31 January 2006

creepy in a fun way, like james spader or bellybuttons

(sorry for the lack of original content, been busy!)

one of my all-time favorite movies, sick as it may be, is silence of the lambs. for all of you fellow enthusiasts out there, i suggest you check out lotion by the greens keepers...you'll have to hear it to understand, but it's pretty clever as well as catchy.

lyrics:

I'm looking down the hole, you're looking up at me
You're cold and tired, that is easy to see
Lower the rope to you, a bucket on the line
Your membrane will be soft and smooth, and your heart will be mine!

It rubs the lotion on its skin, or else it gets the hose again
It rubs the lotion on its skin, or else it gets the hose again
Yes Precious, it gets the hose
Oooh ooh oohOooh ooh ooh

The look inside your eyes drives me from control
Evoking visions of my favorite caserole
And if I eat your heart, I'll also bite your soul
And when I'm done with that, I'll use your skull as a bowl

It rubs the lotion on its skin, or else it gets the hose again
It rubs the lotion on its skin, or else it gets the hose again
It gets the hoseIt puts the lotion in the basket
It puts the lotion in the basketIt puts the lotion in the basket
Yes it does

Put the lotion in the basket
Put the lotion in the basket
Put the lotion in the basket now
Put the lotion in the basket now
Yes it does
Oooh, ooh, oohOooh, ooh, ooh

The night is very cold, I'm feeling kind of weak
I think I'll make myself a cap from your right buttocks cheek
And then I will go walking with my little dog
And then I'll bury you underneath a log

It rubs the lotion on its skin, or else it gets the hose again
It rubs the lotion on its skin, or else it gets the hose again
Yes it does, Precious
It puts the lotion in the basket
It should put the lotion in the basket
Oh put the lotion in the fucking basket, bitch
Put the lotion in the basket
Oooh ooh oohOooh ooh oohOooh ooh ooh

30 January 2006

breaking down barriers...

you know you love it. the rush, the urgency, the sense of relief...why can't we talk about it? in the spirit of being a straight shooter (almost a pun, oh my). i present to you...

the best places to poop in boston! hoorah!

28 January 2006

ladies! the moment we've all been waiting for!

i present to you the uncle jesse jean designed by chip & pepper...yes, this is a full house reference. insanity.

how marketing works...

you see a handsome guy at a party...

funny for all of you soft business types.

27 January 2006

proof positive!

last night i recovered my favorite fountain pen (yes, hal and alli, the one with the sheep on it) and a bag of both blue and black ink cartridges. with nothing but enthusiasm, i reassembled my pen at the office this morning, intent on doing my morning to do list in loopy, artistic, fountain pen-affected scrawl. gleefully, i printed out my pre-fabbed checklist format (yes, i made it myself. what? ::makes chuck norris face::)

::scratch. scritch.:: nothing.
::scratchscratchscratch!:: nothing.
::tap tap scratchscratchscratchswivel!:: niente.

pretty typical for a fountain pen that's not often used. brilliance strikes, and i put the nib in my mouth to suction the ink a bit (a strategy that's worked before with said pen). perhaps i overestimated my sucker, because black ink exploded, filling my mouth. (stop being dirty. it gets worse.) shocked, i did the natural thing and swallowed a pile of black ink. (now i know what a lady squid feels like. don't recommend it.)

panic ensues! i smile in the mirror (well, gape dramatically), and all of a sudden i look like a repulsive villain fresh from a stephen king thriller. never fear. there's obviously whitening toothpaste and a toothbrush in my desk for after-lunch brushes. i shove the necessary appliances in my back pocket, hop on the crutches, and start hobbling pathetically down the hall, through our neighboring ad agency. my lips are turning black. i see no less than seven people on the fifty foot trip to the bathroom. horror. i am the lagoon creature on crutches with dental implements leaking from her back pocket.

you'll all be happy to know that crest whitening toothpaste works wonders. the ads don't lie. ten brushes later while perched precariously on crutches (and waving my hand under the motion detectors on the sink) i've returned to a slightly blue-tinged but brilliant smile. under the fluorescent lights of the office, however, my teeth are glowing. moral of the story? don't do the things i do. ever.

26 January 2006

call for expertise!

i spend lots of time in my car. and i mean lots. my office is a bit away with traffic, my friends in the city are farther, and i'm a busy girl. this is okay, because:

1. i like my car. it feels like a tiny airplane.
2. when i'm driving, i'm generally headed to out to see people i enjoy.

that being said, i've developed a habit. not only am i generally wiggling around and singing while killing time in traffic, but i'm also checking license plates. strangely, the people i love generally drive one of the following cars:

-jeep grand cherokee (traditional)
-volkswagen passat
-saab 9-3
-ford explorer (traditional)
-subaru (the boob)

almost without exception, the cars in question are either black or silver. thus, i'm constantly checking these cars as i pass them on the road. as a result, i've become really familiar with the consistencies among license plates on different types of vehicles. there was a point where i was memorizing as a i drove along without really thinking about it and could reiterate the license plates of the last ten volkswagens i'd passed, but i was developing headaches and killed that habit pretty quickly. being a visual learner, i don't see the numbers as much as the patterns of the numbers, and now i'm wondering why this happens?

for example:

-on a saab in massachusetts, it's pretty common to see something like 13(#)(#) Y (C or D).
-on a ford explorer made in the mid nineties (the boxier ones), the tags frequently read 4(combination of 5,6,7,8 in the next three slots) JD.

i've heard that license plates are made sequentially, but do dealerships issue requests for license plates in clusters? does anyone know?

25 January 2006

lions and tigers and percosets, oh my.

that's all i've got for today. sorry kids.
anyone (particularly recent graduates) looking for a job in the Boston area in the advertising space? media/web slant. let me know.

24 January 2006

i'm on freaking crutches for foot pain that's mysterious in nature. mind you, not fun mysterious like dark strangers and the rubik's cube - like "when did i break something?" mysterious. RAR. MRI in the morning. love welcome.

to whomever...

...signed me up for the e-newsletter from www.indie-music.com - thank you!

23 January 2006

fine lines between fiction and reality - or the battle of the sexes? subtitle: doomed by X chromosomes and alligators

"fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities. truth isn't." - mark twain
preface: i just can’t fathom how i could have possibly missed this fact, or how so many of my fellow girls frequently choose to ignore the evidence. please consider this a PSA to my gender.

so last week, i’m sitting at dinner with a dear (male) friend, getting him up to speed on the social happenings of our mutual friends. most of these stories involve interactions with members of the opposite sex, because hey, we’re a representative sample of today’s twentysomethings on fairly solid career tracks. we have degrees, jobs, and places to sleep – what other variable is there, really, besides who might be sharing the other half of the bed? in terms of education, we’re wrapping up. we’re old hands at finding food, tying shoe laces properly, and brushing our teeth. but when it comes to boys and girls, we’re busily trying to isolate the unknown in the equation and calculate the hell out of it…right? not necessarily.

there’s a pattern developing. girl and boy meet. girl and boy hang out. boy says something, or nothing. girl misinterprets. girl takes information to friends. girl analyzes, analyzes again, analyzes to a pulp until she extracts the information she was looking for – boy clearly was having a bad day. boy proves her wrong – he meant what he said. he didn’t want to see her anymore. thus, he no longer calls. girl, don’t be dumb. pay attention.

guilty as the next chick of beating a situation to death in my head, with my friends, in my head, over email, in my head, on IM…i sullenly stuffed my face with naan bread while dear friend kind of raised his eyebrows. clearly, i was about to have a moment, and he wasn’t about to jump in while the wheels were turning. suddenly, i stabbed my fork in the air. “i’ve been thinking about this a lot, and i have words for it!”

“yes?” said dear friend, “let’s hear it.”

“guys are straight shooters. girls have to editorialize everything. would the problems not be solved if girls took everything guys said at face value?”

“i've known this for so long. nice work.”

“thanks,” i said smugly, shoveling in chicken masala.

triumph! i will break gender barriers! i will be even blunter. i will encourage my friends to stop with the fiction and save the adjectives for nights of grey’s anatomy reruns and coronas. i will be helpful and buck the pattern by being the girl who gets it. i will –

flash forward to this morning. i’m dreaming that i’m on safari, hacking through the jungle, leading people to safety. (don’t ask.) alarm goes off. i leap from my jungle tree branch, catlike, and pounce on the offensive noise. i hear a sharp “snork” in the dark. whirl around – there’s a dark object on my floor. dear god, it's moving. it's alive. it's on my floor. it snorks again and begins to crawl out from under my bed – alligator! i glance around the “jungle” for my glasses, scream like a schoolgirl, and make a beeline for…my closet. (sidenote: if you ever need a chick to run UP the stairs in a horror movie with a killer in hot pursuit, i’m your girl.) luckily, i stabbed myself in the arch with the rather sharp heel of a green suede pump, and came to my senses. panic subsides, but the truth remains – the tendency toward fiction dies hard. damn you, X chromosome. i’m in trouble.

20 January 2006

hey, did i mention that i'm not wearing any pants?

as a special request from manning, a tribute:














p.s. - the quality of this blog is rapidly deteriorating, and i'm not sorry. the ratings are good.

curious...

who's in

-boylston, ma
-reston, va
-palo alto, ca

?

brilliant!

oh man. have we got a project here...

Guinness ice cream
(Makes 1 quart)

1/2 vanilla bean, split lengthwise
1 cup whole milk
1 cup heavy cream
2/3 cup Guinness stout
2 tablespoons plus 2 teaspoons molasses
4 egg yolks
1/3 cup sugar
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

1. In a medium saucepan, scrape in the vanilla bean seeds. Add the pod, milk, and cream. Bring to a boil over medium heat. Turn off the heat, cover the pan, and let the flavors infuse for 30 minutes.

2. Meanwhile, in a small saucepan over medium-high heat, whisk together the stout and molasses. Bring to a boil and turn off heat.

3. In a large mixing bowl, whisk the yolks, sugar, and vanilla extract. Whisk in a few tablespoons of the hot cream mixture, then slowly whisk in another 1/4 cup of the cream. Add the remaining cream in a steady stream, whisking constantly. Pour the mixture back into the saucepan.

4. Stir the beer mixture into the cream mixture. Cook the custard over medium heat, stirring often with a wooden spoon, for 6 to 8 minutes or until the custard thickens enough to coat the back of the spoon.

5. Strain the mixture into a bowl and refrigerate for at least 2 hours or overnight. Process the custard in an ice cream maker according to the manufacturer's instructions.

Many thanks, boston.com

19 January 2006

"Omarosa likens the candidate-selection process to sausage-making..."

if you've ever

a) watched reality tv
b) seen omarosa in action and said, "god, what a bitch"
c) deigned to consider a casting call

give this a good read.

via ryan, who was born for tv, and the morning news. :)

augh augh augh!

so, my alarm never went off and i got up three hours late this morning. back to back meetings...eep! (yes, the "wild eep" from the early mac days, you remember.) if anyone would like to guest-blog today, send your submissions over and i'll post throughout the day!

18 January 2006

recommendation from jess...

...and you'd better embrace it, because she's way smarter than you. (that's how they like it at emerge.)

trust me on this one!

excitement! does anyone want to go and see these with me? particularly dana schutz! if it requires bribery, lunch is on me. who takes care of you, baby?

17 January 2006

anyone else interested in what it would sound like if kay hanley and jenny lewis had a love child who (naturally) fronted a band from new orleans? leave/send your info and i will reciprocate with the goods.

i hate taking life seriously. it'll stop after this post, i promise.

if i could make this friends only, i would, but i can't, so i won't. consider yourselves to be initiated. let's talk kryptonite.

i've become very aware recently of people's personal limitations due to candid conversations with family members and friends. turns out a large percentage of the population is starting from a sub-par physical or emotional level each and every day - kind of begins to shed light on things like road rage, failed relationships, or forgeting to renew your car's inspection sticker. when you're not performing on an optimal level all of the time, stability and attention to detail can go by the wayside. i digress. what i was really saying is that very few people spring out of bed, dance a few steps of the charleston, and say "woop! i feel fricking dynamite today!" (if you do, love you. high five, brother.)

i spent a long time...years, really...wading around in a greyish and largely fictional mucky, emotional pile. i had extra energy to fixate on things like A- v. A, weight, social standing, etc. furthermore, i was able to beat myself up about some inachievable standard of perfection regularly. what a crummy way to go through the day. it took physically feeling like shit to realize how counterproductive all of this "activity" was.

senior year, i was lucky enough to get mono. lucky. i'm not kidding. i certainly had a full plate, and couldn't afford the downtime. i'd regularly slept four hours nightly for the past eight years. immunosabotage now forced me to my bed for seventeen hours each day. after the initial virus itself passed, i didn't actually feel much better. i could swallow, sure, but god...i was just...so...tired.

"chronic fatigue syndrome," said a doctor at mass general, "we don't know much about it, but it looks like you have it. the symptoms fit." "great," i said, "what should i take for it?" "nothing, actually," he said sheepishly, "we can't treat it. it will probably take years for you to fully bounce back." what? sounded like bullshit to me.

i did some reading. lots of reading, actually, because every piece of medical literature published on the topic seemed intentionally vague. not contagious, not really well recognized, just marked by inexplicable fatigue and the magical ability to contract every cold and flu bug circulating. aka, every so often (once every two weeks?) i feel as though i've been run over by a truck for no good reason. getting dressed is a challenge. breakfast, lunch, and dinner are nauseating. going to work is equivalent to running a marathon after sitting down for a week and eating nothing but cheese fries and coke. washing my hair is like lifting two lead pipes to my head. i don't talk about it, generally. i don't want to. i don't want anyone to know if i'm having a slug of a day, if it's more than i can fathom to drive up the highway, if i'm not okay with being the company cheerleader.

i'll tell you what's been really interesting, though. i think my prior, overdramatic self would've a) complained a buttload and b) returned to bed, feeling sorry for herself. the past two and a half years have been a pretty steady upward progression. before, when every day was essentially the same, i had to invent reasons to differentiate them from each other. now, on the thirteen days out of fourteen that are normal, i wake up feeling kick ass. i love my days, i love my friends, i love my job, i have a really, really wonderful family, some pretty amazing mentors, and a smooth little path. the stuff that was important to fixate on just a few years ago no longer registers on the worthwhile scale. it's easier to keep "drama" in perspective.

my personal kryptonite? it's a tiny, green glowing pebble. my albatross? compared to almost everyone else's, it's a hummingbird. a crappy day just makes the others more dynamic. high five, friends. it's not all about me anymore, and i'm grateful.

16 January 2006

this is what abrasive, ethnocentric feminism sounds like...

generally when i come across a vaguely feminist statement, i mentally give the author a "there there" pat on the back, applaud her academic prowess and slightly holey theory, and continue on my merry, hopefully genderless way. yes, i appreciate diversity, support people who think, and try to remain open minded, but something about gail dines' assault on spielberg's munich made me want to look up the woman on mediasource, call her desk, and leave a message along the lines of "get a grip, you turdish waste of grey matter". (maturity is my specialty, and yes, i DO have access to journalist of the year's contact info. HA!) gail, spielberg told a story. ONE STORY. this particular story did not feature a female, jewish protagonist. go write your own, or shut up. am i being insensitive? read for yourself:

Invisible in Hollywood: Jewish women
By Gail Dines January 16, 2006

STEVEN SPIELBERG has done it again. He has managed to make yet another film about Jews that reduces Jewish women to caricatures. Only this time, instead of simpering victims, we are either loyal, hapless wives committed to tortured Jewish men, or kindly grandmothers who run a country but leave the real work to men.

The controversy that this movie has stirred up in the Jewish communities just adds insult to injury, as Spielberg has been castigated as a self-hating Jew who is a shill of the Palestinians. At the risk of being similarly labeled, this Jew is outraged, not because ''Munich" sympathizes with Palestinians (which it doesn't; its pro-Israel sentiments are clear), but because it is one more example of how Jewish men relegate Jewish women to roles that are supportive at best and belong in the silent era of movies, at worse.

While Jews are no longer the major owners of corporate media, they disproportionately fill the ranks of producers, writers, and actors. Yet for all this presence, when was the last time you saw a richly textured Jewish female character? TV character Jerry Seinfeld, another angst-ridden Jewish man, managed to avoid dating a self-identified Jewish woman in New York for all of the show's eight years. But then why would he date a Jewish woman if his cloying mother was an example of what was on offer?

The most prominent Jewish woman in the movies recently was played by arch WASP Meryl Streep in ''Prime." Written by a Jewish man (Ben Younger), this film tells the story of another suffocating Jewish mother who, for all her training as a therapist, is an overbearing, control freak who threatens to cut her son out of the family should he marry his blonde lover, played by Uma Thurman. Next to the shiksa goddess image of Thurman, Streep's character is dumpy, poorly dressed (even though she is a professional New York woman) and wholly unattractive in big glasses and bad hair. She repeatedly scratches her body, waves her arms in an ungainly manner, and speaks with her mouth full. Not one of the many reviews mentioned how the elevation of Thurman's goyish beauty depended on the debasement of Streep's ''Jewishness." Stereotypes always dance in pairs, never in isolation; for Jewish women, our stereotype serves to enhance and elevate hegemonic, Christian beauty.

The one place in popular culture where Jewish women reign is the Jewish American princess jokes. Here we are depicted as grasping, selfish, lazy, and sexually manipulative. Have you heard the one about how you stop a Jewish woman from having sex? You marry her. Encoded into these jokes is a level of misogyny that goes unrecognized by the mainstream Jewish community. The only critiques come from Jewish feminists. JAP jokes serve to help Jewish men bond with their non-Jewish brothers on the backs of Jewish women.

Missing from these images is the authentic story of Jewish women. During the Holocaust, we fought together with Jewish men in the resistance and died alongside them. We have been at the forefront of liberation movements, including feminism, gay rights, antiwar protests, and peace movements in Israel. Israeli women were the first to build joint Jewish-Palestinian movements, not because we are simpering victims or overbearing mothers, but because we have a long history of activism, courage, and a commitment to sisterhood.

At the end of ''Munich," the lead character, Avner (played by Eric Bana), is despairing over the fact that he has ''killed seven men." Well, actually, he has killed seven men and one woman, but she is invisible to Spielberg, and indeed to the movie reviewers, as not one mentioned this glaring omission. Jewish women are the disappeared of Hollywood because we are women and it is the sexism of men, not just Jewish ones, that makes popular culture a wasteland of sexist images that ridicule, degrade, and caricature real women's lives.

Hopefully, the next movie Spielberg makes about Jews will be a talkie for Jewish women.
by the way...who else is online today?

tequila is spelled P-I-S-S O-F-F

it's a pretty well known fact that if you're one of the only people working on a holiday, the productivity level is going to take a hit. that being said, let's kill some time.

friday night was a blast. there was great pizza (hawaiian!), multiple stellas, a roofdeck in beacon hill with a great view, mild temperatures, and random backbends to make life a little more exciting. two or three hours of sleep and a full day at the barn later, i thought i might be ready to do it again.

hauled my tired bod back into boston in time to catch the beginning of the pats debacle (this is where things began to go awry). as there was ZERO action in the game, manning and i went over to lucky's, part of a set of trendy hipster dives that have popped up around boston in the past few years. a friend of his from law school was getting engaged, he said, and this get together was just to have a few drinks, chat, and watch the game. great!

i've often said that i could talk to a wall about nothing for at least twenty minutes. i even managed to get excited over some girl's library sciences degree on friday night. after saturday, however, i am forced to retract that statement.

manning and i arrived at lucky's and were immediately introduced to everyone...in pairs. unless we were all being loaded onto noah's ark, this was a married party. i grabbed my margarita with both hands, licked a chunk of salt off, and took a big, long drag. "jeffandkate, roryandjulie, johnandeve..." i repeated after manning's soon-to-be-married friend. i backpedaled for awhile, surviving on "what do you do?" conversations which inevitably turned into "how long have you guys been together?" within three minutes. "we're not. we're friends from high school." "oh." they'd respond, looking at me as though i had leprosy and my scales were showing.

"hi, i'm julie!" said a petite brunette with a big smile. "hi, i'm alannah, nice to meet you," i said, wagging my tail and shaking her hand as i glanced at the score of the game and threw up a little in my mouth. "what do you do?" julie asked. "i'm in PR, what about you?" "i'm a MAHM!" she squawked in excited, midwestern tones. ::salt lick, gulp:: "that's wonderful! how many?"

she beamed at me. "one little girl. anita marie. she's one. our biggest challenge right now has to do with breast feeding. let me tell you, lactating..." an hour. this discussion continued for an HOUR. lactating? hi. i don't have children. i'm not married. i don't even have a boyfriend. i have a DOG, and i'm not even doing a good job with that. dear god. get me out of here. ::salt lick, gulp. gulp. gulp.::

i looked at manning in panic, but, fascinated by a lovely but married irish girl, he misinterpretted my "i'm miserable" face as "the patriots are dying a slow and untimely death."

three margaritas and four turnovers by the pats later, even manning was ready to leave. "did you notice that they were all married?" he asked. i glared. tequila makes me grumpy. lactating makes it worse.

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Alannah!

  1. Alannah can eat up to four kilograms of insects in a single night!
  2. Alannah was first discovered by Alexander the Great in India, and introduced to Europe on his return!
  3. If you lace Alannah from the inside to the outside, the fit will be snugger around your big toe.
  4. It's bad luck to whistle near Alannah.
  5. Alannah has little need for water and is capable of going for months without drinking at all.
  6. A rhinoceros horn is made from compacted Alannah.
  7. You should always open Alannah at least an hour before drinking her!
  8. Moles are able to tunnel through 300 feet of Alannah in a day.
  9. People used to believe that dressing their male children as Alannah would protect them from evil spirits.
  10. Banging your head against Alannah uses 150 calories an hour.
http://thesurrealist.co.uk/trivia.pl" method="get" style="background-color:#5F5F42;color:#CFCF95;padding:4px;text-align:center">I am interested in - do tell me about

12 January 2006

as you all know, i love my job. i love it in sickening amounts, i really do. but i tend to pile my long days on the front end of the week. by the time i get to thursday afternoon, i'm a little crazy. i could seriously climb walls. it's beautiful outside today. i have nothing. i'm huddled up inside of my turtleneck, which is topped by a pile of hair, reading glasses, and buggy eyeballs. help.

08 January 2006

perfect timing is my forte!

"and then your bagel caught on fire? what is that a euphemism for?" asked an older woman at the barn who patiently listened to my story. i should've answered "interference by the universe".

friday morning, 7am, i tripped happily into bruegger's for my standard work day breakfast - whole wheat bagel, toasted with light cream cheese, odwalla spirullina juice. i noted that there was a guy in line in front of me - tall, floppy brown curls, funky glasses, nice jeans, chucks, and an elon sweatshirt. feeling the need to speak with everyone who wears north carolina college apparel, i chirped, "hey! did you go to elon?"

guy: "why yes, i did, did you?"
me: "nope, but i went to wake forest, right down 40."
guy: "did you like north carolina?"
me: (smile) "nope, not at all! did you?"
guy: "not at all. so we ran back here. what do you do now?"
me: "i work in PR. what about you?"
guy: "i actually am an assistant teacher at the _____ school...but i don't think i like it."
me: "oh, i know where that is. i train horses down the street, so i pass it all the time, and some of my students are in first grade there."
guy: "you train horses? that's awesome. i love horses. yeah, i don't think i'll do more than a year there, i'm in a grad program at harvard for art and museum studies."
me: "you ARE? that's what i'd love to be doing if i weren't in love with my job now - i was an art history major -"
guy: "that's so funny, because i'm actually working on a PR project for the museum of fine arts right now, and-"

at this moment, my bagel gets stuck in the toaster and bursts into flames. my new friend has paid for his breakfast, so he's standing there when the manager is grabbing the fire extinguisher and combating my incinerated whole wheat lump. the woman who negligently allowed this to happen is waving her arms and yelling "i sorry! i sorry!" and to me "i SO sorry! SO sorry!" i'm saying, "that's okay, no really, don't worry about it! the next one doesn't have to be toasted!" and the people in line behind us are grumbling with displeasure and sneaking toward the door. i am leaning over the sneeze shield to reassure the woman, when new friend taps me on the shoulder and says, "hey, good luck with this, it was really nice speaking with you." i yelp, "you too!!" and go back to the smoky mess that is somehow my fault.

read: that would've been the perfect opportunity to hand him my card and say, "i know art, i know PR, let me know if you need another set of eyes/brain cells." crap. perhaps i'll run into him again. OH, the cosmos.

02 January 2006

update:

at home with the flu. please direct all questions/comments/well wishes to the dibona family landline. death. ugh.

sidenote: medical people - a week ago i would've told you that i had a headcold. three days ago i would have called it a sinus infection. new years eve i start projectile vomiting? what kind of progression is THAT?