The Self-Pity Ten

Ten songs-'cause you don't know me, motherfucker, and you don't know my pain.

10. Nobody Loves Me- Portishead
9. Beautiful- H.I.M.
8. Hurt- Johnny Cash
7. Hot One- Shudder to Think
6. Diamond Meadows- T. Rex
5. Dirty Work- Steely Dan
4. Little Girl Blue- Janis Joplin
3. A Whiter Shade of Pale- Procol Harum
2. Not Like the Other Girls- The Rasmus
1. The Fragile- Nine Inch Nails

P.S. Unlike Dr. Brazen and others far cooler than me, these are in no way random, and it's not even Friday.

P.P.S. If, by chance, you do know me, chances are you also know my pain. In this case, you should ignore the sentiments expressed above. God knows, you've suffered enough.

UPDATE: Honorable Mentions goes to 'Time to Burn' by The Rasmus and "Only You Can Save Me" by 69 Eyes. Why? 'Cause Finland kicks your ass

MSN sends passive-aggressive 'f@^& you' to Rachel Ray

Her food is crap, her style decidedly 'middlebrow', and she's "grossly unqualified" for every job she's ever had-except the clean-up gig at the Tijuana donkey show. That was a slam dunk. Hey, don't look at me, MSN said it. Ok, except maybe that last part. Even the donkeys hated the way she abbreviated everything.

MSN Review: Cook With Rachel Ray

Cruising for a bruising, pt. 3- the long awaited

Day 5: The pilates instructor: “and toight…. toight…toight…push…. Good.” I can’t help but giggle, and my 70-something exercise partner, giggles too. I like to think that she is one dirty old lady, and I don’t know why this thought makes me so happy. By the way, I was right about the instructor's accent: he’s from Jo’burgh. I’m awesome. I dissertate by the pool in the pavilion bar and watch a Japanese man demonstrate the twist to two old ladies. I run into my exercise partner and her husband, and suppress the urge to high-five him. The Brazilian sisters are poolside wearing bikinis and gold cowboy hats, which makes me suspect that they are lying about the whole Venezuelan thing. Later, at tea, there is a string quartet, which is lovely, until I realize they’re playing Beatles tunes. Eh, the New Jerseyans love it.


Day 6: We disembark in Curaçao to a calypso band playing, strangely enough, Havah Nagila. We sightsee and shop, and M. declairs “Everywhere you go, there are rich people and poor people, and the rich people need somewhere to shop.” We bargain with the taxi driver to take us to Playa Porto Mari. Initially he wants $35 one-way, but we bargain him down to $50 round-trip for the three of us. Ok, forget we- we just let the man handle it. Fifty dollars is apparently not a bad day’s take for Curaçao, because once we arrive, the driver adjourns to the bar for the rest of the afternoon. The beach is top-optional for the ladies, and I reach for the back of my bikini, but this is immediately and strongly contraindicated. Abashed, I rent a scuba mask, and in the water are so many fish, it’s like swimming in an aquarium. Later, I relax on the beach and take in the tits. I’ve spent most of my life self-conscious about my small chest, but it turns out I just have very Dutch breasts. Who knew? Later at dinner, M. is afraid that she is underdressed. I suggest that the easiest way to be excused for bad behavior is simply to plead American; perhaps that’s one of our national selling points. America– if you simply cannot be expected to know any better.

Day 7: I note that my increased tea consumption is causing me to use words like “brilliant” and “grand” in everyday conversation. Perhaps this works for the Brits, but it just makes me sound very affected, which is awesome. At lunch today I saw a man consuming what appeared to be a plate of mayonnaise, but I pray to baby Jesus that I am wrong. Also, there is an elderly man roaming the ship who has worn metallic silver pants every. single. day. I shall call him ‘Ziggy Stardust’. At sunset, the 'kids' gather for wine on the deck, and L. explains to us that “people hate Jews for killing Jesus, but really, we had almost nothing to do with it.” A new plateau in religious understanding is reached.

My goodness, that's a long meme

So it's Sunday, it's raining and cold outside, and I just ate fried eggs and cake for breakfast. Rather than doing any actual work, I thought that I would use Dr. Brazen Hussy's world's longest meme to distract myself from all that's so goddamn wrong with the world.

Layer One
Name: LBP
Birthdate: 1977. That's right, kiddies, the long, bloody march to 30 is almost over, and not a minute too soon.
Birthplace: The Hoosier state.
Current location: 10003
Eye colour: Brown
Righty or lefty: Righty
Sign: Archetypal Virgo, not that I believe any of that stuff...
Innie or outie: Innie, possibly the only competent medical decision made upon my birth.
Layer Two
Heritage: Polish-WASP. Sometimes I wonder how I live with myself, then I feel guilty about it.
Shoes you wore today: Trainers. The Pradas don't invade my weekend.
Your hair: Blonde-ish, so it's not just a clever name.
Your weakness: 80's power balads
Your fears: Pain
Your perfect pizza: Green olive, mushroom, and sausage.
Layer Three
Your most overused phrase: "Oh, for fuck's sake".
Your first waking thoughts: "I have to do this again??"
The first features you notice in opposite sex (or same sex, whatever...): Hair. Yeah, go ahead and laugh, but appreciate a great head of hair. It totally explains my otherwise schizophrenic taste in men.
Your best physical feature: Very long legs. A good thing, too, 'cause the tits and ass ain't nothin'.
Your bedtime: Whenever I turn off my computer.
Your greatest accomplishment: Ummm.. does getting out of bed every morning count?
Layer Four
Pepsi or Coke: Diet Mountain Dew. Preferably administered via IV.
Single or group dates: Dates?
Adidas or Nike: Darling, to whom do you think you're talking?
Chocolate or vanilla: Vanilla.
Coffee or cappuccino: Espresso. With a vodka chaser. Repeat.
Layer Five
Smoke: Oh, in college when I thought it would make me look older. Then I realized that it actually did.
Cuss: Like a drunken sailor.
Sing: Not for you!
Take a shower everyday: Sometimes two. Hygene is paramount.
Have a crush: Not at the moment.
Been in love: Unfortunately.
Want to get married: Not really, but I can't exclude the possibility that some day I might just get really drunk.
Believe in yourself: No, but I've been trying to will myself into nonexistence for years now.
Type with the right fingers on the right keys: Certainly.
Think you're attractive: Ugh. Sometimes, and never on the days that the sleazy guys on the street think I'm at my best.
Think you're a health freak: Yes.
Get along with your parents: Absolutely. I have wonderful, unusual parents.
Play an instrument: Used to play piano, oboe, flute, sang... these days I stick to the skinflute. Best to know where your talents lie.
Layer Six
In the past month did you...?
Drink alcohol: Yes.
Smoke: No.
Do a drug: Yes.
Make out: Does anyone over the age of 21 really 'make out'?.
Go on a date: Yeah, I guess that's what it was.
Eat an entire box of oreos: No, but only because if I'm going to splurge, it won't be on goddamn Oreos. Hence, the giant piece of walnut carmel gateau I just shoved in my cakehole.
Eat sushi: Just last night, at Blue Water Grill. Delicious- I highly recommend the lobster tempura roll
Been on stage: Darling, my entire life is theater.
Been dumped: I don't want to talk about it.
Gone skating: No.
Gone skinny dipping: No.
Made homemade cookies: Ha! Ha ha...um, no.
Fallen in love: See "been dumped".
Stolen anything: No
Dyed your hair: Shockingly, no. I let my hair grow out for the first time in years and discovered that my real color was exactly the same as what I'd been dying it all these years. Does that count as irony? It should, because it was really expensive.
Layer Seven:
Have you ever...?
Played a game that required you to remove an item of clothing: Yes
Been trashed: Yes
Been intoxicated: Yes
Been caught doing something: Like what? I refuse to answer on the basis that this is a stupid question.
Been called a tease: No, which, on second examination, might be part of my problem.
Shoplifted: As a very young child I threw a pack of cigarettes into the grocery cart. Also, in college, I walked out of Wal Mart with some mascara in my hand because I forgot to put it back. Have never knowingly shoplifted, though.
Layer Eight
Age you hope to be married: I had a hard enough time getting out of it the first time.
Number and names of kids: N/A.
Describe your dream wedding: One that doesn't happen.
How do you want to die: Before I get old.
What would you like to be when you grow up: Hope never to grow up.
What countries would you most like to visit: I'll go anywhere, given 10-minute notice.
Layer Nine
Number of wo/men kissed: Some. Don't really remember.
Number of girl/boyfriends had: I side with Dr. BH on this one. Define 'boyfriend'.
Number of drugs taken: Some. Once again, don't really remember.
Number of people I could trust with my life: On some days, I don't even trust myself.
Number of piercings: Five.
Number of CDs: Gave away all my CD's when I got my first iPod
Number of tattoos: None, but have thought about getting one lately.
Number of scars: I have a lambda-shaped scar on my knee from where I tripped over a chair last summer. Or something.. it's definitely not the brand of the illuminati. Ahem.
Number of regrets: A few, but then again, too few to mention.

I just have to say...

At the meeting of Manhattan's Drinking Liberally last night, I was assured that John Kerry's last minute call to filibuster was a noble last stand against the seemingly unstoppable.

Even Publius, whose political opinions I respect very much, bemoans the lack of decisive action on the part of the Democrats.

Then I see this in today's NYT:

"God bless John Kerry," said Don Stewart, a spokesman for Senator John Cornyn, a Texas Republican on the Judiciary Committee. "He just cinched this whole nomination. With Senator Kerry, it is Christmas every day."

Fear of being called names by republicans? Perhaps. I think that some Dems have forgotten- it's not the Republicans who have to like us. It's the people, stupid.

UPDATE: While Alito gets confirmed, you can drown your sorrows in this video of Trent Reznor performing "Eyes Without a Face" sometime in the early 80's. It's LaBlonde tested, LaBlonde approved! Via Screenhead.

Cruising for a bruising, pt. 2

Day 3: Breakfast is post treadmill and pilates. Halfway through my marmalade when 50-ish Scottish man (whom I apparently met in the casino last night) says he’s going to “sort me out”, which I can only assume is one of their primitive tribal customs. I learn that L.'s mom’s Green-Beret-style matchmaking stems from the fact that her current boyfriend (1) is not Jewish and (2) works at a liquor store. Personally, I know which one would upset me more, but to each their own. Meet a marvelously craggy Commodore Warwick at the cocktail hour, and briefly attend the Black and White Ball, where I see a 90-year old man in a white tux and tails participate in a kick line. Awesome times two.



Day 4: Lunch of conch chowder on the island with B. and C. who are celebrating their 19th anniversary. B. is a ‘working’ playwright, so he and A. are compelled to play a quick round of “famous people I know who you would think are horrible, but are actually so down to earth.” B. comes up with Tilda Swinton and Hugh Laurie, so that’s a victory in my book. Swimming in the Caribbean off St. Thomas, I feel my brain start to leak out my ears. To maintain pseudo-intellectuality, I grab my camera and go off in search of marine iguanas. M.'s German husband joins us on the beach, and I note that his haircut, which I have dubbed “The Gekko”, is impervious to water, obviously due to some advanced German hair-shellacking technology. At dinner, we have a ‘kid’s table’ at #1, where we bitch about the service. S., the young-ish (50) film and TV producer, joins us, which leads to another round of FPIKWYWTAH,BAASDTE. (Note to reader: in the future, this game will be known as FPIK, as we know that secretly, all famous people are horrible.) After dinner, we adjourn to the Golden Lion Pub for some terrible karaoke. While L.and A. off desecrating “Piano Man” I chat up the two brit boys. Brit boy #1 can’t be bothered, but Brit boy #2 is more effusive, telling me that ‘e’s ‘ere with ‘is Nan, roit? And ‘is sister’s been around the world twice, but he’s only been around once, and when he leaves ‘is family’s ‘ome in Notting Hill, ‘e goes surfing to Figi with ‘is mates. Brit boy #1 only cocks an eyebrow and makes some kind of arch comment about L. interacting with the ‘help’. I want to ask #1 why, if ‘e and his Nan are so fooking posh, are they staying in an inside cabin, yeah? Also, the Brazilian sisters are Venezuelan. Huh.

Cruising for a bruising

It's my first new post in like, forever, having just returned from 12 days aboard the Queen Mary 2. For your edification and entertainment, this week's blogging will consist of my notes and impressions of life shipboard. Enjoy!

Day 1: I arrive, late, of course, in a fashion typical of my friend A., where coming closer to the objective also incrementally increases hysteria. Cabin looks like extremely opulent dorm room, and upon walking through the lobby comparisons to the Titanic are inevitable. Boat rocks badly, and most of the passengers spend the nite barfing in their extremely clean and well-appointed bathrooms. Meet 22-year-old L. and her parents, who are trying to attach her to any single man not riding a rascal scooter. This is more difficult than it seems, because most of the other passengers appear to be in the advanced stages of, well, life. Regardless, this is the manner to which I’d like to become accustomed: champagne in the room and down pillows. It takes me about 30 seconds to break something. Spend the evening watching a calypso band I like to call “The Only Four Black Guys” perform pseudo-reggae version of “Fly Me to the Moon”. Awesome.

Day 2: Goddamn. That’s a lot of water. Being a Midwestern girl, I fight my panic with food. And food. And for the love of God, where is all this food coming from? Begin to notice that the passengers are (via Venn Diagram): 25% German, 70% elderly, and 5% elderly German. A. calls ship “A Bar Mitzvah at sea”, which makes me think that Bar Mitzvahs are like Polish weddings, possibly minus the chicken dance. And oh yeah, the food. It’s fantastic, and tea in the ‘Queen’s Room' feels as though one should be wearing a large hat. Meet two ladies henceforth referred to as “The Brazilian Sisters”, because, well…yeah. We also meet two elderly sisters who appear to be using cruise ships as surrogate for assisted living (4 in 10 months) who tell A. and I at lunch that getting married is the fastest way to ruin your life. I concur, perhaps more vehemently than they expect. Meet the perky pilates instructor, who then punishes us by making us assume odd positions while maintaining “the core connection, yeah?” Start to notice the absolute car wreck that is accents on this ship. Vijay, our waiter, is a Scot via Bombay, but desperately tries to sound like the BBC, which fails every time he calls us ‘Luv”; our dinner companion is German via South Africa, and Gerry sounds like the guys on “The Office” via der Hitlerjugen.

All the news you can use

Well, kiddies, I'm going on an ill-deserved vacation, so you're going to have to find another source for ineffectual political ranting and eerily masturbatory celeb gossip.

In the meantime..

Answers In Genesis responds to an evolution-themed Doonesbury strip.

Also...

McSweeney's introduces the The iPod Zepto

And finally...

Justifiably Dead You managed 81% Humanity.

In a fair world, you might have stood a chance. Wait, no, that's wrong. In a fair world, you'd never have been so incredibly annoying even on those few occasions. But it's not important, as my world will in no way be a fair world. Although don't worry too much about it, as you won't be there. You'll be all dead, where you can't cause any trouble. Although knowing you your corpse will probably trip someone up or block a doorway.

My test tracked 1 variable How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 99% on Humanity

Link: The Are You Good Enough To Exist Test written by botherer on Ok Cupid, home of the 32-Type Dating Test