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May 27, 2004


Note: We would like to acknowledge up front that this is one of those posts inspired by an actual previous conversation, noted so that the person with whom the conversation was had won't be like "dude, freaking bloggers and their freaking recycling."

* * * * * * * *

So you remember how a few months ago we made some comment about "All I Need is a Miracle" by Mike and the Mechanics being the best song ever? And you all were like "Omigod you are so LAME!"?...

...yeah, we know this is the first sentence of three posts ago. It applies, and we're nothing if not conservationists...

Anyway, the point is that there is a healthy number of shitty 80s songs, and shitty 70s songs... and a few shitty 90s songs (but none of the shit this millenium, not even) which, in all honesty, hep us up. Because there are songwriters out there who have made their livings churning out catchy pop that is called catchy for a reason-- it is biologically impossible to hear these songs and not bounce around and sing along. And this, it must be said, is an enjoyable way to spend time.

However, do we appreciate these songs? Are they indicators of how we would define our musical appreciation? Hell no. They are based on utterly formulaic chord progressions*, they are devoid of melodic innovation, and there is a fairly good chance that their instrumentation includes a keytar. Anyone who knows boo about music cannot possibly appreciate them for anything other than the bouncing around and singing along factor (though possibly also the radness of the lead singer's hair and/or pants). That said, we will circle back to the question of whether we enjoy listening to these songs. Hell yes.

There are a good number of people in this world who do not distinguish between "enjoy" and "appreciate". For some of them, if they like listening to a song they like listening to it, musicianship is a non-issue. For others, musicianship is the only issue-- to admit that you enjoy listening to "La Isla Bonita" is like saying you don't like black and white movies. These people will note the Best and Worst of Culture Club CD on your shelf and decide categorically that you have crappy taste in music. But then there are those of us who have both the Best and Worst of Culture club and John Coltrane's Giant Steps. Thompson Twins and the Curtis Mayfield anthology. Can we be accused of having crappy taste in music? Well, ok, fine. But can we also be acknowledged for appreciating groundbreaking musicianship? Most definitely. In our opinion.

The point is, you may appreciate the flaw in serving corndogs to the Prime Minister**, but go ahead and enjoy the hell out of them at the hockey game. We will not think less of you.

* The blues are wholly exempted from this criticism, by the way
** Note we did not say "the President"

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May 26, 2004

One political note

Just for the record: We are about 99% certain that John Ashcroft's fire and brimstone announcement today about an imminent al Queda attack on the United States in the summer or fall is 1% cautionary, 99% CREEP* strategy.

*Committee to Re-elect the President. For those of you who haven't seen All the President's Men.

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Hosin' on, hosin' on

We've tried to steer clear of discussing karaoke of late, but last night was just so fucking rad that it bears some love. Plus, unlike some of our friends, we are physically incapable of saying anything thoughtful, spiritual, or politically relevant these days. So here's where you come for your drivel, kids.

This week's Tuesday night festivities were made especially special by the visit of Girl-E and Girl-C's good buddy Squirt, a college singing friend visiting from Seattle. And she totally upped the specialness bar when, as the second performer of the evening, she made groundbreaking work of Steve Perry's 80s-rock classic "Oh, Sherrie" (long having held a place on the substantial list of Songs Whose Real Lyrics Elude Girl-E With Hilarious Consequences. She has forever been convinced that the chorus is "Oh Sherrie, our love holds on. Hosin' on, hosin' on." Also on that list reside "Carry a Laser" by Mister Mister and "Don't Dream in Slow-Mo" by Howard Jones).

And then of course was further confirmation that one should not die before hearing Girl-C perform "Ramble On". She truly channels Robert Plant in Charlie Kaufman proportions. In his respective introductions of Girl-C and Girl-E, host Reverend Pete claimed to be ignorant of which member of the Dynamic Duo each girl represented. However, the fact that Girl-E followed the epic Zepplin performance with a poppy number by the Pretenders gave pretty conclusive proof that she is not Batman.

Girl-C also schlepped along some karaoke virgins in the form of B-school classmates-- who promptly drew serious doubts about their karaoke virginity with Elvis Costello's "Radio Radio" and Whitney's "I Will Always Love You". Now, we realize that the Whitney song is high on the list of Most Annoying Songs Ever, and normally its appearance at Reverend Pete's Rockstar Karaoke would draw a good share of scorn. However, see it emerge startlingly and note-perfect from the lips of an endearingly timid Korean girl whose limited English had theretofore been keeping her in a fairly constant state of social apoplexy, and your biases may shift.

A'ight, we think that's enough of that for one day. We hope to come up with something more thought-provoking and/or universally accessible to write about one of these days. Peace.

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May 25, 2004

9am class? Dude, that SUCKS.

For a variety of reasons known and unknown, Girl-E's circadian rhythm got knocked unconscious and woke up thinking it's still in college. She has been staying up until 2:00 or 2:30 pretty much every night for the past week, just for the fuck of it. And during that time, not getting a damn thing crossed off her to-do list. She just does the kind of post-midnight stuff a 19-year-old would do-- IM for hours, read SPIN, eat Cherry Garcia in bed, download music (though legally). This after getting pizza for dinner at 10pm. It's a little bit gratifying.

Except, of course, for the one big suck-puppy that she is not, in fact, in college. She is, in theory, a productive adult member of society who must be ready to produce at 9am, for at least 8 full hours. This, you may be able to infer, is completely hilarious. This morning, she pushed snooze for a full 90 minutes without realizing it, and as of 10:33am, has so far done as much as sending one work-related email.

This kind of behavior is just as likely as any actual professional ambition to inspire her to go back to grad school. We have a suspicion that at some point, she will find she has 6 master's degrees in 6 totally unrelated fields, simply in order to be a student ad infinitum without having to write a dissertation. And she does also like the school part of it a whole lot, so that won't be a problem. As long as there are no classes before 11am. Maybe 10am, but only if the professor is completely awesome.

We're hoping she'll get to bed at a decent hour tonight so that she doesn't, like, get mono or something. Oh wait, it's karaoke night, and a friend is visiting from out of town. Damnit. Well, at least it's not pledge week.

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May 24, 2004

Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles

So you remember how a few months ago we made some comment about "All I Need is a Miracle" by Mike and the Mechanics being the best song ever? And you all were like "Omigod you are so LAME!"? Well, now we finally have the chance to defend ourselves and explain. Because who are we without your respect? Don't answer that.

This weekend, Girl-E's college roommate VeeDub had a beautiful wedding in Austin, Texas with her beloved whose last name happens to be Miracle. How fucking cool is that? Trust us, it's cool. Anyway, Girl-E is nothing if not a schemer, and she will seize all opportunities to scheme no matter how silly the scheme or odd the context. This particular context was that Girl-E and VeeDub became bosom pals as second altos in their college a cappella group, at a school where the politics and social insularity of the eight a cappella groups make them a Greek system unto themselves. Yeah, shut up. So, Girl-E stealthily found out what other alumni of The Cult would be present, and recruited them a few months ago to participate in a surprise "Miracle Medley" for the reception. She paid a professional arranger to put together an a cappella medley consisting of the aforementioned "All I Need is a Miracle", "It's A Miracle" by Culture Club, and "Miracle to Me" by the Black Crowes (you know, for cred). She mailed out sheet music and midi files to the five other singers, and then they frantically rehearsed during the first 10 minutes of the reception. VeeDub, who is the ultimate of organization and had every minute of the reception under control, was indeed in ashen-faced shock. Nevertheless, we think she was pleased. At least we will say that for Girl-E's sake, since schemers cannot cope unless the results of their schemes are resounding successes without exception*.

And by the way, if you've never been to Austin, y'all should get your grits there. Girl-E had never been to Texas, and never had any desire to go to Texas, and was skeptical of the rumors that Austin is a city of displaced non-Texans who work in hi-tech. But no further proof was needed than the discovery of a crowded Vegan restaurant that plays Blaxploitation movies on an outdoor screen every Thursday night. However, she could even appreciate its Texan authenticity in the form of a cowboy boot store filled with hundreds of pairs of the most beautiful freaking cowboy boots ever, and now she's coveting a pair of $400 cowboy boots.

*this reminds us of something Girl-E said to Bryan the other day, inspiring him to mock her at length, which was that she "lives life on a case-by-case basis, without exception". Which then reminds us of our favorite movie quote, said by Daphne Zuniga in The Sure Thing, "Spontaneity has its time and its place."

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May 23, 2004

Oh hellooooooooooo!

Yeah, uh, sorry. Did we forget to mention that Girl-E was in her college roommate's wedding this weekend in Austin? So we've been computerless in Tejas. So sorry.

More on that tomorrow. Now, sleep.

Buenas noches,

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May 18, 2004

Meaning well

You may have noticed that we haven't been particularly "fun" lately. We know you're standing at the water cooler, or waiting for the subway, or having your eyebrows waxed, and saying "you know, those girls Leto and Roz really used to be a barrell of laughs, a zany delight. But lately, they've been a little too, I dunno, pensive. Earnest. Backbreakingly dull. I hope everything's ok. Or maybe they've just lost the touch. Ow! Shit, that smarts!"

Well, life is a little bit inside out and upside down right now, and we are feeling a bit inadequate. It's like that saying... ... hell, we don't know what saying. Anyway. To demonstrate that we at least have the *intention* of remaining spunky and fun, here are some topics that we have planned or will plan to write about, and just haven't had the focus to follow through:

- Is that an Atkins bar in your pocket or are you just happy to see us?
- No, asshole, Red Bull and gin is not the same difference.
- You have really got some nerve. Some nerve.
- What is up with Donald Trump's hair, anyway?
- Dude, we're sorry, but your audition tape for The Swan is all the hell over the interweb. It's out of your hands.
- One train leaves Chicago at 11am, going west.
- Have we told you we have a friend named Bryan Adams? It's true.
- Our interview with Couple 69 at Cambridge City Hall*.

*Couples who came before midnight to apply for marriage licenses yesterday were given deli numbers to hold their place in line.

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May 17, 2004

More happy

Just to piggyback on the last point (we've always wanted to say that, like real businesspeople), if you're in the mood to cry, and if you're someone who would cry at such things, take a peek at the photo albums here. Goddam that's beautiful shit!!

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Modern Love

Three blocks from Girl-E's apartment is the Cambridge, Massachusetts City Hall. Until tonight, Cambridge has been known primarily as the home of Harvard, MIT, and the original Necco Wafer factory. But tonight, Cambridge, Massachusetts made another kind of history-- at 12:01am, clerks at the City Hall issued the first honest to goodness legal marriage license to a lesbian couple in the United States of America.

According to the Supreme Judicial Court of Massachusetts, gay and lesbian marriage would be legal in the Commonwealth six months to the day after its November 17th ruling. Cities and towns in Massachusetts are gearing up for 8:00am, when thousands of gay and lesbian couples will eagerly await equality under the law. Except for Cambridge, which said screw 8:00am-- May 17th means May 17th, means midnight. Girl-E, Nikita, hundreds of other people, and at least that many reporters and photographers flocked to the lawn in front of City Hall to celebrate the couples, many of whom had been waiting decades for the moment, who walked through the doors with 3-day post-blood test waiting period wavers in hand (as if a required blood test for rubella and syphallis isn't stupid enough for straight couples). There were dancing troupes. There were tubas. There were people on roller blades. And there was enough pure joy in the air to kill the most hideous of maneating beasts.

It was a glorious event, to say the least. Even the people with the "Fags Doom Nations" signs shrunk back when the first couple emerged from the City Hall doors. The celebration at Boston City Hall in the afternoon will be equally rockin', roses and birdseed abounding. Even though the wheels are in motion to invalidate these licenses with a popular vote by 2006, we can't imagine that a majority of Massachusetts citizens, after witnessing two years of this kind of good, would elect to take it away.

A loud, crying, laughing, jumping, raucus benediction to one and all.

Note: Pictures are a'comin', just have a little patience. Like the couple of 27 years who waited at the hall 24 hours in advance to make sure they were the first in line.

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May 16, 2004

Red and white and sa-weet all over

From 1992 to 1994, Girl-E worked her first real job. She doesn't count running the Little League snack bar before that because her friend's parents owned it and personal merit was not involved (except for the fact that, as a precocious twit, she was universally loved and trusted by all friends' parents). But shortly after she got her driver's license junior year, she filled out an actual job application and had an actual job interview with a stranger and earned her ticket to financial independence (meaning she could take out $10 at a time from her own bank account for a sandwich) -- in the form of the bright shiny red vest of the Target cashier.

Her adventures over those two years were countless and epic. Like the time Jenny Craig came through her line. Or the time her crush came through her line and she got up the nerve to tell him to call her (the nerve undoubtedly came from the vest), and he actually did. Or the time her friend Mike's little brother came through her line with a box of ankle weights, and it turned out he was actually stealing many packs of baseball cards (many packs are actually quite heavy-- that kid was clever). Or the countless times that she spent her 30 minute break speeding her 1985 VW Golf to the beach where all her friends were (in her Target uniform), watched two points of volleyball and sped back to punch back in.

In general, though, the job SUCKED PUPPIES. Really. Worst job ever. She has not been to a store of that genre since where she hasn't wanted to slip the cashier a twenty for his/her troubles. We won't go into why the job sucks-- you've shopped before, you know. The wrong prices in the computer, not enough nickles, too many total freaking assholes. But there was one thing that gave the job an extra special something, something she would not have been able to do in any other job-- she could constantly shop at Target.

Despite the pain and suffering of working there, Target is the dopest store ever. Just enough classier than K-Mart, just enough less evil than Wal-Mart. There is nothing that cannot be obtained, and some of it is even cute. One of the most disappointing elements of the East Coast when she left California was the total lack of Targets. Bradlee's really just does not cut it. However, the Eastern Seaboard has recently come into the modern world of discount shopping and Targets are popping up all over. And today, after four years in New Jersey and six years in Massachusetts, she made her first pilgrimage. We don't need to present her itemized receipt, but let's just say she came home with selections from departments including hardware, health & beauty, intimate apparel, bath & bed, pharmacy, kitchen compliments, and housewares. All for $102. Tampons and a screwdriver in one shopping bag. The place is a utopia of belongings. Truly divine.

Now, if you'll excuse us, it appears she is about to do something enterprising with her new pushpins. Happy Sunday.

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May 12, 2004

How beautiful is it today in Boston?

It's so beautiful, one can see the Dean of Harvard Law School walking down the street in khakis and a t-shirt looking about as unstressed as someone on the way to her shift at Crate & Barrel.

It's so beautiful, Worcester is making some mighty unseemly comments.

It's so beautiful, it can totally get away with a really short haircut.

It's so beautiful, Providence is considering going on that TV show to have cosmetic surgery to look just like it.

It's so beautiful, an enterprising student agency has set up next to the Au Bon Pain to rent out bluebirds for shoulder use.

It's so beautiful, it can be a total bitch if it wants to. And it will.

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May 10, 2004

Can you wiggle your toe?

We may not be able to post for a few days. We are trapped under something heavy.

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May 07, 2004

This post is not about the final episode of Friends

Because Girl-E didn't watch it. We're sure you can get commentary somewhere, though, one or two things should come up on Google.

Since you may have noticed a downturn in our creativity lately, it will likely not surprise you that this post isn't about anything in particular really. Except these things:

It's a beautiful day. Really. You should be here.

It's been a seriously bad couple of weeks for allergy sufferers.

The lint roller really didn't do a very good job on the cat hair on the pants today.

Maybe it's just us, but there's something a little off-putting about a news program that has a video of its news chopper going down and forces the pilot who miraculously survived to watch said video live on said news program.

The Bush administration should just put Peter Cetera on retainer for all the nice-makin' on their plate.

We totally have to see that movie Super Size Me. How can you not see something that's described as a cross between Bowling for Columbine and "Jackass".

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May 06, 2004

Get out of my dreams and into my car

...and take over the wheel, would you, because DRIVING FRICKING SUCKS. Now, we realize there are people who say they love to drive. But they mean they love to drive when they're out on the open road, or along a gorgeous coastline, or on their way to get some. No one likes to drive when there are too many cars on the road, there's a red light every 45 seconds that stays red for 3 minutes, and everyone blocks the intersection, and there are no parking spots. And you know what, you self-satisfied autophiliacs? That is how driving is 85% of the time.

Girl-E never drives to work because she lives at one subway station and works at another, and she can zone out, or read, or listen to music, or eat, or do any number of things with her unoccupied hands. Plus she grew up in Southern California where people are crazy, so the idea of getting driven around, even by a semi-reliable public service, is thrilling and indulgent. But this morning she had to drive because she needs the car after work, which requires passing her office by about 3 miles in order to park where it is not $25/day, and get back on the train to work. And it was horrid. And it brings out the very, very worst in her, because other people in big metal machines are disgusting.

The moral of the story is, Dean Kamen just has to work a little harder.

Addendum: We suppose the fact that we said she needs the car after work might rip all credibility from this rant. But that's still other people's fault, because if other people would understand the value of public transportation then she could get to where she has to go without the car. So yeah.

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May 05, 2004

Feliz Cinco de Mayo

Buenos dias. Claro, sabemos que todos los blogueadores del mundo van a escribir algo sobre Cinco de Mayo hoy. No queremos ser diferentes, somos gran conformistas. Sin embargo, no tenemos nada interesante decir sobre esta fiesta Mexicana, porque a nosotras no nos importa. Ademas, somos perezosas, y no vamos a tomar el tiempo incluyendo las letras espanoles. Ni un tilde, ni un acento, nada de eso. Es probable que cuando ustedes usar la cosa de Google o Babelfish, este va a ser completamente incomprensible. Pero sean convencidos, no estamos usar esa cosa nosotras mismas para escribir. Porque hablamos el espanol muy bien, muchas gracias. Tenemos una historia-- ayer, Nina-E compre un burrito de pollo en la cafeteria del lugar en que trabaja, y estaban guisantes. Guisantes en un burrito! Que lastima. Que historia buena, no?

Feliz Cinco de Mayo.

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May 03, 2004

Happy NAD!!!!

Well what do you know, it's beginning to look a lot like National Adjective Day! As you may or may not recall, we proclaimed May 3, 2003 to be the first ever National Adjective Day, and we can't contain our excitement that it's come around again. How time flies. *Sigh*.

In case you need a reminder, today is a day in which we honor the oft-overlooked but all-important adjective. We would be nowhere as a planet or a people without the adjective. Each NAD, celebrants pay tribute by using as many creative and appropriate adjectives in each lovely sentence uttered as much as humanly (ok that's an adverb) possible. We also name a select group of descriptive phrases as annual honorands. As a recap, those honored in 2003 were:

moist towelette
frosty beverage
fuzzy bunny
sweet love
slow-roasted brisket
vengeful spouse
nasty scrape
witty repartee
pickled accompaniments

We are now thrilled to announce the winners of the 2004 honor:

magnetic personality
dewey complexion
tall glass of water
distinguished representative from North Adams
batshit loonball
beechwood-aged brew
juicy peach
robust character
danceable beat

And since you are all smarter, pluckier, and wittier than even the best of people, you will surely make admirable use of comparatives and superlatives as well.

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May 02, 2004

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, literally


This is being written (to be retyped later, but we swear we didn't change a word, including this parenthetical which we anticipated) at 12:42am Pacific Daylight Time on Friday, April 30th, from a row of black vinyl chairs at the San Diego International Airport, aka Lindbergh Field. "But wait," you say, "weren't you taking a redeye on Thursday night? Shouldn't you be on a plane?" Why what a good question! YES, we should be on a plane!! "Well why then," you say, "are you sitting on a row of black vinyl chairs at the San Diego International Airport, aka Lindbergh Field?" Another excellent question. See, Girl-E left her mom's today (Thursday) at 3:30pm to drive from just north of L.A. to San Diego-- normally a three-hour trip-- in order to be shockingly early for a 10:15pm flight. But wouldn't you know it, the gods chose this particular Thursday afternoon to explode a tractor-trailor on the I-405, and the three-hour trip in fact took the entire seven.

So, she will not sleep tonight. She will not make the wedding in DC. Unless she gets on a morning flight standby, she will be stranded in New York at midnight Friday night. She had some allergic reaction to something and she has an itchy rash all over her legs. They keep the "don't leave your bags unattended blah blah" announcements going at full volume all night. Someone is vacuuming. Someone is pumping shitty music through the sound system between security announcements. The 24-hour Starbucks charges $7.10 for a sandwich. It's 3 1/2 hours before she can put her name on a standby list, and another 3 until the theoretical plane leaves. And another 8 before the flight they actually booked her on. And the damn Starbucks sandwich was filled with onions, the taste of which she now has to spend these miserable hours with.

So, how was Friends tonight?

Update: 2:45am

1) Airport graveyard shift Baristas do not receive the standard rigorous training. They are unfamiliar with the Frenchier terms on the menu, and your hot vanilla will have a 1:1 ratio of milk:syrup.

2) While it is true that one should never leave her bags unattended, it is also true that a large suitcase does not fit in a standard bathroom stall, and one is likely to render herself trapped which would be particularly troubling in case of fire or flood. Go handicapped the second time.

3) It is wise not to accept the lady's offer to hang together while you both spend the night in the airport, for you will run into her enough, particularly in the restroom curling her hair at 2:30 in the morning and musing about how nice it feels to get cleaned up.

4) Two hoodie sweaters, a vinyl raincoat, and a pashmina wrap are not sufficient protection against the arctic blast of the terminal air conditioning as you attempt to sleep under the black chairs. Get your frigid ass up and go to Starbucks.

Update: 6:40pm Friday

1) We get tired, you get lists.

2) Got last seat on morning flight. Cried.

3) Threw money around like birdseed to get from JFK to Penn Station and theoretically now to Boston. Ate Pizza Hut personal supreme pizza of approximately six days in age over the course of approximately six seconds.

4) Train departed 30 minutes late. Conductor advisory to "hold on tight" while all possible attempts made to make up time.

5) Pen exploded all over Amtrak ticket where signature required. Signature resembles thumb smudge of deaf illiterate mute.

6) Girl-E has no chance of ever getting her suitcase out of the overhead compartment. Zero.

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