Onomatopoeia

Sometimes I worry. Actually, I worry all the time. But sometimes I worry that I don't worry enough. On Sunday, while we drove home from Pierre and Doyle's wedding, I worried that my insouciant demeanor had somehow diminished Pierre's conception of my conception of the grandeur of he and his wife's wedding day. Because of this, I didn't sleep last night. Wow, that was a mouthful. Allow me to expound.

I'm given to speaking my mind, particularly in the presence of friends. As fate would have it, what is most often on my mind is inane, profane nonsense. Unfortunately, the presence of strangers and distinguished adults often fails to temper this honesty, leaving me to toe the line between social correctness and juvenile delinquency. Thankfully, I've managed to make friends who find my candor oddly refreshing. And most of the time, we happen to congregate in environments with tacit rules for behavior that are without nuance. In these settings I can usually take care of myself. Don't break any laws. Easy enough. I can wrap my head around that.

Weddings are nuanced, however. They have strange unspoken guidelines like, don't shower the congregation with thinly veiled innuendo, and keep your pants on. I somehow managed to make it through the ceremony and cocktail hour with minimal embarrassment. At least I wasn't the girl whose dress blew up in the wind during the ceremony, revealing to the entire congregation a purple thong situated right between two voluptuous cheeks of butt.

As the beautiful day gradually became night, however, the dynamic changed. The other groomsmen were no longer at my side helping me circumnavigate potential behavioral pitfalls. SSShhhhh, no, no, no, you can't say that! eventually gave way to unconditional encouragement when we found ourselves back at the hotel after the reception, eating pizza and having drinks with the other wedding guests and the bridegroom. It was there that, for reasons that continue to escape my modest grasp, I felt it necessary to show people my underwear.

Moose wasn't impressed. Unfortunately, Brendan anticipated the whole thing and pulled my skibbies down right there in the lobby. At that point, I'm pretty sure no one was impressed.

Oh My God I Know Him!

Remember when someone close to you would have you proofread their papers, and doing so would make you feel ashamed for having ended up at the same college as someone at a second grade reading level with no writing capacity? But you'd use the red pen sparingly in every sense of the word. Or when a friend demanded your full attention while they fumbled through some terrible song they'd written on the guitar? And you told them they sounded pretty good, and that they should start a band.

Yeah, I don't have to do that here. Not that Tim is looking for my approval by any stretch of my hamster wheel sized imagination, but these clips are funny. Hilarious actually.







(Mallen, I need to watch your movie again before I write a review. I've seen it twice, both times on Sundays after a wedding and a bachelor party while my brain dripped out of my ears. It deserves fuller attention. As do you.)

Crazy

Loopholes

How is it that most sports announcers are painfully inarticulate, obnoxious, and seemingly lacking in any relevant sport specific knowledge or potential for insight? How is it guys like Rick Sutcliffe, Joe Morgan, Tim McCarver, and to a degree Joe Buck, all have jobs covering baseball games?  These guys must all be wracked with latter stage dementia, besides Buck who just wants to blow anybody who has ever put on a uniform.  The madness that comes out of these guys' mouths is downright distracting.  Nationally televised baseball games should be covered exclusively by Mike Tirico, Steve Phillips, Orel Hershiser, Dennis Eckersley, and Al Leiter, or some combination thereof.        

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Sotomayer is a racist, huh?  Really?  As I've said before in this forum, someone should slap these grumpy old white men around.  All of them.  If these talking heads and policy makers can't adequately contextualize and comprehend a statement that was obviously meant to highlight the fact that the obstacles a non-white person encounters as they traipse through life could possibly set them apart from their white counterparts by granting them an enhanced capacity/spectrum for empathy, then they shouldn't have a forum to run their mouths, and they certainly shouldn't have any authority to evaluate the qualifications and suitability of a candidate for the supreme court.  When was the last time anything in Knute Gingrich's life was made more difficult by the fact that he was Knute Gingrich?  Besides futile attempts at getting laid.   The very fact that these people have taken such issue with her statements speaks to their validity. 

These same idiots provided the impetus for the following faux [hilarious] news story:

Conservatives Warn Quick Sex Change Only Barrier Between Gays, Marriage

I won't even mention the way they also promulgated the sort of misguided social perspectives that provided some nut bag the justification to murder George Tiller.  Oops.  Just did.  Sure, Bill O'Reilly might not actually have blood on his hands, but he's still an unforgivable fuck face.

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I was initially very disappointed to read on several reputable online sources that Pearl Jam had entered into a deal with Target.  Long after having waged an admirable but ultimately unsuccessful war against Ticketmaster, the notion that they would play their new single at a secret show in Seattle only to have the performance recorded by Cameron Crowe and edited into a music video AND Target ad seemed unthinkable.  Until I was reminded of the fact that the band has recorded and plans the release of their new album without the support of a record label.  I for one am willing to give them the benefit of the doubt until privy to all details.  

In a decidedly more straightforwardly cool move, PJ unleashed their new single on "The Tonight Show with Conan O'Brien" last night: