wish it were a Sunday, 'cause that's my fun day

I saw the headline Uribe sworn in amid high security, and I read "Uribe" as "Oribe." This gave me a good half minute of head-scratching; why, I wondered, would the hairstylist Oribe require high security for anything? Everybody loves Oribe!

Anyway, in the spirit of enlightening all y'all (yes, yes, I know, I'm not Southern, therefore I have no business saying "y'all"; shuddup), here are some upcoming August dates which I strongly suggest we all observe. Each one is absolutely for real, at least according to these people:

Particularly Preposterous Packaging Day: 7
Hurry up before this one's over! I'm not exactly sure what constitutes 'preposterous,' but Sephora might offer one a good lead.

Sneak Some Zucchini Onto Your Neighbor's Porch Night: 8
Hells yeah! Self explanatory.

National Underwear Day: 9
Some of my best friends wear underwear. Now you can, too!

National Duran Duran Appreciation Day: 10
Need I say more? "UMF" is one of my absolute favorite tracks; it sounds hella funk nasty, but it also works for just plain ol' jumping around, which I like to do in creaky elevators. Okay, not really.

S'mores Day: 10
Every day should be S'mores Day!

Kool-Aid Day: 11-13
Kool-Aid's so special, it gets THREE days of fabulosity. Enjoy this one to the hilt, unless you're Jim Jones and live in Guyana. I'll be drinking the blue flavor out of a Windex bottle and freaking everyone out.

Eleanor Roosevelt Day: 12
WHOO!

Vinyl Record Day: 12
Does anyone have a record player which can play my swingin' big band 78s? This is a serious question.

National Navajo Code Talkers Day: 14
Better than Pig Latin for hiding secrets from the kids.

Bad Poetry Day: 18
Every day should be Bad Poetr-- no, wait....

'Black Cow' Root Beer Float Day: 19
I've never had one, but I've been meaning to for 28 years. I believe my time has come.

Vinegar Day: 20
Man, I loves me the balsamic vinegar. I could seriously drink that stuff straight from the bottle. But then who'd kiss me, besides olive oil fanatics?

Southern Hemisphere Hoodie Hoo Day: 22
I don't want to know. I just don't want to know.

Valentino Day: 23
From Wikipedia: "Valentino's reputation still stands as a legendary sex symbol of androgynous appeal. To this day many fans, some dressed as sheiks, flappers or women in black, make an annual pilgrimage on the day of Valentino's death to his crypt at the Hollywood Forever Cemetery. . . . 'Sheik' brand condoms, introduced onto the market in the 1930's, were named after Valentino's most famous role and for years featured Valentino's silhouette on the packaging. . . . The Bangles mention Valentino in their pop hit "Manic Monday", written by Prince."

All I have to say is: PRINCE WROTE "MANIC MONDAY"? How did I not know this?!

Vesuvius Day: 24
Enjoy some chocolate lava cake. You know you wanna.

Crackers Over The Keyboard Day: 28
Every day should be Crackers Over the Keyboard Day! In my case, it really is. And Brownies Over the Keyboard Day. And Peanut Butter Straight Out of the Jar Day. Don't worry, I only eat the reduced-fat stuff.

National Toasted Marshmallow Day: 30
See S'mores Day.

You may now return to your regularly scheduled life.

ah, sweet mystery of MySpace

It's official: the number of views on my website has now hit 1000. Not a big deal to most, probably, but it does leave me a bit baffled. Am I getting a lot of repeat views? Or have 1000 people checked me out? If it's the former, then you folks need to get a life. If it's the latter, then how did I get so popular?

Such are the mysteries of MySpace, I guess.

I shall now proceed to spend my Friday night cleaning up my place. This is not because I have no life—there are scads of people getting pissed that I'm not calling/hanging out with them, sorry everyone!—but I've been feeling the need to retreat lately. And to clean up my place. I am so very sleep-deprived, and my place is so very messy. I hope I don't accidentally put laundry detergent in the dishwasher, although I suspect the results wouldn't be too different.

Ooh! I almost forgot, I got my teeth cleaned today! After the scraping, lecturing about flossing, and toothbrush goody bag, I felt like a new woman, cleansed in body and soul. And then I had a burrito. What can I say, I like being a creature of contradictions.

Also, since my brain is on random-fire right now: when did it become okay to wear high heels with shorts? Or tights with shorts? Or high heels with tights and shorts? Silly, silly people! Try wearing belts on your wrists instead; that'll show the world you're an 'individual,' just like everybody else.

And now I'm going to clean. And take a nap. Not necessarily in that order. But hopefully not concurrently.

i heart statistical anomalies

So! I just had the most satisfyingly wonderful weekend in the longest time. I was in San Francisco, hanging out with my friends Craig (supercool math professor who gets flown around the world so that people can pick his brain) and James (supercool architectural conservationist who gets flown around the world to save ancient cathedrals from turning into dust). They are extraordinarily good-hearted, hilarious, whipsmart people who make me feel like a beautiful, brilliant art goddess by the time I head home. And if that's not the definition of best friends ever, then I'll eat my hat. Hell, I'll eat ALL my hats. And that's a lot of hats, because I'm still a bit of a hat person.

Where to begin? Either in pairs or as a group, we ate at French bistros with charming musical trios; we saw John Kricfalusi at the Castro; I bought a sari; we walked all the way across the Golden Gate Bridge at sunset and back; we ate dim sum and nearly had to be rolled out of the restaurant; we talked our mouths off and laughed our heads off and hung out with avant-garde opera singers and other mathematicians and lived in Xanadu. No, seriously, Craig's lodgings at Stanford (he was flown out for the week from UWisc) are called "Xanadu," and the logo from the film of the same name is visible in the lobby. Alas, neither roller skates, nor extreme neon, nor Olivia Newton-John were visible at any point in the trip, but it was still nice. There was a piano.

gee whiz, pa, it's establishment propaganda!

That above headline is taken from an actual Educational Filmstrip from the Sixties, by the way.

So, anyway, today is Fun With Archival Footage. Enjoy the following:

If Mirrors Could Speak: Self-Image Film (1976)
This involves children dressed as scary, scary clowns. And they are terrible actors, which makes it all somehow better.

Incredible Edible Egg in Foodservice (c. 1980s)
I love eggs. Even the footage here, which makes eggs look utterly revolting, still has me drooling for more eggs. Eggs! EGGS! MWAHAHAHAHA! But I digress.

York Peppermint Patty Commercial (c. 1980s)
This has brief yodeling. Need I say more?

VD is for Everybody (1969)
THE. BEST. SONG. EVER. I have been singing/humming/thinking this dratted song nonstop. I hum it near-silently on the bus. I belt it out loud when I'm alone in elevators. Mothers clutch their small children in fright when they see me approach. But this cheerful ditty keeps me, well, cheerful. Far too cheerful to be of any good to society, perhaps.


These guys are SO my brother and me. It's just simple, excellent fun.

fabrication ain't just lying

Portable parks are brilliant. It would be terrific if a little lawn flamingo could rotate around in there, too, but maybe I'm just being too demanding.

Also: Alex Martin is actually doing something I've been talking about for the past few years -- completely fabricating her own wardrobe, doing a sort of 'fashion detox.' My problem is, I love wearing other people's ideas too much. I guess I'm mostly a recombiner, taking elements meant to be worn one way, and wearing them in a completely new way. Like wearing neckties as belts, and...belts...as neckties....

Holy crap.

I just came back from my closet, after typing that last sentence, and I'm wearing my favoritest belt ever. On my wrist, wrapped about four or five times. I just tried wrapping it around my neck too, multiple times so that it served as a choker, and that works fabulously, too. I never wear belts, because I feel I'm too short to get away with them, but I keep a few around because I am peculiar that way. So, my favorite belt is made of lenticular plastic, and it has a rainbow layer underneath so that it flickers with color as I move, and now it is busily kicking ass ON MY WRIST. This is the best shift of a sartorial paradigm EVER. Next time you see me, I'll be wearing shoes on my ears. This rules.

ADDENDUM: it just occurred to me that I've done this before, this whole fashion recombination thing. It was my senior year of college, and I had to go to an awards ceremony, and I couldn't find a proper skirt in time, so I borrowed my friend's black sateen shirt (with her permission) and wore it as a skirt—the neckhole was around my waist (it was a low-cut top, so I had room), and I wrapped the sleeves around my waist as a cheeky sash. It worked well, especially if you squinted. I think I also once wore my Swatch around my ankle, but this was back in fifth grade, and everybody already thought I was weird, so no harm/no foul.

And to answer your unasked question, yes, I was the goofy/smart art nerd in high school who aced biology and was never asked out, despite having Sensitivity and Poignance In My Soul. I spent prom night hanging out with my parents. Ain't it great that I've come such a long way since then? Excuse me while I watch some CNN, then go do some crossword puzzles before falling asleep.

I hate sheep II: electric boogaloo

So, Famima!! (exclamation marks NOT mine) just opened a couple of blocks away from me, and I was leery. What, I wondered, do we need with a yuppie 7-11? I could tell, even just walking briskly by, that they had ENTIRE SHELF CASES devoted to nothing but water in pretty glass bottles, which seemed a tad ridiculous.

But! I am now a convert. I walked in, expecting overpriced Italian food to go, and instead discovered that it's a Japanese convenience store that rocks. No, wait, it doesn't just rock, it RAWKS. Imagine being able to purchase, in one location, the following: terrific spicy tuna hand rolls for $2, trendy German stationery, random American DVDs (I bought Birth, haven't watched it yet), condoms, enough varieties of bottled tea to take a bath in, Japanese dishwashing liquid, and Korean bulgogi bento boxes. If only they stocked issues of S-Cawaii, I would never have to shop anywhere else. Huzzah! I feel a little embarrassed that I'm the Famima!! target demographic, but what the hey—if the shoe fits etc.

Here's where the sheep come in. I went to the counter with my hand roll, bottle of green/white tea (ooh, two in one!), and the aforementioned DVD. As the guy was ringing me up, I asked if they were ever going to carry Japanese movies.

"Probably not," was his reply, "but we get enough Asian customers dropping by that we probably should."

"Forget them, I would watch Japanese movies!" was my impassioned response.

This was where the conversation turned a little ugly. The guy was clearly shocked that an American would voluntarily watch anything un-American, and he regarded me carefully, obviously trying to figure me out. I hate when people do that.

"It's not like there are any Japanese movies worth watching though, right?" he pointed out. "I mean, maybe Godzilla, right?"

Don't punch him don't punch him don't punch him.

"ARE YOU CRAZY?!" I said. "There are some INCREDIBLE Japanese films out there! Don't tell me you haven't seen any!"

He shrugged, noncommittal. Don't punch him don't punch him.

"Do you speak Japanese?" he asked.

"No—but you don't need to speak Japanese to enjoy Japanese films!" Idiot. I'll bet he has Dumb & Dumber sitting on his DVD rack at home.

"Then how do you get Japanese movies?"

I confess, I couldn't keep the sarcastic edge out of my voice. "I read subtitles."

He raised his eyebrows in reply, and I knew exactly what those eyebrows were saying.

"You don't watch movies with subtitles, do you?" I asked.

Mr. Dumb & Dumber shrugged. "Sometimes," he said. "Not really my thing."

Don't punch him don't punch him don't—

"You're missing out on a lot," I called over my shoulder. "Try checking it out sometime."

I'm still seething. I still really want to go back to Famima!!, but I may have to whap Mr. Dumb & Dumber with an issue of Non-No next time.

Of course, it didn't help my anger levels any that I watched The Corporation when I got home. Awesome movie, angering message. It makes me want to march through the streets with the righteously indignant masses, bar codes taped over our mouths as we rally against privatization and so forth. Did you know that water—including rain water!—was privatized in Bolivia, costing up to a quarter of each person's annual income? It took rioting in the streets, one death and many, many maimings before the government and the Bechtel Corp. finally backed down. I wish all the oil in the world vanished tomorrow, and that we had a much safer alternative already in place. I wish every television set could be smashed in the streets. I want to kick unethical marketers in the shins with very pointy shoes.

Maybe I'm not really cut out for the world o' media. Of course, I could try dismantling the system from the inside, rebuilding it into something more socially conscious. And then I'd shoot a Coca-Cola commercial, because we all need to pay our bills.

things that make me go 'hooah!

Note: the Ze Frank link now works! Fabuloso!

This made my day. And Ze Frank is my hero; this guy rocks like a geologist. Yeah. And hey, while you're at it, surfing like the surf maniac you know you are, view these government reels of nuclear bomb tests. Hooah!