what we can to educate a dude who acquired some of his signature pieces from the collection of 40s clothing my parents had in the barn in the 70s.

I'll kick us off with a pic from 1990. Note especially hair, eyewear, and footwear.

Thoughts while buying my mother's birthday present

Some of you in more citified or western parts may not have heard of Agway, which is too bad, because I love Agway. Agway describes itself as "Lawn, Garden, Pet, Bird and Farm Specialists," which is about right. You can buy chicks, and dog food, and fertilizer, and ant poison, and rose bushes, and a shed, and a bunny hutch, and a roof rake, and and and and and. Great store.
So, just so you know, if you went in just for a sec to buy someone you love a gift card, and you found yourself looking at the "impulse buy" stuff by the register, you might find yourself looking at the pet tags, and you might observe one that is pink and sparkly, with "Sexy" written on it.
Here are my two thoughts on that:

• Do not not not buy your pet a tag that suggests that it is sexy. If a person wears a t-shirt that says, "sexy," there is some question about who procured the t-shirt, and therefore whether it is the wearer or some admirer who thinks the wearer is sexy. If a pet is wearing a tag that says, "sexy," everyone knows it was a human who bought the tag, and you will creep people the hell out if you tell the world you think your pet is sexy.
• If you decide to write a blog post on pet tags that say, "sexy," do not search the internet for "pet tags sexy." There are creepy people out there, and they have posted to the internet already. Some of you may be reading this post because you went looking for some similar term on Google. Sorry both to call you creepy and to disappoint you with the content of this post. I do still think you're creepy, but you don't need that kind of abuse, you have bigger problems. Please feel free to look around City Mouse Country (ugh; the name of my own blog now grosses me out a little) and see if there's other content you find hilarious and entertaining. I am pretty sure none of it is creepy, though my regular readers will probably correct me with links in the comments.

Where? Weare. Where?

Sorry, kids. Been busy. There are mountains to climb and bellydancing lessons to take and commissions of diversity and multiculturalism to co-chair. Anyway, you don't want excuses. You want lists that compare me to Supreme Court Justice David Souter, inspired by a conversation with my cousin on a hike on Monadnock today.

Things about me that are like Supreme Court Justice David Souter:

• We are white.
• We have winning smiles.
  
• We brought our belongings from New Hampshire to the D.C. area in a U-Haul.
• We never totally unpacked.
• We got sick of D.C., even with great jobs and friends there, and decided to return to New Hampshire.
• The middle school in Weare, NH, (pronounced, "where." Yes, it's hilarious.) is named after neither of us.

Things about me that are unlike Supreme Court Justice David Souter:

• Weare, NH, actually wanted to name the middle school for him.
• I lasted only 8 years, while he lasted 19.
• Republicans used to think he was on their side.
• He does not seem to want special treatment or deference.
• Anyone might be actually inclined to give him special treatment or deference.
• I beat him back up here.

Other similarities or differences you think worth mentioning?

Pot calling the kettles

OK, Internet friends, we have a crisis.
I have a pot luck to go to tonight.
Some of you may know that pot lucks are sort of my thing. Generally, I host them, rather than attending them, so that even if my dish falls a little flat, my guests are distracted by being impressed with what a good hostess I am (and I am).
But my go-to dish is my chicken chili with hominy in it. It's good, it's crazy-easy to make, and it goes in the Crock Pot.
And I have lost the recipe. More to the point, I have lost the whole book it was in, which includes all my backup go-to dishes.
So my plea is twofold:

1. Did I give you that recipe?
2. Do you have another backup recipe for me?

I need to be ready to go by 5, so any shopping and preparation needs to be done by then.

Ol' Lady [bzzzzgrrrl]

It's that time of year again, when my windows are open and the neighborhood kids are outside.
Just overheard this in my backyard, while I sat in the sunroom, out of view:
(wheel grinding noise)
"Quit it! Get away from there! [exasperated noise] Do we even know the people who own that property? No. They [mumble mumble mumble]."
Indeed I do, kid. Indeed I do.

The Doogie Howser line always works on strippers

This delights me. Very, very much.

Tea-ed off

I can't be the only person simultaneously amused and horrified by the sudden use of the word "teabagging" everywhere, right? I mean, regardless of who the teabaggers are and what they're trying to accomplish, it's funny, right? And also shocking?

No, of course I can't. (Arguably not safe for work, depending on how much more gross-slang-savvy your coworkers are than the Republican party.)

Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy

This one is definitely less safe for work than the one above.

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	M - Th 11p / 10c
IndigNation! Populist Uprising '09 - The Enragening
thedailyshow.com
Daily Show Full Episodes Economic Crisis Political Humor

(Important side note: If you don't understand what I am talking about, please do not ask in the comments. I will in no way elaborate.)
(Less important side note: Ellen Degeneres once gave me a year's supply of teabags. For reals.)

Callus remarks

Warning: This post not for the easily grossed-out. It is perfect, however, for health inspectors, ladies with pretty feet, and health inspectors with pretty feet.

Those shavey things sometimes used in a pedicure? Are miraculous to me. For those of you who don't get pedicures, or who get them in the wrong states, they're a razor blade with a handle, pretty much, that shaves calluses and rough skin off your feet. They are apparently called "callus shavers." Which makes sense. For me, the callus shaver is the point of a pedicure, in fact. I can paint my own toenails, but I am afraid to shave the rough skin off my feet. That's a razor blade in there, people.

I have been told (though I cannot attest to the veracity of the information) that they are legal some places (including Idaho and Virginia), but not in all (including, apparently, New Hampshire). Bzh mentioned recently that they are not legal in North Carolina or Maryland.

So here's your question: How does a person find out what states they are legal in? I live so close to so many states that there must be somewhere around here I can get a decent pedicure. Right?

Anyone happen to know, for the benefit of all my readers, where that info lives? Or know, for my benefit, whether that is a service offered in any reputable (ah, hell, even semi-reputable) salon in the New England states?

UPDATE 4/15 4:27 p.m. Many thanks to bzh herself for finding us just what we were looking for. It seems Vermont is the place, for me anyway. Woohoo, and may you other seekers find a salon near you.

Love in the workplace

So, one of my work buddies just stopped by my office to say hello. After some quick chat about work stuff, on her way out, she said, "Hey, what was up with that crazy post on your blog?"

I had no idea what she was talking about.

She reminded me that over the weekend, I'd told someone I loved him or her. I laughed and asked if she clicked on the link. She said she did click on the link and saw that some anonymous person had said "I love you too," at which point she decided it was way too personal to get involved in.

"No," I said. "Did you click the link that was in the post?"

"There was a link in the post?"

"Yep," I said.

"But then it was your Facebook status, too."

"Right," I said. "There was a link there, too."

"I need to call [bzzzzgrrrl]," she said abruptly, which confused me, but I quickly figured out that she meant she needed to call another friend of ours; she was just flustered enough that she was getting names confused. And the reason she had needed to call that other friend of ours was that they had been speculating about my apparent sudden falling in love, and my apparent sudden willingness to discuss it here before either of them had even heard there was a candidate.

There are two potential takeaways here:

• During the time that I have had this blog, I have both been in love and not been in love, and you haven't heard much about either here. You won't the next time, either, unless it gets so serious that my real-life friends will already be well aware of what's going on.
• If I post something super-cryptic and very exciting here, look for a link. If you don't see one, ask. There is almost certainly a logical explanation.

Ten minutes late

I love you.

Travel Tips: Lessons from Lake Placid, New York

If you are driving from Keene, NH, to Lake Placid, NY, Google maps will get you there.

If you are driving from Lake Placid, NY, to Keene, NH, on Thanksgiving Day in hopes of getting home in time for pie, it is best not to just try to reverse your old directions.

If you do, you will hit Route 4 near the top of the parabola (that's for you, Chloe and Brian and Christina), but you won't know it, because it will just be a road, and you will take Route 4 "South," which will take you way, way out of your way.

You will not realize it until you will have missed your chance to participate in the Thanksgiving family meal even for mints, and although your aunt and uncle will be very gracious and will let you in when you do get there and will even give you pie, you'll all be too exhausted to enjoy the visit as much as you should, and the rest of the family will all be asleep.

At least, that's my experience. You could also just take 87 all the way south to 7 and cut across the bottom of Vermont.

Travel Tips: Lessons from Durham, North Carolina

If you are hoping for lots of activities in an airport, or even for an open bookstore in an airport, you should not fly in or out of RDU on a Sunday morning.
Even late morning.

Travel Tips: The series

It's been a busy several months for me in lots of ways, and sorry if I've been neglecting the blog as a result.

One of the things that eases my transition to a quieter, countrier life, is liquor.

Kidding.

But only a little.

One of the things that really does ease that transition (but increases my busy-ness) is travel — to all kinds of different places, depending on what I can afford. I learn things, some more useful, some less useful. It seems like it is my obligation to share these findings with you, my readers, and so I shall, in this new and occasional series.

OK, I'll say it.

I liked Watchmen. I've had two weeks to think about it, and I still liked it.

Ya wanna make something of it?

Bang, bang. I am the Warrior.

Sorry, this will likely leave people who don't know me (or haven't seen pictures of me) out. I don't try to do that, but sometimes, you can't help it.

Do you have an opinion on whether I should get a bob with straight-across baby bangs? Factors to consider: How it would look, how much care it would take, whether my hair is a good texture for that look, whether I am too old for that look, whether I can pull that look off in the country, whether I can wear my current glasses with that hair, whether my widow's peak will alter the wisdom of bangs, whether it is smart to embark on something that radical when I can't find a hairstylist I like.

For those of you who do not know what a cardigan is, and therefore may have trouble with "straight-across baby bangs," see this picture. I am thinking of bangs more or less like that, but with slightly longer hair.

Oh, Uncle O'Grimacey

You might think a Shamrock Shake would taste sort of like watercress.

But you'd be wrong.

More like toothpaste.

Milk and ice cream

Tonight, I had dinner with a friend, and then went to see Milk with her, and then got ice cream with her. I know that you are more interested by the inner workings of my brain than with the contents of my dinner, movies, or dessert, so here is a brief round-up:

• Everyone should see Milk. And also Dustin Lance Black's acceptance speech.
• The most perfect, radical, simple piece of queer activism a queer person can do is come out. But you unqueers aren't off the hook in that department. Come out, often, loudly, in our support. Do it when we are around, and do it when we are not around, and do it especially when you think we might be around but for some reason haven't said anything. There is, I promise you, some reason.
  
• Apparently, one of the signs that you are a New England driver is that you refer to driving distances in minutes, rather than miles. Is that true? I mean, I do that, but I assumed everyone did. Readers from other places, do you live X minutes from work, or X miles from work?

One of those things is not like the others, but it is all, I think, necessary for us to discuss.

Hold me closer, tiny pantser

This story told in honor of Adam Brecher and Steve Davolt:

So, last night I had a few people over for pancakes, because it was Shrove Tuesday, and that's what I do. People had a good but not raucous time; there have been Shrove Tuesdays, for example, that involved my guests belly-dancing. That did not happen this year. There was a mix of kids and adults, and many of the adults had a beer or two, but no one got too crazy, because it was a Tuesday night and we're getting older. It was really a very nice time.

But the line of the evening came as my last two guests were getting ready to go. One of my favorite former campers from Cabin 11 got to the entryway and said:
"Wait, what's this? Why are there tiny pants on my shoes?"

I do not at all know the answer to that question, but the tiny pants in question are now in my office.

If they are yours, you may claim them privately, or you may admit to having depantsed at a pancake supper in the comments.

I swear, I only had one drink. I do not know how someone was pantsless at my house and I did not notice it.

Cutting to the chase

As I mentioned several months ago, my sister and brother-in-law gave me a pair of scissors and a dress at the tea ceremony preceding their wedding. I was glib about it at the time, but the point of that was that, since my younger sister was getting married before I was, they needed to do something to ward off the bad luck that might befall me in relationships. Both the dress and the scissors are Chinese traditions, so I can attract a spouse of my own. Nothing so far, but to be fair, I've only worn the dress once since their wedding. And I hardly use the scissors, despite the fact that they are both very beautiful and ornamental, and also entirely utilitarian. They are probably the sharpest scissors I own.

In what would appear to be unrelated, but is not (I'll get there), my house is cleaner than usual these days, and I am trying to do as much decluttering as possible, which has extended to my trying to practice a little feng shui.

So here's the question for you, because I know somewhere in my readership there has to be someone who knows something about feng shui. Right?

I put the scissors in the relationship corner of my house. The idea was that, since they were given to me to bring me a relationship, and since they are a "pair," that would be good feng shui. It occurred to me this morning that since they are very sharp, and pointed, and next to my bed, that could be perceived as a little more hostile to love, and although I call them a pair, they're still just one thing, which you should never have in your relationship corner.

Any opinions on the wisdom of keeping those scissors there, or not?

Mindfulness

This week, I became aware that my dry-erase board, which is fine, is hung just a couple of inches too low to be ideal.

This morning, I became aware that if I stopped wearing two- to three-inch heels, my dry-erase board would become ideal.

These are the things I think about.

Dude looks nothing whatsoever like a lady

It's no, "I love you Pinky Ganesh," but here is the best sentence I have written today. It is both true and also sums up my entirely excellent Valentine's Day evening (though there may be another post coming on that subject):

I guess when you're a straight man in a red pleather miniskirt and a fitted t-shirt that says "puppy love" with a picture of sad-eyed puppies on it, you're not worrying that much about how classy you are.

Further evidence might include but not be limited to:

• your wearing a cheap long blonde wig, crooked
  
• your being both the bartender and entirely wasted
• your running around the room, grabbing women in pairs, and essentially forcing them to dance with you for a few seconds before you ditch them for the next pair
• your persistence in calling these women "ladies"
  

The smartest guy in the office?

I spent some of today watching Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room.
I recommend it if:

• You are already all riled up about Enron.
• You think Jeff Skilling is kind of funny in his delusion, and want more fodder for thinking that.
• You are a little embarrassed that you don't really understand the whole Enron mess, and think you probably should.

All that said, this ad was featured in the movie.



Watch at least the first few seconds of it and tell me this:

• Is that first voiceover Rainn Wilson?

Horse and absolutely buggy

This is arguably why I have a blog. You people need these stories (which I got this morning from a dear friend and regular reader; thanks, KS).

Unfortunately, this version has at least two problems that I can spot, and one giant open question (what about Clementine?) so I suspect it isn't very well reported. I will get you a better link when I find one.