11.09.2006

Thursday November 9, 2006

"Presenting the new hotness in license style: the license plate frame with a scrolling ticker, just like Times Square. You can save up to 120 characters, providing the people behind you in traffic with hours of amusement. Some suggested input:

• Display pi up to 118 numbers after the decimal point, but make one error, and wait for the sweet day when some math nerd leaves an angry note on your windshield."

 

This may be the only mildly funny thing James Lileks, super twatwaffle, has ever written.

10.15.2006

Sunday October 15, 2006

oh. my. jesus.
I believe I have just made the paragon of deliciousness, a hazelnut cake with salty caramel frosting. Photo forthcoming.

Related: I have not eaten anything of nutritional value today. Peanut butter chips, bread pudding, bourbon, litchi jellies, Rogue smoke ale, cake batter, cake, frosting.

10.07.2006

Saturday October 7, 2006

How Not to Decorate the Front Window of Your Video Store:
a large sign that says "ADULT VIDEOS FOR RENT" next to a promo sign for "Brother Bear". It took half a block for me to realize they were shilling for Disney and not, um, bears.

10.03.2006

Tuesday October 3, 2006

I found out last week that my Monday night yoga instructor is getting a divorce from my Tuesday night yoga instructor. This brings up two problems for me: A- shouldn't two yoga teachers have the best marriage ever, what with the meditating and the peace and partner yoga and oh my god the tantric sex? B- do I have to choose sides like a high-school breakup? Can I still go to Monday class and then Tuesday class without sneaking around? Will they both work at the studio and just avoid eachother in the lobby? Awkward.

8.27.2006

Sunday August 27, 2006

Minneapolites will be familiar with the Not-My-Fault Jesus mural on the exit ramp for Washington Ave near the Southern. Today, I found his long-lost gay cousin: Blowjob Jesus on Franklin Avenue. I believe that the intention of the mural was probably to show someone receiving a blessing, but really, think twice before painting a man on his knees, head bowed down at genital-level to the Jesus, while Jesus' right hand seems to be pushing the guy's head into his crotchal region. I have to get a photo of this.

Things not to do ever again: drink more than seven glasses of cheap keg beer and attempt to bike home. But I'd bet that YOU wouldn't have expected what looked like an empty white plastic bag in the gutter to turn out to be a full gallon jug of milk. NB: drivers do not appreciate it when you swerve and half-fall into traffic as the gallon of milk spurts on their car.

8.13.2006

Sunday August 13, 2006

cadavers and fetuses (feti?) and corpses, oh my.

Back from the Bodyworlds exhibit at the MN Science Museum tonight- and though it was extremely interesting, some it was redundant and kind of cheap-looking. (Those dead bodies didn't look CLASSY enough!) I think it's definitely worth a trip, especially if you happen to be next to the exhibit of reproductive organs and the girl next to you grabs her boyfriend and taps the glass saying "see, honey? A cuda! (taps own crotch) Cuda!"
The little kids annoyed the fuck out of me, of course. And the dude behind me who has no sense of his own limbs and kept accidentally stepping his feet through mine in his hurry to see whatever was in front of us. Slow down, sir, it's not like these bodies are going to get up and leave before you can examine them.
I expected more from the gestation exhibit- if it's all walled off and they practically make you sign a waiver to see, shouldn't it be more interesting than several embryos and a single plastinated 8-months pregnant woman and her fetus? (I remember seeing something way more detailed as a kid... I think perhaps in Chicago, at the science museum there?)

On the way out, I stopped in the Questionable Medical Device exhibit, and ohmygod do I want a phrenology head.
http://antiquescientifica.com/Phrenology_bust_L.N._Fowler_repro.jpg
If you love me, you'll buy one for me.

As I boarded the 94C back to Minneapolis this evening, I glanced across the aisle and noticed something on the floor beneath the seat: a dirty pink thong. How exactly does one forget one's underwear on metro transit? Is it like having Stripper Tourette's, where instead of shouting inappropriate things, you remove inappropriate articles of clothing?


(Worst bumper sticker design ever: "I love someone with Down's Syndrome" written in crayon-esque, backward-letter, preschool font. Corky would not approve.)

7.29.2006

Saturday July 29, 2006

If you are a tall, pink-fleshed man with no neck, do not shave your head. You will look like a six-foot tall penis.


My downstairs neighbors have a stripper pole installed in the middle of their living room. Their first-floor living room windows face out onto the street. They also have the requisite wall o' empty liquor bottles as decor, but for some reason they have stacked said bottles in their bathroom window, on the shower shelf. I can't imagine that dragging yourself into the shower while hungover would be a very good idea in their apartment ("so... hungover... shit! Tequila is following me wherever I go!").


The downside of Minneapolis' smoking ban: now, when walking past Mortimer's, you can see inside. And man, their clientele resembles nothing so much as a police lineup of alleged sex offenders.


The online weather has a CAPITAL LETTERS HEAT ADVISORY telling me to seek shelter in an airconditioned building all weekend. I think the internet is just trying to make me feel bad for being a Luddite.


On the bus home from work last night, the woman in front of me was reading a medical textbook open to Dissecting the Neck, Illustrations I-V. No one sat next to her.


Advantage of living near the Wedge co-op: my working definition of "junk food" is Larabars (gluten/sugar free/raw), Mesquite Lime Seitan Jerky (fun for the whole vegan family!), and seawed & brown rice chips. Please pass the fiber.

7.19.2006

Wednesday July 19, 2006

Words I Have a Hell of a Time Pronouncing Even When Sober:

arugula
brewery
anemone
foyer (to french-ify or not to french-ify?)
photogravure

6.26.2006

Monday June 26, 2006

In college, when staggering back to the dorm after a party, I’d always bitch about the nocturnal birds chirping away at 4 a.m., sending screechy bird-sounds into my vodka-soaked brain. My common refrain was “what the fuck kind of bird is awake at 4 in the goddamn morning and why won’t it be quiet?!?”. Well, that same bird was perching in my courtyard this weekend and making awful, strangled-avian sounds, punctuated by frantic flappings against my bedroom window. I see now why people keep shotguns under their bed. Screw you, nature.

6.21.2006

Wednesday June 21, 2006

I always hated physics class, but The Museum of Unworkable Devices is awesome.



When I had Claudia’s car for the week she was in L.A., there was a light-up sign before an exit saying “NB 35W closed at ____”. My immediate thought was “note bene: 35W closed” and that it was a shout-out to literature geeks. No, that meant NORTHBOUND 35W was closed. Oops.

6.07.2006

Wednesday June 7, 2006

Minnesota Summer: When the Hookers Go Back Outside! Once the temperature hits a solid 65, the prostitutes come out of hibernation and stake out their street corners once again. I haven’t been actively soliciting their services, but it seems that lately I have a hooker sighting at least once a week. Franklin Ave from Nicollet to Clinton seems especially fruitful, though LaSalle Ave is catching up quickly.

5.25.2006

Thursday May 25, 2006

At my oh-so-glamorous job at the theater, one of the things I do is change the rolly rack of hand towels for the bathroom. For the first time, I read the warning label on the dispenser: WARNING- FAILURE TO FOLLOW PRINTED DIRECTIONS EXACTLY MAY RESULT IN SERIOUS INJURY OR DEATH.

Really? On a rolly-hand-towel dispenser? I'm having a hard time picturing that. I think the worst injury one would sustain might be chipping a nail on the towel guard. Somehow, I don't think that my eventual demise (or anyone else's) will be due to faulty use of a hand towel.

5.02.2006

Tuesday May 2, 2006

There is an ill-advised ad campaign for yet another flavored rum (Tattoo:  because the hangover is permanent!) and it's creeping up on bus shelter ads near you.  The ad shows a rather beefy male arm with a very late-90's "tribal" tattoo wound around the phrase "No Regrets".  Um, that's a shitty tattoo, and I'm pretty sure you're going to regret it as soon as you graduate from college and move out of the frat house, sir.

4.17.2006

Monday April 17, 2006

I’d say he took “safety first” to a whole new level, but there was no helmet involved

While making my usual trek down Franklin Avenue to the theater on Saturday night, I passed a dude biking westbound on the sidewalk. Now, I do reserve a great deal of hatred for bikers who choose sidewalk over street when there is no great threat to their safety forcing them up into pedestrians, but this guy caught my eye for another reason. First of all, he was riding a bitty bike- not a pocket-rocket motorcycle, but a small child’s one-speed bike. The bike couldn’t have stood more than 2 ½ feet tall, and the biker was fairly lanky, with his knees nearly hitting his chin as he pedaled. He was also wearing a bulletproof vest. Kevlar: the all-weather accessory!

In a somewhat related biking anecdote, on my way home from the theater on the following evening, on the same block of Franklin, I was nearly decapitated by a pedestrian. I was biking on the street, westbound, and some dude was walking east on the sidewalk next to me. Just as I come up to him, he throws out his arm and makes the “gun hand” and attendant “shooting noise” at my head. When I saw the arm coming my way, I swerved out into the road a bit, but I was more confused than anything. It really would’ve made more sense if he’d had an actual gun; the dude in the bulletproof vest would’ve been a great example of preparedness in that case.

3.23.2006

Thursday March 23, 2006

Pondering:

wouldn't it be much cooler if the Heart song "Magic Man" had lyrics that went:  "go ON, homegirl!"

?

2.14.2006

Tuesday February 14, 2006

Like a bottle of Chateauneuf-du-Pape, I'm fine like wine when I start to rap

I laugh each morning as I take my array of vitamins. My Vanity Vitamin (for good shiny hair, supposedly) is labelled Super B-Complex, which sounds to me like an old-skool backup rapper. DJ Kool Herc and MC Super B-Complex! Throw ya hands up for Supa-B!