The Nor'Easter of 1883.

In the Midwest we call them blizzards. New England is a fickle lady who refuses to take shit from anybody, so here we call them Nor'Easters. We're raging against the 'th'.

On the one hand, this means I can sit in my pjs and drink coffee with Bailey's, read books, watch movies, knit some rectangles, paint, make a snow fort, and have dance parties to this amazing record which I purchased at my favorite, Night Owl, yesterday:

Unfortunately, this means I won't be finishing my list of things to accomplish this weekend. Sure, I could have done them yesterday, but we all know that Saturdays are for fun and carefree and lackadasical times. Sundays are the lima beans I push around on my plate and hope my mum won't notice the green mush I haven't eaten. Lima beans are disgusting.

Books on my bookshelf I have yet to read but will likely start during this epic Nor'Easter:

• Killing Yourself to Live: 85% a True Story, Chuck Klosterman.
• Fierce Invalids From Hot Climates, Tom Robbins.
• The Andy Warhol Diaries, Andy Warhol.
• How We Are Hungry, David Eggers.
• Glamourama, Bret Easton Ellis.
• Love in the Time of Cholera, Gabriel Garcia Marquez.
• The Botany of Desire: A Plant's Eye View of the World, Michael Pollan.
• Hey Nostradamus!, Douglas Coupland.
• Atonement, Ian McEwan.
• Urban Tribes, Ethan Watters.
• The History of Hip, John Leland.

Well shit, it looks like I need to start reading.

Mewmew. Thanks for helping make my little lemur a winner.

My day in the Modern Art wing of the Met, etc.

While in New York for the APAP conference a few weeks ago, I had a lovely free day to myself. I decided to head to the Met as I wanted to check out the Rara Avis, the Iris Barrel Apfel special fashion exhibit. She is a fashion icon, to say the very least. Her husband was a giant in the textile industry and they travelled around the world. She was a pioneer of crossing couture fashion with thrifty finds- and with a sense of style that is inspirational. I spent the morning there, lunched in Central Park (it was an unseasonably warm and beautiful January day!) and then spent the afternoon in the modern art wing.

The Met is a monstrous complex; one could spend weeks exploring and still never see everything. My time was limited so I chugged through the Egyptian mummies quickly on the way to the modern art wing.

I really love New York. Its the sort of place where a person really has to go out there and make things happen for themselves. A city with endless possibilities.

Laundry list of things that improved my day, this the eighth day in the second month in the year of our lord, two thousand and six:

• Brokeback to the Future
• Construction paper, scissors, and glue
• An email from a friend using old-timey, secret agent talk
• The phrase "old-timey"
• Snuggle time with Napkin while we guffawed at Project Runway
• The girl in step aerobics class wearing a Chile's shirt listing 14 kinds of margaritas
• Step aerobics with old ladies
• Finishing 3 mixes I've been working on for 3 lovely people
• The return of Mark Hoppus' podcast (Fuck yeah 2006 bitches! 2005 can suck a $)*&$%!!)
• Waking up with the smell of fresh tulips in my nose
• Mr. Benjamin Gibbard looking all adorable at the Grammys

Non Sequitur: Starf*cker

Aidan, I know you liked staying at your cabin in the country which only further drove a wedge between you and Carrie, but dressing like Jesus and calling yourself a country singer?

Carrie and the girls would not approve.









This is the best and most credible story (with real quotes and everything!) regarding that whole JT Leroy debacle.

Gedanken sind frei.

"Can’t repeat the past?…Why of course you can!" — The Great Gatsby

We drove around the brownish-greyish months long depression known as Winter, getting high night after night, drinking ourselves stupid. I rest my forehead against the chilly Honda's window watching as the gravel road disappears beneath us. Mile after mile, I felt myself so uncertain of all the promises made; I wanted to jump out of that car in the cold February night, I wanted to tell you that we didn't need any of this: the shots of whiskey, the drugs, the music that kept us glued in those toxic teenage years. This wasn't fun anymore, this was not what it once was (and rarely does life ever stay a static course). I begged, I pleaded with you that to take my hand and let's head for the border, far away. But you didn't understand why anyone would leave, and I couldn't understand why anyone would stay.

And the words of two years earlier came back to haunt me: "there is nothing for me there" but what you heard was "There are no reasons for me to be there- not even you."

The last five years are a fuzzy memory, but I am stronger than ever.

Who would win in a fight: Chuck Norris v. MacGyver?

Because, you, my dear readers (all 4 of you), are internet savvy people, I assume you're familiar with Chuck Norris' newfound internet cult status. Personally, I enjoy this student's English class project on the subject of Mr. Norris.

That MacGyver commercial during the Superbowl last night was one of my favorites. If you missed it, check out the commercial here. Poor MacGyver, retiring from getting out of hairy situations with only a paperclip and a piece of string has left him a bit out of shape. But that Botox seems to have kept his face dashing and wrinkle-free. Also, where did the other tube sock go, MacGyver?


And speaking of the Superbowl...
My football knowledge is limited to Mike Ditka, Brett Favre (my dad comandeered our vacation to Canada one summer and forced my sister, mum, and I to worship at the altar of the Green Bay Packers...), and uhhhh....the Fifth Quarter of the University of Wisconsin football games (the Fifth Quarter, incidentally, is the marching band's big show and tribute to BEER!CHEESE!and all things Wisconsin). ANYWAYS, I had absolutely nothing at stake with this year's game since Mike Ditka will always be a winner in my book. Last year, I did not watch the Super!Bowl, but opted for The Puppy Bowl on Animal Planet. Check out the preview from this year's Puppy Bowl. And for extra fun, check out the Kitty Halftime show too. Don't you love the old-timey music? Can you imagine the puppies and kitties should be wearing flapper dresses and doing the Charleston? If anyone can find a picture of a puppy dressed like a flapper, I will make you a tribute mix CD. Extra points to anyone who dresses their own puppy like a flapper and takes a photo.


And while we're on the subject of puppies and kitties. Everyone, go vote for my kitten, Napkin, at Kittenwars.



Don't you want to eat this kitty? I do. Because I eat kittens for breakfast.

VD Day is coming (Or: Adventures in Ebay shopping).
I'm going to buy this and send it to Jake Gyllenhaal to show him how much I love him.
This would make a perfect gift for your loved ones. Or maybe these for your girlfriend with size 9 feet.

Special Valentine's Unit: The perfect way to show you care...about the criminal justice system.

Speaking of gay.
I can't really get enough of Project Runway. Daniel V. is the most adorable gay man ever. I want to put him in my pocket and keep him. I have fantasies where we are best friends and we go to gay clubs together and make sassy remarks about the other gay men and then we dance until the sun comes up. Clearly, Daniel must win this season, his designs are always among the best.


I was watching a recent episode and the judges were deliberating over the designs and Heidi Klum said, "I am ready to give Santino my Auf Wiedersahen!" From now on, when I get mad or I disagree, I'm going to voice my argument-ending opinion thusly: "I'm giving you my Auf Wiedersahen!"

And just so you don't forget to Never Forget...