Date Archives November 2009

With a ‘stache this rad, the truth is gonna slip

On Saturday, Tristan & I went to see That 1 Guy on his ‘Mustaches and Laser Beams’ tour. Part of why I adore him is that it’s evident he just picks out some things he thinks are fun, like fake mustaches and playing with laser beams and doing card tricks, and incorporates all of them into his show–his attempts at breakdancing have now been replaced with a mustache-based quick-change show.

He also stopped in the middle of Weasel Potpie to talk to everyone about his biggest problem with the Star Wars prequels–not that they don’t have many problems, but one was glaringly bigger than the rest–so, in the third one, after Yoda is finished fighting alongside the Wookiee army that, y’know, we just found out about, he stops and says “It’s been an honor to fight beside you, King Chewbacca.” How, exactly, does he go from being king to Han Solo’s mechanic? HMM?

Yeah. You chew on that.

Since we both walked around in a bit of a eardrum-damage-induced haze the day after the Electric Six show, Tristan brought us fancy earplugs that still allow us to hear the music without being physically injured by the music, in the hopes that maybe neither one of us will be deaf by 40. The earplugs helped a LOT. It was novel to walk out of a show without my ears ringing, and for those of you who insist that earplugs are totally not punk rock, I will let you in on a secret: neither are hearing aids.

That 1 Guy had a performer who goes by the name Heatbox open for him, and through beatboxing and the help of some looping equipment, he put on a really entertaining show–I’d never heard anyone beatbox the tetris theme before. And when he came back onstage to jam with Mike in the encore, I’d never heard such a funky, rocking version of Hava Nagila before!

Any show that you walk into sans mustache and leave WITH a mustache, ladies and gentlemen, is a good show. Unless it’s a dirty sanchez. Fuck those kinds of shows.

I heard Boolia called Grandma a bitch. I HEARD IT.

On Friday, I had another Friend Thanksgiving meal, hosted by the delightful Emily and her husband Tom; in attendance were Tonya, Anne & Jim, Boolia & Jason, Shannon, Chantal & her daughter Sophie, and I dragged Tristan along into the den of the harpies. I believe it was Boolia who cracked, “I love it when the guys meet one another–they give each other a look like ‘Oh, you’re a survivor, too.'”


We all ate entirely too much, given that Emily & co had prepared a staggering amount of food, which tested the limits of what a countertop could possibly hold, told stories, and laughed. After dinner, I learned that homes in finer neighborhoods come complete with ‘murder holes’ underneath for storage of bodies and extra tables and whatever all else you might need to hide in a jiffy. The contractors even left a chilling message written on the walls of the murder hole in case anyone was uncertain of their purpose:



Since murdering is a solitary business and four of us went down there which means alltogether too many witnesses, all of us made it back upstairs alive and proceeded to watch Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, John Hughes’ tribute to everything annoying about travel and other people in the days before the cell phone–my grandfather loved this movie and often laughed himself to tears watching it.


After the movie, we drank MORE wine, and played a full round of Apples to Apples before giving up on it entirely–eleven people might be too many, especially when there’s booze involved and attention spans are short to begin with, plus there’s pie yet to be had.

Then, because I wouldn’t recognize a holiday unless someone was crying, I ended up bursting into tears when I realized that my wonderful friends are the family I’ve made for myself, and while we might CALL it Friends Thanksgiving, I’m really calling it Family Thanksgiving as I had so many of the people who have made my life special around and none of the people who make me feel badly about myself. I can’t believe I just met most of these girls this year–it feels like I’ve known them forever.

And then when I finished being the world’s biggest baby, I wore Emily’s weirdo S&M cat like a stole.



Happy Spanksgiving!

On Thursday, we had a friends Thanksgiving get-together; Tristan cooked a lot and I ‘helped’ by supervising and getting underfoot. My sole contribution was the vegetable tray, and while preparing this contribution, I discovered that I had purchased a demonic red pepper.

Not often in the history of time, space, and Brothers Grimm lore is evil conquered by being eaten, but I’ll have you know that on this day, good did prevail in just that manner.

After a game of Bang! (which is fast-becoming a holiday tradition), we then split up into three teams for the world’s closest game of Cranium. I experienced what might go down in history as the proudest moment of my life when Tristan guessed ‘tea bag’ from my incomprehensible eyes-closed scribbles that honestly looked more like a shovel being plunged into a steaming turd than anything else. If I ever contract glaucoma and go blind like my grandfather, clearly drawing pictures to communicate is not my best option.

To close out the evening, we watched the Rifftrax version of ‘The Room’, which deserves every bit of negative criticism it has received; it deserves it because in turn, it hurt me so very, very deeply inside. It is unfathomable to me that this movie cost six million dollars to make, in light of the fact that it had all of two sets, five ‘actors’ (I use that term very loosely), and clearly no one was paid to clean up the storyline or even edit it into a coherent piece. But you shouldn’t take me at my word–you should watch it for yourself. In fact, you should probably watch the trailer now. And then watch the related videos. I’ll wait.

Once you’ve experienced the torture that is The Room, the rest of life’s challenges will seem mundane by comparison. Public speaking? Not a problem anymore, nothing you do or say could hurt you more or be less coherent than The Room. Picked up by terrorists for torture for fun and profit? Waterboarding will be a BREEZE compared to The Room–it’s just a few seconds, compared to an HOUR AND A HALF of the worst sort of nothing happening! You can take up slap-fights, death-sports, eating glass, and recreational furniture made out of nails; nothing will hurt you more than The Room.

Goods & Services

Yesterday, I took the bus to Southcenter and did not get stabbed; I wanted to get some present-shopping done before Thanksgiving because, frankly, if buying gifts for the people I love convinces them to hang around for another year, then gifts they shall have. Also, I really, really, really wanted to see Precious.

On my way through the mall, I got stopped by a fabulous man who cried out “I LOVE YOUR HAIRS!”. I knew immediately that we were going to engage in a time-honored practice: he was going to tell me beautiful lies, and I was going to give him money. I sat in a chair, and he began to style my hair, telling me he ‘love the natural colors’ and that I shouldn’t change it (HA! HA HA HA!) and that when my hair is curly, it makes me look ‘all the time innocent’ and that when I left the mall, I would have no less than six new boyfriends. He gave me a hug, I gave him money, and I probably would’ve thrown in an extra twenty if he’d thought to comment on all the lovely qualities of my diminutive yet sassy rear end, or the firmness of my single chin or how my boobs were absolutely so perky they defied nature. That level of contracted lying would probably run me another fifty, though.

Armed with my new hairs, I went up to the movie theater, bought my ticket, and proceeded to be punched in the gut six or seven times by Precious. Which isn’t to say it isn’t a very good, worthwhile film; it just hurts to watch it. I think everyone in the theater cried. Theater employees came in to watch us cry. The stranger sitting next to me reached into her purse to get a tissue and passed one down to me when she caught me wiping my cheeks with my sleeve. And maybe we weren’t all even crying for the same reasons, but for even a brief moment, it felt like a profound connection between hundreds of strangers, a shared powerful experience. It’s rare for me to see a film in a theater by myself; maybe it shouldn’t be.


Tonight, I took the bus to downtown Renton to grab dinner at my favorite Indian place; fortuitously, there is a bus that runs almost directly from door to door. On my way home, some guys got on the bus–one plopped next to me and started talking loudly about knifing people and then in the next breath started hitting on me. Not just hitting on me, hitting on me while licking his lips, as if it weren’t the creepiest thing to do in the history of time. As I got off the bus, I got to hear a lot of comments about my ‘ghetto booty’.


Uh, at least I didn’t get knifed?

“I know you have a fucked-up idea of animal husbandry!”

On Friday, I had some of my favorite people in the world over for Blood & Guts & Punch & Pie III: Victor Bloodenstein’s Revenge. For the third and final installment this year, I selected ‘Black Sheep’, which I’ve seen before (the horror genre is overrun with so much garbage that it’s important to pick at least ONE thing you know is genuinely entertaining). Then I realized–I’ve thrown several (two this year and one the year before) Friday the 13th parties already and had not yet shown a Friday the 13th movie. Sure, we COULD go for the original, a horror classic, widely acclaimed…but it wouldn’t be a party if I couldn’t get the people I adore to watch the TRUE horror of JASON IN SPACE.

So, no shit, the premise is that because Jason is an unstoppable killing machine, the only way to safely contain him was to put him in cryogenic stasis…in space. Then, 400 years from now, SOMETHING happens (I will admit to maybe being over-ginned at this point), and he gets picked up by a spaceship of the future staffed by young coeds in cutoffs and halter tops. I, for one, do not think that a self-respecting scientist would show that much skin when performing an autopsy, but what do I know?

Anyway, CaptainDoctor Tube Top took Jason’s machete at some point, and then after he magically reanimated, he found a new, space machete. With speed holes. What purpose does a machete serve in space? Aside from fashioning yourself more cutoffs from boring space pants, of course.

There was only one scene in this movie that made it worth watching, and it is one of the greatest movie killing sequences of all time. Seriously. Someone’s robot girlfriend (again, not paying all that much attention and also sort of boozed up) creates a hologram of Camp Crystal Lake, complete with two sexy hologram campers who take off their tops, profess to love premarital sex, and then climb into sleeping bags and giggle; when it cuts back to this scene, Jason is using one girl in a sleeping bag to beat the other girl in the sleeping bag to death, and then smacks the sleeping bag girl he’s using as a weapon against a tree for good measure.


Kind of brings a tear to your eye, doesn’t it?

Next Blood & Guts & Punch & Pie will be in August 2010!

Twirl around and move around–and put a little mustard on it!

The Electric Six show last night was AMAZING. Millions of Brazilians and The Gay Blades were incredible, powerful, dancetacular openers and were pretty much the exact opposite of last week’s opening bands. Millions of Brazilians ended their set with the singer grabbing a drum off the kit, running out into the audience, setting it up on a stool and going to town, handing the sticks off to an audience member and indicating she should continue playing, and then running back onstage to create some fabulous noise. The Gay Blades’ singer let us know exactly how unloved and unwanted Portland made him feel, decked himself out in a wreath of fake leaves, and danced like the world was ending while rocking out.

Dick Valentine rocked a crumpled pinstripe suit, and while he cut out a majority of the falsetto in his songs, he was incredibly powerful vocally. There are bands with singers who sound NOTHING live like they do in the studio; that is not the case here.

In between songs, he ruminated on the quality of falafel provided by Mediterranean Express, indicated that Seattle is sort of the QVC of music (!?) (“But no offense, guys”), and covered up the fact that he can’t dance (fact) with a lot of microphone stand gesticulating and firing finger guns at the audience.

It was easily, easily the best show I’ve seen this year, with no offense at all intended to thehifi who also brought it but good.


More evidence of Christmas Creep: Pumpkin flavored eggnog. Or it’s pumpkin creep. Either way, a holiday is encroaching somewhere in dairy form. What am I, a scientist?

Poll #1485074 Nom or Vom: Friday the 13th Edition Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 42

Would you drink this?

View Answers NOM NOM NOM 19 (45.2%)VOM VOM VOM 23 (54.8%)