I just had a small moment of panic that I’d missed New York Comic Con this year. I went two years ago when it was in May, then randomly last year they moved it up to February and I missed it. But, no, it’s in October this year, so we’re all good.
Maybe we’ll get some solid info on the possibility of a third X-Files movie about that alien invasion happening on Dec 22, 2012. Fingers crossed.
This place was the first delivery number I saved in my cell phone when I moved to Williamsburg. When they closed two years ago, I wrote them a gushy email about how much their fried chicken meant to me. I have really fond memories of the day Chris and Sarah and I went to see There Will Be Blood and then came back to Brooklyn, went to Dog Bar and ordered Pies’n’Thighs to the bar. They didn’t send enough ketchup packets, and it was Hunts, which Chris abhors, so Chris left the bar and walked home and came back with the giant Costco Heinz ketchup bottle from our fridge. There Will Be Blood had just come out, so it was still HILARIOUS to yell, “I drink your milkshake! I drink it up!” and we had a wondeful night drinking beer, eating fried chicken, and laughing about milkshakes and ketchup.
This is a track from a solo project I’ve been working on for a while, called “What You Forgot.” The album will be “Confabulation” by the Spiralling Shape & features lots of help from friends. Notably, Phil Bertulfo plays drums here, and Mitch Bowman and Daniel Castillo do backup vocals, clatter & keyboards. I should finish this thing up soon & put it on iTunes.
Welcome to Tumblr, Matt!
This makes me really happy. I used to drive around listening to Matt’s Mouth Face Paint Brain album all the time. I’ve been dying for some new solo stuff.
At Wednesday night pub quiz; our team name was "All Butter Recipe"
One of the rounds was “The Pope’s Top Ten Rock and Pop Albums of All Time.”
We really, really sucked at this round. I think the only one we got completely right was Michael Jackson’s Thriller. But, anyway, I was waiting in line for the bathroom, and I could overhear another team discussing the category. They were saying that Tupac’s “Changes” was definitely on the Pope’s top 12 singles list. One girl asked, “Who sang the original version of “Changes?”
Me: “Bruce Hornsby.”
Guy in line ahead of me, who was on her team, “Genesis, I think.”
Me: “No way. It was Bruce Hornsby. Not Genesis.”
Other guy (ignoring me, apparently): “Phil Collins! It was Phil Collins.”
Me, indignant: “No, it was Bruce Hornsby. Definitely Hornsby.”
No one at the table acknowledged me, and in fact, they seemed about to move on to another topic, happy to think Phil Collins had something to do with the piece of scabby cunt that is “Changes.”
So, blood boiling, I stepped out of line and approached the table, and sort of emphatically slapped my hand down on it. “BRUCE. HORNSBY. Bruce Hornsby did the original ‘Changes.’ I don’t know why I know that. I’m sorry, but I just can’t let you put that on Phil Collins.”
They stared at me. I stared back. Then I calmly went to the toilet and returned to my team.
We came in third, our best showing, after a down-to-the-wire tie-breaking beer chug, which Megan won. We won a team panini.
Do you own a copy of Generation X? Yes. Have you watched Reality Bites within the past month? Yes. Are there combat boots and a dress with flowers on it in your closet? Yes. Have you been wandering through life like a sheep without its shepherd ever since Sassy folded? Yes. Are you intimidated by some of the things written on This Recording? Yes. What is chatroulette? I have no idea.
Chris had to explain chatroulette to me the other day when I kept seeing all these picture of cats next to a chat window and got confused. Up until then, honestly, I’m not making this up, I thought that chatroulette was a new French indie musical artist. I’d been pronouncing it “sha-roo-let” in my head.
One of the first songs that came on last.fm this morning was Eric Clapton’s cover of “Knocking on Heaven’s Door.” “Huh,” I thought, “didn’t know Clapton covered this song.” I just knew it as a GnR song. This is the point where upon reading this Chris will roll his eyes and be slightly embarrassed that he’s about to committ to spending the rest of his life with someone who tends to think most songs originated with their awesome 80s covers, rather than with the original song writer, who inevitably ends up being Bob Dylan.
I listened to Dylan’s version, and then Guns N’Roses, and then in the spirit of giving everyone a fair shot, I attempted to get through Avril Lavigne’s cover, but that made me realize I should probably get back to work. For the record, I still prefer the GnR cover.
P.S. I’m finding that I can’t stomach much Eric Clapton these days. Maybe it’s those commercials where he tries to figure out how to use a cell phone? Maybe I never really liked him at all in the first place.
P.P.S. I only recently found out that “Tears in Heaven” is about his kid who fell out a hotel window. I always thought it was about Marilyn Monroe/Biggie.
I found this little treat because I was trying to find the lyrics to a song my music teacher always had us sing in elementary school. This song is forever in my head now as an adult, which is annoying because I only remember two lines, and it’s also a really shit song. I knew it was a shit song. I knew it was a shit song even at age seven, and I was convinced that my music teacher made it up herself, so I googled the only words I could remember, “happiness is finding a friend” crayons, and lo and behold, it’s a real song, from You’re A Good Man, Charlie Brown.
This is the saddest happiness I can imagine. Telling time? Only five crayons? Having a sister?
Sharing a sandwich? No way. SANDWICH IS ALL MINE*.
*I’m realizing now that only Megan is going to understand that above part. My sister and I once tried to come up with a list of all the things that Meatloaf would NOT do for love. The only thing we ended up putting on the list was “Share his sandwich.” “I would do anything for love, but I won’t do that. Hands off, bitch, this SANDWICH IS ALL MINE.”
P.S. Tumblr, you can try all you want to truncate the text in a reblog, but I’m perfectly fine copying and pasting the complete text back in, and even re-adding all the links. You will not win this one.
Guys, I think the Internet is about to get a little more awesome.
Chris bought himself the producer’s version of Fruity Loops for his birthday this morning. He’s been sitting next to me for the past 45 minutes, and I can hear a terrible little drum beat on infinite loop playing faintly through his headphones. Every once in awhile he laughs to himself and starts to dance. He just made himself laugh so hard that he drooled a little bit. I look over at his screen, and he’s just staring at a picture of Tiger Woods.
Growing up in Ohio I never really noticed Ash Wednesday or was so painfully unaware I never saw people with ash on their foreheads.
Cut to my first job in New York City. To me, it’s just another Wednesday in February, la la la. Our marketing director goes out to lunch and when he gets back he’s got a big black smudge on his forehead.
Hoping to save him some embarrassment the following conversation occurs:
“Hey, Mike, you’ve got some printer toner on your forehead”
“No I don’t.”
“No, seriously, there’s a big black smudge of toner right in the middle of your forehead”
“No, Megan, it’s Ash Wednesday.”
Good luck with Lent!
I love Ash Wednesday because every time I see people with shit on their foreheads I think of Megan telling her boss he had printer toner on his forehead and I laugh and laugh and laugh and eat all the meat I want on Fridays.
So in Canada, the day after Christmas is boxing day, and that’s the day you exchange gifts. We all know presents are the really reason everyone loves Christmas, and I kind of feel like Valentine’s Day is Christmas for people who really like to fuck. So, does that make today Canadian Valentine’s Day or Boinking Day?
Yeah, I know it’s President’s Day here in ‘Merica, but they don’t have Presidents, they have Prime Ministers.
Just don’t put George Lopez and Shirley McClain in this movie. Actually, don’t put them in any movies.
Do you think I could get a book deal if I started a blog called, “Things I’ve discussed with my gynecologist while he sticks his finger up my butt?” Granted, I’d only have material to post once a year, and so far both of my conversations have been sort of boring and job related, but maybe I could take submissions? I’m just thinking out loud here.
Looks the Gyno-Shocker is going to an annual thing, and not some First Time Customer Bonus Exam! like I’d secretly hoped. If I can’t get a book deal, maybe there’s a way to sneak onto my resume the fact that I am able to discuss the finer points of visa advice for researchers from countries on the State Sponsors of Terrorism list while having my anus probed. I can multi-task!
You know what? I’m going to turn on the “Let people photo reply” for this post.
I have my annual gynecological appointment this afternoon, or as I like to call it, my “downstairs check up.” I’m feeling a little gun shy. See, last year when I went I found out that my regular lady lady-doctor had moved on, and they’d reassigned me to another doctor in the office who happens to be a man lady-doctor. I felt like I was fine with that. He’s just doing his job, nothin’ weird or nothin’. But it was a little weird. He was all about the small talk, which, great, but I found it really disconcerting to carry on a conversation about working at NYU while he was giving me a boob massage and sticking his fingers up my bajingo. There’s usually not a lot of small talk while that kinda thing is going on.
AND THEN when I thought the examination was coming to it’s natural conclusion, without ANY warning, he stuck is finger right up my butt. I was caught so off guard that as soon as I had my clothes back on and was outside the office, I called Chris at work and yelled into the phone while walking down 34th Street, “MY GYNECOLOGIST STUCK HIS FINGER UP MY BUTT WITHOUT ANY WARNING!” And without missing a beat, Chris replied, “That’s why they call it the shocker.”
And that brings us to today. Now that I know he’s going to stick his finger up my butt, I can’t stop thinking about it, and all that could go wrong. And “by all that could go wrong” I mean “I am scared that I am going to poop when he sticks his finger up my butt.” We’ve all heard those horror stories about that girl in high school who tries anal for the first time and ends up pooping all over her boyfriend, right? IT COULD HAPPEN TO ANYONE. So all week I’ve been making sure to eat lots of vegetables and fruits to make sure I stay regular, and today I got an extra cup of coffee hoping to flush everything out of there. But now this cup of coffee seems like it was a bad idea. I don’t know. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. This extra cup of coffee has made me feel like I can share this with the world. Caffeine removes my filter of what is sensible to share with strangers. And that filter is pretty non existent in the first place. Oh, god I have to leave in an hour.
Nooooooooooooooo! Two years ago Chris and Alicia and Sarah and I nerded out on President’s Day and spent the afternoon at the Fraunces Tavern museum trying to find the piece of George Washington’s tooth that was supposedly on display there. (We found it. It looked, well, like a little ugly piece of tooth.) We had so much fun that we vowed to go back for Alicia’s birthday, which is the same day—Dec 4—that Washington famously decided not to be a dick and he bid farewell to his troops rather than assuming the role of militaristic dictator of the colonies. We all showed up on Dec 4th, only to discover that a bunch of Wall Street cunts had rented out the tavern for some holiday party. So we moved on to another venue, one that serves boozy milkshakes and pitchers of beer, and Alicia stood up and recited parts of Washington’s farewell address. So on that note, Fraunces Tavern, “with a heart full of love and gratitude I now take leave of you. I most devoutly wish that your latter days may be as prosperous and happy as your former ones have been glorious and honorable.”