photo credit: max.favilli
Hey, all of ya’all. So I kinda sorta have a new gig, with benefits and everything. Please read me at the Village Voice’s news blog, Runnin’ Scared. Foster Kamer was nice enough to give me a proper introduction and everything! (It’s all gentlemans here.)
So, please, check it out. So many posts per day! If you ever thought you wanted more of me, well, here’s your ever-loving chance.
Someone’s been sticking in my craw lately, and I don’t mean that in the good way (is there a good way?). And I don’t mean the guy eating soup, either; that dude’s a fine little actor.
But seriously, once slender and sensitive brunette brother Wilson-the-younger, fixture of Wes Anderson films, bringer of indie cred? You are behaving in a way that embarrasses me. Not only embarrasses. Like I said, you’re sticking in my craw.
photo credit: Pierre Marcel
I’m heartened to find that in this day and age of unrequited dreams and crushed hopes, there are those who continue to strive against all odds to accomplish their goals, however whimsical or strenuous or far-reaching they may be.
Take Donna Simpson. She currently weighs 600 pounds, or so she says, and she’s trying her durndest to win the Guinness Book of World Records‘ title of World’s Fattest Woman.
photo credit: zenobia_joy
I am one of those contrarian peoples (or maybe just highly self-aware) who gets up in the morning and thinks, Oh, heavens to bejeezus no, it’s St. Patrick’s Day! That green dress I was planning on wearing must not touch my body, else people think I actually coordinated my outfit to the stinkin’ day!
See, technically, even though the YUDs think we’re part Irish (there’s an O’Connor in the family, going a fair ways back), there’s also that rumor that Mr. O’Connor was impotent. So we’re not really sure, we might be full-blown I-talians on that side of the family. Or anything else for that matter. I, for one, would prefer this mystery to remain a mystery…
YUD’s mother would like to point out that, in fact, she could NOT be Ali McGraw’s older sister unless there have been at work some bizarre time-machine machinations involving a DeLorean, a large supply of plutonium (compliments of your friendly neighborhood plutonium-suppliers), and, of course, the elegant brilliance of the flux capacitor. Or, at the very least, a time-traveling phone booth. That would so rock.
From Mom: Read the rest of this entry »
Now, does this look like a woman who just had brain surgery? Or more like Ali McGraw’s better-looking older sister, or perhaps a gypsy lady with really great teeth who you wouldn’t mind getting pickpocketed by, because oh, there would be LAUGHS?
Yes, this is YUD’s mother. We think she looks pretty stylin’ in her scarf. And skinny!
There’s some exciting shit going down this week! And I’m gonna tell you about it.
First, there seems to be an escapee from a thread-based asylum on the loose (just like a dropped stitch, yuk yuk) in Cape May, New Jersey. Some nice old lady (or perhaps a drug-addled Jersey Shore member with deft fingers and a love of the yarn) is creeping around the quaint old Victorian town under cover of night and—get this—KNITTING!
Today is a day of endings, of things I’ve always considered permanent being ripped from me, taken before their time (even if I haven’t thought about them much in the past couple of years, that doesn’t mean I’d forgotten them, and anyway, never you mind about that).
After waking to the news that the Coreys have been split asunder (and what does one do with just one? They’re like socks!) I have been texted by a friend that the gloriously faux-retro Comfort Diner located on 45th Street between 2nd and 3rd Aves in midtown M’hattan has shuttered. “This recession is ruining all my favorite things!” she says.
Perhaps I didn’t know him, exactly, but I did tear many a page featuring his boyish visage from the pages of my Tiger Beat and/or Bop magazines, and I stuck them to my walls (all the better to gaze at) despite my parents hating that they’d eventually have to repaint my glorious seafoam green room.
It’s true, Wil Wheaton was really my youthful crush of choice, and then of course I went the hair band route (in an attempt to bring me back to earth my mother once told me that my great unrequited love, Sebastian Bach, probably had so many zits that he couldn’t see himself in the mirror for all the pus he’d squeezed onto it. Thanks, Mom, for that!).
But the Coreys also held a special place in my unjaded (at that time) heart, mostly due to a fantastic piece of entertainment called The Lost Boys (they don’t make soundtracks like that anymore, and, hey Stephenie Meyer, you didn’t make up vampires having fun!).
photo credit: moacirpdsp
Hey all of you teetotalers out there reading my blog! (Wait, why would you do that to yourself? You know that Gruner Veltliner is wine, right? AKA booze?)
Anyways, hold onto your dry counties, because have I got a scoop for you. Or more accurately, the L.A. Times does. Get this:
