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 I have also withdrawn my $150 in savings from Washington Mutual and taken my business to the Banco Popular around the corner.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.

Thursday, September 18, 2008

Help Me Choose the Title of my Nonexistent Memoir!

While I haven’t actually written a book, I already have the first couple of pages and the last page figured out. About the author? Done! The dedication? I know how it’s going to read and who’s going to be included in the Acknowledgements (Note: This is a constantly evolving list. Whenever a friend or family member crosses me, I think to myself, “You’re so out of the Acknowledgements.”) I’m not so sure about the 300 pages in between but I’m sure I’ll get there eventually. I also think about titles, often looking at the Times’ best seller lists for inspiration. This is what I’ve come up with so far:

I Feel Great About My Neck

Eat, Pay, Love That My Date Made Me Pay For Myself And Still Expected To Get A Piece At The End Of The Night

The White Runner: My Brief Foray Into High School Track

Three Cups Of Tequila

What To Expect When You’re Expecting One Dude You’re Hooking Up With And The Other Dude You’re Hooking Up With Shows Up Instead

The Tipping Point: When It’s Time To Leave The Bar

The Zero-Hour Workweek

90 Minutes In Line At Pinkberry

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

I Do Love Those Cheddar Jalapeño Biscuits Though

At a certain point, the Red Lobster commercials for their Endless Shrimp Special stop feeling like an advertisement and start feeling more like a threat.

Saturday, September 13, 2008

Jimmy Kimmel Live! (On My Cell Phone)

I interviewed Jimmy Kimmel on Friday for a freelance magazine piece I'm working on. I was a little nervous, knowing his feelings about bloggers, but he turned out to be very charming. You can usually tell how an interview is going to go within the first 30 seconds so I was happy that things got off to a good start.

Jimmy: "Hello Noelle!"

Me: "Hi there! Thank you so much for taking the time to talk to me. I know you're a busy guy."

Jimmy: "It was all I could do to resist singing 'The First Noel' but I assume that you get that far too much for it to be amusing anymore."

Me: "I do get that a lot, but it would mean so much more coming from you."

Jimmy: "Next time, then. Because now it just seems forced."


Hurricane Ike pimpslaps a tree in my parents' front yard.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

Although I Would Be Curious To See What You'd Do With the Anniversary of the Big Bang Theory

You know, Google. We all thought it was cute when you had fireworks shooting out of the logo on July 4th and transformed the second O into a sun on the official first day of summer. And I didn't even say anything on Thanksgiving last year when you turned both Os into two turkeys sitting at a dinner table, presumably eating some of their friends. But celebrating the Large Hadron Collider? That is just taking things too far. Seriously, you don't have to be everything to everyone.

Saturday, September 06, 2008

Maybe She Was Looking for Some Makeup for Fall?

Text message exchange of the day:

Jessica: Alicia Sacramone at the MAC counter at Bloomingdale's SoHo! Getting her makeup done, hasn't fallen off her chair yet.

Me: Get a cell phone pic!

Jessica: I feel bad. She already fucked up for the entire country. Let her buy tranny makeup in peace.

Tuesday, September 02, 2008

I THOUGHT He Looked Familiar!

And God said to the New York Post, "Bring me the MySpace page of Bristol Palin's baby daddy!" And the New York Post responded:

On his MySpace page, Johnston boasts, "I'm a f - - -in' redneck" who likes to snowboard and ride dirt bikes.

"But I live to play hockey. I like to go camping and hang out with the boys, do some fishing, shoot some s- - - and just f - - -in' chillin' I guess."

"Ya f - - - with me I'll kick [your] ass," he added.

Substitute "hockey" with "baseball" and "snowboarding" with "driving around parking lots in a pickup truck blasting music with the windows down" and that's pretty much every guy I went to high school with. Minus the facial hair.

Monday, September 01, 2008

How You Know When the Graffiti Artist is a Man

As seen on 4th St. and 1st Ave.

No. It doesn't.

I Need References

It's Labor Day and I'm laboring. (Or I'm "labouring," as my alternate, British personality would say.)

Specifically, I'm laboring over the problem of rap alter egos. I need to interview Ice Cube for a magazine profile I’m working on and have spent the last 20 minutes writing an email to his publicist to request a Q&A. Why 20 minutes? Because I have no idea what to call him. You can only say Ice Cube once in one email before it starts to sound awkward and I blew my load in the second line: “I wanted to see if I could grab Ice Cube on the phone for a quick interview and I understand that you’re his publicist?”

How do I refer to him after that? Ice? Mr. Cube? I can’t just keep referring to him as “him” or “he” without sounding biblical. I looked up his birth name to see if that might help but it’s O’Shea Jackson. I'm not comfortable calling anyone O’Shea and Mr. Jackson just makes me think of Outkast's “Sorry Ms. Jackson” and then I get that song in my head and start singing, “Oooooh, I am fo’ reeeaall!” Then I lose track of what I was doing and...yeah.

Honey: It All Began With an Idiot and a Dream

I'm really curious about the first person who discovered honey. Who actually thought to themselves, "You know what I think would be a good idea? See all those insects over there -- the ones with little knives attached to their butts that they use to stab people with? Let's break into their house and steal all of their shit. I'm sure they won't mind." You might as well just rob the headquarters of The Crips.