Not necessarily F'ed in the A

This is not a political blog. Also, I suspect you have very short attention spans. But op/eds like this one just may get me reading the news again. Please read it. There's still hope.

Do I Have Your Stuff?

Last night, as I tried to explain to my roommate why I now have a three-foot high electric Christmas tree next to my desk, I realized I'm in packrat mode. I think after two moves where I successfully fleeced down 75% of my possessions, I'm ready to start owning again. I may be a bit carried away though. Looking around my room, I did not own any of the following things at the beginning of summer. I also did not buy any of them. I now have:

- A huge steamer trunk of the sort that you'd take on a 1930s sea cruise (yeah I know it was the Great Depression, cut me some slack, it's 9 a.m.)
-A bureau that was handmade by my crafty old roommate Vic. He tried to show me how it had been very simple to put together with some spare boards, screws and a little bit of good old-fashioned elbow grease. I nodded blankly and thought, "Why do I care how to make a bureau now that I have yours?"
-A bed from Ms. B's absent roommate. I've been told you shouldn't take used beds from the Allston-Brighton area due to the bedbug epidemic but B assures me her ex-roomie was a clean bean. Except for that one night.
-A ceramic pot filled with potting soil found in the trash. Right now my jade plant (Mr. Plantles) is in a sub-standard plastic piece of crap pot that is too small for its needs. The new pot is right next to the old one. I'll transfer the plant when it does something remarkable (whistles, eats my roommate, etc.)
-Jenny's Turkey Trot shirt from 1,000 years ago and Beth's nifty red sweatshirt with thumbholes. Supposedly these are some of their favorite garments but if this is true, why are they at my house, hm?

Also new: a soccer ball, flip-flops, a stranger's journal, 2 fans, a full-length mirror, a 19" T.V. and a rolling stand for it, two lamps, a wardrobe, a bookshelf, and a pint glass advertising Bugles snack treats. Actually, I wouldn't mind a bag of Bugles. Maybe I'll find some in the trash.

Shop Around

It appears there's a handful of people out there who actually read this thing. That's excellent. It's nice to have you aboard. So while I have your ear, I'd like to suggest you take a moment and look at some of my friend's blogs. Also, please feel free to leave comments on them. I know for a fact that most of these people would be tickled purple to hear from strangers.

For instance, Ms. B is just getting her blog started and would love to hear more than the boring old voices of me and A-Ved all the time. Speaking of Ved, she and Jon are good friends of mine who update semi-regularly and are smart and funny. It would do my heart good if any of you wanted to chat it up with them, comments-wise. Griff has a super food blog when he takes the time to fill us in (ooh, pointed.) Cupcake, who I 'met' online through reading Ved's blog, is always good for a smile. The other cool people on the list (Suzi, Erin, Amy) would love to hear from you too. Maybe you'd even like to start your own blog. I tell ya, it's pretty darned fun.

p.s. Nicole will be back someday and when she is, watch out.

Response

So many comments about hating food. I think I just replied to them all.

My addictions

I'm sure you have albums you've listened to a billion times in a row because you can't seem to stop. The ones you go back to and replay over and over and over until your ears are worn and withered and you can't stand it anymore and you put on CarTalk or a book on tape. And the really awesome albums are worth going back to after you've taken a little time apart.
Here's a short list of albums that have done this to me. By no means am I trying to assert my opinions hold any water. Nevertheless, if you've never heard these incredible works, isn't it about time?

The Old 97s- Too Far to Care

The Postal Service- Give Up

Tom Waits- Raindogs

Bright Eyes- Fever and Mirrors

Portishead- Dummy

Manu Chao- Clandestino

Ween- The Mollusk

Cowboy Junkies- Lay it Down

What're yours?

Kid Sister and Me

A co-worker recently fashioned this clever re-vamp of Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum, replacing the heads of those characters with me and my sister. What a roast!

1) Return to the Dark Side

I also hate:

Burger King french fries- I think it was over five years ago that everything went wrong. Any of you with fast food experience will know exactly what I mean- they took all the delicious and turned it to shit. Puffy, crusty, tasteless and vile. I remember returning my first batch of these crispy critters, telling the cashier something was very wrong. I realized with horror that the replacements tasted exactly the same. Between that and the end of the 99-cent Whopper, the Golden Arches began to beckon.

Guinness beer- Everyone has their booze horror story like "Omigod I'll never drink _____ again because of this night at Senor Froggies where I totally puked all over the maitre'd..." I don't have one of those stories. I do have one that involves sitting in my friend's basement at the age of 16, drinking warm cans of Guinness until I felt like Augustus Gloop. Now just the sight of this thick bitter "beer" makes me feel instantly full. That's actually how I keep my girlish figure.

Green olives- My question is this- how can black olives be so delicious and versatile, whereas their green cousins taste like rot and are filled with pimentos, thus preventing me from putting them on my fingers and playing the "Olive Monster?" Maybe they should call these things stenchberries. Then I bet you wouldn't like them so much, oh ye gourmets of the world.
p.s. Edithved claims there are other olives too (like red ones) but I think she's crazy or French or something.

Hollandaise sauce- For all I know, Eggs Benedict might be delicious, if it wasn't for the sloppy white goop they slather all over them. My dudefriends all love to get eggs benny whenever we go out after a heavy night of drinking. I always say something witty to them like, "Are you going to spit or swallow?" or "Retch City, population: you." That kind of joke makes me popular.

Wet eggs- Come to think of it, you'd also have to take the eggs out of Eggs Benedict to make them delicious. If I eat eggs, scrambled, fried or any other way, I cannot stand it if there's even a hint of slime. I, for one, do not want to be reminded that this breakfast treat was once a goopy embryo. Maybe you do.
p.s. Some people eat placenta.

10 posts.

2) One Leg at a Time

I was kinda nervous about meeting my roommate's boyfriend Ron. Fun facts I knew prior to meeting him:
-Over 40
-Sometimes wears a horse's head when he performs with his band
-Band is semi-famous (cover of the Wire Magazine, national and European tours, etc.)
-Owns a record label
-Is a huge bearded man

Because this guy was fast becoming an intimidating legend in my mind, it was a relief when I finally met him on Sunday night. Why? Because the first thing he did was go drop a major stinkbomb in our bathroom. Kinda looks like we're working off the same page.

2...

Sorry it's 11:40 pm and I am about as busted as a guy can be*. I apologize to Edithved and others(although I don't see you attempting anything this ambitious,) the last two posts will be first thing manana.
To whet your appetite-
Meeting my roommate's boyfriend and the revisitation of a wildly popular culinary topic from a past post.

Incidentally, 10-post blog days (there's probably some stupid phrase for them like blogathons or something) are like tough athletic feats that you have to work up to, except you can sit in the dark eating gravy while you work on them. See you tomorrow.

*As if there's some person up checking to see if I finish all 10 posts.

3) Color Coded

A tale of two subway lines.

Orange Line- Nicole and I are waiting for a train in Downtown Crossing. An older guy and a teenager go from arguing to yelling to taking off their belts. Before we know it, they're circling and snapping each other with them while a blase and almost disinterested crowd looks on. Eventually the train comes.

Green Line- Yesterday a woman gets on the very crowded train, kind of a glitzy aging Paris Hilton character. Lo and behold, she brazenly brings two little poodles with her, not in her purse, but walking on the floor. They sniff all around, climb on things and cause five passengers to almost fall while trying to not step on them. Eventually she gets off the train.

Boston is a divided city.

4) PARTY PARTY PARTY!

This isn't just any old October. No other time will Jesse and Jon be turning 28 and ?25-27? within two days of each other. It's time to cast off the playthings of our youth and get serious... seriously drunk!!! Saturday, October 8th at my house, 209 Summer Street, Somerville, we will trip the light fantastic, from 7 pm until the break of dawn. Or until I get sleepy. Dancing, mountains of finger food (stuffed mushrooms, pumpkin cupcakes, etc.) and the chance to talk or get frisky with people you haven't seen in years. I bet there will even be some complete strangers. Out-of-towners welcome to sleep on cold, hard floor. If you need more details, let me know.

(Maybe this was kinda cheating because I had already written most of these words for Friendster, but I want to cover all my bases. Everyone should come to this. I don't care how far away you live. I am the boss of you.)

5) No herpes, no cry

Remember last week's fat lip? Well, I don't know if it was really a fat lip. After a brief incubation period, it started looking like a fever blister or something worse. By the way, my dad is kind of like a doctor and I've used my medical expertise to determine there's no way it could be herpes. Shut up.

At the same time, it has turned into, well, a horrible gaping flesh wound. I feel like it will never go away because it re-opens every time I eat something. I'm losing a lot of blood. Does anyone have suggestions for how I can stem the tide?

p.s. If this was a play, the outer wound would represent some inner deficiency which I would conquer by the last act. This isn't a play, though; it's an open sore.

(best post ever)

6) In the well, Lassie?

Wednesday night I made my tipsy way across the Boston Public Garden round about midnight. It was a nice night, but there didn't seem to be a soul around. It didn't feel creepy, just...heavy with meaning. I was climbing the stairs next to the bridge when I saw a Weimaraner patiently waiting for me at the top. No lie, when I got to the top of the steps, he looked at me, then bounded forward, looking back periodically to see if I was following.
I got kind of worked up, thinking he might be leading me to a child in distress or a pot full of treasure. After a quick jog through the garden, the dog suddenly stopped near a gnarly old tree. He was looking intently into the shadows. "What is it boy? A reward for my life of chastity and good deeds? That elusive leprechaun with charms-a-plenty?"

It was three rats.

7) The Quiet American

I have made almost no effort whatsoever to make nice with my co-workers. I don't make small talk, I don't make big talk, I even keep worktalk to its barest minimum. It's not that I hate everyone here, because I don't. It's more that I don't want to be sucked into the daily repetitive banter and forced conversation that's par for the course with workplace "friends." I think I'm also afraid that getting to know these people means that I'm taking this job seriously.

It's weird, though. As anyone who knows me can verify, I've spent my life telling yarns, talking about myself and generally vying to be the center of attention. My sister, on the other hand, has always been more demure and reserved, holding back unless she is completely comfortable. That's why she almost did a spit take when one of our co-workers said the other day, "Whew, it's good to see you aren't quiet like your brother."

8) Standard HJBJ

This incident happened ages ago, and after making Alli promise she wouldn't write about it so I could have the glory, I proceeded to selfishly keep the story all to myself.
Reader's Digest version:
Alli and I interviewed the owner of a local sex boutique for Community Access T.V. After the interview, we were standing around, shooting the breeze. Well I guess small talk is different when you're in the sex biz.

Her: So I got to see the Stones at Fenway last week.
Me: No way, how'd you score a ticket?!
Her: I found some tickets on Craigslist that a guy was willing to barter for.
Me (naive as the day is long): Oh yeah, what could you give somebody that's worth a Rolling Stones ticket?
Her: Oh, just your standard handjob/blowjob.

I think we played it pretty cool, masking our shock and awe with a thick veneer of hip mid-twenties "nothing's shocking" 'tude.

An interesting sidenote is that the lady didn't end up sitting next to the guy at the concert. She was thankful for this, because honestly, after a Craigslist HJBJ, things can get a bit awkward. I'm sure you can all relate.

So much for this blog being family-friendly.

9) Nothing to see here, folks. Keep it movin'.

Today a shabbily dressed old lady appeared in my office. She approached the guy in the cubicle next to me. Leaning in close, she said in a hazy whisper:
"Excuse me, I'm looking for a part-time job. Can you help me?"

It was surreal and disconcerting. I'm not sure if she was nuts or just desperate for work but my first instinct was to not think about her at all. Now I'm picturing riding in a plush car during the Great Depression, being chauffered to an upscale party. As I pass by people warming their hands over barrels and begging for food, I keep my eyes straight ahead.

10) One Day, Ten Posts

I've been kinda kickin' along the curbstones lately, footloose, fancy-free, impervious to your needs (yes, I'm talking to you.) But gosh darn it, with blogging comes responsibility! So today, with work piling up all around me and cubemate Jon on vacation (getting a metaphysical lapdance at this moment, I believe), it would seem the time is nigh for a marathon blog day.

Note: I make no promises about the quality of the content.

She's A Grand Old Flag

You know the people with reactionary bumper stickers that say "These Colors Don't Run?" I'm guessing these are the same people who dumped French wine down the gutter and ate Liberty Fries in the Capitol. Did anyone ever point out that the French flag uses the SAME...THREE...COLORS?

Gallery

The Boston Globe does a thing where people who kinda look like celebrities submit photos of themselves so we can peruse, compare and contrast. Because I'm in a mean mood, I would like to reveal some people who are quite sadly deluding themselves. Names of real life people are withheld.

George Clooney

Drew Barrymore

Meryl Streep

From Russia With Love

Everyone has been getting these blog spam comments, right? Well I was bored at work and decided to follow one of the links, which led me to an 'international' dating service, Absolute Agency. I think it was worth the spam headache, just to read this success story from a former Absolute Agency member. Unintentional comic genius:

Julia (age: 30, gender: female)
Hi there !
My name is Julia and I was really happy, when met the guy of my dream, whose name is Jerred, but we did not decide to get married, but became good - very good friends!
We are in different countries, and I in several years after our meet got married on another man. One woman gave my mom a photo of him with ad, so after my letter he replied me, we kept close correspondence and he came to my country later on. So, last year we've got married successfully!

But the memory about my first fall-in-love, Jerred from Georgia (USA), saved my best feelings since that time. About 4 or 3 years ago I met him first in Internet and Absolute Agency was my machine for accomplishing desires!
I loved him since first overlook!
On June 25, 2004 I have publised my Mom's Profile and wish her GOOD LUCK with searching her spouse!
I want to say "thank you" to Absolute Agency Stuff :) ! I am proud of them.

Visual Clues

"Please, just look into my eyes."
Everyone's been talking about where Supreme Court nominee John Roberts stands on the issues and whether or not he will overturn legal precedents. Personally, I just look at the pictures. Have you noticed how he looks like a character from Village of the Damned? This is my favorite photo from today, an artistic little number from The Buffalo News.

A Man of Letters, part one

Dear Valerie Machinist-
This letter is to thank you for the workplace luncheon yesterday, where you gave quite an informative lecture on nutrition. You covered quite a bit of ground, everything from that crazy Atkins trend to the Dangers of Eating Out. I especially enjoyed the personal examples which humanized you and made the whole thing seem 'real,' i.e. " I know how hard it is to avoid the Oreos, ladies!" I also had a hearty chuckle at the rubber models you used to show how tiny FDA portion sizes really are. I mean, who's gonna eat a muffin that small!!? Really.

Technically it's true that I do not have children of any age, so signing up for a "Back to School Nutrition" lecture may seem like a self-serving opportunity to grab a free lunch. Be that as it may, I really appreciated the albacore tuna spinach wrap with grapes and capers, grilled chicken sandwich with sun-dried tomato pesto and the turkey sandwich on lo-carb bread with cranberries and marmalade. And the caesar salad.

I'll tell you one thing, though. You'll have to pry those Oreos out of my cold dead hands! Just kidding.

Sincerely,
Jesse

What Dreams May Come

Yesterday I woke up with a big fat lip after having active dreams. I'm assuming it came from:
-the wrestling match I had with the royal coiffed pigs that came out of underground tunnels
-the badminton game
-swabbing the decks of the clipper ship Raffi
-the fistfight with my father

I'm open to suggestions.

Zeus meets Freud

Zeus: I command your attention, you miserable humans who can't seem to go a day without provoking my ire! Yes, it is me, Zeus, the wisest and most impotent god! Shit, omnipotent, omnipotent god! Can we start over from the top?
Production Assistant: (whisper) Ah, sir, we're rolling live here.
Zeus: I see.

The Dark Side

During the 2004 elections, I made my co-workers snicker by pretending I was a candidate. I always said I was "running on a platform of delicious food." They chuckled for awhile but maybe after a month I should've come up with a new joke.
I digress.
I've spent a fair amount of time discussing foods that I find delicious. But for the most part, you're all in the dark about foods I loathe. Let's kick off the weekend with a little hate:

White chocolate- Essentially the opposite of dark chocolate, which is tasty. I have tried over and over again to enjoy this shit so I wouldn't feel weird at white chocolate parties. No dice.

Corned beef- Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if there weren't all those stringy tendons and gristlebits. It makes me feel like a caveman. A grossed-out caveman. (An interesting caveat is that I've loved corned beef hash ever since I lived in rural Wisconsin. I think it's possible to love an end product without enjoying its individual parts. Mmmm, sausage...)

Stewed tomatoes- Crush 'em up, make a sauce, whatever, I'm good to go. But why anyone would put something in their mouth with a texture that so readily stimulates the gag reflex? It was a rough childhood. Mom, this will require some therapy.

Horseradish- I used to hate mayonnaise, now I practically use it as toothpaste. Well, to keep the eternal yin and yang in balance, I had to start hating horseradish, which I used to love.

Goat cheese- I'll feed a goat some pellets at the petting zoo. I'll scruff the little devils under the chin. Hell, they can even eat my trash. But I'll be gosh darned if I'll put that putrid oily funk in my mouth just because it's supposed to be gourmet.

Look at me

When you write stuff, it ends up in the weirdest places. Please review the people who love me:

Firefighters

Witches of the World

People who think the Pay it Forward movie is real

The Peace Corps

Johnny Cash fans (scroll down)

Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers and Trainmen

Deathcare Industry

Related: Death Freaks, aka Taphophiles

The Old Gang

Technically this isn't my story but I think it's good enough to warrant its own post.

Carina told me tonight that her brother ian ordered a pizza a couple years ago. When the delivery guy showed up, ian thought he looked awfully familiar-
"Hey, aren't you the guitarist from Cinderella?"
"Yeah man, I'm the guy!" (I imagine at this point he tucks his hair behind his ears but I can't be sure.)
"Oh wow that's awesome, you guys kinda rocked."
"Rock, man, in the present tense; we're about to go on tour!"
"Oh no shit? That's cool, a big reunion tour. Getting the gang back together for one more run."
"Back together? WE NEVER BROKE UP."

Cinderella

Waste makes waste

Last week I moved out of my old apartment and bore witness to one of the most shameful displays of American hubris ever. I already talked about the amount of crap gets thrown out on September 1st but I had no idea my roommates would be amongst the most evil wastoids in the Metro Boston area.
My four-bedroom apartment had been lived in for seven straight years, with over 15 different people living there and moving away, leaving a trail of housewares, furniture and tchotchke in their wake. On top of that, the two other apartments in our duplex were also clearing out, adding the possessions of nearly ten other people. Combine all these Wasteful Willies and you get an enormous trash heap stretching down the block, into the street, into the yard and beyond.
The worst part was that most of the stuff was perfectly good and could have filled a small thrift store, no exaggeration. I saw martini sets, unopened bottles of Scope, bars of soap, a hand-carved wooden chess board, five box fans, brooms, clothes, a bicycle, a working computer, beautiful handmade wooden shelves, and possibly a small child or two. It was a sick mountain of unnecessary waste.
I wanted to throw up but there was no food in my stomach- my roommates threw out my chicken broccoli ziti.

Time to start judging

I kind of expect my friends to carry themselves with a certain haughty aloofness. Trends like Blackberries, the Atkins diet, cellphone walkie-talkies, booty shorts with words on them and Support Our Troops magnets should be objects of derision, right? Guess not.
Saturday morning, after an evening of moderate to heavy drinking on the town, I called an unnamed friend. When I asked if this friend was recovering, they told me they had been feeling crappy but felt "like a million bucks after drinking gallons of that Vitamin Water."
So I got off the phone and immediately told this story to my 3 companions so they could have a good chuckle at his expense. Like, "Can you believe he's actually falling for this high-priced trendy glorified Gatorade?", scoff scoff.
As it turns out, the trio (Nicole, Dan and Beth) did not react at all like I planned. They immediately went out and bought their own bottles of the shit, each with names like Revive, Flower and Anti-Depressant. I was shocked and dismayed but I tried to stay upbeat. I made an awkward joke about how they should combine their Vitamin Water powers and combat crime. They looked at me kind of weird like, "Hey, if you're not going to drink the water, don't make the jokes."
Before I knew it, they were all having a grand old time- laughing amongst themselves, sharing their drinks, talking about how they plan to drink only Vitamin Water from here on in. Nicole actually bought four more bottles before she left Monday afternoon.
Come to think of it, I kinda wanna join their club...

Bits and Pieces

Jon just pointed out that it's been a week since my last post. He then called me a bad name and proceeded to dole out liberal amounts of the stinkeye. Jon also showed me a picture today where he is emulating DeNiro in Taxi Driver and I happen to know he is quite fond of Charles Bronson. So in order to forestall an office massacre, I will be hopping back on the bloghorse today, September style.
Easy, digestable, small portions.