Monday, December 29, 2008

Just Asking...

The water in my apartment building was shut off and I've been washing my face and brushing my teeth with Poland Spring. Is this what they mean by "an embarrassment of riches"?

Six Degrees of Separation in the Suburbs

For some reason my parents have six remote controls for one TV, none of which seem to work.

Sunday, December 28, 2008

My New Favorite Bar

I’m in Houston for the holidays. A few nights ago my girl Skyler and I went to a bar which is going to be our go-to drinking establishment from now on. It was so behind in the times that it had a cigarette machine and no smoking section because the entire bar was the smoking section. Yet there were no ashtrays so everyone just ashed their cigarettes on the beige industrial carpeting. At one point, a woman came up to us and tried to sell us a rose. From our seats we watched two middle-aged women grinding each other on an otherwise empty dance floor to the song “My Girl.”

“Please tell me you’re seeing this,” I said.

“Laugh all you want but that’s so going to be us in a few years,” Skyler replied.

When we ordered our drinks the strung-out looking bartender narrowed her eyes at us and asked, “Do you ladies have some identification?” We handed over our licenses that proved we’re pushing 30.

“Wow, you ladies sure do look good for your age,” she said. “What’s y’alls’ beauty secret?”

“It’s called ‘not doing meth’,” Skyler said after she'd left. “Look into it.”

But what really sold me on this place was the ladies' room. The above advertisements were on the back of the bathroom stall door. Oh, how I’d love to be there a few years down the line when the parents explain to their child why he/she doesn’t look like Mommy: “Well, you see, Mommy and Daddy loved each other very much but couldn’t have a baby of our own. So we placed an ad in a bar where we thought there might be some women looking to sell their eggs for drug money.”

Skyler repeated aloud the last line of the ad, saying, “Must be 20 to 30 years old, a non-smoker, drug/disease free and height/weight proportionate.” Then she turned to me and asked, “Do you think they'd settle for one out of four?”

I’m no copywriter but if they were really trying to reach their target audience on that second ad, they’d have had better luck with: Unplanned pregnancy? Which possibly occurred in this very bathroom stall? Consider adoption! Fetal Alcohol Syndrome a plus!

Friday, December 26, 2008

Happy Kwanzaa!...

...and a merry Christmas from me, my brother and sister. I thought I'd post a few holiday pictures just for grins. This year I finally went to SantaCon, a city-wide pub crawl where thousands of New Yorkers dress like Santa and go bar hopping. Instead of wearing a Santa costume, I decided to dress as a nutcracker. It seemed more me. And of all the holiday-themed costumes at Ricky's, it had the longest skirt and came with a bag labeled NUTS, which I filled with cashews and carried around all day. Any costume for which food is an accessory will find a fan in me.

At the College Humor party with Nick. Santa and I discussed rosacea remedies.

At the College Humor party with Jessica as I pretended to touch Santa inappropriately.

SantaCon 2008

Behold the santarchy

The Santas make an unscheduled pitstop at Carl's Cheesesteak

Making another unscheduled pitstop at a South Street Seaport hotel bar after Pizzeria Uno management locked us out of their establishment

My hangover kicked in while I was still drinking so I deployed anti-hangover defense measures and stopped at a pizza place on the way home. The man behind the counter insisted on taking my picture and I was drunk enough to let him.

Attempting to salute but looking more like I'm pantomiming a brontosaurus.

Thursday, December 25, 2008

Christmas List

Actually this year I asked for pots and pans and one of those air purifiers that sucks the dust out of the room, which must mean I'm getting old.

Wednesday, December 24, 2008

Presents I Won't Be Getting My 14-Year-Old Sister For Christmas

Me: What does Jordan want for Christmas?

Mom: She asked for a Ralph Lauren perfume called "Hot."

Me: Okay, that's horrifying.

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Last Nine Months Of Unemployment Not A Complete Waste Of Time

The reason I haven't been writing so much on the blog lately: I've been working on a book, which was just picked up by HarperCollins! Definitely the best Christmas present I've ever received. Slated for publication in spring 2010. Yayness!

Last-Minute Christmas Shopping

Bloomingdale's should have a room where customers can take a break and go cry.

Once in a Lifetime Television Event Surprisingly Derivative

The following is a real promo I saw on Lifetime tonight as I was watching The American President. It was an ad for a made-for-television movie called The Governor's Wife and it ran pretty much every commercial break until I eventually memorized it.

An ominous voice begins, “She fell in love with the governor’s son...”

There’s a shot of a young man -- ostensibly the aforementioned governor’s son -- slipping an engagement ring onto a young woman’s finger, chirping, “I guess this makes it official!”

The voiceover continues, “...and into the trap of...the governor's wife.”

The next scene shows a glowering Marilu Henner saying, “You will never fit in!”

The young girl is seen running through a field at night looking panicked. Then Marilu Henner is climbing up some stairs calling, “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” The young girl is trapped in a room, banging on the door sobbing.

The voiceover intones, “Tomorrow at 8 p.m...”

I am so Tivo-ing this.

Monday, December 22, 2008

Revenge of the Underclass

Nick: So Revenge of the Nerds is really kind of an amazing movie. In the sense that it's the original movie of all movies in which a put-upon minority group gets back at everyone else. They really set the formula.

Me: I've always said that Booger was very misunderstood.

Nick: "Times are changing, Betty. These nerds are a threat to our way of life." So bad its good.

Christmas New York Style

No decorated tree, no roaring fire, just a stocking with two clip-on parakeets (one of them missing a head) hung over the radiator by a window blind cord. Wouldn't have it any other way!

Graffiti Spoiler Alerts: In Which Subway Vandals Ruin 'Marley & Me'

Seen in the 14th St. and 6th Ave. subway station

Saturday, December 06, 2008

Today in Texting with Jessica

Me: I’m on a BUS right now. Going to the LIBRARY. Can you imagine? It’s bizarro New York!

Jessica: Why?! The big library?

Me: Naw, the one all the way up at Lincoln Center. Only branch that has the book I need.

One bus ride, one subway transfer and one hour later…

Me: PROOF OF ADDRESS??? Proof of goddamn address to check out a library book???? After coming all the way up here?!

Jessica: What does that even mean? Like a ConEd bill? Your subway card and your rage should be enough proof that you live here.

Thursday, December 04, 2008

Area Woman Finally Figures Out Where The Onion Finds Its Photo Subjects

I was reading The Onion last week and was surprised to find the face of my friend Jack staring back at me from under the headline God Help Him, But Area Man Loves That Crazy Bitch. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised considering he works there, but I sent him an email nonetheless.

Me: Nice headshot in The Onion this week!

Jack: Thank you. They needed someone who looked about 30 and sad. I was flattered that they thought of me first.

Monday, December 01, 2008

Britney Spears On Her Intellectual Pursuits

This year I'm thankful that, despite all of the unforseen Spearsean antics of 2007 and 2008, 2009 is proving to be slightly more predictable. In the January issue of Glamour, Britney reveals:
"I love my home and staying in bed and watching 'Dancing With the Stars' or reading a Danielle Steel novel."

Because if she had said "I love my home and staying in bed and watching a good Ken Burns documentary or reading Nabokov," I'd have thought, that's it, she's too far gone.

I'm Always Thankful For The Lopsided Genitalia Of Demi-Celebrities

(image via Lisanti)

What does it say about the life I lead that the first thing I thought when I saw this Frank TV ad was, "Wow, that turkey gobble looks just like Cisco Adler's balls" ?

I'm sure there's some sort of Frank and beans joke here if my mind wasn't still in the throes of a tryptophan hangover.

Saturday, November 29, 2008

Today in Texting with Jessica

One of these days I'm just going to change the name of my blog to Reblogging Jessica. Her misery is my material.

Jessica: My return flight features Lily, a toddler so misbehaved (autistic?) that she rolled around on the floor of the boarding ramp, despite being on a leash. She’s two rows behind me and it looks to be a good time! I’m not for over-medicating kids, but at least do it for flights.

Me: I'm all for treating your kid like an animal if they behave like an animal. But why not just go all the way with it and put them in a carrier and check them with your luggage? At least then you'll have your hands free for some mid-flight cocktails. I'm going to be a wonderful mother.

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Random Thoughts I Thought At The Airport Today

“Do not accept packages from strangers that you do not know well.” Does anybody copy edit these announcements before they go out or are they just winging it back there?

Has anyone ever gone to the airport chapel? Do we even have those in New York airports? If so, how long until we turn it into a nightclub?

My carry-on bag is always too heavy to hang on the hook on the bathroom stall door in the airport, so I end up having to put my bag on the floor. This makes me think of this statistic I once read stating that over 60% of purses have fecal matter on them from people placing them on the floor in bathrooms. When I repeated this stat to my friend Lindsey, she replied, “My question is -- who are all these people shitting on the floor?”

I have to say, I’m not a fan of the automatic toilet flush. I always get really stressed out trying to keep both butt cheeks on the seat while I’m wiping. Because if one of them lifts off you get the pre-emptive flush, which not only splatters your butt with used toilet water, but then you end up having to flush twice, so everyone thinks you just did some really nasty business that merited the double-flush. I’d rather return to a simpler time when I flushed the handle with my foot.

Why does “courtesy boarding” permit parents with children under age five to board the plane first? Shouldn’t they have to board the plane last as a courtesy to everyone else? Or preferably, not at all?

Every time my parents pick me up from the airport I have to ask, “What color is this year’s SUV?”

Sunday, November 23, 2008

Today in Texting with Jessica

Jessica: You know you're fat and out of shape when you pull a hamstring cleaning out your closet.

Noelle: I pulled a hamstring the other day while sitting down.

Jessica: I'm in serious pain, had to take a cleaning time-out.

* * * * *

On a related note, you know you're getting old when all of your friends who signed up to run a marathon this year had to drop out after suffering some kind of body ailment during training. See this is why I don't bother doing things anymore. You spend five months getting up at 7 a.m. every weekend to go on some painfully long run only to be sidelined at the last minute by a stress fracture. I also don't trust any form of "exercise" that comes with a high probability of my toenails falling out and me spontaneously crapping my pants. That is my line in the sand.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

In Which I Take The Bait

The moron over at OOOOOh Indie Kid asks, "What kind of superficial twat doesn’t want her picture taken just because she isn’t wearing eye make-up? Jesus."

Answer: The superficial twat who knows there are individuals in the world who run websites dedicated to ripping on the way people look in photographs. Douche.

Sunday, November 16, 2008

As Economy Worsens, So Does Our Taste In Movies

P.S. Why does Theodore look like Turtle from Entourage?

Jessica texts me the other night, “Uh, Alvin and the Chipmunks movie? I can’t look away.”

I know how she feels. In desperate times such as these, we have to make sacrifices which, for me, meant cutting all of my premium channels earlier this year. Now the movies I watch are dictated by whatever happens to be on TNT, USA and TBS. (Regarding TBS: Why do their commercials always seem to come back to Tyler Perry? If I hear that man's name again, I'm going to start seizing. I'm serious about this.)

Just a few of the movies I am embarrassed to admit that I've seen in the last month:

Final Destination, 1, 2 and 3
The Ring (This is actually a good movie. The problem is that I watched it three times – in one weekend.)
Iron-Jawed Angels
Conspiracy Theory
The Wedding Date

Saving Silverman can only be next.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

10 Minutes In The Lives Of 2 Parakeets

Nappy keets

8:07 p.m.: Stuart the Parakeet moves from the upper back perch to the upper front perch.

8:09 p.m.: Jesus the Parakeet follows Stuart.

8:11 p.m.: Stuart begins preening Jesus’s head feathers. Jesus is displeased. Stuart has gone too far. Attempts to bite Stuart. Several squawks are exchanged.

8:11 – 8:13 p.m.: Much chirping ensues as grievances are aired.

8:14 p.m.: Silence.

8:15 p.m.: In a bold and unexpected move, Jesus decides to drink from the water bottle.

8:16 p.m.: Stuart shuffles from one end of the perch and then thinks better of it. Shuffles back to the other end. Cocks head.

8:17 p.m.: Exhausted, they call it a day.

Saturday, November 08, 2008

Final Thoughts

When I was a guest on Red Eye last Thursday, we were supposed to talk about a new study revealing that teenage boys are using alcohol and pressure to get girls to have sex with them. The story ended up getting bumped to the next day and I didn't get to offer my insight on the matter, so I'll do it now:

Ladies, no one should ever be pressured into sex, especially teenagers. There is plenty of time to get liquored up and sleep with someone you will inevitably regret. This time is known as your twenties. But if you ever find yourself on the receiving end of unwanted sexual advances, the quickest way to get a man away from you is to say to him, "Hey, check out this lesion on my vajayjay! Is it just me or is it shaped like Jesus?" This is also a handy conversation starter at Christmas parties and christenings.

In Which the Camera Adds 10 Lbs To The Lower Quadrant Of My Face

I like to think that I'm a decent-looking person when viewed straight on. My three-quarters profile, however, is a different story entirely, a story which should be titled "Damn, Is That Really What My Chin And Jawline Look Like From The Side?" It's like the bottom half of my face said to the upper half of my face, "Excuse me while I slip into something a little more Wynonna Judd." I always forget this until I go on television and they shoot me from that "looking off in the distance while addressing someone outside the frame" angle. (Not that this actually matters or you actually care. I just like criticizing my outward appearance because it keeps me from focusing on my inner moral deficiencies.) This was me during an appearance on Fox News' "Red Eye" last Thursday. I made lots of goofy expressions. Here they are!

The Happy Face

The Shocked Face

The Dubious Face

The O Face

The Outraged Face

The Semi-Outraged Face

The Face I Will Never Be Making Again

Monday, November 03, 2008

How Scary Is This?

I had a hard time coming up with a Halloween costume this year. I’m too old to go the slutty costume route, which ruled out almost everything at Ricky’s. I was too lazy/broke to do anything elaborate. As I was walking down the street debating costume ideas in my head, a mother ran over my foot with her stroller. Instead of apologizing, she shot me an accusing look as if the whole thing was my fault and wheeled away in a huff. Right then and there I decided to go as a Park Slope Stroller Mom, that quintessential Brooklyn child-bearer whose hobbies include believing that her kid is a mini-deity to be worshipped by all, self-righteousness, and refusing to pick her kid up as they toddle stair. by. stair. down the subway steps, not caring that there is a long line of people behind them trying not to miss the train.

For my costume, I went with Converse sneakers for their easy walking capabilities and a t-shirt depicting the Brooklyn Bridge that read: The Subterranean by Jack Kerouac. As a final touch, I picked up something called a "light weight popcorn beret" at Urban Outfitters But the most important thing I wore was an expression of entitlement (see above).

I found a cheap stroller at KMart as well as a Baby Alive with blonde hair and blue eyes to convey a sense of realism. I gave her a bottle of Brooklyn Lager to carry to convey a sense of alcoholism (for when the kid inevitably turns to drink because Mom is smothering her). When I wheeled into a party at my friend's East Village apartment, everyone looked at me in disgust until they glanced down and saw the fake baby.

“Ohmigod, I so thought you were real,” someone gasped. “Love the cap!”

I spent about 10 minutes ramming into people with my stroller and running over their toes while shouting, “Out of my way you single, non-baby-having bitches!” and “I have to get to The Co-op!” Then I quickly lost interest in my new lifestyle and abandoned the stroller in a corner. When my friend Jesse asked where my baby was, I shrugged and said, “I dunno, she’s with the nanny somewhere.” An hour later, I returned to find her upside down in the seat. Someone had taken her beer. I felt my first pangs of mother’s guilt. If this were real life, Baby Alive would’ve been Baby Dead or possibly Baby Molested.

But there was no time to dwell on my failings as a parent. It was time to hit another party on the west side. I tried wheeling the stroller down the sidewalk but partygoers were weaving all over the place and I had trouble getting around them. “Ugh, just pick a linear path and go with it, people!” I thought. And don’t even get me started about the ones standing in clusters! “Don’t you guys have a bar you should be in or something?” I muttered to myself. She and I clattered down the subway stairs to find that the subway entrance was closed so we clattered back up the stairs. Someone kindly helped me carry the stroller.

Back on the street a group of malcontents in their twenties were sitting on the doorstep of a brownstone hating on all the costumes that passed by. “Joe the Plumber!” they shouted at a guy in overalls. “I thought you were funny the first 100 times I saw you tonight!”

When I rolled by, one of the girls cackled, “Ooh, you have a baby! Aren’t you original? Aren't you special?” I considered shooting her the finger, but that would’ve meant letting go of the stroller handle and I was just getting my stride.

Happy Manniversary!

A big thank you to Boyfriend Nick for pulling out all the stops for our anniversary last weekend. He's put up with me for three years, which is amazing because I'm a huge pain in the ass most of the time.

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

The Idiot Vote

Back in 2000, when I heard that a bunch of people’s votes weren’t being counted in the election because they didn’t punch the holes correctly, I thought to myself, “Well, if they’re too stupid to figure it out, frankly, I don’t want them making any major national decisions.” Then I congratulated myself on my superior intellect.

Yesterday I received my absentee ballot in the mail. I'd had to work for it. First I sent in a request form online at the Texas Secretary of State’s website. The ballot never arrived. I sent in another, it never arrived. Finally I made a couple of phone calls and asked for a ballot. They mailed me a request form for the ballot, which I filled it out and mailed back. Two weeks later a package with my ballot arrived.

There were many papers in this package, most of them translations or supplements that I didn’t need. I spread everything on my bed and got to work. I read the voting instructions carefully, filled out my ballot, stuck it in the envelope, sealed the envelope and signed the flap as directed. Then I saw a second envelope, the ballot envelope, sticking out among the papers on my bed.

"Where did you come from?" I thought. “You weren’t mentioned anywhere in the instructions. Nor were you mentioned in the list of Helpful Tips To Voters.” (Helpful tips included a pictorial on how to correctly shade in a square box in case the concept of coloring between the lines eluded you.)

According to the back of the ballot envelope, the ballot first had to be put in the ballot envelope, which was then put in the outside envelope, which was then sealed and signed. If the ballot wasn’t in the ballot envelope, it wouldn’t be counted. Fuck! I was one of those idiots I read about.

Over the next few hours, I tried anything I could to open the outside envelope. I steamed it, I microwaved it, I froze it. I did everything but stuff it with foie gras and serve it on toast points. The envelope wouldn’t budge. It was some sort of industrial strength glue with one million horse power.

There wasn’t enough time to request another and get it back before deadline. So today I got out a serrated knife and cut that bad bitch open, as carefully as I could, along the seal. Then I put the ballot in the first envelope, put that in the second envelope and by now the glue had lost its power so I taped it shut and hoped for the best.

I have no idea if my vote will count, though frankly, it probably shouldn’t.

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

Dressing On The Side

I’ve taken to not getting dressed during the day. It’s not because I'm depressed. I haven’t forgotten to do my laundry. The truth is, all I really own are office clothes or slutty going out clothes. But it feels overzealous to don a blouse and a pencil skirt to walk three feet from my bed to my armchair, and as a general rule, I don’t wear a camisole without the expectation of getting laid. So usually I just wear whatever I happened to fall asleep in. If I’m feeling ambitious or leaving my building, I’ll put on pants.

I needed to run an errand the other day so I pulled on jeans and threw on a coat, but then it was hotter than I expected so I took off my jacket and had to carry it (don’t you hate that?). I couldn’t figure out why I was getting all these looks from people. “Oh god, is it that bad?” I thought, reaching up to touch my face. “Have I been indoors for so long that I’ve become one of those kids from The Others whose skin explodes in the sunlight? Have I developed some weird affectation from being home alone with two parakeets all day?"

Then I looked down and realized I was wearing my special nightshirt that says I SLEEP AROUND in big letters across the chest. No wonder Emilio from the deli was friendlier than usual.

Random Conversations

Chris: "Who is that on your t-shirt?"

Me: "Audrey Hepburn."

Chris: "Really? I thought she was more angular? Her cheeks were never that fat."

Me: "That's because her face is on top of my breasts."

Hello Again

This is going to be awkward. There’s no way it can’t be. I’ve been away too long. This post has been built up too much. I’ve been gone for 22 days so, surely, I should have something interesting to say by now?…Yeah I got nothing. Instead I’m going to celebrate this awkward moment by posting this video of the most awkward sexual pairing I've ever seen. Disclaimer: Duck rape is a crime. A very hilarious crime.

Please tell me that’s a cockapoo.

(UPDATE: My friend Mark -- who I will no longer be spending time with alone unless there are people close enough to hear my screams -- believes that this was not a case of rape, but a tacit understanding between sweethearts. “The duck is clearly consenting,” he argues. “While the duck ‘tried to get away,’ the dog knew it was just playing hard to get. Look at the video, you can see that in the duck's eyes.”)

Monday, October 06, 2008

'Mars' Attacks East Village

I would tap that, 'burns, 'stache and all.

Stalking Imperioli from afar.

Forgive me Father, for I have stalked.

This is so much better than that orange Lamborghini douchemobile that's usually parked there.

This guy totally hated me.

Then this guy came to chase me away.

The new TV show Life On Mars is shooting in my neighborhood today. All of the cars on the street have been replaced with 1970s rides. Pretty groovy. They’re filming at my place of worship -- Most Holy Redeemer Church -- and coincidentally an actor that I worship -- Michael Imperioli –- is on set today. (I never got into The Sopranos, so to me he will always be Detective Falco of Law & Order and Crackhead Jojo from Bad Boys).

They've been filming one scene where Imperioli beefs it out with some guy in the church then hauls him outside and throws him up against a car, threatens to "kick his ass," then someone hits someone and they fall down on the pavement, which is actually covered with gymnastics mats to cushion the blow.

I’ve been making up excuses to walk by the set all morning (I need eggs! I must go to the corner grocery store! But I forgot to get coffee! I must go to the deli!) hoping one of the crew would be like, “Hey, you! You in the sweatshirt with the unbrushed hair! Mr. Imperioli has personally requested that we give you a walk-on part in today’s episode. Are you interested?”

Anyway, it didn't happen. It was more like, “Uh, ma’am? Could you move to the other side of the street, please? You’re in the shot.” But above are the photos I managed to get before they chased me off the set.

P.S. Later they actually blew up a car and a door flew 40 feet up in the air. It was pretty sweet.

Friday, October 03, 2008

An Open Letter To The Dog Owner Who Left Poo Smears On The Sidewalk

An Open Letter To The Dog Owner Who Left Poo Smears On The Sidewalk:

I know you think you’re doing your civic duty by cleaning up after your dog. But what we have here is a case of a job not well done not being worth doing.

What you did was a half-assed wipe. It’s the equivalent of you going Number 2 and only wiping your butt once and leaving skid marks in your underwear. You wouldn’t do that, now would you? (Or maybe you would? If so, it’s possible we went out on a date once.)

In fact, you actually made the situation worse because a person is more likely to see a sidewalk turd than a sidewalk poo smear. A sidewalk turd has height. It is easily spotted and we give it wide berth. But when you take that altitude away, a person is more likely to – oh, I don’t know – step in the poo smear while wearing sandals, and then slide forward, the poo gushing over the front edge of the shoe and into the toes like it was high poo tide at Poo Beach.

In closing, please treat the sidewalks of New York with the same respect with which you treat your own anus. These are serious times and we need serious wipers. We already have enough people making a mess of things and leaving the rest of us to clean up their shit.


Noelle Hancock

Thursday, October 02, 2008

The Balk Vote

Alex Balk responds to my reality show pitch:

Balk: The sad fact of the matter is that this is probably the only thing my “career” has actually qualified me for. But fuck you, Hancock, I AM SO SO SO PRETTY.

Me: Hee! I almost threw in a line about you being "the token Balk" but I didn't think anyone would get it. But seriously, who wouldn't watch that show? Besides everyone?

Balk: The audience would be the exact same people you find in The Magician on a Tuesday night. In fact, that's where they would host it.

And We’ll Call It...HTM-Hell!

I think I should start a reality show where you have 10 minutes to write a blog post on a random subject and afterwards face a tribunal of judges: maybe Nick Denton, Alex Balk, Arianna Huffington, and Julia Allison who'll be "the sweet one" and the looks of the operation (sorry, Balk). They will say things like, "Noelle. Your headline was expected and cliché. I feel like we've seen it many times before. You are control-alt-deleted. Please pack your laptop and go."

Sunday, September 28, 2008

The End is Nigh

Sorry I haven't written in awhile. Jesus and Stuart and I have been busy hunkering down in the apartment, waiting for the End of America. As soon as the sun goes down, we expect the revolution to begin and the undead to start scaling my fire escape. I'm prepared to fight them off using the end of my Swiffer mop. I have also withdrawn my $150 in savings from Washington Mutual and taken my business to the Banco Popular around the corner. Hopefully they can keep their shit together over there.

Thursday, September 25, 2008

Unemployed Girl

It's amazing how Kazimir Malevich's "Unemployed Girl" is still relevant today even though it was painted in 1904. This is basically what the scene is like at my apartment. Except instead of that bench, it's an Ikea Ektorp armchair. Instead of a park behind me, there is a wall that is slowly closing in on me. Instead of the jaunty bowler hat, there's a backwards baseball cap that says "Aruba: The bar is open!" across the brim. It's sole purpose is to keep me from pulling out individual strands of my hair, which is what I do when I'm stressed out. I am wearing a tie but it's really more of an autoasphyxiation thing. Like this girl, I am also wearing last year's clothes because that was the last time I could actually buy clothes. That was a pretty genius touch on Malevich's part, by the way. Just look at that skirt. So 1903.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Times, They Are Tough's Daily Intel directs our attention to the best lede I've seen in awhile, courtesy of the Wall Street Journal:

A nose job in a hospital with a private nurse in attendance had been something of a rite of passage for Joan Asher's children. But when her fourth and last child was ready for her own rhinoplasty recently, Ms. Asher asked her to postpone it.

The financial markets were simply more out of whack than her 16-year-old's proboscis.

"The other noses were more prominent," the stay-at-home mother from a tony New York City suburb in Westchester County told her 16-year-old daughter. She could get hers done when things settled down.

This is what passes as a compliment if you're a Westchester mom. ("Darling, your nose job qualifies as a luxury, whereas in the case of your siblings, it was more of a necessity.") On another note, Joan, maybe if all four of your kids need nose jobs, the world is trying to tell you to stop having ugly children.

As Times Turn Tough, New York's Wealthy Economize [WSJ]

Where Mah Peeps At?

And you should've seen the Snowman Peep blowing rails in the champagne room.

[Via Lisanti, guardianofgimcracks, soupsoup, emilyposts]

Friday, September 19, 2008

Top 10 Ways To Tell This Was My Childhood Bedroom

I was looking through an old photo album yesterday and came across this picture (click to enlarge) I took in my bedroom when I was a freshman in high school. My friends were play fighting after soccer practice and I thought it was funny so I took a photo. Looking back, what's even more amusing is what's going on on the walls behind them. This room couldn't scream of adolescence more if it shouted, "I hate you, mom and dad! You don't UNDERSTAND me!!!" and then stomped off to it's own room. Let us count the ways:

1. Framed photo involving a kitten.

2. Rose that my first boyfriend gave to me on our one month anniversary.

3. One of those 3-D posters that were all the rage in the 90s where you have to let your eyes go out of focus to see the hidden picture within.

4. Poster of an otter. Adorbs!

5. Poster of a dolphin. Back when I was convinced I was going to be a marine biologist when I grew up.


7. Requisite Garfield stuffed animal

8. Old Babysitter's Club books

9. Regular fat Wheat Thins. Oh, those were the days.

10. A hammock chair. That was pretty awesome. I'd kind of like to have that now, actually. The year before I'd begged my parents to let me get rid of my regular bed and just get a hammock instead. This was the compromise.