Snarkastic

[pew pew]

At the risk of displaying actual human emotions for just a minute here -- I cannot believe how fast this week has gone by. I cannot believe it's my last day in the Motherland already. And I cannot believe how, somehow, everything just fell into place this trip and everyone I needed to see to recharge for the rest of the summer in the desert has been met and canoodled with. I'm so used to travel plans falling through and this was a very short trip and there was every chance it would all go to pieces and nothing did. So the point I'm trying to make is that I'm very, very glad to have seen all y'all monsters, even if it was just for an afternoon or a cocktail, and that going back to Cali with a full heart like this is the only thing capable of getting me through to fall.

Tarsem, you're forgiven for the espresso incident of 2007.

I'm knee-deep in Palm Kool-Aid thanks to waiting for this OS to drop for over two years and biased towards because I love the music and biased against because of my history with this director, but man alive, do I ever want a Pre, like, yesterday.

My billing cycle ends in four days, but for the sake of everyone who has to deal with me I'm trying like mad to wait until I get back West to get my hands on one of these. I am SO THAT GIRL on the rock with all her shit together and a shiny new phone! I just need some backup dancers, y'all. And willowier limbs. And to not have cut all my hair off.

Your afternoon BEEEEEES break:

Yeah, this is a weird one:

As he spoke about his duties -- examining queens, checking mite levels -- an appreciative crowd of young beekeepers formed around him. Several expressed a longing for the kind of oversight and assistance the state offers, and were eager to talk shop.

A woman asked about swarming. Swarming, Mr. Bernard pronounced, is not a problem. It's just something bees do.

Facebook Goldmine, Episode 7

apropos of aww

No real news here, but Al Wilson is my favorite non-Peyton ex-Vol and I love everything about him and have a tiny little kindled flame in the back of my head that says this is the first step to getting him into coaching, and coaching in Knoxville.

Now would be the time to mention I have his name listed under "religious views" on Facebook, right?

love to love to love to FIX YO MOUF

A week late on this (gonna be a lot of that this week) and caring not, because MJD is brills and this needs to be read. Re: the Estefans and the Fins:

You want to know why I want to comment on it? It's because I have a picture in my head of Dolphins linebacker Joey Porter, standing in front of the stereo in the Dolphins locker room, wearing a teal half-shirt and a jock strap, dancing his heart out to "Turn the Beat Around." And if a teammate tries to approach the stereo to turn of the Gloria Estefan, Joey punches them in the face, screams, "IT'S GLORIA TIME UP IN THE PIECE, SUCKA!"

Laff Riot 131: 'Til human voices wake us, and we DANCE DANCE DANCE DANCE

6:54:36 PM TGB: you aaaalmost got replaced as shark mouth
6:54:48 PM Nastinchka: Pretender.
6:55:05 PM TGB: Still, a formidable one.
6:55:23 PM Nastinchka: [hair flip hair flip]
6:55:51 PM Nastinchka: Nothing can bother me right now, frankly
6:56:59 PM TGB: Fucking glorious.
6:57:06 PM TGB: "Leaf had 14 touchdowns and 36 interceptions."
6:57:20 PM Nastinchka: It's like I'm being tickled
6:57:22 PM TGB: At least Robert Marve doesn't have to clear his own path.

Continue reading "Laff Riot 131: 'Til human voices wake us, and we DANCE DANCE DANCE DANCE"

Transformers 2

I was actually in the best possible frame of mind to live through this one. I saw it in IMAX at the science museum in Birmingham, where they were having a 21+ barbecue party with plenty of beer and caffeine and after-hours hopping around from exhibit to exhibit. (So much hopping that we were the last ones in the theater and had to fold ourselves into the second row and stare straight up the whole time.) We were all getting comfortably contorted right about the time it dawns that the piped-in music is a series of classic rock songs performed on a solo xylophone. You haven't known true bliss until you've heard a couple hundred rednecks belting along to "Livin' On A Prayer", accompanied by some dude on a marimba or some damn thing (and led in song by guess who).

I took almost nothing away of the actual film, which I'm pretty sure means some sort of coping mechanism kicked in around the time the hotter-than-Megan-Fox evil girl's TAIL came out, leaving me blissfully unaware to just remember a lovely evening of science and drankin' and clapping for buddies in Digital Domain.

Almost nothing except the evil Alien-looking robot who is suddenly and inexplicably and unnecessarily the big boss evil robot in place of Megatron calling baby Decepticons "hatchlings". That one stuck. Transformers 2: This summer, Robots. Lay. Eggs.

Digital Vikings, Episode 7: Stuntcastastic!

The effervescent Matt Ufford sits in for Swindleicious this week, and does not disappoint, thanks namely to knowing lots and lots about things that blow up.

And I'm off home. Plutonium-riddled creeks, holla atcha girl.

Profiles in Profiteroles: UAB

Here there be plushy dragons, half-written by Doug thanks to me packing and bolting for the airport on Wednesday.

Miss me?

I'm here. It's a godzillion degrees and rising in Alabama and walking through the muggy air feels more like swimming and I'm loving it. This clearly necessitates a step or two away from the internets to spare you all from my actual human happiness. In my semi-absence, please enjoy this comprehensive list of fatal bear attacks in North America.

the agenda [deep breath]:

• 3:00: Fly to Vegas
• 6:00: Fly to Birmingham
• 11:30 tonight - Friday morning: Romp of destruction through America's Heartland with The Intended
• Friday afternoon: Drive to TN
• Saturday morning: Drive to Ohio
• Saturday night: Cousin's wedding
• Sunday morning: Back to TN
• Sunday night: Deflect questions from assembled aunties of ever having a real job
• Monday - Wednesday: OR
• Thursday: Chatty
• Friday: ATL
• Saturday: Back to Birmingham; 4th of July rigamarole with Janie-o
• Sunday - Wednesday: Cont'd romp of destruction through America's Heartland with The Intended
• Wednesday, 3:45: Fly back to L.A.
• 7:30: Drink with assembled Y! colleagues
• Thursday, July 9th: Sleep?

ha ha, I got to use "molt" in a headline

On days like this, it's important to take joy in the little things. Especially when one's afternoon consists of watching a grainy video stream of a press conference covering....Oregon's new uniforms. (Come ON, September.)

honor her.

Continuing today in "Women Without Whom My Life Would Be A Dark Hallway Of Pain", Janie-o comes up big. First with this story of Michael Irvin buying rounds in a strip club, then with this paper on the killin' patterns of the great white. A mashup of these two stories would probably serve as a pretty accurate representation of what our upcoming 4th of July party will entail.

give it up for the Duchess, world

I never can find greeting cards that convey the exact sentiments I wish to express. I can't imagine why.

I am, in fact, well aware that this is a lobster (FIRST Lobster), but the crab balloons just weren't as cute or solemnly menacing, and an unparalleled ability to skirt facts that get in the way of a good story is one of Livia's finest qualities as my hetero lifemate, your future head of state, and the black-heartedest BFF a girl could want. Roo.

Terry Bowden: Gene Chizik is the next Terry Bowden

Really, there's nothing to add. I ain't sharing a sidebar with you, Chizzy.

bat. bat. batbatbat.

I say this every year, but Wimbledon is the greatest non-football sporty thing there is. And this year I can enjoy it largely unimpeded -- I'll be in God's Own Timezone for most of the important rounds, and until then ESPN has seen fit to air matches live (the early rounds, at least). So no bare-assed stunts of vengeance this time, which is less entertaining for the rest of you but really, I don't need additives in my pure summer fun.

If you'd like some actual tennis writing, Fearless Leader Swindle is covering the tourney for TSB. Chief delights found here:

Julien Benneteau (pictured) versus the world No. 4 Novak Djokovic, which isn't even over at the moment thanks to the first two sets going 7-6, 6-7 in an hour and fifty minutes. (Noted by the always punctilious Chris Fowler, one of eight human beings caught in the grip of a college football/tennis obsessive cycle over the course of a calendar year.)
[...]
James Blake became the first seeded player to be knocked out of Wimbledon. Then again, you knew that would happen, because James Blake excels at two things: the game of tennis, and exiting major tournaments in the first round.

And if anyone needs me the next couple weeks, just follow the pattern of the last twenty years or so -- I'll be spending late June and early July nibbling fancy snacks and cooing at crisp whites and cursing umpires with Miz Naincy.

ohpleaseohplease.

Nick Saban wants to play Notre Dame, and we say thee yea:

But I have been to games in Tuscaloosa (my favorite road trip), and in South Bend. And with that in mind, let us just offer a humble suggestion here for all our friends at NBC Sports when the home-and-home rotates to the Midwest: Bring extra camera crews for the action in the stands. You will get more out of this culture clash than out of an extra hour of Jay Leno every night. The atmosphere at your typical Notre Dame home game is staid enough to make the key-jangling, down-in-front Michigan fans look like the bloody-minded Cajuns of LSU, and the first time a liquored-up Bammer gets into a physical altercation with an elderly Domer usher for refusing to cheer at a lower volume, or sit down so others behind him can enjoy the game*, or remove his underwear from his date's head, by Touchdown Jesus do we ever wanna see it in HD.

Laff Riot 130: Calling all sinners, come home

11:24:21 PM Nastinchka: You're doing God's work.
11:26:07 PM Livia: I'm nodding in selfless agreement
11:26:21 PM Nastinchka: We need an emoticon for that.
11:27:21 PM Livia: We use that way more frequently than anything else.
11:27:30 PM Livia: We also need one for confrontational posturing
11:27:56 PM Nastinchka: And one for aimlessly letting one's eyes wander around the room whilst pounding one's chest like a gorilla.
11:28:46 PM Livia: If only we could reduce the lyrical genius of "save the best for last" to a sequence of keyboard symbols
11:30:44 PM Livia: *-->June
11:30:50 PM Livia: That's our new Vanessa Williams shorthand

Continue reading "Laff Riot 130: Calling all sinners, come home"

[sigh]

I wish I'd known you.

need you, internet

Hinton and I are on slightly overlapping vacation schedules this week, and I'll have the place largely to myself Monday and Tuesday. If you spot anything interesting tip me, pretty please, right'chere.

Miz Naincy Beach Dispatch, Part 2

Live from Pawleys Island, which is not in the UK:

I prefer Cornish cream because the cows are happier there, even happier than California cows despite what the liberal American media would have us believe. Also, I don't care what the teamarm tells me; you should put the cream on your scone (and please say scahn, not scohne!) before the marmalade; otherwise it looks nasty. Speaking of Cornish food, pasty rhymes with nasty but doesn't taste that way, at least not when freshly made by fishwives in St Ives and Penzance. Oh, and put the milk in your teacup before the tea; it blends more smoothly and does not cool the tea as quickly. Some people say to warm the milk first, but that's just wrong. OK, next time we'll discuss the challenges in finding vegetarian fare in pubs and why vegans should just stay on the Amurrican side of the pond.

It's like the internet came to life.

So I've lived in L.A. for going on three years and nothing bad has ever happened to me. I've never so much as had my car keyed. About a month ago I got harassed by some guys on the subway, then a couple weeks ago some other guy tried to sit on my lap on the train. But that's it. No harm, no real danger, ever.

And that's still true, but man, yesterday was a crrrreeepshow. On my way home from the pool some punk-ass kid (maybe 17, maybe) started following me on his bike, TAKING PICTURES OF ME ON HIS PHONE. This went on for about five blocks, and I was intent on ignoring him. Then, across the street from my building, he tried to take my bag. Which is about when I grabbed his backpack and tried to take a picture of HIM with MY phone, and he rode off. I chased after him for about half a block, much to the delight of my neighbor Laurence, who saw the whole thing from across the street. (Holly: "WHY DIDN'T YOU DO SOMETHING?" Laurence: "Hey, you looked like the aggressor to me.") I'd like to think I would've kicked his ass if I'd caught him, but he was on bike and I was wearing flip-flops.

This whole thing happened RIGHT underneath a security camera for a very large bank, who won't let us look at their tape to see if they got the guy on film. The purple shirts were very sweet about the whole thing, and just as skeeved out about the picture-taking as I was. (The attempted robbery doesn't really bother me, actually. The photos...yeeeesh.)

So that's it. Reports filed, cousin who was on the phone with me almost the whole time bribed to not call my parents, etc. I guess you could argue I was due, after all this time living here incident-free. I'm just trying to figure out how I can leverage this into Miz Naincy finally letting my uncle get me a gun for Christmas.* Yeehaw!

*No, not really. (Maybe.) Also, I was coming from the pool and wouldn't have had it with me even if I had one. That's the best part: I had nothing worth taking in there. If that kid had gotten my bag he would've made off with...my keys, towel, and Steele magazine (so that's why I fought back!).

Digital Vikings, Episide 6 (the one with the Kinski)

Not appearing in this week's episode, my all-time favorite Hollywood anecdote, from Ebert's Answer Man column a few years back:

Q. I just finished reading your review of "Kung Fu Hustle" and I have to know, what is Jack Lemmon's story about seeing Klaus Kinski buying a hatchet at Ace Hardware?
Barnaby Thieme, San Francisco

A. Jack Lemmon told me that he was in line at Ace Hardware in Beverly Hills, and the sales clerk kept looking past him. "I may not be the biggest star in the world" he said, "but, jeez, usually when I stand in line, the clerk will notice me. I turned around, and there was Klaus Kinski with an ax."

round up round up

Yeah, you know what we came to do:

Doug: If they only have to get to six wins to be bowl-eligible, and can now count wins over D-IAA teams with virtually no strings attached, why would a middle-of-the-pack major-conference team schedule anything more than the bare minimum in terms of difficulty? If you think the best you can do in-conference is 3-5, hook up with at least three layup opponents in out-of-conference play and bickety-bam, you got yourself a bowl invite.

Doc: Middle-of-the-pack teams are one thing, but there certainly aren't as many national-interest games as there used to be. It's not like big games are going extinct -- Alabama's still playing Penn State next year, too. You can rack up some of those numbers to the disappearance of independents and a couple big non-con games (Oklahoma-Texas, Miami-Florida State) becoming conference games. But definitely it seems like the elite programs are moving gradually to schedules that have one other elite team and three soft, delicious cupcakes instead of a respectable middle-tier opponent.

They'd stay up all day?

Thanks to Janie's vigilance, we were all over the sharks-full-of-cocaine story, but FYS raises an even better question.

oh, Delta Delta Delta Delta.

Too true, honey:

"I felt myself falling and I didn't want to hit my head on the toilet because I did not want 'toilet bowl' in my obituary listed anywhere," Delta told paparazzi about the bathroom incident, in which she slipped in the tub and injured her back.

my favorite things

zombies + daffodils?? GIMMY.

"Make them wait for a second."

I just love this. Pamie in the parking garage:

She doesn't hit the button to open the gate. Instead, she glances up toward the line of angry cars, listening to the honking.

Then she turns back to me. "It's like, I guess I could hire someone to stand up there and direct you guys in and out of the building. But the way I figure it? Y'all grown."

your knees are as weak as your grass game, dirtballer

Hey, remember that time Nadal beat my boy Hewitt in the French Open, only to lose in the next round like a leetle girl? Me neither.

Emmerichstide

If possible, the new 2012 trailer only heightens my incandescent rage that the release date has been bumped to goddamn November:

I should've been seeing this in two weeks with Livvy and 'Box. WHERE IS MY GOD NOW??

Couldn't happen to a nicer fella.

It would be so unseemly to divulge just how much delight I got out of writing this, but maybe you can discern for yourself:

Leaf is on his way now to show up for proceedings back in Texas, a solid strategy on the part of Randall County, as clearly we're dealing with a responsible adult who will stop at nothing to adhere to legal deadlines. Sarcasm aside, anyone accused of breaking into one of his player's homes in search of prescription meds is obviously in a world of hurt, and given that Leaf is also coming out of rehab, it seems he's going to need a rare combination of luck and help getting his life back together. In this regard, he has our very best wishes.

In unrelated news, three-time NFL MVP and Super Bowl XLI champion Peyton Manning is partnering with Ball State University and the Indiana children's hospital that bears his name to establish Project 18, a campaign to promote healthy living and exercise in elementary school children.

too slow for kung-fu master

In case you spent yesterday under a media blackout. I saw this at the gym and about fell over laughing. Scissor lifts are not a good time to lose your balance.

up is down, down is sideways

I finally ended up just having my parents mail me a copy of Steele from home, as it's tricky to get ahold of in my neighborhood. (A mile and a half from USC campus. Whatevs.) It fell open to the Tennessee pages the first time I opened it, and I smiled beatifically.

Then I flipped to the back page and saw Jonathan Crompton listed as a darkhorse candidate for the Heisman.

We can dismiss "logic and reason" out of hand. Senior quarterback? Sure, with less than a full season's worth of starts to his name. With his third offensive coordinator. To say nothing of the fact that he is Bad At Football. Setting all that aside, there are two possible responses to this. The first is that Steele is fallible, which ERROR CORE BREACH IMMINENT, so we move to the second: Whichever of you lot managed to intercept my mail and tamper with the holy contents of this magazine just to get my Irish up will pay, and pay dearly. Thank you for your time.

Anatomy of an offseason post

From this in the RSS reader the night before,

to this the following morning,

to this in the afternoon.

"I'd still say the Ghostbusters had no goddamn right to roll the dice like that. "

All right, this is just marvelous:

Okay, Egon, let's imagine it. Everybody you've ever loved, gone. Everybody you've ever met, gone. All the cute girls you've ever had a crush on, vaporized. All the cute little babies, exploded. Say so long to your favorite celebrities: George Clooney, Barack Obama, Thom Yorke, all gone. And not just humans. You like pandas? Too bad.

Now tell me, is this an outcome any sane person would risk in order to run a small business?

I am soothed.

An utterly wretched morning has been whisked clean away by the following:

A) Motherland, ahoy! Boarding a plane for the Dirty Dirty, one week from today.

B) Attn: Sarah, Jelisa. The latest in our Abominable Snack series. Nothing that looks this much like ectoplasm can be bad for you:

C) This (thx, Swindle):

finding another barrel

Kicking off my "Profiles in Profiteroles" series with the mighty mighty Idaho Vandals:

You may remember them from: Last September's outcry over the cheerleading uniforms, or more precisely, the relative lack thereof. (We have always been fond of this story thanks to the following quote: "To be fair, there were a number of fans who liked them." That probably goes without saying.) It is our studied opinion that the good people of Idaho have to bundle up for far too much of the year as is, and should be allowed to show as much skin as legally permissible in the cozy confines of a domed stadium, but we're liberal like that.

small wonders.

Team Speed Kills comes out with something I could not agree with more. Well, I never. Then, of course, they turn around and stage this. Sunrise, sunset.

Here's my problem with this cycle: Not one of these smart, talented writers has anything to go on here. On either side. You're all spinning these sage-sounding constructs out of absolutely nothing. You don't Know Things. We don't either. And all this playing at Objective Analysis is accomplishing nothing more than making me want to stab myself in the face, with one of my many fine stabbing implements.

If you insist on doing the Kiffin dance to fill column space this summer, do it right. Give in to what this actually is, which is your lizard brain spinning up for a trash-talking fall spent on one sideline or the other, and give an honest nod to the insanity of it all, for good or bad. Express your blind loyalties and irrational hatreds for what they are: blind, and irrational. In the absence of actual football, everything else is just philosophical gymnastics, an exercise in salon wankery designed to make actual circumstances fit your preexisting biases. You people are killing me with your cotton candy punditry, and it's only June.