Thank you for your patience during this blog reboot. In the meantime, we’ll always have Tumblr (also newly wiped and rebooted), Pinterest, too (yes, I did), and Twitter (Instagram, also). And I thought I wasn’t a joiner… Le sigh.
some days being an editrix is quirkier than others
some days it’s a care package of sex toys including make-your-own glow-in-the-dark, and chocolate, and plaster, and candle (!) molds of one’s/your wang.
some days it’s five full-sized bottles of skyy vodka sitting in your office.
some days it’s samples of really spendy, really nice (and now really missed) hair products.
some days it’s discovering your comped seats to see your beloved christopher hitchens are, as it turns out, front row, or your comped seats to see your equally beloved anthony bourdain are dead center — not two rows back from your (eesh) paying friends.
some days it’s getting a zappa dvd delivered to your desk. or a jar of locally made hot sauce.
some days it’s reading some pretty horrific things that anonymous little rat bastard cowards post about you on your paper’s blog.
some days it’s getting a comment like this from a columnist: “Also: you know you write for a gay newspaper when you’re sitting waiting for two different sources to call you back to tell you which pronoun they prefer.”
some days, like this a.m., it’s getting the following press invite in your inbox, led off by this statement:
This Sunday is the big day! Daniel Baldwin will be on set to shoot his scene in Stripperland. He’s making his rap career debut, so we’re also shooting a music video with a full cast of dancing zombies. The call sheet and press release with details is attached.
WOW.
For the record, there’s only one Baldwin brother I’d go all the way out West Hills way for on a Sunday a.m., and it ain’t Daniel (referred to as Icky D on the call sheet rundown).
it’s quarter to 3…
nah. but it sure as hell feels like it, 11 past 11 on production night and the paper finally put to bed. i was a machine today and actually pretty close to deadline, but i feel a responsibility to production to not exit the premises until it’s really done, and hopefully the last of the calls from the printer have come and gone.
in any case, the 11:23 bus is a few minutes away, and i am alone in the office. all i can think of is alex p. keaton (i’ve said it before, i’ll say it again, michael j. fox 4evah) singing the following little ditty to his kid brother (that brian bonsall kid, before he went the way of the juvenile delinquent).
of course, billie’s version is best. duh.
stepping down memory lane tonight
saw this opening weekend (?) 1998 in the theater. it still astonishes me how amazing director soderbergh was with every last detail of this scene. before she was j.lo, and after he was that dude from the facts of life and roseanne and er. the chemistry is restrained, every pause, every shot is measured to maximum effect. and then there’s david holmes’ score.
it doesn’t get any better, more sophisticated, more grown-up — or more sexy — than this. ever. at all.
period.
(the bar/hotel was, last i checked while fantasizing about travel plans, a marriott in detroit.)
arbitrary quote to work into your day
“gave it a go, but i can’t handle eating noises.”
– in response to this palindromic video, and i couldn’t agree more.
sublime prettiness
i’m up to my almost-blind eyeballs in production on the paper, so this is gonna be quick. i went to a show last night instead of redlining proofs, and though i’m paying for it today in more ways than one, i’m so very glad i did.
the venue: the Doug Fir. (an all-time fave venue)
the show: Junior Boys. (a new fave)
i wasn’t expecting the most dynamic of concerts: it’s — dated word alert — electronica (canadian electro, even!), people, two guys, some keyboards, and a touring drummer.
color me pleasantly surprised, thanks to singer jeremy greenspan’s laid-back and gracious stage presence (he’s on the right in the pic — update: pic since removed) — and vocals. oh those dulcet, cool, candied but not cloying vocals. swoon.
add painterly lyrics (see below) and just as lovely electro-buzz-pop instrumentation and i was a happy junior boys girl. way cool, way warm, way sensual. score.
i’d been all about “in the morning,” one of their best-known tunes, since my first listen circa late 2007. now, it’s another old song, (the very depeche a la mode-ish) “count souvenirs.” the lyrics are copied below, just because — talk about a way with visuals. gor-geous. check ‘em out, after the jump.
net effect: sublime prettiness.
for anyone who loves the muppets
which should be everyone. i mean, really.
(and i continue to be an avid Bill Hader lover. he totally would be Animal. i mean, he totally is.)
tremendous. and true.
and by true, i mean truth in advertising.
i ran across this site via a friend’s twitter post. so simple. so pure. so tasty-looking. artistic, even.
“scanwich.” scanned sandwiches. i think my head’s going to explode.
but first, i’m hungry.
Stephen Fry on “the juicy joy” of language schmanguage.
Stephen Fry, author, witty Brit, actor and Hugh Laurie (sigh…) collaborator, goes off “on the beauty of ‘incorrect’ language and the stupid futility of linguistic pedantry” in a recent podcast given props at BoingBoing.net. I think he said “pseudointellectualtwazzart” (And “willy nilly,” and “hoodie,” in the same breath. Man, so current!) And, of course, he said it with an English accent, which makes it that much more authentic. Or something.
I don’t entirely subscribe to Fry’s veddy veddy literate “leck-shuh,” though I agree with much of what he’s saying. It’s certainly a lovely Easter Sunday afternoon listen. But what really trips my trigger are the responses to BoingBoing’s post.
The word geeks really came out for this one. The comments are as entertaining and endearingly dorky as Fry’s sermon — more so, for my money.
Amidst the Strunk & White-excerpting, split-infinitive-questioning, myriad quoting “discussion,” a link to this marvelousness.
