This weekend, I found out that I live in a world where toddlers are indie rock savants, where bouncers at Irish pubs kick Guinness-guzzling patrons out for being dainty, and where jam goes with EVERYTHING (ok, everyone lives in that world).
Let me start from the beginning, the beginning being about 8pm on Friday night, when I met the Dells (Mike and Sarah) in the West Village for a drink. Earlier that day, I had e-mailed Mike his birthday present: a list of random "NOUN" pairings for him to wiki-link in 6 moves or less. Here is the list:
• Ki-Jana Carter to The Theory of Relativity
• The Ptolemaic dynasty to Norm Macdonald (comedian)
• Jean-Michel Basquiat to Tupperware
• Stonehenge to Charles in Charge
• Post-Keynesian economics to Maple Syrup
• State College, PA to Camouflage
By the end of the day, Mike had turned in the following:
• Ki-Jana Carter -> Penn State Alumni -> Douglas Comer -> Physics -> Special Theory of Relativity [4 MOVES]
• Ptolemaic Dynasty -> Alexander the Great -> Disambiguation -> Alexander (film) -> Rosario Dawson -> SNL -> Norm MacDonald [6 moves]
• Jean-Michel Basquiat -> Andy Warhol -> Advertising -> Direct Marketing -> Tupperware [4 moves]
Impressive progress for just a half day of wiki-surfing between work.
While we all walked together to The Slaughtered Lamb, a bar at the corner of West 4th and Jones Street decorated in the "pirate dungeon" motif, the wiki-challenge Mike claimed he was struggling most with was connecting Stonehenge to Charles in Charge.
After he shared with us the various routes he'd tried linking them through and all of the roadblocks encountered along the way, he finally yelled out, exasperated, probably one of the top 3 most profound things I’ve ever heard another human being speak: “The answer HAS to lie in Scott Baio! If it' not in Scott Baio, it must be in someone else!”
God, I hope someone overheard ONLY that part of the conversation.
Once we made it to the bar, we were delighted to hear that the music in the dungeon wasn’t old drunken sea chants, but primarily consisted of Early-90's to Early 2000's rock. Weezer, Harvey Danger, a punk cover of Rhianna's "Umbrella," and I would assume a song by The White Stripes, since our conversation navigated to Jack White and the fact that he’s in a new band.
Oh YES! I had this covered. Hadn't heard the song, didn't know what the new band was called, hadn't read any reviews online or otherwise.
What I did have, was the advice of a toddler (Tim Jacklepappy reference if anyone got that).
3 toddlers in fact.
Not two days prior, Charlotte had her kids record a video commentary on the new Jack White song and posted in on Facebook.
If you get into a conversation about the relevancy/merits of the new Jack White song, this is all you need to know:
1. It is not better than The Wizard of Oz.
2. Depending on who you ask, it may or may not be cooler than a toy helicopter.
3. The DRUMS are f*cking AMAZING.
Drop those 3 tidbits and no one will question you.
Later in the evening, we made our way over to the East Village to meet up with Joe Dell and I’m making the editorial decision not to post the details of the conversation that ensued on that side of the island. But for anyone who was there, I am doing the "hook and pull" sign language gesture...now.
Whereas Friday night started out on an awesome, Scott-Baio-referencing note, Saturday night included no Scott Baio references and therefore began on an inferior note. Actually, to be honest, Baio or no-Baio, it started out terribly.
Sarah B. and I had planned on starting the night out on the Lower East Side, but 1 lost priceless Russian hat (Sarah's), 3 changes in planned meet-up locations, and a wild text message goose chase later, we wound up at a sports bar at 33rd and Broadway. A veritable cesspool of Penn Station transferees, tourists, and New Jerseyans frolicking in all their March Madness glory, I might as well have been at a St. Patrick's Day all-you-can-drink bonanza at the Holiday Inn Paramus.
In our defense, we didn't pick this spot. It was the location of Sarah's co-worker's birthday party. The "party" showed up about a half hour after we got there. We stayed for another 45 minutes to be polite and got the heck out of dodge and headed downtown.
We ended up at Double Crown. Sarah’s new gentleman suitor had taken her there the week before and she knew I’d be interested in the fact that they serve a special drink there: GIN AND JAM. So of course as we passed it, I insisted we stop in to taste test a G.J.
You can only get G.J.’s in the secret DoubleCrown lounge, a dark, speakeasy-type situation (there’s even a trick door to get in!) that they have goin’ on in the back. Officially dubbed “Madam’s Preserves and Gin,” G.J. orderers are served a glass of Beefeater Gin over crushed ice and a teaspoon full of the jam of your choice. Saturday night, the “J” options were Blood Orange-Cardamon, Mango-Chili or Quince and Clove Marmalade. I went Blood Orange, even though it’s hard for me to pass up anything with “chili” in the name.
In one word, Gin and Jam is BRILLIANT. In 2? BLOODY BRILLIANT.
I have a mind to mix jam with everything now. What could go wrong?
As I polished off my jam, and began chewing on the crushed ice (yeah, I’m an ice chewer), Sarah noticed her new gentleman suitor had texted her from a bar a few blocks from our current locale; an Irish Bar, called “Phebe’s,” which he described as “Frat-tastic.” Oh God.
Here is what happened no less than 3 minutes after we arrived: Sarah’s suitor, gentleman that he is, went to the bar to buy us drinks. At the bar, a fistfight of sorts broke out, Sarah’s dude and his friends were guilty by location (I think, although one might have been involved), and they were kicked out of the bar.
Being St Patrick’s Day weekend, we naturally went to another Irish bar. As I sat down at a table full of derisory drunkards, or to coin the previously mentioned term “Frat-tastic” guys, I was none too pleased with the turn the night was taking. A turn for the worse, after after the G.J. had erased all of my Midtown bridge-and-tunnel-crowd memories.
To add salt to the wound, I received no less than 4 text messages related to Brian Fellow’s Safari Plant, which meant that my worst nightmare was coming true: Former-cast member-returning-as-host Tracy Morgan was reviving my favorite SNL character of all time and I WAS MISSING IT! For what?! For some guy sitting next to me loudly slurring “This is the part of the night when I take over! I AM THE MICHAEL JORDAN OF NIGHT!”!
I made eyes at Sarah that this was seriously the biggest wash of a night ever. But that all ended when one of the guys in our new group bought a round of Irish Car Bombs for everyone.
And I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but beep beep: I was the only girl besides Sarah at a table full of guys pounding car bombs and I beat every single one of them. A guy at another table even commented that he’d never seen anyone do it with such speed and grace. I might as well have patted my lips with a doily when I was done.
I was in very good form that night. Good thing, too. Because 5 minutes later, another round of car bombs appeared. Another 10 minutes later and the third round had arrived.
I think that was about the time I had a change of heart, as evidenced by my semi-shouting “BEST NIGHT EVER!”
Moral of the story, if you’re having a terrible night, a hat trick of Irish Car Bombs makes it all better. (SUB-moral: You can watch Brian Fellow’s Safari Planet on Hulu as many times as you want the next morning).
If the guys sitting next to me were absurd BEFORE the three car bombs, imagine the scene after. It did not take long for security to remove them from the premises. That was also about the time that Sarah and I also decided it was time to go, but apparently I was not moving quickly enough for the bouncers. While I was still seated at our table, security tapped me on the shoulder, said “Have a good night,” and pointed to the door. I was flummoxed. I exited, not quite understanding what had just happened. I explained the situation to Sarah and posed the question: “Did I just get kicked out?”
The bouncer stationed at the door smirked at me and nodded his head yes. Somehow, we’d been kicked out of 100% of the Irish bars we’d entered that night. IRISH bars. Do you know what that takes?
The following Monday, I sat down in my cube with a cuppa coffee and an English muffin. I perused my g-mail and found a reply from Mike to Friday’s chain:
Stonehenge -> Disambiguation -> This Is Spinal Tap -> Ed Begley Jr -> Arrested Development -> Scott Baio -> Charles in Charge [6 moves].
Turns out, the answer DID lie in Scott Baio.
And so I leave you, with this:
Charles in Charge Of our days and our nights…Charles in Charge
Of our wrongs and our rights… And I sing, I want, I want Charles in Charge of me.
19 March 2009
09 March 2009
Live From New York, It's...the longest and most detailed post in this blog's history.
A typical rise and shine on Saturdays falls between 10:30am and noon for me, no matter when I went to bed the night before. Any more past that and I feel guilty, any less and I feel shortchanged on my weekend freedom to sleep in as late as I want.
This Saturday was different. I happily shot out of bed at 8:30am, showered and stepped out into the glorious 60-something degree weather. It was the first Spring-like weekend day of 2009. I had plans to meet a group of friends in Chinatown around 12:30 for dim sum. It would be my first dim sum experience, and I would eat chicken feet (after trying duck feet, which we thought were chicken feet at first, but then realized they were webbed. Surprisingly, I liked the duck feet better). I took the subway to Broadway-Lafayette, with my mind set on taking a leisurely morning downtown stroll before arriving at Jing Fong Restaurant to meet up. I window-shopped in Soho, stopped for cappuccino in Little Italy, and waded through the massive crowds on Canal Street without aggravation for once. But the extra spring in my step wasn’t because of the weather, my fistful of caffeine, nor my pending new culinary adventure…
Today my friends, was the day I was going to Saturday Night Live. (LIVE.)
After 10 long years of annually entering my name into the SNL ticket lottery (as long as I’ve been eligible to enter), a year and a half of pestering every NBC Page and producer I’ve encountered during my many work visits to the Today Show greenroom, and an attempt at pulling strings with the Broadway Video publicist who got a co-worker and I “D.L. Hughley Breaks the News “ tickets (henceforth canceled), I won. The lottery. The Saturday Night Live ticket lottery.
Would I rather win the real lottery or the SNL ticket lottery? That’s a tough question. Millions of real dollars or a priceless commodity? You would think from my visceral reaction upon finding out the news that I had won, via e-mail one late Thursday at work, that it’d be the latter. I think my co-workers would back me up on that one. But when I win the real lottery I’ll let you know…via satellite from my gilded penthouse in Paris while wearing a gown made of money…muah ha ha ha.
Anyway, the winning of the SNL tix was the single most exciting moment of utter surprise and joy that I have ever experienced in my life thus far. Which I am sure seems trivial to most of you (especially the "you's" that are married and/or have children, where a television show is pretty insignificant in the grand scheme of things), but that show has had such a major impact on my life. I can chart my pre-teen years to mid-twenties by who’s anchored Weekend Update. I found out Princess Diana had died when a breaking news report interrupted an episode while on vacation at my Aunt’s beach house in North Carolina. I can have entire conversations with people consisting solely of quotes from SNL sketches. Hell, I have entire relationships based on quoting SNL (yeah, I am talking to you, Will).
Of course I brought Sarah D. as my guest. If it’s a Saturday Night and there’s a new episode of SNL premiering, you can most likely find me at the Dell’s apartment with a spread of pita and hummus and a case of beer. She’s my comedy sidekick: The Amy to my Tina, the porcupine to my Brian Fellow, the Mark Payne to my peppa.
Our tickets were for the dress rehearsal. The dress rehearsal is just a longer version of the televised show. In the hour between dress rehearsal and live air, the producers end up cutting the sketches and jokes that got the least laughs during dress rehearsal.
This week 4 sketches, a commercial parody and several jokes hit the cutting room floor. They also rearranged the order of a few sketches. In that light, I preferred the dress rehearsal, since we got over 2 hours of showtime and got to see sketches that no one else will ever see!
The rundown of the evening went like this:
5:45pm--Leslie and Sarah arrived at 30 Rock to queue up in line, an hour before the cutoff time for arrival. We were right by Le Maison du Chocolat, so Sarah got an espresso and I got 2 mini macaroons to snack on.
6:30pm--An SNL staffer announced that the person whose name is on the guest list should from a separate line in front of her to pick up your pair of tickets, but that your “plus one” should remain in the already-formed line to save your spot. I fetched tickets, Sarah spot-saved. When it was my turn to talk to the lady with the ticket list, the ticket/list lady took my I.D. and asked me, as she did with all of the ticket holders in front of me, if I was excited for the show. I tried to say “yes”, but I think it came out as more of a giggle-squeal hybrid. Then, she asked if my guest was also here. I found that question odd, since I didn’t hear her ask that of anyone else before me. But, I went with it, said “yes” and she asked me to point my guest out. I motioned to Sarah and said “the girl in the green sweater.” Ticket lady instructed me to begin forming another line along the opposite wall. I think she sensed the panic in my face and reassuringly whispered. “It’s OK, we select a few people to sit on the studio floor, and you’re going to be on the floor.”
Not that I ever questioned inviting Sarah as my guest, but I am so glad that she was able to be there with me, if only for the fact that she’s the only person who could understand what I was feeling at this moment…because she was feeling it too. And sweet mother of god, we must have looked like a pair of hyperventilating fools. We waited in this line for a while, and pair by pair, other lucky floor-seat-recipients queued up behind us. A total of 15 “couples” to fill the 30 coveted swivel chairs. And that’s when I noticed a pattern. They were picking the most attractive people. I was in the attractive person line! I was first in the attractive person line!! All of those hours spent toiling at the gym have been worth it!
7:30pm--An NBC Page began taking us one-by-one through security and put me, Sarah and two other pairs onto an elevator destined for the 8th Floor. The doors opened to reveal the backstage area of studio 8H—the black-and-white-checked floors, the walls lined with signed photos of all the past hosts, a jet ski wedged into a rock (this was, of course, part of the lighthouse sketch, for anyone who watched). The Pages lined us up backstage, where we stood for an unknown amount of time…unknown mostly because I was so high on life at this point the space-time continuum ceased to exist for this portion of my life. But, let’s say it was about 20 minutes.
The experience is, however, cemented in my brain forever. It began like this:
Darrell Hammond slowly shuffles (and I do mean shuffles) by us wearing a navy blue sweat pants-and-shirt ensemble and Yankees cap; appears to be staring into space.
Leslie: "I am using so much self-restraint right now to appear calm that my energy has no where to go except as tears welling up in my eyes and shaky hands."
Sarah: "Yeah, I’m shaking. I need one of those things they give to people when they have seizures. To put in their mouth. You know? I need a seizure-biter."
Leslie: "Yes. A seizure biter. That says everything about what I am feeling right now."
At about that time, Sudekis comes gallivanting down the hall in hi-tops, black dress socks, a short-sleeve button down and shiny KU basketball shorts. His hair is moussed and out of control. Will Forte rounds the corner wearing a nice pair of jeans, a button down shirt, sipping on coffee and reading a script. Oh and he’s wearing his Jon Bovi 80's-hair-band wig and a ridiculous moustache. He waves and says "hi" like nothing is weird about this situation.
Darrell Hammond shuffles by again. I think he is doing laps. I think he might have also had a lobotomy.
Bill Hader walks by a few times. He high fives people in line and congratulates us on the best seats in the house. After watching him interact with the SNL staff backstage, he seems to be the nicest cast member. Kristin Wiig is shoveling something into her mouth out of a styrofoam takeout box. She is tiny.
Darrell Hammond shuffles by, but decides not to go for another lap. He sits down at the wig station and continues staring.
We can see one of the studio monitors from where we’re standing. Seth Myers, Andy Samberg and Justin Timberlake are doing a run-through of Weekend Update. When they’re done, the crew wheels the Weekend Update desk into backstage area where we’re standing.
8:00pm: The Pages send the line into the studio. On the way in, I touched the Weekend Update desk. Score! Since Sarah and I were first in line, we got first pick of the seats. We were front row, center and close enough to get clobbered with props as the stagehands move them on and off the stage…which we did (get clobbered, that is). Most notably, I was hit in the knees with the Weekend Update desk. I have bruises. Glory bruises.
Before the show started, a bit after 8, Don Pardo introduced Jason Sudekis, who then introduced a special opening act: Kristin Wiig (on vocals) and Fred Armisen (on guitar) covering Blondie’s “One Way Or Another.”
After that, my favorite cast member, Will Forte began the cold open, as Treasury Secretary Tim Geithner. 3 feet away from me, he yelled those magical words “LIVE FROM NEW YORK, IT’S SATURDAY NIGHT!”
As Sarah said, one of her top 3 dreams came true that night, and she doesn't even know what the other 2 are.
If you’ve read this far, chances are you’re an SNL fan, so you’ve seen the televised show (Host Dwayne Johnson, Musical Guest Ray LaMontagne). So, I’ll try to keep my commentary on what made air to a minimum, and focus on the sketches that were cut from the televised show.
DRESS REHEARSAL 3/7/09:
Dwayne Johnson Monologue -- That guy’s muscles are out of control. Also, SNL does not use teleprompters, they use old-fashioned poster board and sharpies.
Commercial parody (CUT FROM TELEVISED BROADCAST)-- Sudekis stars in a commercial for a website where you can sell everything from your worthless stocks to illegal drugs. It ended up getting cut this week, but I have a feeling it will pop up in a future show.
Hawaiian Tiki Bar -- This got moved to a later spot in the televised show; good move.
“The Rock” Obama -- Samberg as Rahm Emanuel…totally brill. This ended up being the first skit after the monologue in the televised show.
McGruber-McGyver sketches -- The three McGruber episodes were sprinkled throughout the dress rehearsal in different spots.
Activia Commercial Shoot -- We’ve seen this sketch before, we get it, Kristin Wiig poops the couch. Although in the televised sketch, Sudekis plays the director. In the dress rehearsal sketch, Dwayne Johnson played the director. It was funnier with Dwayne.
Tiny Horse TV (CUT FROM TELEVISED BROADCAST) -- I probably would have labeled this the “TCM sketch,” as it featured Darrell Hammond the host of a “hidden gem”-type movie program on Turner Classic Movies. But the labels on the back of the props said “Tiny Horse TV,” and Sarah loved that. Hammond was seated right in front of me. Before the cameras started rolling, the button popped off his suit pants, and he seemed to be pretty flummoxed. He looked at his pants, then looked at me and said “My button broke!” And kind of gave me that “Bill Clinton” smirk he does so well. I started laughing. Then he said “My button broke” …to me…every few seconds…until the sketch started. I laughed every time. It was a far cry from his backstage shuffling. When the sketch started, we find out that his movie pic for the week is a film about an oversized jockey (Dwayne Johnson in a belly shirt) and a miniature horse (real pony in-studio!) This sketch was pretty funny; too bad it got cut.
Game Time with Dave and Greg -- Hader is an awesome alien. This was actually funnier on TV.
Ray LaMontagne -- “You Are The Best Thing”
Weekend Update-- I saw the Justin Timberlake/Jessica Biel Cameo coming, but I DID NOT see Samberg-as-Cathy coming. ACK! He wasn’t wearing that wig during the run-through. Also, my absolute favorite part of the show was the Jon Bovi (Bon Jovi Opposite Band) interview during Weekend Update. Not only because making up “opposite” lyrics is totally something my friends and I would do…but we definitely do do the “WHAT?! WHAT? WHAAAAAAAT?!” Check it out here: http://www.hulu.com/watch/61232/saturday-night-live-update-jon-bovi
Steady John and Itchy (CUT FROM TELEVISED BROADCAST) -- Dwayne and Fred Armisen play sidekicks; Dwayne as steady John is the straight-talkin’ tough cowboy, Armisen as itchy is his semi-retarded cowboy best friend. Lame. Cut for good reason.
Tarzan, Esquire (CUT FROM TELEVISED BROADCAST) -- Dwayne plays Tarzan. Apparently Jane told him to “get a real job,” so he becomes a criminal defense attorney for chimpanzees. Cut…and for good reason.
Celebrity Apprentice: Darrell Hammond as The Donald shoots promos with Tom Green (Fred Armisen), Joan Rivers (Michaela Watkins), and Dennis Rodman (Dwayne).
Lighthouse -- This one was edited for time in the televised broadcast, and I think it was funnier in dress rehearsal. But a pretty solid sketch, for being the last in the TV lineup.
Ray LaMontagne -- “Trouble”
Early-90’s Jingle-Writers (CUT FROM TELEVISED BROADCAST) -- Kristin Wiig and Dwayne Johnson don AMAZING early-90’s wigs for this sketch where she plays an anorexic jingle-writer and he plays her composer-partner. They are going through the songwriting process for a pantyhose commercial. This was one of those short, weird sketches that I found hilarious, but I don’t think the normal Nielsen family would appreciate.
Thank You -- The host, musical guest and cast gather and do the usual hugs-during-rolling-credits thing. I overheard Jessica Biel say to Bill Hader: “This part is kind of weird, huh?” To which Bill replied “Yeah, but you just gotta do it.”
Sarah can correct me if I’m wrong on the order, but I think the above “set list” is accurate.
After the show I got a bottle of champagne, Thai take-out and headed home to my couch to watch it live. To attempt to describe the experience: Unforgettable, amazing, once-in a lifetime. It’s a good thing, too. Otherwise, I always would have remembered March 7, 2009 as the day I ate duck feet.
This Saturday was different. I happily shot out of bed at 8:30am, showered and stepped out into the glorious 60-something degree weather. It was the first Spring-like weekend day of 2009. I had plans to meet a group of friends in Chinatown around 12:30 for dim sum. It would be my first dim sum experience, and I would eat chicken feet (after trying duck feet, which we thought were chicken feet at first, but then realized they were webbed. Surprisingly, I liked the duck feet better). I took the subway to Broadway-Lafayette, with my mind set on taking a leisurely morning downtown stroll before arriving at Jing Fong Restaurant to meet up. I window-shopped in Soho, stopped for cappuccino in Little Italy, and waded through the massive crowds on Canal Street without aggravation for once. But the extra spring in my step wasn’t because of the weather, my fistful of caffeine, nor my pending new culinary adventure…
Today my friends, was the day I was going to Saturday Night Live. (LIVE.)
After 10 long years of annually entering my name into the SNL ticket lottery (as long as I’ve been eligible to enter), a year and a half of pestering every NBC Page and producer I’ve encountered during my many work visits to the Today Show greenroom, and an attempt at pulling strings with the Broadway Video publicist who got a co-worker and I “D.L. Hughley Breaks the News “ tickets (henceforth canceled), I won. The lottery. The Saturday Night Live ticket lottery.
Would I rather win the real lottery or the SNL ticket lottery? That’s a tough question. Millions of real dollars or a priceless commodity? You would think from my visceral reaction upon finding out the news that I had won, via e-mail one late Thursday at work, that it’d be the latter. I think my co-workers would back me up on that one. But when I win the real lottery I’ll let you know…via satellite from my gilded penthouse in Paris while wearing a gown made of money…muah ha ha ha.
Anyway, the winning of the SNL tix was the single most exciting moment of utter surprise and joy that I have ever experienced in my life thus far. Which I am sure seems trivial to most of you (especially the "you's" that are married and/or have children, where a television show is pretty insignificant in the grand scheme of things), but that show has had such a major impact on my life. I can chart my pre-teen years to mid-twenties by who’s anchored Weekend Update. I found out Princess Diana had died when a breaking news report interrupted an episode while on vacation at my Aunt’s beach house in North Carolina. I can have entire conversations with people consisting solely of quotes from SNL sketches. Hell, I have entire relationships based on quoting SNL (yeah, I am talking to you, Will).
Of course I brought Sarah D. as my guest. If it’s a Saturday Night and there’s a new episode of SNL premiering, you can most likely find me at the Dell’s apartment with a spread of pita and hummus and a case of beer. She’s my comedy sidekick: The Amy to my Tina, the porcupine to my Brian Fellow, the Mark Payne to my peppa.
Our tickets were for the dress rehearsal. The dress rehearsal is just a longer version of the televised show. In the hour between dress rehearsal and live air, the producers end up cutting the sketches and jokes that got the least laughs during dress rehearsal.
This week 4 sketches, a commercial parody and several jokes hit the cutting room floor. They also rearranged the order of a few sketches. In that light, I preferred the dress rehearsal, since we got over 2 hours of showtime and got to see sketches that no one else will ever see!
The rundown of the evening went like this:
5:45pm--Leslie and Sarah arrived at 30 Rock to queue up in line, an hour before the cutoff time for arrival. We were right by Le Maison du Chocolat, so Sarah got an espresso and I got 2 mini macaroons to snack on.
6:30pm--An SNL staffer announced that the person whose name is on the guest list should from a separate line in front of her to pick up your pair of tickets, but that your “plus one” should remain in the already-formed line to save your spot. I fetched tickets, Sarah spot-saved. When it was my turn to talk to the lady with the ticket list, the ticket/list lady took my I.D. and asked me, as she did with all of the ticket holders in front of me, if I was excited for the show. I tried to say “yes”, but I think it came out as more of a giggle-squeal hybrid. Then, she asked if my guest was also here. I found that question odd, since I didn’t hear her ask that of anyone else before me. But, I went with it, said “yes” and she asked me to point my guest out. I motioned to Sarah and said “the girl in the green sweater.” Ticket lady instructed me to begin forming another line along the opposite wall. I think she sensed the panic in my face and reassuringly whispered. “It’s OK, we select a few people to sit on the studio floor, and you’re going to be on the floor.”
Not that I ever questioned inviting Sarah as my guest, but I am so glad that she was able to be there with me, if only for the fact that she’s the only person who could understand what I was feeling at this moment…because she was feeling it too. And sweet mother of god, we must have looked like a pair of hyperventilating fools. We waited in this line for a while, and pair by pair, other lucky floor-seat-recipients queued up behind us. A total of 15 “couples” to fill the 30 coveted swivel chairs. And that’s when I noticed a pattern. They were picking the most attractive people. I was in the attractive person line! I was first in the attractive person line!! All of those hours spent toiling at the gym have been worth it!
7:30pm--An NBC Page began taking us one-by-one through security and put me, Sarah and two other pairs onto an elevator destined for the 8th Floor. The doors opened to reveal the backstage area of studio 8H—the black-and-white-checked floors, the walls lined with signed photos of all the past hosts, a jet ski wedged into a rock (this was, of course, part of the lighthouse sketch, for anyone who watched). The Pages lined us up backstage, where we stood for an unknown amount of time…unknown mostly because I was so high on life at this point the space-time continuum ceased to exist for this portion of my life. But, let’s say it was about 20 minutes.
The experience is, however, cemented in my brain forever. It began like this:
Darrell Hammond slowly shuffles (and I do mean shuffles) by us wearing a navy blue sweat pants-and-shirt ensemble and Yankees cap; appears to be staring into space.
Leslie: "I am using so much self-restraint right now to appear calm that my energy has no where to go except as tears welling up in my eyes and shaky hands."
Sarah: "Yeah, I’m shaking. I need one of those things they give to people when they have seizures. To put in their mouth. You know? I need a seizure-biter."
Leslie: "Yes. A seizure biter. That says everything about what I am feeling right now."
At about that time, Sudekis comes gallivanting down the hall in hi-tops, black dress socks, a short-sleeve button down and shiny KU basketball shorts. His hair is moussed and out of control. Will Forte rounds the corner wearing a nice pair of jeans, a button down shirt, sipping on coffee and reading a script. Oh and he’s wearing his Jon Bovi 80's-hair-band wig and a ridiculous moustache. He waves and says "hi" like nothing is weird about this situation.
Darrell Hammond shuffles by again. I think he is doing laps. I think he might have also had a lobotomy.
Bill Hader walks by a few times. He high fives people in line and congratulates us on the best seats in the house. After watching him interact with the SNL staff backstage, he seems to be the nicest cast member. Kristin Wiig is shoveling something into her mouth out of a styrofoam takeout box. She is tiny.
Darrell Hammond shuffles by, but decides not to go for another lap. He sits down at the wig station and continues staring.
We can see one of the studio monitors from where we’re standing. Seth Myers, Andy Samberg and Justin Timberlake are doing a run-through of Weekend Update. When they’re done, the crew wheels the Weekend Update desk into backstage area where we’re standing.
8:00pm: The Pages send the line into the studio. On the way in, I touched the Weekend Update desk. Score! Since Sarah and I were first in line, we got first pick of the seats. We were front row, center and close enough to get clobbered with props as the stagehands move them on and off the stage…which we did (get clobbered, that is). Most notably, I was hit in the knees with the Weekend Update desk. I have bruises. Glory bruises.
Before the show started, a bit after 8, Don Pardo introduced Jason Sudekis, who then introduced a special opening act: Kristin Wiig (on vocals) and Fred Armisen (on guitar) covering Blondie’s “One Way Or Another.”
After that, my favorite cast member, Will Forte began the cold open, as Treasury Secretary Tim Geithner. 3 feet away from me, he yelled those magical words “LIVE FROM NEW YORK, IT’S SATURDAY NIGHT!”
As Sarah said, one of her top 3 dreams came true that night, and she doesn't even know what the other 2 are.
If you’ve read this far, chances are you’re an SNL fan, so you’ve seen the televised show (Host Dwayne Johnson, Musical Guest Ray LaMontagne). So, I’ll try to keep my commentary on what made air to a minimum, and focus on the sketches that were cut from the televised show.
DRESS REHEARSAL 3/7/09:
Dwayne Johnson Monologue -- That guy’s muscles are out of control. Also, SNL does not use teleprompters, they use old-fashioned poster board and sharpies.
Commercial parody (CUT FROM TELEVISED BROADCAST)-- Sudekis stars in a commercial for a website where you can sell everything from your worthless stocks to illegal drugs. It ended up getting cut this week, but I have a feeling it will pop up in a future show.
Hawaiian Tiki Bar -- This got moved to a later spot in the televised show; good move.
“The Rock” Obama -- Samberg as Rahm Emanuel…totally brill. This ended up being the first skit after the monologue in the televised show.
McGruber-McGyver sketches -- The three McGruber episodes were sprinkled throughout the dress rehearsal in different spots.
Activia Commercial Shoot -- We’ve seen this sketch before, we get it, Kristin Wiig poops the couch. Although in the televised sketch, Sudekis plays the director. In the dress rehearsal sketch, Dwayne Johnson played the director. It was funnier with Dwayne.
Tiny Horse TV (CUT FROM TELEVISED BROADCAST) -- I probably would have labeled this the “TCM sketch,” as it featured Darrell Hammond the host of a “hidden gem”-type movie program on Turner Classic Movies. But the labels on the back of the props said “Tiny Horse TV,” and Sarah loved that. Hammond was seated right in front of me. Before the cameras started rolling, the button popped off his suit pants, and he seemed to be pretty flummoxed. He looked at his pants, then looked at me and said “My button broke!” And kind of gave me that “Bill Clinton” smirk he does so well. I started laughing. Then he said “My button broke” …to me…every few seconds…until the sketch started. I laughed every time. It was a far cry from his backstage shuffling. When the sketch started, we find out that his movie pic for the week is a film about an oversized jockey (Dwayne Johnson in a belly shirt) and a miniature horse (real pony in-studio!) This sketch was pretty funny; too bad it got cut.
Game Time with Dave and Greg -- Hader is an awesome alien. This was actually funnier on TV.
Ray LaMontagne -- “You Are The Best Thing”
Weekend Update-- I saw the Justin Timberlake/Jessica Biel Cameo coming, but I DID NOT see Samberg-as-Cathy coming. ACK! He wasn’t wearing that wig during the run-through. Also, my absolute favorite part of the show was the Jon Bovi (Bon Jovi Opposite Band) interview during Weekend Update. Not only because making up “opposite” lyrics is totally something my friends and I would do…but we definitely do do the “WHAT?! WHAT? WHAAAAAAAT?!” Check it out here: http://www.hulu.com/watch/61232/saturday-night-live-update-jon-bovi
Steady John and Itchy (CUT FROM TELEVISED BROADCAST) -- Dwayne and Fred Armisen play sidekicks; Dwayne as steady John is the straight-talkin’ tough cowboy, Armisen as itchy is his semi-retarded cowboy best friend. Lame. Cut for good reason.
Tarzan, Esquire (CUT FROM TELEVISED BROADCAST) -- Dwayne plays Tarzan. Apparently Jane told him to “get a real job,” so he becomes a criminal defense attorney for chimpanzees. Cut…and for good reason.
Celebrity Apprentice: Darrell Hammond as The Donald shoots promos with Tom Green (Fred Armisen), Joan Rivers (Michaela Watkins), and Dennis Rodman (Dwayne).
Lighthouse -- This one was edited for time in the televised broadcast, and I think it was funnier in dress rehearsal. But a pretty solid sketch, for being the last in the TV lineup.
Ray LaMontagne -- “Trouble”
Early-90’s Jingle-Writers (CUT FROM TELEVISED BROADCAST) -- Kristin Wiig and Dwayne Johnson don AMAZING early-90’s wigs for this sketch where she plays an anorexic jingle-writer and he plays her composer-partner. They are going through the songwriting process for a pantyhose commercial. This was one of those short, weird sketches that I found hilarious, but I don’t think the normal Nielsen family would appreciate.
Thank You -- The host, musical guest and cast gather and do the usual hugs-during-rolling-credits thing. I overheard Jessica Biel say to Bill Hader: “This part is kind of weird, huh?” To which Bill replied “Yeah, but you just gotta do it.”
Sarah can correct me if I’m wrong on the order, but I think the above “set list” is accurate.
After the show I got a bottle of champagne, Thai take-out and headed home to my couch to watch it live. To attempt to describe the experience: Unforgettable, amazing, once-in a lifetime. It’s a good thing, too. Otherwise, I always would have remembered March 7, 2009 as the day I ate duck feet.
09 February 2009
"Where there's a will there's a way; Where there's titties...well, I'm just sayin'." -Will on how he planned to move the party from Duffy's to Camelot
(Title quote courtesy of Rachel's Tumblr.)
I’m beginning to think that blogging is some sort of reflex to my physical presence in DC. I was there over the weekend, and here I am writing about it. Unlike most weekends, when I’m in New York, not writing about it. Sorry.
Maybe because DC’s got an already familiar cast of crazy characters I’m used to dealing with here.
Unfortunately, I just lost one of those characters to Wisconsin (yes another one).
This weekend, I went back to DC to say goodbye to the best guy I know: a one William P. Sebern. Will is returning to his homeland, where I am convinced there is nothing to do but watch Brewers games, drink Miller Lite and eat cheese. (OK, when I actually type that out and read it back to myself, it doesn’t sound half bad). NO! No! it’s terrible! Wisconsin stole Ted, now it’s taking Will, it snows, like, every day there (I’m pretty sure) and it’s only a matter of time before the Badger State sucks Mike and Tristan back in.
It’s like a black hole for all the people I love. Rachel, do not fall prey to Wisconsin’s trickery/sorcery/brainwash-ery/incredible cheese!
Will’s going-away party started at 7:30pm on Friday night at Duffy’s, an Irish Pub across the street from the 9:30 Club. I had taken the Megabus from NYC to DC after work and arrived around 10:30pm to a round of pink shots, a very intoxicated, loud and unfiltered Jessica, a very intoxicated, loud and hug-happy Will, and Will’s cousin, who I had decided after seeing a Facebook photo of, that I was totally gonna lay whatever little game I have on.
Like Will, the cousin seemed like a totally friendly and funny guy, who would pretty much talk to anything with a pulse and no adam’s apple. Score!
So I went over to chat him up (which is completely out of character for me to begin with, but I’d had a bit to drink and some very encouraging friends and I’ll probably never see this guy again anyway. What the hell?)
Not only was he completely not interested; he seemed to have some sort of hatred for my very existence. Inexplicably, he looked for every possible excuse to get out of talking to me. How do I know this? I applied the scientific method. It’s a fact.
Humor my logic for just a moment here:
HYPOTHESIS: Will’s cousin hates me.
MATERIALS: Leslie, low-cut shirt, beer, cousin, stopwatch, witnesses.
PROCEDURE:
1. Check boobs, make sure they look OK.
2. Get confirmation from witnesses that boobs look OK; tell them to start stopwatch when Leslie begins talking to the cousin.
3. Leslie asks cousin a totally non-threatening question, i.e. “Lovely weather we’re having for this time of year, huh?”
4. See how long it takes for cousin to make up a completely non-legit excuse to get away, i.e. “Um, I forgot something somewhere, I have to go get it. Bye.”
5. Repeat. (Note: the more trials you execute, the funnier and more predictable this becomes for the witnesses/baffling and fun-game-like for Leslie)
RESULTS:
TRIAL 1: Less than 2 minutes.
TRIAL 2: Less than 2 minutes.
TRIAL 3: Less than 2 minutes.
TRIAL 4: Less than 1 minute.
TRIAL 5: Less than 1 minute.
SUBSEQUENT TRIALS: Average--less than 1 minute.
CONCLUSION:
There are 3 possible explanations for the phenomena that is "Hating Leslie":
1. I got pre-emptively cock-blocked. Will can be a bit territorial with and/or protective of me, which, I must secretly admit, is one of the things I love about him. I guess I could accept this reasoning.
2. Cousin was pissed off because he was trying so hard to find a girl for Will to hook-up with for his last night in DC, but every time he tried introducing him to a perspective lady, Will would say “Oh, hey, have you met my best friend Leslie? She’s the coolest girl I know.” Ennnnnnd scene.
3. (Theory provided by Rachel): There is a Generalissimo Leslie out there. This is probably the most likely scenario.
Interestingly enough, Rachel and I had been planning to go see “He’s Just Not That Into You” the following day. But, by Saturday morning, I kinda felt like I had been there, done that, wrote the scientific procedure for determining that.
Actually, the real reason we skipped the movie was that we were indeed having lovely weather for this time of year and decided to spend the day outside. We went to Will’s apartment for a final goodbye Smoothie. There’s a long-running joke about Will making passion fruit smoothies for all the ladies he brings back to his “lair” but none of us had actually ever tried one of his much-talked about breakfast of choice.
I, for one, was impressed:
LESLIE: “Will, this smoothie is delicious. It’s better than Jamba Juice.”
WILL: “That’s because it’s Sebern juice. HAAAAA.”
EVERYONE: [groan].
We left Will to pack for his afternoon flight and Rachel, Peter, Mike, Tristan and I headed to Georgetown to walk around and enjoy the 60-degree February weather.
I’ll miss Will, that self-described “sandbaggin’ son of a bitch.” But, it’s not like we’ll never see each other again. In my drunken stupor I’m pretty sure I promised to visit Milwaukee during baseball season.
I’ll go for the cheese. I’ll stay for the Will.
I’m beginning to think that blogging is some sort of reflex to my physical presence in DC. I was there over the weekend, and here I am writing about it. Unlike most weekends, when I’m in New York, not writing about it. Sorry.
Maybe because DC’s got an already familiar cast of crazy characters I’m used to dealing with here.
Unfortunately, I just lost one of those characters to Wisconsin (yes another one).
This weekend, I went back to DC to say goodbye to the best guy I know: a one William P. Sebern. Will is returning to his homeland, where I am convinced there is nothing to do but watch Brewers games, drink Miller Lite and eat cheese. (OK, when I actually type that out and read it back to myself, it doesn’t sound half bad). NO! No! it’s terrible! Wisconsin stole Ted, now it’s taking Will, it snows, like, every day there (I’m pretty sure) and it’s only a matter of time before the Badger State sucks Mike and Tristan back in.
It’s like a black hole for all the people I love. Rachel, do not fall prey to Wisconsin’s trickery/sorcery/brainwash-ery/incredible cheese!
Will’s going-away party started at 7:30pm on Friday night at Duffy’s, an Irish Pub across the street from the 9:30 Club. I had taken the Megabus from NYC to DC after work and arrived around 10:30pm to a round of pink shots, a very intoxicated, loud and unfiltered Jessica, a very intoxicated, loud and hug-happy Will, and Will’s cousin, who I had decided after seeing a Facebook photo of, that I was totally gonna lay whatever little game I have on.
Like Will, the cousin seemed like a totally friendly and funny guy, who would pretty much talk to anything with a pulse and no adam’s apple. Score!
So I went over to chat him up (which is completely out of character for me to begin with, but I’d had a bit to drink and some very encouraging friends and I’ll probably never see this guy again anyway. What the hell?)
Not only was he completely not interested; he seemed to have some sort of hatred for my very existence. Inexplicably, he looked for every possible excuse to get out of talking to me. How do I know this? I applied the scientific method. It’s a fact.
Humor my logic for just a moment here:
HYPOTHESIS: Will’s cousin hates me.
MATERIALS: Leslie, low-cut shirt, beer, cousin, stopwatch, witnesses.
PROCEDURE:
1. Check boobs, make sure they look OK.
2. Get confirmation from witnesses that boobs look OK; tell them to start stopwatch when Leslie begins talking to the cousin.
3. Leslie asks cousin a totally non-threatening question, i.e. “Lovely weather we’re having for this time of year, huh?”
4. See how long it takes for cousin to make up a completely non-legit excuse to get away, i.e. “Um, I forgot something somewhere, I have to go get it. Bye.”
5. Repeat. (Note: the more trials you execute, the funnier and more predictable this becomes for the witnesses/baffling and fun-game-like for Leslie)
RESULTS:
TRIAL 1: Less than 2 minutes.
TRIAL 2: Less than 2 minutes.
TRIAL 3: Less than 2 minutes.
TRIAL 4: Less than 1 minute.
TRIAL 5: Less than 1 minute.
SUBSEQUENT TRIALS: Average--less than 1 minute.
CONCLUSION:
There are 3 possible explanations for the phenomena that is "Hating Leslie":
1. I got pre-emptively cock-blocked. Will can be a bit territorial with and/or protective of me, which, I must secretly admit, is one of the things I love about him. I guess I could accept this reasoning.
2. Cousin was pissed off because he was trying so hard to find a girl for Will to hook-up with for his last night in DC, but every time he tried introducing him to a perspective lady, Will would say “Oh, hey, have you met my best friend Leslie? She’s the coolest girl I know.” Ennnnnnd scene.
3. (Theory provided by Rachel): There is a Generalissimo Leslie out there. This is probably the most likely scenario.
Interestingly enough, Rachel and I had been planning to go see “He’s Just Not That Into You” the following day. But, by Saturday morning, I kinda felt like I had been there, done that, wrote the scientific procedure for determining that.
Actually, the real reason we skipped the movie was that we were indeed having lovely weather for this time of year and decided to spend the day outside. We went to Will’s apartment for a final goodbye Smoothie. There’s a long-running joke about Will making passion fruit smoothies for all the ladies he brings back to his “lair” but none of us had actually ever tried one of his much-talked about breakfast of choice.
I, for one, was impressed:
LESLIE: “Will, this smoothie is delicious. It’s better than Jamba Juice.”
WILL: “That’s because it’s Sebern juice. HAAAAA.”
EVERYONE: [groan].
We left Will to pack for his afternoon flight and Rachel, Peter, Mike, Tristan and I headed to Georgetown to walk around and enjoy the 60-degree February weather.
I’ll miss Will, that self-described “sandbaggin’ son of a bitch.” But, it’s not like we’ll never see each other again. In my drunken stupor I’m pretty sure I promised to visit Milwaukee during baseball season.
I’ll go for the cheese. I’ll stay for the Will.
03 September 2008
Dorkiest Ladies Night. EVER.
My best friend from college, Kristin (also know as KFo, dates and lives with Goggles) recently moved to Brooklyn for her second year of medical school, which began yesterday. Goggles had left town for Labor Day weekend, went upstate with some of his college buddies. So on Friday night, Sarah, Kristin and I decided to have a ladies night of sorts.
(Of course we kicked the night off with “Lady” by Styxx,. And the only reason I have “Lady” on my computer is because Rachel was visiting 2 weekends ago. She forced me to download it. And then forced me to play it. Multiple times. So there it was, sitting on my recently played items list. And it seemed like a funny idea to blast it in my living room. Until I had it stuck in my head all night. I guess the joke was on me. Anyway, I just wanted to make it clear that I don’t just sit around listening to “Lady” on the regular—it was all Rachel’s doing).
Our first stop Friday night was dinner at Counter in the East Village. It’s an organic vegetarian place that Sarah found—they even serve organic beer/wine/cocktails.
Then, we went to check out KGB Bar, a few blocks away. Where I got retroactively carded. Seriously, the bartender served me my drink, I started drinking it, then walked away to try and find a table, walked back to Kristin, who was at the bar ordering, to tell her I had no luck on the table hunt. The bartender saw that I was with her (Kristin, by the way, barely hits the 5-foot mark) and got carded. Who gets carded simply for ASSOCIATING with short people.? Card the short people all you want. But don’t bring me into the fray.
Anyway, it was at KGB Bar where we overheard the cell phone conversation that would send the entire evening into a downward spiral.
Sarah happened to overhear a drunk girl asking someone on the other end of her cell phone: “What are the 4 railroads in Monopoly?”
We all agreed that this was quite possibly the GREATEST BAR TRIVIA QUESTION EVER.
Why? Because everyone will think that they know it. But I suspect that most of you would only be able to nail three out of four. And then you’d just wallow in agony for the rest of the night trying to figure out the fourth Just like we did.
We came up with Reading, Pennsylvania, and B&O….
None of us could name the fourth. And we were adamant that no reference sources could be used, be it Wikipedia, Encyclopedia Britannica, or a folded up McDonald’s Monopoly board in your wallet… But after a while, we did agree that each of us could call a “lifeline”, as long as that person used only brainpower as well (no reference sources allowed; i.e. the honor system).
Naturally, I called Evan.
I don’t know if you know this, but 91% of the time spent at our Grandma’s house growing up was spent playing Monopoly. The other 9% was divvied up amongst trips to Vacation Bible School, shopping at the Martinsburg Mall and eating breakfasts of Martin’s donuts and dinners of chicken casserole and orange jello salad.
I was ALWAYS the iron.
My lifeline did not disappoint. He knew the answer, so now I knew he answer. I was a veritable fountain of Monopoly Railroad knowledge ready to rain down on KGB Bar. But Sarah refused to let me speak the truth. I was silenced until she found out the information through her own channels. Censorship at KGB Bar? How apt.
We walked the streets in search of a new bar, and I suggested going into whatever the first bar we encountered on our left was. It was called Cherry Tavern and I could not re-direct you back to it if my life depended on it. While Sarah sat at our Cherry Tavern table, busy making up railroad names and hoping she’d serendipitously word-vomit it, I was hell bent on distracting myself from spoiling the answer.
So, as a distraction, I proceeded on a quest to name all 50 states. It took me about 5 minutes to write down 40 states. The next 5 states took some pondering, and I used up about another 6 or 7 minutes. That’s around the time I started drawing a picture of the United States.
If only I could show you my interpretation of a U.S. map 5 drinks into the night. It's an abstract masterpiece.
When the map failed to trigger the last 5 states in my brain, I drew the alphabet, because I started getting confused reciting it in my head.
Among the states I had trouble getting:
Wisconsin (which is really just a travesty. Since I know, what I assume can only be half the population of Wisconsin)
Utah
Maine
Kentucky (this state alone ate up the last 5 minutes. It does not exist in Leslie’s America.).
I had wasted a good 20 minutes before Kristin whispered "K" across the table, and another 3 before I realized it stood for Kentucky. By then. Sarah was getting close to naming the fourth railroad. She got as far as “Straight Line” and I thought I was going to lose it.
So in another effort to distract myself, I started naming state capitals. As many as I could name correctly in 3 minutes.
There is only one word to describe my State-Capitol-Naming-Ability: Over-hyped.
I won a National Geographic board game for my placement in the 5th Grade Geometry Bee at Tulip Grove Elementary School. I’ve incarcerated Carmen Sandiego AND her henchman multiple times. And now I don’t even know that the capitol of South Dakota ? (For the record, it’s Pierre).
In my defense, and to give you a sense of the state of my mind at this point, I wrote that Sacramento was both the capital of California AND Colorado. So, I didn’t EXACTLY bring my A-game.
Maybe it was the last drink I had, maybe it was my frustration in the degeneration of my U.S. geography skills. But when Sarah started laughing at me because I wrote “Columbus,” as the capital of South Carolina instead of "Columbia," I just smirked and said:
“Oh yeah? SHORT LINE. BITCH.”
That’s when our referee/babysitter/state-capitol-accuracy-checker Kristin had to cut us off, herd us onto the L Train and make sure we didn’t kill each other on the way home. Obviously I am still alive as I type this. But have you heard from Sarah lately? Did she succumb to my 2am subway lobster claw attack? Did she go insane from my multiple queries (40+) into whether or not I could look at her pictures from the night? Find out in the next installment of little-red-dress.blogspot.com. If I have more ridiculous weekend shenanigans to report on, you’ll know she made it through.
(Of course we kicked the night off with “Lady” by Styxx,. And the only reason I have “Lady” on my computer is because Rachel was visiting 2 weekends ago. She forced me to download it. And then forced me to play it. Multiple times. So there it was, sitting on my recently played items list. And it seemed like a funny idea to blast it in my living room. Until I had it stuck in my head all night. I guess the joke was on me. Anyway, I just wanted to make it clear that I don’t just sit around listening to “Lady” on the regular—it was all Rachel’s doing).
Our first stop Friday night was dinner at Counter in the East Village. It’s an organic vegetarian place that Sarah found—they even serve organic beer/wine/cocktails.
Then, we went to check out KGB Bar, a few blocks away. Where I got retroactively carded. Seriously, the bartender served me my drink, I started drinking it, then walked away to try and find a table, walked back to Kristin, who was at the bar ordering, to tell her I had no luck on the table hunt. The bartender saw that I was with her (Kristin, by the way, barely hits the 5-foot mark) and got carded. Who gets carded simply for ASSOCIATING with short people.? Card the short people all you want. But don’t bring me into the fray.
Anyway, it was at KGB Bar where we overheard the cell phone conversation that would send the entire evening into a downward spiral.
Sarah happened to overhear a drunk girl asking someone on the other end of her cell phone: “What are the 4 railroads in Monopoly?”
We all agreed that this was quite possibly the GREATEST BAR TRIVIA QUESTION EVER.
Why? Because everyone will think that they know it. But I suspect that most of you would only be able to nail three out of four. And then you’d just wallow in agony for the rest of the night trying to figure out the fourth Just like we did.
We came up with Reading, Pennsylvania, and B&O….
None of us could name the fourth. And we were adamant that no reference sources could be used, be it Wikipedia, Encyclopedia Britannica, or a folded up McDonald’s Monopoly board in your wallet… But after a while, we did agree that each of us could call a “lifeline”, as long as that person used only brainpower as well (no reference sources allowed; i.e. the honor system).
Naturally, I called Evan.
I don’t know if you know this, but 91% of the time spent at our Grandma’s house growing up was spent playing Monopoly. The other 9% was divvied up amongst trips to Vacation Bible School, shopping at the Martinsburg Mall and eating breakfasts of Martin’s donuts and dinners of chicken casserole and orange jello salad.
I was ALWAYS the iron.
My lifeline did not disappoint. He knew the answer, so now I knew he answer. I was a veritable fountain of Monopoly Railroad knowledge ready to rain down on KGB Bar. But Sarah refused to let me speak the truth. I was silenced until she found out the information through her own channels. Censorship at KGB Bar? How apt.
We walked the streets in search of a new bar, and I suggested going into whatever the first bar we encountered on our left was. It was called Cherry Tavern and I could not re-direct you back to it if my life depended on it. While Sarah sat at our Cherry Tavern table, busy making up railroad names and hoping she’d serendipitously word-vomit it, I was hell bent on distracting myself from spoiling the answer.
So, as a distraction, I proceeded on a quest to name all 50 states. It took me about 5 minutes to write down 40 states. The next 5 states took some pondering, and I used up about another 6 or 7 minutes. That’s around the time I started drawing a picture of the United States.
If only I could show you my interpretation of a U.S. map 5 drinks into the night. It's an abstract masterpiece.
When the map failed to trigger the last 5 states in my brain, I drew the alphabet, because I started getting confused reciting it in my head.
Among the states I had trouble getting:
Wisconsin (which is really just a travesty. Since I know, what I assume can only be half the population of Wisconsin)
Utah
Maine
Kentucky (this state alone ate up the last 5 minutes. It does not exist in Leslie’s America.).
I had wasted a good 20 minutes before Kristin whispered "K" across the table, and another 3 before I realized it stood for Kentucky. By then. Sarah was getting close to naming the fourth railroad. She got as far as “Straight Line” and I thought I was going to lose it.
So in another effort to distract myself, I started naming state capitals. As many as I could name correctly in 3 minutes.
There is only one word to describe my State-Capitol-Naming-Ability: Over-hyped.
I won a National Geographic board game for my placement in the 5th Grade Geometry Bee at Tulip Grove Elementary School. I’ve incarcerated Carmen Sandiego AND her henchman multiple times. And now I don’t even know that the capitol of South Dakota ? (For the record, it’s Pierre).
In my defense, and to give you a sense of the state of my mind at this point, I wrote that Sacramento was both the capital of California AND Colorado. So, I didn’t EXACTLY bring my A-game.
Maybe it was the last drink I had, maybe it was my frustration in the degeneration of my U.S. geography skills. But when Sarah started laughing at me because I wrote “Columbus,” as the capital of South Carolina instead of "Columbia," I just smirked and said:
“Oh yeah? SHORT LINE. BITCH.”
That’s when our referee/babysitter/state-capitol-accuracy-checker Kristin had to cut us off, herd us onto the L Train and make sure we didn’t kill each other on the way home. Obviously I am still alive as I type this. But have you heard from Sarah lately? Did she succumb to my 2am subway lobster claw attack? Did she go insane from my multiple queries (40+) into whether or not I could look at her pictures from the night? Find out in the next installment of little-red-dress.blogspot.com. If I have more ridiculous weekend shenanigans to report on, you’ll know she made it through.
28 August 2008
I brought the money. Did you bring the arugula?
For one week only, I’ve decided to give vegetarianism a whirl.
I’d say a solid 70% of my good friends are vegetarians. Many, recent converts. And yes, I AM doing it because everyone else is doing it. The fact that everyone else is doing it—voluntarily—means there must be some sort of draw. I want to see what all the hype is about.
And to answer your question, if they all jumped off a bridge, yada yada… Well, there must be something cool under the bridge, right?
I'd maybe strap on a parachute, so just in case it’s a let down, I don’t die.
That’s kind of the idea with the one-week timeline. It’s my parachute. In case the vegetables turn against me.
So far (four days), the experience has been pretty surprising. The first day was easy, it was pretty much a normal meat-free day. I've dabbled in one-off meat-free days for years. The second day was when things really started to reveal themselves...
All of the things I thought would be hard really haven’t and vice versa.
The hardest thing so far hasn’t been craving steak, bacon, or turkey sandwiches (which are usually my lunch staple), like I expected. It hasn’t been finding good vegetarian alternatives, either.
The hardest thing has actually been being conscious of what I'm eating. Like tuesday, for example, I didn’t bring my lunch. So I went around the corner to Au Bon Pain and was next in line to order my usual, a thai chicken wrap. Then I realized there is actually chicken in the thai chicken wrap. So I left, cause everything else at Au Bon Pain is garbage.
Then I walked over to the new Whole Foods that just opened in Tribeca (which is gorgeous, by the way) and went for the sushi counter. I picked up a tuna-avocado roll, and then set it back down. Remembering then that I can’t eat fish either. TRICKED AGAIN!
So I went to the salad bar. And you know, there are a lot more meat dishes than you’d expect at the salad bar. I had to stop myself from going for what I normally would have. Then I wondered if I actually do eat a lot more meat than I thought, without ever really thinking about it?
What else do I eat without thinking about it?
Weather or not this stint goes beyond a week, it’s an interesting exercise in thinking about what fuels your body. I’ll definitely stick to the week, but the longest this could possibly last is Thanksgiving. No tofurkey for this girl. I want the real thing.
Tonight I am entertaining my favorite vegetarian couple for dinner and Obama speech-watching. I’ve decided to cook stuffed peppers I have all of the ingredients except the actual peppers. So at lunch today, I walked to the grocery store to load up.
On the way, I came across a street vendor selling peppers.
This is one of the great things about New York. You can pretty much buy anything on the street at any given time. Jerk chicken and/or goat? There’s a Jamaican lunch truck two blocks from me. Delicious roasted nuts? Get off at the nearest subway stop anywhere in Manhattan and follow your nose. Hot Cartier watch? I can’t guarantee it's authenticity or if the battery will last longer than the end of the week--but yeah, you can get those too. Then, wedged in between the $5 cashmere scarf vendor and the designer imposter fragrances vendor is a guy with a wagon full of bananas, raspberries, tomatoes, cantaloupe…and today…orange bell peppers.
Some people are wary of buying fruit on the street. I think maybe you should be more wary of buying hot dogs and/or goat meat on the street. Doubly wary of goat-meat-hot-dogs.
I said to myself "If they've got a ridiculously good deal on peppers, like 3 for $1, I will buy street peppers."
SIX for $1.
I don't know how they grow those peppers, but it probably involves some sort of black magic.
Is black magic considered a certified organic growing process? I don't think you would categorize it as "conventional," at least.
But whatever you do, don’t you dare classify my peppers as elitist.
They are street peppers. Even filled with couscous and baby spinach, I’ll know where they came from.
I’d say a solid 70% of my good friends are vegetarians. Many, recent converts. And yes, I AM doing it because everyone else is doing it. The fact that everyone else is doing it—voluntarily—means there must be some sort of draw. I want to see what all the hype is about.
And to answer your question, if they all jumped off a bridge, yada yada… Well, there must be something cool under the bridge, right?
I'd maybe strap on a parachute, so just in case it’s a let down, I don’t die.
That’s kind of the idea with the one-week timeline. It’s my parachute. In case the vegetables turn against me.
So far (four days), the experience has been pretty surprising. The first day was easy, it was pretty much a normal meat-free day. I've dabbled in one-off meat-free days for years. The second day was when things really started to reveal themselves...
All of the things I thought would be hard really haven’t and vice versa.
The hardest thing so far hasn’t been craving steak, bacon, or turkey sandwiches (which are usually my lunch staple), like I expected. It hasn’t been finding good vegetarian alternatives, either.
The hardest thing has actually been being conscious of what I'm eating. Like tuesday, for example, I didn’t bring my lunch. So I went around the corner to Au Bon Pain and was next in line to order my usual, a thai chicken wrap. Then I realized there is actually chicken in the thai chicken wrap. So I left, cause everything else at Au Bon Pain is garbage.
Then I walked over to the new Whole Foods that just opened in Tribeca (which is gorgeous, by the way) and went for the sushi counter. I picked up a tuna-avocado roll, and then set it back down. Remembering then that I can’t eat fish either. TRICKED AGAIN!
So I went to the salad bar. And you know, there are a lot more meat dishes than you’d expect at the salad bar. I had to stop myself from going for what I normally would have. Then I wondered if I actually do eat a lot more meat than I thought, without ever really thinking about it?
What else do I eat without thinking about it?
Weather or not this stint goes beyond a week, it’s an interesting exercise in thinking about what fuels your body. I’ll definitely stick to the week, but the longest this could possibly last is Thanksgiving. No tofurkey for this girl. I want the real thing.
Tonight I am entertaining my favorite vegetarian couple for dinner and Obama speech-watching. I’ve decided to cook stuffed peppers I have all of the ingredients except the actual peppers. So at lunch today, I walked to the grocery store to load up.
On the way, I came across a street vendor selling peppers.
This is one of the great things about New York. You can pretty much buy anything on the street at any given time. Jerk chicken and/or goat? There’s a Jamaican lunch truck two blocks from me. Delicious roasted nuts? Get off at the nearest subway stop anywhere in Manhattan and follow your nose. Hot Cartier watch? I can’t guarantee it's authenticity or if the battery will last longer than the end of the week--but yeah, you can get those too. Then, wedged in between the $5 cashmere scarf vendor and the designer imposter fragrances vendor is a guy with a wagon full of bananas, raspberries, tomatoes, cantaloupe…and today…orange bell peppers.
Some people are wary of buying fruit on the street. I think maybe you should be more wary of buying hot dogs and/or goat meat on the street. Doubly wary of goat-meat-hot-dogs.
I said to myself "If they've got a ridiculously good deal on peppers, like 3 for $1, I will buy street peppers."
SIX for $1.
I don't know how they grow those peppers, but it probably involves some sort of black magic.
Is black magic considered a certified organic growing process? I don't think you would categorize it as "conventional," at least.
But whatever you do, don’t you dare classify my peppers as elitist.
They are street peppers. Even filled with couscous and baby spinach, I’ll know where they came from.
25 August 2008
There Will Be Blood.
Ed. Note: A new Mike has joined our group of friends in New York. So for the sake of clarity, we'll call him "Goggles." Original Mike will be called "Mike." Sorry Goggles, first come, first serve.
Goggles is relatively new to hanging out with Sarah and me. Which is why you can't really blame the guy for asking his friend, upon arrival at a party in Harlem Saturday night, "So where's Weaver? Upstairs?"
Obviously, knowing no one at this party, Sarah proceeded to take the awkwardness level to 11:
"Wait. Weaver's **here**?? Weaves!! WEAVERRRRR!!!!"
Weaver hadn't shown up yet. But rest assured, as soon as he did, Sarah had her marker on the mysterious (and tardy) "Weaves."
The group of us that did not know anyone at this party—Mike, Sarah and me—along with Mike's brother Joe (who coincidentally did knew people at this party, albeit through different channels) occupied the two futons set at a 90 degree angle in the far corner of the living room, basically keeping to ourselves while the rest of the party bustled around us. Occasionally, we'd get up to get some pita and hummus, or a can of beer.
After a couple of hours and a couple of beers, Mike and Joe made the decision to go outside and fight. There was no argument at hand to fight over, they just mutually agreed to engage in fisticuffs. For fun. Like Pitt and Norton (although now I’m sure they’ll get into a REAL argument over which one is Pitt and which one is Norton). So Mike and Joe went outside and Sarah and I went into another room to chat with Kristin.
When in stumbled the elusive Weaver.
We were so excited that Weaves finally showed up at this party. And Sarah wasn't shy about letting him know it.
By the way, I think a fun game to play would be "e-vite Bingo." In this game, participants would examine the e-vite RSVPs for a party they were invited to by a peripheral friend—so that chances are more likely that you wouldn’t know anyone on the RSVP list, save a few acquaintances you recognize from hearsay. Each square on your bingo card would display a name that has RSVP'd "yes" or "maybe." That way, when you get an affirmative answer from the guy in the corner as to whether or not he is ilovecats2000@hotmail.com and you've already covered your other squares and/or free space, you can yell "BINGO" and that party will really be started).
Anyway, Weaver was pretty excited that we were pretty excited to meet him. So he sat down to address our questions. And this is how the conversation went:
Sarah: So what do you do?
Weaver: I work at a hospital.
Sarah: What do you do there?
Weaver: Not much, actually. I pretty much sit at a computer and read blogs all day.
Leslie: What's your favorite blog?
Weaver: [Weaver names some blog I have never heard of]
Leslie: Come again?
Weaver: [repeats name of mystery blog] or townhall.com. Pretty much any sort of neo-con right-wing blog or conservative website. (please note that he is dead fucking serious)
Sarah and Leslie: [blank stare]
Kristin just started laughing because she knew what sort of shit he had just stepped into.
Sarah was speechless. She just stood up slowly and walked out of the room.
Here's the thing: I tend to have liberal views, but if someone asked me what my favorite blog is, I'd say wwtdd.com or Gawker. Then, maybeRachel's blog. Noteatingoutinnewyork.com, Stereogum, ANY of the blogs at nymag.com I promise you that I would name at least 15 non-political blogs as my favorite before I ever even thought about mentioning Huffington Post.
And I'd also never write someone off because they have conservative views. But if you feel the NEED to paint yourself as a neo-con less than 60 seconds into a conversation with a stranger at a party, that's obviously a trait you choose to wear on your sleeve, choose to be outspoken about no matter the situation. I don't think I could be friends with anyone who talks politics 24/7. Christ, I bet even Keith Olbermann takes breaks to check out Perez Hilton.
So I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, and stuck around. Out of curiosity, I asked Weaver what he thought of the Biden veep choice. Two minutes later, I excused myself to go to the bathroom. (Weaver-induced nausea).
When I met Sarah back in the living room, we realized that both of us had left our purses in the room with Weaver. After a bit, she went in to retrieve her bag, which apparently resulted in further communication with Weaver, because she found out that he was at this party with a date—A LADY—their second date, in fact.
The next portion of the party consisted of:
1. Mike returning with a wrist injury/Joe returning with an arm injury. No blood, though. Thankfully.
2. Sarah and I sitting in a corner, snickering at our own jokes about Weaver. For example: What do you weave on your loom? A web of conservative lies? I bet his date is Ann Coulter. Etc., etc.
Hours later, Weaver emerged from his lair (not wearing a flag pin, I will note) and I figured enough smoke had cleared that we could all look back and laugh at our comically unfortunate first meeting. So I suggested that Sarah take the copy of that's morning's New York Post that I had folded up in my purse—with a pic of Joe-Bama on the front page—over to Weaver as a peace offering. Little did I know, this was the house-party equivalent of ordering her to assassinate Archduke Ferdinand.
The events that followed included, but were not limited to:
Once the talking sticks emerged, I got up and walked to the other side of the room, because I was sure a punch (or a toothpick) was going to be thrown and I didn't want to get any blood on my new Stella McCartney jeans (Barney's Warehouse Sale—hollaaaaaaaa.) But just when it seemed Team Weaver and Team Dell (Joe and Sarah) had escalated to the point of murderous rage, a new guy walked in with a bike helmet on and said "You know, I agree with you guys. The conservatives have got to go. Not to mention the Jews and the Puerto Ricans."
AUDIBLE SILENCE.
But, turns out the new guy was a jewish Puerto Rican—a self-proclaimed “Jew-rican” (his word, not mine), so I guess he is allowed to joke about that? Either way, he ended up bringing harmony to the party, and shortly thereafter, Weaver and his blond date (also a staunch conservative—I think she might actually be Ann Coulter's little sister, so I wasn't too far off) left the party. Hopefully not to reproduce.
Our bike-helmeted "Jew-rican" friend pedaled into the night. His peacekeeping mission was over.
And then the group of us that did not know anyone at this party—Mike, Sarah, me— and Joe, realized we were alone in the apartment.
"WHO LIVES HERE?" Mike yelled out.
It was 3:30 am in New York and all we heard were crickets...and the faint sound of sirens that constitutes as white noise in the city.
We looted what was left of the snack table and left Harlem.
Goggles is relatively new to hanging out with Sarah and me. Which is why you can't really blame the guy for asking his friend, upon arrival at a party in Harlem Saturday night, "So where's Weaver? Upstairs?"
Obviously, knowing no one at this party, Sarah proceeded to take the awkwardness level to 11:
"Wait. Weaver's **here**?? Weaves!! WEAVERRRRR!!!!"
Weaver hadn't shown up yet. But rest assured, as soon as he did, Sarah had her marker on the mysterious (and tardy) "Weaves."
The group of us that did not know anyone at this party—Mike, Sarah and me—along with Mike's brother Joe (who coincidentally did knew people at this party, albeit through different channels) occupied the two futons set at a 90 degree angle in the far corner of the living room, basically keeping to ourselves while the rest of the party bustled around us. Occasionally, we'd get up to get some pita and hummus, or a can of beer.
After a couple of hours and a couple of beers, Mike and Joe made the decision to go outside and fight. There was no argument at hand to fight over, they just mutually agreed to engage in fisticuffs. For fun. Like Pitt and Norton (although now I’m sure they’ll get into a REAL argument over which one is Pitt and which one is Norton). So Mike and Joe went outside and Sarah and I went into another room to chat with Kristin.
When in stumbled the elusive Weaver.
We were so excited that Weaves finally showed up at this party. And Sarah wasn't shy about letting him know it.
By the way, I think a fun game to play would be "e-vite Bingo." In this game, participants would examine the e-vite RSVPs for a party they were invited to by a peripheral friend—so that chances are more likely that you wouldn’t know anyone on the RSVP list, save a few acquaintances you recognize from hearsay. Each square on your bingo card would display a name that has RSVP'd "yes" or "maybe." That way, when you get an affirmative answer from the guy in the corner as to whether or not he is ilovecats2000@hotmail.com and you've already covered your other squares and/or free space, you can yell "BINGO" and that party will really be started).
Anyway, Weaver was pretty excited that we were pretty excited to meet him. So he sat down to address our questions. And this is how the conversation went:
Sarah: So what do you do?
Weaver: I work at a hospital.
Sarah: What do you do there?
Weaver: Not much, actually. I pretty much sit at a computer and read blogs all day.
Leslie: What's your favorite blog?
Weaver: [Weaver names some blog I have never heard of]
Leslie: Come again?
Weaver: [repeats name of mystery blog] or townhall.com. Pretty much any sort of neo-con right-wing blog or conservative website. (please note that he is dead fucking serious)
Sarah and Leslie: [blank stare]
Kristin just started laughing because she knew what sort of shit he had just stepped into.
Sarah was speechless. She just stood up slowly and walked out of the room.
Here's the thing: I tend to have liberal views, but if someone asked me what my favorite blog is, I'd say wwtdd.com or Gawker. Then, maybeRachel's blog. Noteatingoutinnewyork.com, Stereogum, ANY of the blogs at nymag.com I promise you that I would name at least 15 non-political blogs as my favorite before I ever even thought about mentioning Huffington Post.
And I'd also never write someone off because they have conservative views. But if you feel the NEED to paint yourself as a neo-con less than 60 seconds into a conversation with a stranger at a party, that's obviously a trait you choose to wear on your sleeve, choose to be outspoken about no matter the situation. I don't think I could be friends with anyone who talks politics 24/7. Christ, I bet even Keith Olbermann takes breaks to check out Perez Hilton.
So I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, and stuck around. Out of curiosity, I asked Weaver what he thought of the Biden veep choice. Two minutes later, I excused myself to go to the bathroom. (Weaver-induced nausea).
When I met Sarah back in the living room, we realized that both of us had left our purses in the room with Weaver. After a bit, she went in to retrieve her bag, which apparently resulted in further communication with Weaver, because she found out that he was at this party with a date—A LADY—their second date, in fact.
The next portion of the party consisted of:
1. Mike returning with a wrist injury/Joe returning with an arm injury. No blood, though. Thankfully.
2. Sarah and I sitting in a corner, snickering at our own jokes about Weaver. For example: What do you weave on your loom? A web of conservative lies? I bet his date is Ann Coulter. Etc., etc.
Hours later, Weaver emerged from his lair (not wearing a flag pin, I will note) and I figured enough smoke had cleared that we could all look back and laugh at our comically unfortunate first meeting. So I suggested that Sarah take the copy of that's morning's New York Post that I had folded up in my purse—with a pic of Joe-Bama on the front page—over to Weaver as a peace offering. Little did I know, this was the house-party equivalent of ordering her to assassinate Archduke Ferdinand.
The events that followed included, but were not limited to:
- The phrase "Being an American means upholding Judeo-Christian values" coming out of Weaver's mouth/Sarah's head exploding.
- multiple attempts at reciting the first amendment word-for-word
- Joe Googling the exact verbage of the first amendment to verify a winner (Sarah)
- The need to incorporate a “talking stick” so that people could speak freely without being yelled over. In the absence of any stick-yielding shrubbery on 117th street, we had to designate one of those little toothpick-drink-umbrellas as the “talking stick.” Weaver refused to yield the talking stick when his time was up, so Sarah just went in the kitchen and got a different colored one. Kind of made the talking stick a moot point.
- Weaver’s citation of some guy named “Thomas Locke.” And Joe interrupting him (sans talking stick) with: “Are you fucking kidding me? Do you mean John Locke?” Then, while poorly attempting to stifle his own laughter, recited John Locke’s entire entry on Wikipedia. FROM MEMORY.
- A total clearing out of everyone at the party who wasn't involved in the argument
Once the talking sticks emerged, I got up and walked to the other side of the room, because I was sure a punch (or a toothpick) was going to be thrown and I didn't want to get any blood on my new Stella McCartney jeans (Barney's Warehouse Sale—hollaaaaaaaa.) But just when it seemed Team Weaver and Team Dell (Joe and Sarah) had escalated to the point of murderous rage, a new guy walked in with a bike helmet on and said "You know, I agree with you guys. The conservatives have got to go. Not to mention the Jews and the Puerto Ricans."
AUDIBLE SILENCE.
But, turns out the new guy was a jewish Puerto Rican—a self-proclaimed “Jew-rican” (his word, not mine), so I guess he is allowed to joke about that? Either way, he ended up bringing harmony to the party, and shortly thereafter, Weaver and his blond date (also a staunch conservative—I think she might actually be Ann Coulter's little sister, so I wasn't too far off) left the party. Hopefully not to reproduce.
Our bike-helmeted "Jew-rican" friend pedaled into the night. His peacekeeping mission was over.
And then the group of us that did not know anyone at this party—Mike, Sarah, me— and Joe, realized we were alone in the apartment.
"WHO LIVES HERE?" Mike yelled out.
It was 3:30 am in New York and all we heard were crickets...and the faint sound of sirens that constitutes as white noise in the city.
We looted what was left of the snack table and left Harlem.
23 June 2008
Also, I believe in "magic" **
Dear United States Treasury,
Stop jerking my chain. I think you know what I mean.
Sincerely,
Leslie
cc: you guys
“You guys” might NOT know what I mean, so I’ll explain that I have been wondering where my $600 stimulus check is for about a month (since it was about a month ago that I pre-emptively spent $400 of it on a ticket to San Francisco).
Last week, my roommate got hers. And I was happy for her. I hope she stimulates the shit out of the economy.
I also know there are many of you out there who, if you haven't already begun so, will be ready ON DAY ONE, to begin stimulating.
But, here’s the thing. I have been ready for negative 27 days.
Then, FINALLY. On Saturday. A manilla envelope from the U.S. Treasury. Addressed to me…
…A letter? Alerting me to expect $600 in the mail. At some point.
Really?
That’s how you want to roll?
Thanks for the check tease.
Listen, there are a lot of stupid people in America. The overall average score for the American civic literacy exam was 54.2%, an “F.” According to the Pew Research Center for People & the Press 31% of Americans cannot NAME OUR VICE PRESIDENT. And the fact that A Shot At Love with Tila Tequila was able to find people “qualified” enough to cast a second season continues to thrash at my hopes for humanity.
But THIS I can guarantee you: there is not one person in god’s great country that does NOT know they have free money coming.
So while I wait with bated breath for a piece of mail from the U.S. Government commanding me to spend with reckless abandon, I have three words for you, George W: “Ready. To. Serve.”
With one democratic caveat: I hope you printed that shit on recycled paper.
______________________________________________________
**Speaking of letters to let you know what's coming:
Dear Democrats,
Watching this video may cause your head to explode.
Stop jerking my chain. I think you know what I mean.
Sincerely,
Leslie
cc: you guys
“You guys” might NOT know what I mean, so I’ll explain that I have been wondering where my $600 stimulus check is for about a month (since it was about a month ago that I pre-emptively spent $400 of it on a ticket to San Francisco).
Last week, my roommate got hers. And I was happy for her. I hope she stimulates the shit out of the economy.
I also know there are many of you out there who, if you haven't already begun so, will be ready ON DAY ONE, to begin stimulating.
But, here’s the thing. I have been ready for negative 27 days.
Then, FINALLY. On Saturday. A manilla envelope from the U.S. Treasury. Addressed to me…
…A letter? Alerting me to expect $600 in the mail. At some point.
Really?
That’s how you want to roll?
Thanks for the check tease.
Listen, there are a lot of stupid people in America. The overall average score for the American civic literacy exam was 54.2%, an “F.” According to the Pew Research Center for People & the Press 31% of Americans cannot NAME OUR VICE PRESIDENT. And the fact that A Shot At Love with Tila Tequila was able to find people “qualified” enough to cast a second season continues to thrash at my hopes for humanity.
But THIS I can guarantee you: there is not one person in god’s great country that does NOT know they have free money coming.
So while I wait with bated breath for a piece of mail from the U.S. Government commanding me to spend with reckless abandon, I have three words for you, George W: “Ready. To. Serve.”
With one democratic caveat: I hope you printed that shit on recycled paper.
______________________________________________________
**Speaking of letters to let you know what's coming:
Dear Democrats,
Watching this video may cause your head to explode.
04 April 2008
A Cold, Hard Dose of Reality.
LG: I was on top of NKOTB today. LITERALLY.
LG: Who did you bump?
Rachel: Well i kinda define my 5 different than others...
Rachel: It's not strictly 5 in the numerical base 10 sense.
LG: Luckily, I don't have to make that distinction.
Rachel: whaaaaaaaat?
LG: I was on the 65th floor of 30 Rock while they were at the Today Show.
Rachel: you know what would be the best double date ever? Me and you....and Joey and Jordan. Although we'd have to trade off half way through the date. Cus i like both joey and jordan in thier newest pic.
LG: Thats fine by me.
LG: Thats fine by me.
Rachel: BEST DOUBLE DATE EVER
LG: No. There is a better double date: you, me, Leo, George
Rachel: YES....But i think NKOTB are more attainable. So i like to set realistic goals.
LG: Yes, I think that's incredibly realistic of you. But know that there would be no switching in the Leo-George scenario.
Rachel: Not at all. I'd have to cut you. Hands off Leo.
Rachel: I just added the New Kids on the Block to my 5 just incase this double date becomes an option.
Rachel: I just added the New Kids on the Block to my 5 just incase this double date becomes an option.
LG: Who did you bump?
Rachel: Well i kinda define my 5 different than others...
Rachel: It's not strictly 5 in the numerical base 10 sense.
LG: Luckily, I don't have to make that distinction.
31 March 2008
Mini Cupcakes and Trading Cards
I went to this fundraiser thing on Friday night. I use the term “fundraiser” loosely, since I almost certainly drank the worth of what I paid for my ticket at the open bar.
I met a guy there. He walked in on me smoking out of the bathroom window. That’s how we met. Which, way to go Leslie. CLASSY first impression. Anyway, he didn’t seem to mind. I also don’t think he must’ve raised many funds either, from the way he was slurring his words and kept asking me the same question over and over again.
“What are you doing tomorrow?”
“I’m going to a sample sale in Williamsburg and then to the movies.”
“Cool.”
“So, What are you doing tomorrow?”
“I’m going to a sample sale. In Brooklyn.”
“Why Brooklyn?”
“Cause that’s where it is.”
[20 minutes later]
“So, what are you doing tomorrow?”
“I’m going to Brooklyn and then to a movies at Union Square.”
“Really, What movie?”
My answer was news to him. Every time.
A few of us (not single question guy—which—I don’t know which is worse: 20 questions guy or single question guy??) went to a bar once the fundraiser wore down. And we stayed out drinking until about 5.
I really hadn’t taken a 5 am bedtime into account in my weekend plans, but I wasn’t about to let that deter me.
So, I ventured out to Williamsburg on Saturday for the Built By Wendy sample sale, but it was really too crowded to move, and I didn’t see anything on first glance that I really loved. I moved down the street to this local artist market setup. Had original stuff, vintage stuff, flea market finds, used books, etc.
There was also a lady there peddling mini cupcakes. One of the featured varieties was lemon cake with vanilla frosting. I’ll eat pretty much anything lemon flavored, so I was sold. You might know that my friend Sarah is a cupcake enthusiast, so I emailed her about the cupcakes when I got home. All I said was I had a mini cupcake in Williamsburg and she knew exactly who made them and where!
This place: http://kumquatcupcakery.blogspot.com/
That’s right! I couldn’t remember the name, but—indeed—it was boxes of kumquat cupcakes that were being sold.
Anyway, the lemon-vanilla mini cupcake was delicious. They also had red velvet mini cupcakes for sale, which I hope to try on a return trip.
After I finished my cupcake, I stumbled upon what is probably the most awesome item being offered for sale in the whole flea market (women of the 80’s, get ready to have your mind blown):
Packs of New Kids on the Block and Beverly Hills 90210 trading cards.
I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t a former collector. But I definitely hadn’t seen a pack in 15 years. Thing was, I couldn’t bring myself to spend $3 on a pack, even for nostalgias sake. I knew they’d end up just sitting around and cluttering my tiny apartment.
When I told Rachel my rationale, she was appalled.
Rachel: um you could frame the cards and hang them above your bed and say good night to them every night
Rachel: good night joey sleep tight
Leslie: um, try jordan.
After my adventures in Williamsburg, I went to the movies to see the new Audrey Tautau flim: “Hors de Prix” (Priceless). Supposedly a French remake of Breakfast at Tiffany’s.
Breakfast at Tiffany’s it was not. But a cute, lighthearted film nonetheless. Next on my list: Run, Fat Boy, Run. I JUST FOUND OUT Michael Ian Black wrote it. So it can’t be bad. It just CAN’T.
I met a guy there. He walked in on me smoking out of the bathroom window. That’s how we met. Which, way to go Leslie. CLASSY first impression. Anyway, he didn’t seem to mind. I also don’t think he must’ve raised many funds either, from the way he was slurring his words and kept asking me the same question over and over again.
“What are you doing tomorrow?”
“I’m going to a sample sale in Williamsburg and then to the movies.”
“Cool.”
“So, What are you doing tomorrow?”
“I’m going to a sample sale. In Brooklyn.”
“Why Brooklyn?”
“Cause that’s where it is.”
[20 minutes later]
“So, what are you doing tomorrow?”
“I’m going to Brooklyn and then to a movies at Union Square.”
“Really, What movie?”
My answer was news to him. Every time.
A few of us (not single question guy—which—I don’t know which is worse: 20 questions guy or single question guy??) went to a bar once the fundraiser wore down. And we stayed out drinking until about 5.
I really hadn’t taken a 5 am bedtime into account in my weekend plans, but I wasn’t about to let that deter me.
So, I ventured out to Williamsburg on Saturday for the Built By Wendy sample sale, but it was really too crowded to move, and I didn’t see anything on first glance that I really loved. I moved down the street to this local artist market setup. Had original stuff, vintage stuff, flea market finds, used books, etc.
There was also a lady there peddling mini cupcakes. One of the featured varieties was lemon cake with vanilla frosting. I’ll eat pretty much anything lemon flavored, so I was sold. You might know that my friend Sarah is a cupcake enthusiast, so I emailed her about the cupcakes when I got home. All I said was I had a mini cupcake in Williamsburg and she knew exactly who made them and where!
This place: http://kumquatcupcakery.blogspot.com/
That’s right! I couldn’t remember the name, but—indeed—it was boxes of kumquat cupcakes that were being sold.
Anyway, the lemon-vanilla mini cupcake was delicious. They also had red velvet mini cupcakes for sale, which I hope to try on a return trip.
After I finished my cupcake, I stumbled upon what is probably the most awesome item being offered for sale in the whole flea market (women of the 80’s, get ready to have your mind blown):
Packs of New Kids on the Block and Beverly Hills 90210 trading cards.
I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t a former collector. But I definitely hadn’t seen a pack in 15 years. Thing was, I couldn’t bring myself to spend $3 on a pack, even for nostalgias sake. I knew they’d end up just sitting around and cluttering my tiny apartment.
When I told Rachel my rationale, she was appalled.
Rachel: um you could frame the cards and hang them above your bed and say good night to them every night
Rachel: good night joey sleep tight
Leslie: um, try jordan.
After my adventures in Williamsburg, I went to the movies to see the new Audrey Tautau flim: “Hors de Prix” (Priceless). Supposedly a French remake of Breakfast at Tiffany’s.
Breakfast at Tiffany’s it was not. But a cute, lighthearted film nonetheless. Next on my list: Run, Fat Boy, Run. I JUST FOUND OUT Michael Ian Black wrote it. So it can’t be bad. It just CAN’T.
18 March 2008
I've become a parody of myself
My weekend turned out to be pretty well-rounded, especially if you considered I managed to fit in a handful things I like, as indicated by this website, which someone CLEARLY wrote about me.
So, here—I give you my entire weekend, chronologically, itemized by topic according to stuffwhitepeoplelike.wordpress.com:
#35-The Daily Show/Colbert Report—I reached the pinnacle of my PR career as I booked one of my clients for Colbert in April. While Oprah or the Today Show might be the benchmark of success for some in my industry, Colbert is my benchmark of success.
#48-Whole Foods and Grocery Co-Ops—On my way home after work, I stopped at Whole foods to pick up dinner, which included…
#6-Organic food—A loaf of organic fresh-baked italian bread, triple cream brie and apricot jam. (Although, I didn;t have much of a choice--you can't NOT buy organic bread at Whole Foods). When I got home, I opened a bottle of…
#24-Wine—Merlot. It's all I had left red-wise, and not my first choice, but it's been sitting there since mid-December. I sliced off some bread and poured a glass and joined my roommate in watching…
#85-The Wire—Actually, this is a total lie. We watched 2 episodes of In Treatment. But if you read the description from “The Wire” post, it applies to all shows that are "critically acclaimed, low-rated, shown on premium cable, and available as a DVD box set. The latter is important so that white people can order it from Netflix and tell their friends "they are really into and I watched ten episodes in a row in the weekend. I'm almost caught up."
On that same note, "If you attempt to talk about an episode they have not seen yet, they will scream and cover their ears. In white culture, giving away information about a film or TV series is considered as rude as spitting on your mothers grave. It is an unforgivable offense." This is true in that I won't sit in the same room with my roommate if she is farther along and watching episodes ahead of me.
Also, The Wire season 2 is currently the #3 item in my Netflix queue.
After In Treatment, my roommate headed out to Brooklyn and I decided to stay home and watch…
#10-Wes Anderson Movies—Some of you may know that I saw Bottle Rocket in 1994. But I had just purchased the latest from my fave director: The Darjeeling Limited. Picked up the DVD at the Borders above Whole Foods on my way home from work. I ended up getting really frustrated, though, when my DVD player decided to go nuts on me, forcing me to play it on one of my…
#40-Apple products—I popped it in my MacBook and set it on the coffee table. Thought the movie was even better the second time around (I, of course, saw it in theaters as soon as it came out). Went to bed at a decent hour because I was meeting Mike and Sarah the next day for the South Street Seaport…
#89-St. Patricks Day—Bar Stroll. THIS was actually not my scene at all. But the weather was gorgeous, the people-watching was second-to-none, and the beer was cheap. For the week leading up to this event, Sarah and I knew that the big special that day was going to be $3 Miller Chills. Neither of us had ever tasted a "Miller Chill," but that didn't stop us from making fun of (a) how it tastes and (2) the people who drink it. So the first drink we both ordered was, of course, a Miller Chill, if only for the...
#50—Irony—of it. This is what Miller Chill tastes like: Imagine a cup half full of Miller Lite. Then imagine someone time-traveling back to 1991 and buying a pack of "Squeeze It" artificially flavor lime beverages, coming back to the future and adding it into the Miller Cup, shaking it around and forcing you to drink it. I'm guessing you're imagining a non-forced gag reflex.
The rest of the day I drank regular Miller Lite and, when went to dinner at one of the restaurants nearby, I ordered a passion fruit margarita (they were out of mango margaritas) with my fish tacos.
I got home in time to take a power nap before turning on Saturday Night Live, which was CARRIED this week by Kristin Wiig. it seemed she was in every sketch. Not that I mind. In fact, when I saw them setting up for Target Lady, a little bit of pee came out. The women of SNL have become the force behind the show, a thesis which is supported by this month's issue of Vanity Fair featuring cover models Tina Fey, Amy Poehler and…
#52—Sarah Silverman—The headline says: "Who Says Women Aren't Funny?" I immediately bought a copy. It's like smart girl porn.
Where was I? Ah, yes: Sunday morning. This brings me to:
#9—Making you feel bad about not going outside—I pull this one on myself regularly. My favorite way to make myself get functional on the weekends is to make myself feel bad about not going outside. This Sunday, it was raining. I really didn't have anything I had to get done. But Leslie: "What the fuck are you doing with your life?" So I picked up a copy of the...
#46—Sunday New York Times—and walked in the rain to the…
#5- Farmers Market—not the big Sunday Greenmarket up on Columbus (it WAS raining) but the ramble shamble indoor farmers market on 52nd Street that my roommate has been raving about for the past month. Apparently, she claims, “it's sooooo cheap.” I only had like, $9 cash on me, so I was conservative with what I put in my basket. Come to find out, when the lady rang me up, that I bought my whole weeks worth of produce for just under $6. It IS soooooooo cheap! Loaded my goods into my reusable cloth bag because I reduce, reuse and
#64--Recycle--and went back to my…
#26--Manhattan—apartment. I cooked toasts (organic) topped with a mix of garlic, roasted red peppers, broccoli and Portobello mushrooms, broiled with a thin layer of gouda cheese on top. I thought about making a smoothie, but I have yet to figure out which blender model will give me the most bang for my buck. I've been soliciting suggestions recently, as I've had problems in the past with getting a non-lumpy end product. Also on my…
#54—Kitchen Gadgets—list: A large saute pan and a panini press. I mean, I'm a fan of
#63—Expensive sandwiches—but seriously, I could save a lot of money by just making my own pseudo-expensive sandwiches with a panini press. Money that I could use towards things like
#87—Outdoor Performance Clothes…
#76—Bottles of Water…
…and, one day, keeping a…
#56—Lawyer...
…on retainer for when I inevitably get…
#66—Divorce(d).
But, I know. I know. I'm getting ahead of myself.
In order for that to happen, I first need to find someone who will marry me. After the wedding, we’ll probably buy a hybrid car, get a dog, and in a few years, adopt a child from a foreign country. Of course we'll send him to a French preschool, deprive him of television, and encourage his NPR-listening habits from a young age. He’ll eventually grow to hate his parents and squander his 20’s away on various masters degree programs in useless liberal arts programs before finally deciding to just go to law school.
Anyway, that’s a few years down the road, so I’m not even going to worry about it now. What I’m worried about now is this $10 burning a hole in my pocket for a smoked turkey and Gruyere with rosemary aioli on sun-dried tomato foccacia from that deli on the corner. Lunchtime!
I seriously don’t even know what I’m talking about anymore.
So, here—I give you my entire weekend, chronologically, itemized by topic according to stuffwhitepeoplelike.wordpress.com:
#35-The Daily Show/Colbert Report—I reached the pinnacle of my PR career as I booked one of my clients for Colbert in April. While Oprah or the Today Show might be the benchmark of success for some in my industry, Colbert is my benchmark of success.
#48-Whole Foods and Grocery Co-Ops—On my way home after work, I stopped at Whole foods to pick up dinner, which included…
#6-Organic food—A loaf of organic fresh-baked italian bread, triple cream brie and apricot jam. (Although, I didn;t have much of a choice--you can't NOT buy organic bread at Whole Foods). When I got home, I opened a bottle of…
#24-Wine—Merlot. It's all I had left red-wise, and not my first choice, but it's been sitting there since mid-December. I sliced off some bread and poured a glass and joined my roommate in watching…
#85-The Wire—Actually, this is a total lie. We watched 2 episodes of In Treatment. But if you read the description from “The Wire” post, it applies to all shows that are "critically acclaimed, low-rated, shown on premium cable, and available as a DVD box set. The latter is important so that white people can order it from Netflix and tell their friends "they are really into
On that same note, "If you attempt to talk about an episode they have not seen yet, they will scream and cover their ears. In white culture, giving away information about a film or TV series is considered as rude as spitting on your mothers grave. It is an unforgivable offense." This is true in that I won't sit in the same room with my roommate if she is farther along and watching episodes ahead of me.
Also, The Wire season 2 is currently the #3 item in my Netflix queue.
After In Treatment, my roommate headed out to Brooklyn and I decided to stay home and watch…
#10-Wes Anderson Movies—Some of you may know that I saw Bottle Rocket in 1994. But I had just purchased the latest from my fave director: The Darjeeling Limited. Picked up the DVD at the Borders above Whole Foods on my way home from work. I ended up getting really frustrated, though, when my DVD player decided to go nuts on me, forcing me to play it on one of my…
#40-Apple products—I popped it in my MacBook and set it on the coffee table. Thought the movie was even better the second time around (I, of course, saw it in theaters as soon as it came out). Went to bed at a decent hour because I was meeting Mike and Sarah the next day for the South Street Seaport…
#89-St. Patricks Day—Bar Stroll. THIS was actually not my scene at all. But the weather was gorgeous, the people-watching was second-to-none, and the beer was cheap. For the week leading up to this event, Sarah and I knew that the big special that day was going to be $3 Miller Chills. Neither of us had ever tasted a "Miller Chill," but that didn't stop us from making fun of (a) how it tastes and (2) the people who drink it. So the first drink we both ordered was, of course, a Miller Chill, if only for the...
#50—Irony—of it. This is what Miller Chill tastes like: Imagine a cup half full of Miller Lite. Then imagine someone time-traveling back to 1991 and buying a pack of "Squeeze It" artificially flavor lime beverages, coming back to the future and adding it into the Miller Cup, shaking it around and forcing you to drink it. I'm guessing you're imagining a non-forced gag reflex.
The rest of the day I drank regular Miller Lite and, when went to dinner at one of the restaurants nearby, I ordered a passion fruit margarita (they were out of mango margaritas) with my fish tacos.
I got home in time to take a power nap before turning on Saturday Night Live, which was CARRIED this week by Kristin Wiig. it seemed she was in every sketch. Not that I mind. In fact, when I saw them setting up for Target Lady, a little bit of pee came out. The women of SNL have become the force behind the show, a thesis which is supported by this month's issue of Vanity Fair featuring cover models Tina Fey, Amy Poehler and…
#52—Sarah Silverman—The headline says: "Who Says Women Aren't Funny?" I immediately bought a copy. It's like smart girl porn.
Where was I? Ah, yes: Sunday morning. This brings me to:
#9—Making you feel bad about not going outside—I pull this one on myself regularly. My favorite way to make myself get functional on the weekends is to make myself feel bad about not going outside. This Sunday, it was raining. I really didn't have anything I had to get done. But Leslie: "What the fuck are you doing with your life?" So I picked up a copy of the...
#5- Farmers Market—not the big Sunday Greenmarket up on Columbus (it WAS raining) but the ramble shamble indoor farmers market on 52nd Street that my roommate has been raving about for the past month. Apparently, she claims, “it's sooooo cheap.” I only had like, $9 cash on me, so I was conservative with what I put in my basket. Come to find out, when the lady rang me up, that I bought my whole weeks worth of produce for just under $6. It IS soooooooo cheap! Loaded my goods into my reusable cloth bag because I reduce, reuse and
#64--Recycle--and went back to my…
#26--Manhattan—apartment. I cooked toasts (organic) topped with a mix of garlic, roasted red peppers, broccoli and Portobello mushrooms, broiled with a thin layer of gouda cheese on top. I thought about making a smoothie, but I have yet to figure out which blender model will give me the most bang for my buck. I've been soliciting suggestions recently, as I've had problems in the past with getting a non-lumpy end product. Also on my…
#54—Kitchen Gadgets—list: A large saute pan and a panini press. I mean, I'm a fan of
#63—Expensive sandwiches—but seriously, I could save a lot of money by just making my own pseudo-expensive sandwiches with a panini press. Money that I could use towards things like
#87—Outdoor Performance Clothes…
#76—Bottles of Water…
…and, one day, keeping a…
#56—Lawyer...
…on retainer for when I inevitably get…
#66—Divorce(d).
But, I know. I know. I'm getting ahead of myself.
In order for that to happen, I first need to find someone who will marry me. After the wedding, we’ll probably buy a hybrid car, get a dog, and in a few years, adopt a child from a foreign country. Of course we'll send him to a French preschool, deprive him of television, and encourage his NPR-listening habits from a young age. He’ll eventually grow to hate his parents and squander his 20’s away on various masters degree programs in useless liberal arts programs before finally deciding to just go to law school.
Anyway, that’s a few years down the road, so I’m not even going to worry about it now. What I’m worried about now is this $10 burning a hole in my pocket for a smoked turkey and Gruyere with rosemary aioli on sun-dried tomato foccacia from that deli on the corner. Lunchtime!
I seriously don’t even know what I’m talking about anymore.
10 March 2008
Casino Royale: Better than Norbit!
I was so grossly offended by Rachel’s review of Casino Royale that I felt the need to post a rebuttal (in addition to my extensively long comment on her blog).
Her opinion is so disgustingly incorrect, that I at first seriously questioned if we were even talking about the same movie.
Listen. I own the DVD. I’ve seen it somewhere in the double-digits amount of times. It’s actually one of my go-to DVDs that I pop in if I can’t decide what I’m in the mood for—cause I am ALWAYS in the mood for Daniel Craig, high-stakes poker games, eastern European scenery and EXPLOSIONS!!
One day, I was watching it and my roommate (who had never seen the movie) came home in the middle of it-- during the airport chase scene. By the time that terrorist guy blew up, she was fully invested and deep into "yelling-at-the-TV" mode.
Meanwhile “Rachel” (if that’s even REALLY her name. I don’t know WHAT to believe anymore) claims she fell asleep during that scene.
Other preposterous claims she makes about the movie:
She implies there is no Aston Martin in the movie. WRONG. In fact, it’s the silliest Aston Martin to date. Details: http://www.seriouswheels.com/cars/top-2006-Aston-Martin-DBS-James-Bond-Casino-Royale.htm
She implies that James drove a Ford something or other. First of all, for about 2 seconds when he arrives in the Bahamas. It’s a rental. Obviously she missed the deleted scene where Avis fucked up his reservation. I mean, let’s be real. Last time I rented a car, I was told it was going to be a Ford Focus. And then I end up getting a Kia Specta. What the FUCK?!?!
Furthermore, he uses the Ford to run into another car. Why waste an Aston Martin on a strategic fender bender?
Other reasons she is wrong:
--Dame Judi Dench is in it. Her bas ass-ness is not even up for argument.
--The car chase scene broke the world record for most stunt flips EVER. How can you claim this movie doesn’t deliver in the action department when it’s actually a PROVABLE point that you’ve never seen anything like that before in your life?
--Mini-trunks:
I WISH I could pull off bootie shorts like that.
--The running chase scene at the beginning is not special FX. They really jumped off cranes! The villain is the guy who invented extreme running! He invented a sport!
--It’s 94% fresh on Rotten Tomatoes. Other movies that AREN’T 94% fresh:
Listen, I know a good movie when I see one. And I actually I find it really frustrating that someone would argue against this near-perfect addition to one of the most celebrated franchises in movie history. Maybe it’s one of those things that you’re only finding fault in because everyone hyped it up so much. But if you’d have seen other Bond movies (especially anything during the Pierce Brosnan period of the franchise), this is inarguably one of the best.
OR--maybe if everyone had panned it, you’d have thought “Hey, that wasn’t so bad.” But, of course, that scenario is impossible because no one would ever universally pan a movie as BAZILLY as Casino Royale!
Anyway, Rachel (and any other reader that also hates on Casino Royale), I can agree to disagree on this as long as we just bury the discussion now. What I cannot agree to disagree on is anyone who disputes the awesomeness of this:
Best video movie ever? Best video movie ever.
Her opinion is so disgustingly incorrect, that I at first seriously questioned if we were even talking about the same movie.
Listen. I own the DVD. I’ve seen it somewhere in the double-digits amount of times. It’s actually one of my go-to DVDs that I pop in if I can’t decide what I’m in the mood for—cause I am ALWAYS in the mood for Daniel Craig, high-stakes poker games, eastern European scenery and EXPLOSIONS!!
One day, I was watching it and my roommate (who had never seen the movie) came home in the middle of it-- during the airport chase scene. By the time that terrorist guy blew up, she was fully invested and deep into "yelling-at-the-TV" mode.
Meanwhile “Rachel” (if that’s even REALLY her name. I don’t know WHAT to believe anymore) claims she fell asleep during that scene.
Other preposterous claims she makes about the movie:
She implies there is no Aston Martin in the movie. WRONG. In fact, it’s the silliest Aston Martin to date. Details: http://www.seriouswheels.com/cars/top-2006-Aston-Martin-DBS-James-Bond-Casino-Royale.htm
She implies that James drove a Ford something or other. First of all, for about 2 seconds when he arrives in the Bahamas. It’s a rental. Obviously she missed the deleted scene where Avis fucked up his reservation. I mean, let’s be real. Last time I rented a car, I was told it was going to be a Ford Focus. And then I end up getting a Kia Specta. What the FUCK?!?!
Furthermore, he uses the Ford to run into another car. Why waste an Aston Martin on a strategic fender bender?
Other reasons she is wrong:
--Dame Judi Dench is in it. Her bas ass-ness is not even up for argument.
--The car chase scene broke the world record for most stunt flips EVER. How can you claim this movie doesn’t deliver in the action department when it’s actually a PROVABLE point that you’ve never seen anything like that before in your life?
--Mini-trunks:
I WISH I could pull off bootie shorts like that.
--The running chase scene at the beginning is not special FX. They really jumped off cranes! The villain is the guy who invented extreme running! He invented a sport!
--It’s 94% fresh on Rotten Tomatoes. Other movies that AREN’T 94% fresh:
- Michael Clayton (91%)
- Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring (92%) I know that stings, you Hobbit-enthusiast!
- Atonement (82%)
- Norbit (9%)
- The Departed (92%)—You know what? That’s actually just plain wrong. I love Casino Royale, but it is in NO way sillier than The Departed. See? I know when to admit inferiority, even if it does make for a hole in my argument. But being slightly less good than The Departed is not shabby by any means. I am, however, going to blacklist any reviewer that gave The Departed a rotten review.
Listen, I know a good movie when I see one. And I actually I find it really frustrating that someone would argue against this near-perfect addition to one of the most celebrated franchises in movie history. Maybe it’s one of those things that you’re only finding fault in because everyone hyped it up so much. But if you’d have seen other Bond movies (especially anything during the Pierce Brosnan period of the franchise), this is inarguably one of the best.
OR--maybe if everyone had panned it, you’d have thought “Hey, that wasn’t so bad.” But, of course, that scenario is impossible because no one would ever universally pan a movie as BAZILLY as Casino Royale!
Anyway, Rachel (and any other reader that also hates on Casino Royale), I can agree to disagree on this as long as we just bury the discussion now. What I cannot agree to disagree on is anyone who disputes the awesomeness of this:
Best video movie ever? Best video movie ever.
03 March 2008
Midnight train to that bar that serves nachos across the street
I traveled to Atlanta for a wedding over the weekend, with high hopes that once Sunday came around, I’d be able to check another item off the ol’ bucket list: Dining at a Chicken and Waffles restaurant.
To be perfectly honest, I was unaware of the “chicken and waffles phenomena” until just a couple of years ago. But I immediately connected with the idea. Chicken? Goooooood. Waffles? Goooooooood. The combination, in my mind, would be nothing short of spectacular.
So you can imagine my delight after 2 long years of knowing about, but never actually dining on a combination of chicken and waffles, when my friend Katie alerted me that Gladys Knight has a C&W establishment in Atlanta, not 5 miles from where we were staying.
Would this be the weekend? Would I finally get authentic chicken and waffles? Would the restaurant be playing Gladys Knight music EXCLUSIVELY? I had visions of rotisseries and griddles operating in perfect time to “Midnight Train to Georgia.”
We had big plans to journey to Gladys’s bistro after the wedding that the 6 of us were in town for (it’s open until 3am).
At the reception, I was still full from the cheeseburger and PBR-in-a-brown-bag I had for lunch at this cute little restaurant across the street from where we were staying. In addition, I was also determined not to ruin my chicken and waffles appetite. So for dinner, I limited myself to just a scoop of mashed potatoes, a swiss cake roll and 7 glasses of wine.
I know what you’re thinking: Mashed potatoes would taste delicious with chicken and waffles! I know, me too. We’re on the same wavelength.
I’ll tell you what kind of people I am NOT on the same wavelength with: people who question the presence of Swiss Cake Rolls at a wedding. It took me a lot of restraint not to dig into this before social conventions deemed it appropriate:
So, congratulations to the new husband and wife, Cheryl and Corey. I’d like to take this opportunity to let you know that I stuck an oatmeal cream pie from the groom's cake table in my vintage clutch purse for the ride back.
By the time we made it back to the apartment to change out of our wedding attire (well, some of us), the wine had defeated my morale (the part of my morale based in the chicken and waffles part of my brain) and the struggle ended with a deal to go somewhere that provided more immediacy, alcohol-wise,…and somewhere that served…NACHOS!
So, chicken and waffles will have to wait. But, from my diet of alcohol, Little Debbies and nachos over the weekend, I am in deep into detox mode this week, which I'm pretty sure does not allow for any sort of soul food whatsoever.
To be perfectly honest, I was unaware of the “chicken and waffles phenomena” until just a couple of years ago. But I immediately connected with the idea. Chicken? Goooooood. Waffles? Goooooooood. The combination, in my mind, would be nothing short of spectacular.
So you can imagine my delight after 2 long years of knowing about, but never actually dining on a combination of chicken and waffles, when my friend Katie alerted me that Gladys Knight has a C&W establishment in Atlanta, not 5 miles from where we were staying.
Would this be the weekend? Would I finally get authentic chicken and waffles? Would the restaurant be playing Gladys Knight music EXCLUSIVELY? I had visions of rotisseries and griddles operating in perfect time to “Midnight Train to Georgia.”
We had big plans to journey to Gladys’s bistro after the wedding that the 6 of us were in town for (it’s open until 3am).
At the reception, I was still full from the cheeseburger and PBR-in-a-brown-bag I had for lunch at this cute little restaurant across the street from where we were staying. In addition, I was also determined not to ruin my chicken and waffles appetite. So for dinner, I limited myself to just a scoop of mashed potatoes, a swiss cake roll and 7 glasses of wine.
I know what you’re thinking: Mashed potatoes would taste delicious with chicken and waffles! I know, me too. We’re on the same wavelength.
I’ll tell you what kind of people I am NOT on the same wavelength with: people who question the presence of Swiss Cake Rolls at a wedding. It took me a lot of restraint not to dig into this before social conventions deemed it appropriate:
So, congratulations to the new husband and wife, Cheryl and Corey. I’d like to take this opportunity to let you know that I stuck an oatmeal cream pie from the groom's cake table in my vintage clutch purse for the ride back.
By the time we made it back to the apartment to change out of our wedding attire (well, some of us), the wine had defeated my morale (the part of my morale based in the chicken and waffles part of my brain) and the struggle ended with a deal to go somewhere that provided more immediacy, alcohol-wise,…and somewhere that served…NACHOS!
So, chicken and waffles will have to wait. But, from my diet of alcohol, Little Debbies and nachos over the weekend, I am in deep into detox mode this week, which I'm pretty sure does not allow for any sort of soul food whatsoever.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
