Sunday, May 30, 2004

the invasion is imminent!

My husband's grandmother is a former Nazi youth. Not her fault.

I am Jewish. Not my fault.

The first time the woman ever met me, she was standing at her stove making schnitzle and she said to me - the first words out of her mouth to me were, "I don't like the name Zoe."

Today, she's coming into my home. I will be standing at the stove cooking kotlet schabowy and I will turn to her and say, "The picture of Clint Eastwood is not coming down from over the toilet. Deal, yo."

My house, my rules.

This is so gonna rock. It's gonna rock so hard it's gonna RAWK!



update: My kotlet was actually a chop (I was running late! I don't have time to remove bones an' stuff.) and my daughter is a "bossy bessy". No word on her feelings about Clint keeping watch over her flock by night, however. She must have noticed him - the picture is as tall as she is. And it's funny because my bathroom is actually quite nice. Doesn't fit in with a big-ass, pink Clint Eastwood (circa "Hang 'Em High") hanging there. I wonder if she thinks he's creepy but doesn't want to mention it, thinking it's some weird American custom.

Me? I like it. When I'm going to the bathroom I look up at Clint and talk smack to him. Makes me feel warm and tingly.

Where was I? Oh yeah - the Austrian occupation is nigh. NIGH, I TELL YOU!

I'm going to bed.

I could use this experience to, ya know, learn to overcome things, and come to terms with things, and generally be all Schindler's List meets Joy Luck Club. But we'll probably spend the next four weeks making passive aggressive comments to one another. What sport! ()

Saturday, May 29, 2004

a drunken phone call simulation for pippa, whom i thought was being a major-league bitch to me but it turns out she wasn't and i was probably...

...just looking for some drama to inject a little bit of interest into my otherwise boring, boring life.

That's one hell of a title, yo.

Anyway, here's is the simulated drunken phone call to Pippa.

"Hey Pippa Said! Isn't it funny, like, how if you say it fast it's like 'pippa's head'? Same thing with Hoosier Daddy. Like 'who's your daddy', except Hoosier. I bet people in Indiana really laugh all the time about that. I wish I knew someone in Indiana that I could ask about it. But I don't. I don't even know anyone who knows anyone in Indiana, isn't that weird? Hey, wanna know what else is funny? The name Grendel. I read that story, what the hell was it called? With Grendel? The dragon one? Yeah, it was, like, ninth grade. I got busted in ninth grade for throwing a dictionary out of the window into the mud. That was pretty cool. Man, I hated that teacher. I used to skip his class all the time to take an extra lunch because he was just this big old pricky dude who had a phone in his office. Prick. I hated that dude. Remind me to tell you the story of when I threw his stupid dictionary out of the window into the mud - it's a pretty good story. Okay but dude, no dude, listen, listen. I know this guy - you're never going to believe this, it is so cool - there was this guy, okay? Um, hey! HEY! I bet your hair smells like oranges, huh? You seem like you'd have orange-scented hair care products. Remember that time that I said 'pippa' was a messed-up name, and how you don't like Dave Navarro, so I started calling you Fern Navarro? What was up with that, man? Fern. That's a stupid name. Pippa's a weird name, too, because Pippa Said sounds like pippa's head. I saw this guy at the store, this pimply little shit kid, and he looked at his reflection in the slurpee machine and said to himself - I swear to God I'm not joking - he said to his reflection, 'Dude, you are so rad.' For real! He said it out-loud. So now I do it, too. I say, out-loud every time I pass a reflective surface, 'Dude, you are so rad' to myself. Man, it's hilarious. I am so bad-ass. Pippa's a messed-up name."

There ya go. That's what everyone who isn't in the Drunk Natalie Phone Call Club is missing.

Man, I'm charming.



My life is rich with drunken phone calls. ()

i'm really busy procrastinating

Yeah, Andy's gran is due to descend on us tomorrow afternoon from England and we don't even have the floor put down in the basement. And the bathroom in the basement is missing a door knob. And I haven't even been in that room in months...the last time I was in there was to pull down some wallpaper, but I got bored half-way through. Oh, and the bed she's to sleep on is still in the garage and is lacking a frame. And the walls aren't fully painted. And she's Austrian.

Yeah, I'm pretty screwed. I'll own it.

What am I doing instead of working or enjoying what for most people is a nice day? (We have rain today.) I'm just, ya know, hanging out. Sipping some coffee. Not doing much.

My four-year-old daughter just came up to me with a mouthful of way too much gum and made gurgling noises at me. "What, Zoe?" Gurgle gurgle. "Mommy doesn't know what you're saying." Gulp She swallows the gum and says, "It's really hard to talk with all of this gum in my mouth." Struck me dumb, that did.

This has nothing to do with anything - actually, this whole post has nothing to do with anything - but I was thinking about dreams. If dreams were movies, no one would watch them, even if we were the star. We'd be like, "Look at that, I'm getting ready to fall off the side of that building! Hey, where did the picture go? That was the end? That's an awful movie." Yet we find dreams so compelling that we like to share them with other people.

Which is what I'm about to do now.

But cut me some slack, because it's another blogger dream so I guess you could say there's a public interest. Or not, whatever.

I was hanging out in the warehouse at my work with Mike and there was a huge walrus cage in the middle. We were wearing hard hats and throwing salmon steaks to the walrus. In my dream I looked at all of the salmon and went, "Damn, that's a lot of salmon." That's how much salmon we were throwing. Anyway, I told him something about how I needed to tell him how I really felt. He said something...isn't it great how details fade after just a short time? I know he said something because he sounded like Michael J. Fox. I replied to him that I loved Joe, then a full-sized cartoon Mr. Burns walked up and put his arm around me. I don't know if he was "Joe" or what, but he starts talking to Mike about what they can feed the walrus to kill it. Just for fun, they wanted to kill the walrus. For some reason this didn't bother me.

Then I woke up.

Wheee!!! My house is in shambles and I'm babbling about walruses! Wait, is it walruses or walrus, no matter how many there are? Walrus is to walruses as horse is to horses or walrus is to walrus as geese is to geese?

Need. More. Coffee. Now.

I am two seconds away from whimpering. Damn Austrians.



Maybe I can leave the messes and have Andy's gran do the work when she gets here. I bet she'll be hyper-critical of anything I manage to get done, anyway, so might as well leave her to do it herself, right? Ah, I'm such a good hostess. ()

i like you

So you know I'm all about the warm, fuzzy daily affirmation stuff, right? Well I am.

And I like you. (requires flash)

Seen at Daniel's but I don't think he was there at the time.



La-la-la-la-la-like you! ()

Sunday, May 23, 2004

the world's most perfect food

What do you do when you want the fun of fairgrounds food but hate the hassles of not getting burned with hot oil? Then let me suggest to you a mini corn dog! Yes, they're cooked in the exact same way as a regular corn dog but they don't have a stick up their ass so you don't have to worry about not getting burned with hot oil! Hot oil will be running down your hands with every succulent bite!

And they're marketed towards children!

What a concept.



It tastes like burning. ()

Saturday, May 22, 2004

bits and bobs

It's been a while since I've done one of my Bulleted List With No Real Point (patent pending, patent pending, patent pending) so I thought I'd dust off the old dots and give it another whirl.
  • My 18-month-old son can say these words quite well: no, tartar sauce, thank you, I love you, daddy, Sasha, Stella, nummy, uh-oh and whaay (as in "he's a little bit whaay"). He refuses to say "mommy". He's done it, what, once? I remember I posted about it. He never, ever says "mommy". It's starting to really piss me off.

  • I've changed my blogroll around - I didn't drop anyone, but I've limited each one to the top fifteen who have recently updated and pinged. This is more like a "do unto others" strategy, because I'm hoping that it'll light a fire under my ass to update more regularly so no one drops me from their blogroll, but I just don't know if I care. My blogging mind-set has totally changed over the past couple of months but I'll try to be better about posting.

  • My eleven-year-old daughter told me this joke: Q. Why does Snoop Dogg carry an umbrella? A. Fo' drizzle. I am vaguely disturbed by her telling me this.

  • I had one of the most heart-wrenching days at work yesterday. It involved a Liberian baby, some earrings and a photo album. I don't believe I could do the experience justice by writing about it here, but I may try to later on.

  • Speaking of Liberia, watch this space. I'm predicting big things for Oscar Cooper, though he's only mentioned in passing. I have a lot to post about him in the future. If you're in Liberia and reading this (stranger things have happened) I urge you to look into this guy - he's a bit of a star.

  • To counter my bad experience on Friday, on Monday I am faced with the challenge of being personally responsible for the packing and shipping of two forty-foot containers of food to Malawi. The prospect of making this thing happen is very humbling to me, yet very empowering. It's easy to see why many non-profit charitable efforts become so corrupted. Power corrupts, and all that jazz. When I stood there beneath the stacks and stacks of pallets of food, I briefly thought to myself, "Yeah, this is me. This is me making this happen." And verily mine head did swelleth much. Then I felt asshole-ified. Now, my mantra as I walk through the warehouse is, "This is a drop in the ocean. This is a drop in the ocean. This is a drop in the ocean." I need to remind myself that I'm swimming against the current, but these are not futile efforts. I'm learning a lot about myself.

  • Learning a lot about yourself is hard, yo. It tends to drain you emotionally.

  • One thing I'm working my little tail off is the planning of an open house for my place of business this summer. I'm going to start promoting the charity here after the new website goes live (the old one was an abomination so I've had he with the mad-azz skillz working tirelessly on the thing). But back to the open house - I think I'm going to theme it in a diversity-celebration vein. Tribal African dancers, Native Americans, a deaf performance, something Yiddish, something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. Something really palatable to white, middle-class America - they eat this stuff up. If you have any ideas or resources at your disposal I'd love to hear from you - email link is on the right. And, of course, if you're in the Twin Cities when the event happens I'd love for you to show up and see me in action. I can work a crowd, yo. (There goes my big head again.)

  • Oh, and one thing that's been bugging me about the people who come in to volunteer: If you're at a charity and ask questions, you will be answered. Probe, dig, ask away. But when I'm responding to you and offering you literature, don't reply with, "No, you go ahead and keep it. We already give to other charities and can't afford to add another one." That's rude. I'm not begging you for a donation - I just honestly believe that you should learn about our program. You learn about it and tell a friend, who tells a friend, blah blah blah. It's not just about money (though it's always appreciated, of course). It's about having our effort recognized as having value. If a friend was raving about a new movie they'd just seen, would you cut them off and say, "I already have a lot of movies in my NetFlix queue - can't add another one, sorry."? I personally do not benefit one lick when people donate to the charity - my salary is donated by another company. I get no special perks or rewards for bringing in any cash, so don't treat me like a slimy sales person. Gah, I hate that.

  • I thought of another Simpsons quote that was left off my list:
    Homer's searching for a new bar and finds himself in a bar full of women
    Homer: Wait a minute...something's not right. gasp This lesbian bar has no fire exits! Enjoy your death-trap, ladies.
    Lesbian: What's her problem?

Ah, that's a funny one, too.

Wow, this was probably the loser-est Bulleted List With No Real Point (patent pending, patent pending, patent pending) that I've ever written. I'm not sure, but I think I might still be asleep. Sorry 'bout that.



update: Do you ever have one of those moments where you just can't think of what you're trying to say? One of those, "It's on the tip of my tongue" moments? Then, a few hours or days later, you blurt out what you'd been trying to remember. I'm not explaining it very well, but I think you all know what I'm talking about.

Well, I just had one of those moments where I suddenly remembered something that I couldn't put my finger on at some point in the past. The answer was Warren Buffett. Trouble is, I can't remember the freaking question. So if I'd been having a conversation with someone out there and played the whole, "It's right on the tip of my tongue" thing, go ahead and insert the answer: Warren Buffett. Just don't ask me for the context.

They can't all be gold, know what I'm saying? ()

Tuesday, May 18, 2004

who shot who in the what, now?

I threatened to do it in order to keep getting my chuckle on, and here is most reposted post of this blog:

100 Simpsons Quotes




Ah man, those are good. ()

In Your Face, Space Coyote! - and some other of my favorite quotes from The Simpsons


Homer: A gun isn't a weapon, it's a tool like a butcher knife, or a harpoon, or an, an alligator.

Homer: But Marge, that gun had a hold on me! I had this enormous sense of power…like God must feel like when He holds a gun.

Homer: Look, Marge, you don't know what it's like. I'm the one out there every day putting his ass on the line. And I'm not out of order! You're out of order. The whole freaking system is out of order. You want the truth? You want the truth?! You can't handle the truth! 'Cause when you reach over and put your hand into a pile of goo that was your best friend's face, you'll know what to do! Forget it, Marge, it's Chinatown.

[Bart and Milhouse jumping on a bed in dresses when Homer walks in]:
Homer: Argh!! What's going on? And I want a non-gay explanation!
Milhouse: We're drunk...really drunk.
Homer: Oh thank God.

[On Jesus wearing sandals]
Homer: Well, maybe if he had had better arch support, they wouldn't have caught 'im.

Marge: Are you licking toads?
Homer: I'm not not licking toads.

Bart: There's no such thing as a soul. It's just something they made up to scare kids, like the boogeyman or Michael Jackson.

Disco Stu:
Disco Stu does not advertise.

[Teaching Lisa how to reject boys]
Homer: Let me handle this, Marge, I've heard 'em all - I like you as a friend, I think we should see other people, I don't speak English, I'm married to the sea, I don't wanna kill you but I will, and six simple words : I'm not gay, but I'll learn.

Australian guy: That’s not a knife - this is a knife!
Bart: Um, that’s a spoon.
Australian guy: Ah, I can see you’ve played knifey-spoony before!

[Homer’s stoned from medicinal marijuana]
Homer: Get out.
Otto: Remember when I dropped my keys, and you thought the phone was ringing?
Homer: laughs hysterically Get out.

Homer: I could walk up to the president and blow smoke in his stupid monkey face and he'd just have to sit there groovin off it.

Marge: You know, Fox turned into a hard-core sex channel so gradually, I didn't even notice.

T.V.: Do you know where your children are?
Homer: I told you yesterday -- NO!

Homer (tearfully): I'm a rageoholic! I can't live without rage-o-hol!

Ralph: Oh, boy, sleep! That's where I'm a Viking!

Homer: …and the guy said not to press it, but me and my friend pressed it anyway, then me and my friend went and hid in the giant tire, and my other friend was already there, and…
Marge: Now Homer, you're over stimulated. Let’s get some beer into you and then it’s straight to bed.

Homer: Oooh, I loved your magazine, that one selection on how to increase your word power, that was really, really, really...good.

Homer: Yeah, Moe, that team sure did suck last night. They just plain sucked. I've seen teams suck before, but they were the suckiest bunch of sucks that ever sucked. Whoops, gotta go, my damn weiner kids are listening.

Ralph: Hi, I’m Dr. Stupid and I’m going to take out your liver bones. Oops, you’re dead!
Mr. Burns: I never did like that Dr. Stupid

Apu: Please do not offer my god a peanut.

Comic Book Guy: Excuse me! Please do not bang your head on the display case. It contains a rare Mary Worth where she advises a friend to kill herself.

Homer: God bless those pagans.

Homer: Oh, everything's too damned expensive these days. This Bible cost 15 bucks! And talk about a preachy book! Everybody's a sinner! Except this guy.

Homer: America's health care system is second only to Japan... Canada, Sweden, Great Britain, ... well all of Europe. But you can thank your lucky stars we don't live in Paraguay!

Homer: Remember that postcard Grandpa sent us from Florida of that alligator biting that woman's bottom? That's right, we all thought it was hilarious. But it turns out we were wrong. That alligator was sexually harrassing that woman.

Homer: And how is education supposed to make me feel smarter? Besides, every time I learn something new, it pushes some old stuff out of my brain. Remember when I took that home winemaking course, and I forgot how to drive?

Homer: Lisa, if the Bible has taught us nothing else, and it hasn't, it's that girls should stick to girls sports, such as hot oil wrestling and foxy boxing and such and such.

Homer: If something goes wrong at the plant, blame the guy who can't speak English.

Mayor: Ich bin ein Springfielder.
Homer: Mmmmm. Jelly donuts.

Fidel Castro: They named a street after me in San Fransisco... [whisper whisper] It's full of WHAT!?!?

Bodyguard coach: As a personal bodyguard, your only loyalty is to your protectee, not anything else, not even Muhammed.
Homer: Not even during Ramadan?

Lisa: Oedipus is the one who killed his father and married his mother.
Homer: Argh! Who paid for that wedding?

Bruno, the Australian:
This is an outrage! I'm going to take this all the way to the Prime Minister! [Yells out window] Hey Mr. Prime Minister! Andy!

Grandpa [lying on the grass]: The grass is sharper than the grass in my day...

Lisa: Beautiful dinnerware, Mrs. Parkfield.
Mrs. Parkfield: Thank you, Lisa. They were made for the finest family in Britain.
Mr. Parkfield: I don't know how we ended up with them.
Lisa: [thinking] Uh oh. Should I laugh? Was that dry British wit, or subtle self-pity?

Mr. Burns: Family, religion, loyalty... these are the demons you must slay if you want to be successful.

Homer: And what if we picked the wrong religion? Every week, we're just making God madder and madder!

Kang [running for President]: Abortions for all! [crowd boos]
Very well, abortions for none! [crowd boos]
Abortions for some, miniature American flags for the others! [crowd cheers]

Grandma Simpson:[singing] How many roads must a man walk down before you call him a man?
Homer: Eight!
Lisa: That was a rhetorical question.
Homer: Oh. Then, seven!
Lisa: Do you even know what 'rhetorical' means?
Homer: Do I know what 'rhetorical' means?

Sideshow Bob: Hah! Attempted murder? Now honestly, what is that? Do they give a Nobel prize for attempted chemistry? Do they?

Homer: My dad never believed in me. I'm not going to make the same mistake; I'm going to be nicer to my son and meaner to my dad.

Carl [To the MENSA members]: Let’s make litter of the literati!
Lenny: That was too clever! You're one of them! [punches him]

Homer: You never know when an old calendar might come in handy. Sure, it's not 1985 right now, but who knows what tomorrow will bring!

Homer: Marge, I agree with you -- in theory. In theory, communism works. In theory.

Marge: And try to be nice to my sisters. It's very hard on me to have you fighting all the time.
Homer: Oh, OK Marge, I'll get along with them. Then, I will hug some snakes...yes! Then, I will hug and kiss some poisonous snakes. Now that's sarcasm.

Ralph: This is the sandbox....I'm not allowed in the deep end. And this is the rock where I met the Leprechaun....he tells me to burn things.

Homer's brain: Use reverse psychology.
Homer: Oh, that sounds too complicated.
Homer's brain: Okay, don't use reverse psychology.
Homer: Okay, I will!

Ralph: When I grow up, I want to be a principal, or a caterpillar.

Lisa: It is better to remain silent and be thought the fool, then to open your mouth and remove all doubt.
Homer's Brain: Uh-oh what did that mean. Better say something or they'll think you're stupid.
Homer: Takes one to know one!
Homer's Brain: Swish!

Grandpa: My Homer is not a communist. He may be a liar, a pig, an idiot, a communist, but he is not a porn star!

Homer: You can't keep blaming yourself. Just blame yourself once, and move on.

Leonard Nimoy: Hello, I'm Leonard Nimoy. The following tale of alien encounter is true and by true, I mean false. It’s all lies. But they're entertaining lies, and in the end isn't that the real truth? The answer is no.

Milhouse: Remember when he ate my fish and you said I didn't even have any fish? Then why did I have the bowl, Bart? Why did I have the bowl?!?

Mr. Burns: This anonymous clan of slack-jawed troglodytes has cost me the election, and yet if I were to have them killed, I would be the one to go to jail. That's democracy for you.

Homer: Maybe, just once, someone will call me "sir" without adding, "You're making a scene."

Homer: Ah, Andy Capp, you wife-beating drunk.

Ralph: And I want a bike and a monkey and a friend for the monkey.

Barney: Hi, my name is Barney, and I'm an alcoholic.
Lisa: Mr. Gumble, this is a Girl Scout meeting.
Barney: Is it, or is it that you girl scouts can't admit that you have a problem?

Homer: Canada? Why should we leave America to visit America junior?

Grandpa: Now my story begins in 19-dickety-two. We had to say 'dickety' cause the Kaiser had stolen our word 'twenty'. I chased that rascal to get it back, but gave up after dickety-six miles.

Homer: Do you want to change your name to Homer Junior? The kids can call you Ho-Ju!

Mr. Burns: I think I know who Homer Simpson is. In ten short years, you've caused seventeen meltdowns. One is too many! You sold weapons-grade plutonium to the Iraqis ... with no markup! And worst of all, you took the Hamburgler's birthday off last Monday AND Wednesday. Which is it? Now my voice is giving out, so I'm just going to poke you for the next hour or so.

Moe: And I was a lot happier before I knew Dame Edna was a man, a lot happier.

Grandpa: She did things your mother would never do, like have sex for money.

Bart: That's right, I could suck up to him. Just like religious people suck up to God.

Chief Wiggum: Ok, you just bought yourself a 317: Pointing out police stupidity. Or is that a 314? No, no, 314 is a, hum, uh, in, no, is that a 315? ... You're in trouble pal!

Flanders: Dear God, thank you for Ziggy comics, little baby ducks, and 'Sweatin' to the Oldies', volumes one, two, and four.

Burns: Simpson, eh? Good man? Intelligent?
Smithers: Actually, sir, he was hired under Project Bootstrap.
Burns: Thank you, President Ford.

Comic Book Guy: Freakin' kids! I do not need this. I have a Master's degree in folklore and mythology.

Scientist 1: People, we're in danger of losing our funding. America isn't interested in space exploration any more.
Scientist 2: Maybe we should finally tell them the big secret - that all the chimps we sent into space came back super-intelligent.
Chimp: No, I don't think we'll be telling them that.

Skinner: I've always admired car owners and I hope to be one myself as soon as I finish paying off mother. She insists I pay her retroactively for the food I ate as a child.

Bart: What happened, Dad? Did you screw up like the Beatles and say you were bigger than Jesus?
Homer: All the time! It was the title of our second album!

Marge: I'm going out now, Homer.
Homer: But what about dessert?
Marge: Oh for God's sake Homer, you can take the lid off your own can of pudding!
(Homer breaks the pull-tab)
Homer: AHHHH!! Now my pudding is trapped forever! So, I can take the lid off my own can of pudding, can I?! Shows what you know!!

Smithers: Sir, there may be never be another time to say... I love you, sir.
Burn: Oh, hot dog. Thank you for making my last few moments on earth socially awkward.

Lisa: I'll stop buying Malibu Stacey clothing.
Bart: And I'll take up smoking and give that up.
Homer: Good for you, son. Giving up smoking is one of the hardest things you'll ever have to do. Have a dollar.
Lisa: But he didn't do anything!
Homer: Didn't he, Lisa? Didn't he?

Lisa: Mom, you fuss over us way too much.
Marge: Enjoy it now, because when you're a grownup you'll have to take care of yourself!
Homer: Marge, there's a spider near my car keys.
Marge: You did the right thing by telling me. (to the spider) Shoo! Get out of here!

Homer: Yeah, sure, for you, a baby's all fun and games. For me, it's diaper changes and midnight feedings.
Lisa: Doesn't Mom do that stuff?
Homer: Yeah, but I have to hear about it.

Marge: I don't know... Bart's such a handful, and Maggie needs attention, but all the while, our little Lisa's becoming a young woman.
Homer: Oh, so that's it, this is some kind of underwear thing.

Marge: Homer, is this the way you pictured married life?
Homer: Yeah, pretty much. Except we drove around in a van solving mysteries.

Bart: Me and Santa's Little Helper used to be a team, but he never wants to play any more since his bitch moved in.
Marge: Bart, don't ever say that word again!
Bart: Well, that's what she is. I looked it up.
Marge: Well, I'm going to write the dictionary people and have that checked. Feels like a mistake to me.

Woman: This plant violates every labor law in the book. We found a missing Brazilian soccer team working in your reactor core!
Mr Burns: That plane crashed on my property.

Old Jew Guy in the nursing home: You know, the door was open, Chief Break Everything!

Chief Wiggum: All right, you scrawny beanpoles: becoming a cop is not something that happens overnight. It takes one solid weekend of training to get that badge.
Man: Forget about the badge! When do we get the freakin' guns?!
Chief Wiggum: Hey, I told you, you don't get your gun until you tell me your name.
Man: I've have it up to here with your rules!

PBS Pledge Drive Host: It's easy to see why it's England's most long-running series - and we're showing all of them, all 7 episodes

Willy: There's nary an animal alive that can outrun a greased Scotsman!

Marge: I think we're going to need a bigger place.
Homer: No, we don't. I've got it all figured out. The baby can have Bart's room and Bart can sleep with us until he's 21.
Marge: Won't that warp him?
Homer: My cousin Frank did it.
Marge: You don't have a cousin Frank.
Homer: He became Francine in '76. Then he joined that cult. I think his name is Mother Shabubu now.

Marge: [on radio] Husband on murderous rampage! Send help! Over.
Chief Wiggum: Whew, thank God that's over. I was worried for a little bit.

[Santa's Little Helper goes off running with George Bush]
Homer: I guess you might say he's barking up the wrong Bush.
Homer's Brain: There it is, Homer. The cleverest thing you'll ever say and nobody heard it.
Homer: D'oh!

Homer: I can't live the button-down life like you. I want it all! The terrifying lows, the dizzying highs, the creamy middles! Sure, I might offend a few of the blue-noses with my cocky stride and musty odors -- oh, I'll never be the darling of the so-called City Fathers who cluck their tongues, stroke their beards, and talk about "What's to be done with this Homer Simpson?"

Reverend Lovejoy: This so-called new religion is nothing but a pack of weird rituals and chants, designed to take away the money of fools. Let us say the Lord's Prayer 40 times, but first, let's pass the collection plate!

Marge: Kids can be so cruel!
Bart: We can? Thanks, Mom!

Marge: Lisa, normally I'd support you for standing for what you believe in, but you've been doing that a lot lately.
Bart: Yeah, you made us march in that gay rights parade.
Homer: And we can't watch Fox 'cause they own those chemical weapons plants in Syria.

Homer: Two hours? Why'd they build this ghost town so far away?
Lisa: Because they discovered gold right over there!
Homer: It's because they're stupid, that's why. That's why everybody does everything.

Chief Wiggum: See ya in court, Simpson. Oh, and bring that evidence with ya; otherwise, I got no case and you'll go scot-free.

Bart: Milhouse, what happened?! You were supposed to be watching the factory!
Milhouse: I was watchin'. First it started to fall over, then it fell over.

Ned Flanders: Sorry to bother you, Reverend Lovejoy, but I'm kind of in a tizzy. My son Todd just told us he didn't want to eat his damn vegetables.
Rev. Lovejoy: Well, you know kids and vegetables. What was it? Asparagus?
Ned Flanders: No, no, Reverend. The point is, he said a bad word!
Rev. Lovejoy: Oh, oh, right, yeah. Well, kids usually pick these things up from someplace. Find out who's doing it and... direct them to the Bible.
Ned Flanders: Where in the Bible?
Rev. Lovejoy: Uh... page 900.
[quickly hangs up]

Marge: There's no shame in being a pariah.

Sunday, May 16, 2004

what makes natalie tick?

I've posted many times about the stupid things that make me laugh, and Andy agrees that my sense of humor leaves a lot to be desired. Little things will get stuck in my head and play on an infinite loop, which results in me cracking up with laughter at the most inappropriate times. Not my fault - I'm wired funny. Or not funny, whichever the case may be.

I call Andy "Head". I think this is very, very funny. I also think it's funny that he spent a couple of hours getting the web cam to work on his Unix box, and I think it's very funny that he popped up the web cam view on my machine without telling me he was going to. Imagine you're hopping around on blogs when this pops up on your screen:

What else is even funnier is the triple question mark above his picture.

I find this hilarious.

I also laugh my ass off when he threatens to beat me if the coffee "ain't no good".

Little things get stuck in my head, like this joke I read at Steve's: Q. How many feminists does it take to change a light bulb? A. That's not funny.

I read this little poem on a blog somewhere that I've forgotten now: Roses are red, violets are blue, I like peanut butter, can you swim?

I heard this one on The Fairly Oddparents (screw you, Sponge Bob): I don't have time to sample your hot cinnamon cresent rolls right now - I have to stop that eight-legged, physical manifestation of pure evil from reaching the President's butt!

When Homer Simpson said to Elvis Costello, "Outta my way, Nerdlinger!" I was laughing for days.

Last night, Andy said to me, "If I were ever going to leave you for anyone else, it would be Tori Amos." I said, "Yeah, good luck with that." He then asked me, "Who would you leave me for?" I answered, "Probably Mike." I thought that was hilarious.

I even laugh at things I say, which is an annoying habit. I can deliver things with a straight face but then I crack up. Like when I was recently asked about my job. I said, "I'm of two minds. On the one hand, feeding starving children around the world does a lot to reinforce my moral superiority as a white American woman. But on the other hand, being a strong black man from Guinea, I have a special understanding of the plight of my people. It's tough to reconcile the two parts of myself." Then I bit my lip like Clinton and looked off in the distance. Then I laughed so hard I almost peed.

Then this IM exchange left me laughing my ass off all day - thanks to Melly:

me: Visual basic - cool or not cool?
andy: Shite.
me: ...
andy: Sorry. Not cool.
me: Thank you. In the future, when I give you a binary query I would expect you to stay within the defined parameters of said query. It's just common sense.
andy: Fine, then. My binary response is zero.

I've been using that line probably twice a day since reading it. It works on so many levels.

Those are the kinds of things that really make me laugh. This is an example of what the days are like at Chez Yates.

And this is probably a good time for you to back away slowly.



update: Andy just said to me "How do you spell 'moniker'?" I wasn't sure which word he meant because of the accent so I said, "Monica the name or moniker" See? FUNNY!

Not that anyone, you know, asked me what I found funny - these were just things that were floating around in my head this morning. ()

Saturday, May 15, 2004

hey girl come with me and let yourself go

There is a finite amount of hatred and vitriol that we're allotted with at birth, much like how men have a limited number of ejaculations. You use them up and then you're dead. Same thing with hatred - trouble is, instead of saving my hatred for a rainy day I'm using it all up on stupid shit.

One thing I've decided I hate with a passion previously unknown to this mortal coil is the song I've referenced in the title. I don't know the proper name of the song, nor do I know who sings it, but I do know all the words. And it's a shitty, shitty song. It's one of those super radio-friendly songs, vaguely reminiscent of "Breakfast at Tiffany's" that you somehow know all of the words to despite your habit of changing the radio station to honkey-tonk or gospel or any damn thing else besides that stupid-ass song. It's one of those, "Hey, here's a list of our differences - isn't it great what we can overcome?" kind of songs, which is only slightly higher on my hate-scale than the "to do" list song. The "to do" list song is best exemplified by the Pet Shop Boys song "Left To My Own Devices" which begins - and I swear this is the real verse:

I get out of bed at half past ten
Phone up a friend who's a party animal
Turn on the news and drink some tea
Maybe if you're with me we'll do some shopping

Come on! That is some dumb-ass shit right there.

But that "hey girl" song is much, much worse. It says some dumb crap about how you like to eat shrooms while I smoke weed, but despite our differences we still love each other. I'm paraphrasing here.

Actually, if they did mention the shrooms/weed dichotomy it would at least make sense, because those tend to be two dyed-in-the-wool camps. Ne'er the twain shall meet, and all that. But it never probed as in-depth as all of that; instead preferring to stay on the level of that Paula Abdul song where she sings to the cartoon cat.

Do you know what kind of "Hey, here's a list of our differences - isn't it great what we can overcome?" songs I do enjoy? There's exactly one - by the veritable Stephen Lynch.

You like your toast buttered
and I'll take mine dry

You dig the Beatles
I'm a Stones kinda guy

You have fine taste
and I like things cheap

You wanna stay up all night
And I just wanna sleep...with your sister

THAT! That's a good "Hey, here's a list of our differences - isn't it great what we can overcome?" song.

And while we're on the subject, do you know what else I hate? I hate it when the damn Liberians come into my office and drink all of my diet coke! Yeah, that's right - I hate that. And I hate...let's see, what else do I hate? Oh, I've got it - I hate boxy cars! Boxy blue cars, and...and...and anything else that's blue. Blue? Fuck it! Orange is where it's at, and grey. Orange and grey - together. Yeah, that's right - where are your balls, Isaac Mizrahi? How about it?

And I hate...I hate stupid people who don't understand that a hole in a roof means water in my office! But for freaking duh. I hate allergies, and I hate that I'm allergic to the active ingredient in antihistimines. Only a Jew! I had an ex-boyfriend who swore up and down that only Jews got head-colds. So guess what else I hate? Ex-boyfriends and head-colds. Hate 'em!

And I hate people who get all up in my business when I don't even know them from Adam. Out my face, you! Get your own life and stop harping in on me. I ain't got time to bleed. (That's a Jesse Ventura-ism but I like to throw that into my vernacular whenever possible.)

And I hate blog crushes! Nothing good has ever come from a blog crush. Nothing at all. Especially if the person you're blog-crushing on barely notices you're alive and never ever gives you more than a cursory email reply to your witty, attention-seeking emails and IMs. Bastards, the lot of 'em! I've blog-crushed on damn near every blog in my blogroll and what do you care? Not a whit. I've pledged my eternal devotion to melly and what do I get? Reprimands that I don't have a penis. Pshaw! So I'm done with blog crushing after I get over the fourteen other people I'm currently in love with - then that's it! I'm off the blog-crush market entirely, so there.

And I hate Blogger's new interface. I hate this stupid "upgrade" thing. Do you want to know what the word "upgrade" says to me? It says, "We were too damn short-sighted to realize what people really wanted, so now we're fecking around with the life's blood of your system. Sorry but we're not sorry." Bastards! Hate 'em.

And I, I'm kinda tapped out now. I hate...fleas? Not really - they're very satisfying to kill because their backs are all high-profile so you can roll over them and they die. That's pretty cool. I hate...other...stuff. Stuff that I can't think of at the moment but I'm sure that tomorrow I'll be giving it the old head slap and cursing, "Why didn't I include that?"

Gotta lotta hate in this old head o' mine. Trouble is, it's all wasted on stupid shit.

Now where are the socks I just laid down right next to me? Son of a bitch, that pisses me off.



But do you know what I do love? Eating all of the pepperoni off of the pizza the Liberians ordered and pretending I didn't know what happened. And you. I love you. Well, fourteen of you, anyway. ()

Thursday, May 06, 2004

morning traffic report

I have a lengthy, rather boring, commute every morning. Vast stretches of nothing that are unique to the midwest give me ample time to be a bad person - bad in the way that I apply make-up while driving and spend time concentrating on not spilling my coffee down my shirt. Except for one small area which requires my absolute attention.

For a couple of blocks, I drive through Historic Downtown Anoka! as the signs proclaim. For the most part it's a typical midwestern downtown, but there's one bit of it where you go over the crest of the hill where it's quite lovely. If you were to squint your eyes and cock your head to one side, you might be able to convince yourself you were driving through Leeds, or behind the Sorbonne in Paris. But you blink and that's gone and it's once again a small midwestern downtown.

Except that we seem to have more than our fair share of big city crazies. There's a man who, since the bus strike has been over, stands at the bus stop with his hands behind his head and wiggles his hips at the bus. He never gets on and he never wiggles at any other vehicles, but the moment a bus pulls up he gets into his pose. I don't know how long he stands there or why he does it, but on the days I pass him and there's not a bus in the vicinity I'm always a little put-off - there he is, acting totally normal! The nerve!

Was his life missing something during the bus strike? Did he do this before the bus strike? Or is this some kind of statement against the bus drivers for having gone on strike in the first place? My long commute gives me time to ponder such.

There's a girl that I've noticed during my brief passing through downtown who is notable primarily because she's as wide as she is tall. She stands out further because her shoulder-length hair is pulled up in braids all over her head, including one fat one that hangs right down her nose. And she sings and dances down the sidewalk with a huge smile on her face.

I've spent many mornings thinking about her. What is she singing? Why is she singing? What's with the hair and the dance and, most of all, the smile. She's setting herself up for ridicule and mockery and doesn't seem to care. She almost seems to want it.

I was at a stoplight one morning and saw her approaching from across the street. By this point I felt like I knew her in that strange way that you do when you see a stranger too many times. I almost raised my hand to wave but covered by grabbing my coffee and taking a drink. She looked at me and mimed drinking coffee herself, without a pause in her singing or dancing. She got close enough so that I could overhear her repeat the lyric, "I knew a lady who came from Duluth...I knew a lady who came from Duluth...I knew a lady who came from Duluth..." This raised more questions than it answered. Sure, I was curious about what she'd been singing, but was that it? She was smiling and dancing to a song about going to hell. Or was the Duluth part the significant part? The lady? Ponderance abounds on a long stretch of midwestern highway.

One morning I was in the unfortunate position of having to get into work early to attend a meeting. My mind was on other things and I didn't notice anything about downtown, but about two miles south of there I saw her again. I saw braid girl walking, but she was nearly unrecognizable because her hair wasn't yet braided. She wasn't dancing and she wasn't singing, but she was smiling. I thought to myself, "How about that? Braid girl exists in real life." And it shocked me, and I saw her as a real person in a residential area without braids or song or dance. It was strange but it was her.

I try to not think too hard about anything at all on my commute anymore. I sip my coffee and watch the fields recede in my rear view mirror. I apply my make-up, being sure to go light on the mascara.

And that's all I have to say about that.

Tuesday, May 04, 2004

is that a silver bullet in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

I stopped at an enormous liquor warehouse tonight because they have in stock the widest selection of imported brews I've ever seen in my life. I was on the phone to Andy for a good ten minutes trying to figure out which obscure beer we'd be sampling this evening. Typically we're a Boddingtons and Guinness household but when Andy's being particularly wussy we get Stella Artois or Becks. But I'd spied a large "From England!" section the last time I was there so I rang up to tell him about it.

"They have Greene King, Theakstons Old Peculiar and ESB, Robin Woods Old Fart, Greenalls, Banks' Mild, Sam Smiths, Holts', Old Speckled Hen, loads from Scotland and Ireland, and a whole wall of German and Belgian stuff. Which should I get?" I walked away with some of the Greene King and Old Speckled Hen, excited at the prospect of getting a whole new drunk on. Ah, to live in America, eh?

So I hit the counter where the two girls who work there are talking about the party they'd gone to over the weekend - I wouldn't have put them at more than seventeen, tops. They were obviously over twenty-one but they looked like babies to me.

Bint one: Man, you so chundered on Saturday!
Bint two: Dude, so did you! Jason told me!
Bint one: Your problem is that you can't handle beer.
Bint two: I know! Like, I've tried everything. Michelob, Miller, Bud...
Bint one: Have you tried Coors?
Bint two: Well, duh.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen...they were standing amidst the beer-drinkers Mecca, yet Coors Light was a "duh".

I said, "You know, I've heard that Heineken is pretty good."
Bint one said, "Yeah, I've heard that, too. I may have to try some."

I can't be positive, but I think I heard the baby Jesus cry.



So what of it? Give me your beer suggestions and I promise to drunk post until I run out of flavors. ()

Saturday, May 01, 2004

put on your thinking caps

Okay, so I've mentioned before that I work at a non-profit organization that's focused on ending world hunger.

Yeah, I know. Oh, easy enough task!

Anyway, I'm rebranding the entire organization (I'll show you the website when the time is right...since I'm all big-shot at work now I'm virtually beyond reproach so I can let all y'all know where, exactly, I'm working. Beyond reproach or above reproach? Can't think at the moment - at any rate, no one's messing with my ass, regardless of what I say here.)

Where was I? Oh yes - the rebranding.

So here's my focus - we need something kind of snazzy for my "just for kids" page. We are using bright, primary colors, so the scheme is easy enough, but... in the world do you come up with a fun mascot for ending world hunger and malnutrition? Harry the Healthy Elf? Boris the Obese Spider?

I'm stuck.

What I need is an idea...and, um...maybe the artwork. Gah, I don't ask for much, do I? My thing is this - I'd like a couple of different perspectives drawn of this little mascot fella so I can put him in different places. Looking left, winking, looking down - that kind of thing. So it's not like I can even grab a public-domain gif even if I did have an idea of what I wanted, because I can't edit pictures for crap.

So I need an idea and I need the artwork. Yeah, I know. Oh, easy enough task!

If anyone can come up with an idea and/or artwork, I can give you a tax-deductible receipt for a gift-in-kind donation to our organization (we're too poor to pay anything) and we would have the exclusive rights to use the image for our brand but you would retain the copyright of the work. You'd get full copyright credit on our site and on any literature that we would put your idea and/or artwork.

Let's brainstorm and see what we can come up with, okay? It's for a very, very worthy cause and would be a huge help for us.

And I, my friends, am an idiot.

Thanks in advance-iously,


update: Go ahead and email if you're too shy to say it here. Then I can make fun of your dumb-ass in private...the Ethiopian kid from South Park would most certainly not be a good mascot, but I thank you for the suggestion. (I suppose I just made fun of your dumb-ass in public, huh? At least I didn't say who you were. Mark. Just kidding! I don't even know anyone named Mark. Excuse me, won't you, as my sense of humor appears to have not woken up just yet.)

Do it for the kids, wouldya? Yes, I just played that card, and that puppy is trump. If you don't help, that must mean that you want all children to die from starvation. You don't want me to think that about you? ()