D'oh

Mr. Wonderful turned into Mr. Wonderfully sloshed for his birthday party. This was hardly a surprise. Still, it scares me when I look into the eyes of the man I love and he doesn't recognize me. I've decided I will exact revenge on all those callous asses who decided 8 shots were a good idea. No one sullies the love of my life and gets away with it!

Feenin for Java

So it is Mr. Wonderful's birthday on Wed and while I've already gotten him a present, do you know what he asked me for? A yerba matte tea gourd. I know. Great Buddhist monks on fire, what in the world is a tea gourd?

THE HISTORY
Years ago, when he started his regime of all-night typing fests, the love of my life was a bona fide coffee freak. After two years of a gallon a day habit, his body began to resist the caffeine. Now one cup induces a cold sweat and hallucinations. Like a heroin addict being weaned off through methadone, Mr. Wonderful is using yerba matte to treat his coffee addiction. Nevertheless, the gourd is a whole different thing. I suspect he wants one because it reminds him of a coconut and our time spent vacationing in tropical places.

Week of the Geek

This was the week of the geek. On Friday, Chicken John Rinaldi qualified for the Mayoral race against Mayor (Mc Dreamy) Gavin Newsom. It's a difficult decision to make; however, my love of Dammit the Wonder Dog outweighs my love of handsome philanderers.

Also on Friday, I thought that Mr. Wonderful's work party would be an intimate geek affair. At about 10 or so, the beer tap began producing a slip n' slide effect on the hardwood, the 10 girls in the room got sloppy drunk and an intern from Mozilla lit himself on fire. The poor guy had to walk around with a big hole in his back. I'm seriously considering becoming a personal stylist to the l337s.

They Fight Crime!

He's an up-and-coming bad boy of computer programming with a luxuriant magical afro. She's a scrappy small town blogger with chip on her shoulder and a dream in her heart. They fight crime! Thanks Eugene.

Old Hollywood Day

I'm trying to have an old Hollywood day but the hippies at the Chinese embassy keep screaming and drowning out my hep-cat bossa nova. If I were Marlene Dietrich I'd get my lady tux on and out hair them with my giant Blonde Venus fro, but since I'm me I just swear and spy with my telescope. The reason I'm having an old Hollywood day is because Harper Collins sent me a new book to review, "Damage Control: Woman on the Therapists, Beauticians and Trainers who Navigate Their Bodies" edited by Emma Forrest. I didn't like Minnie Driver's story because I couldn't tell if she was forcing the language or just speaking in the Queen's English. You just knew she'd write about her hair and in that way it was contrived. But I did like the stories by Samantha Dunn, Helen Oyeyemi, and my fave - one about Topsy Young, a former screen siren (with a love of Liz Taylor) who is now elderly and has a great rapport with Swedish masseuse Asa Wrange. Old Hollywood and the people who make up new Hollywood seem to have more charisma and class than today's stars.

Fugly Fotos

I am one of the least photogenic people I know. I'm pretty average in every way until a camera gets put in my face. Red-eye, lazy-eye, fang tooth, triple chin, the comb-over, drool mouth, turkey neck, lobster claw, spider brows or pear butt - there is not a single photo I have ever taken that doesn't contain at least one of these horrible afflictions. Celebrities as Co-Workers gives me the satisfaction of laughing at other people's shitty photos. Check out Pam from Finance.


Thanks for the fugly photos Swerd!

Sing Sing: The Prison of Sound

Karaoke Party! It's been a while since I've used my rich mahogany voice for good. It's like running. When I was 15 I could run like the wind. Now my mind thinks I can run like the wind, but my body tears through whole muscle groups in a few pathetic strides. With music, where I once heard tones, I now hear the same dull note as if some ripped hippie is clumsily thudding on his poorly strung bongo (or overturned ice cream bucket). My God, has it all gone Pete Tong?

Anyways... in my Karaoke research I found that Daisuke Inoue, inventor of the karaoke machine was awarded a 2004 Ig Nobel Peace prize for effectively testing tolerance internationally. The Ig Nobels, a ceremony broadcast through NPR and held at Harvard, are held annually in collaboration with the science humor publication, "The Annals of Improbable Research." Every year real Nobel laureates also perform a mini opera as part of the program. This year's opera is entitled, "Chicken vs. Egg" and will be webcast live from the Ig Nobel site on Oct. 4 at 7:15pm. A few of the mini opera's actors have already been featured in the Studmuffins of Science Calendar available at SF's Exploratorium.

Strange Daze

OK, today has been one of those amazingly bizarre days. The sort of day where you just wished the Zombie Flash Mob would sweep you up in its bloody arms and rock you like a little undead baby, smoothing your hair and soothing you with its vacant grunts. This pig in space makes me happy. This real life Peter Griffin makes me sad.