i guess you eat the corn first

"Can you believe I've already started a grocery list for next week?" my grandmother asked me today on my way home from work.

"Sure, I can believe it," I replied, only half listening.

"Guess what's on it?"

"Toilet paper?" I swear, every weekend it seems like I'm piling another Charmin 24-pack into the shopping cart for her. She must eat that shit or something, or tear it to little shreads and line her bed with it, like a geriatric hamster. Who knows?

"No, not toilet paper. I still have some of it." She paused for a second. "Still, it's better than a corncob, I suppose."

I waited, knowing that the explanation for this odd remark would be forthcoming.

"Or so they say. I was so poor I didn't have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of, but I never used a corncob."

"Wait," I said. "Are you saying - did people use corncobs for that? To wipe with?"

"Well, sure," she said, indignant. "You don't think they had toilet paper 100 years ago, do you?"

I still kind of think she was just fucking with me. She does that sometimes, like the time she said that when she was a little girl she had to bite down on a stick when she had her appendix removed. Or used willow bark to brush her teeth.

i heart condi

I'm pretty sure this is one of Neo's outfits from The Matrix. I'm also pretty sure that this is the start of the 2008 presidential race; that beyotch Hillary only wishes she could pull off an outfit this fierce.

that's a lot of vinyl

Well, the L.A. trip was fun. It was great to escape the warm, sunny climate of Denton to enjoy several days of a fucking monsoon. I swear, that shit was apocalyptic.

My parents didn't let anything merely biblical get us down, though. My mom, who has the metabolism and energy level of a coked-up wallaby, ricocheted us around pretty much non-stop. The best shopping of the weekend was Amoeba, the most amazing music store I've ever seen (sorry, Waterloo). It is vast; more than one million new and used titles in stock, including more vinyl than the red light district in Amsterdam. Here's what I bought:

The Arcade Fire, Funeral: Belle & Sebastian-flavored melodramapop. Needs a few listens, but grows on you.

Cibo Matto, Super Relax: Out-of-print import classic. Super-fun Japanese punk-pop. Standout track: BBQ, which ends in what sounds like an epileptic screaming fit.

Dandy Warhols, 13 Tales from Urban Bohemia: shamelessly derivative of every late-seventies icon (think Rolling Stones, Iggy Pop, Burt Bacharach).

The Delays, Faded Seaside Glamour: This is good if you're in the right mood; like a slightly rockier Cocteau Twins.

Imperial Teen, Seasick: Another out of print classic! I couldn't find this anywhere before now!

The Sadies, Favourite Colours: I only knew these guys as Neko Case's backing band, but this record is great - somewhere between the Byrds and the Pernice Brothers. Also? Despite the inexplicably pretentious British spelling, they're from North Carolina.

Stars, Heart: an error, for sure. Ick. Very O.C.

The Von Bondies, Pawn Shopppe Heart: Very two years ago, but good. Like White Stripes only with much less sucking.

pooped

I'm back from L.A., but too exhausted to blog tonight. More tomorrow -

he has a point

Drudge has a funny story today about anonymous industry insiders all up in arms about Chris Rock hosting the Oscars. Evidently he made some cracks about the show's demographic:

"I never watched the Oscars. Come on, it's a fashion show," Rock recently declared. "What straight black man sits there and watches the Oscars? Show me one!"

He continues: "Nothing against people who aren't straight, but what straight guy that you know cares? Who gives a f---?" Rock explained.

So now the bedwetters are (anonymously, of course) calling for Rock to be replaced. Which begs the question: have you ever seen his stand-up? Come on.

Also? He kind of has a point. And who cares? The Oscars are fabulous - the annual train wreck of high fashion and too much cocaine that no one can get enough of. Especially if you bring your lunch to work in a Madonna lunchbox. Not that I do.

There's also a great story on Defamer today about Arrested Development, the funniest show on TV that's about to be canceled.

According to the article, Jason Bateman hosted this weekend’s SNL, where Lorne Michaels and the gang generously let him turn his monologue into a plea for people to watch the not-yet-canceled-but-probably-canceled Arrested Development...but Bateman has no illusions about the show’s timeslot competition, the juggernaut Extreme Makeover: Home Edition: “Who’s going to watch us when they can watch a hot, shirtless guy build a skate ramp for a kid with no bones?”

Damn, I wish I had written that.

grammy awards in 5 minutes

Gwen Stefani? Yeah, she's OK. But I liked her better 20 years ago when her name was Madonna.

The Grammy Awards show is on, and they're starting with some kind of montage (going for the mashup effect?) by combining 2 or more acts at a time, singing medleys of each other's songs. Interesting concept except that all the acts are bad. And now, for your aural pleasure, Vomit and Diarrhea!

Also? Who the hell is Maroon 5? The singer sounds like Urkel. I hope Pete Doherty attacks him with a dirty syringe.

Ooh! Tifah looks fabulous. Okay - that's all I can take.

that's some gift

X and I are going to L.A. next weekend, and my parents have a gift for him that's going to turn him from his normal square-jawed charmer persona into a simpering girly-man. Hee. He may as well pack his bonnet.

wow, that really is gay

Dear Abby really missed this one by a mile today:

DEAR ABBY: I'm 16 and a junior in high school. For the past year and a half, I have been taking ballroom dancing lessons and was assigned a teenage dance partner. To make a long story short, I fell for him. It was a schoolgirl crush for a while, and I would call him daily.

A few months ago, he finally decided to date me. It didn't last long. After six weeks we broke up. It turned out that he didn't really like me. We have sort of gone back to being friends.

Is there any way I can get over him quicker? I can't pretend he's dead or anything. How can I get the pain to stop so we can just be friends? I have to ballroom dance with him every week, and it hurts to waltz with someone you know doesn't reciprocate your feelings. -- TAKES TWO TO TANGO

DEAR TAKES TWO: The obvious answer would be to ask your teacher to assign you a different partner. However, if the two of you are dancing in competition and it's not practical, then you'll have to readjust the way you think about the young man. When you go to the dance floor, take a mental step backward. Tell yourself he is your business partner, because in a sense that's what he is. I'm not saying it will be easy to do. But it might give you a different perspective -- and that's a "step" in the right direction.

Holy shit, Abby. Is that your idea of 'the obvious answer'? A different partner?

Let's close our eyes and imagine this girl together: she's a little overweight, right? And her hair - ah, yes, I can see it now. She hennas it and wears it in a bob. She's inordinately fond of Siouxsie and the Banshees, and has read Ariel cover to cover. Her name is Margaret.

Margaret, let me tell you something about this guy you met at a ballroom dancing lesson: HE IS AS GAY AS A MADONNA LUNCHBOX. Unless you are planning an exciting life of fag-haggery, you will not, repeat NOT, date the guy you meet at a Tori Amos concert, the guy who cuts your hair, or the guy who sings showtunes, no matter how well-groomed and sensitive he is. If you call every day you might eventually wear him down, and he, like Mr. Cha-Cha, might agree to a date. But at the end of the day, he likes steak, not mackerel.

Sheesh.

and then i will be dead

I think this is goodbye.

My left ear has been ringing and clicking for a couple of weeks now, the way your ears sometimes do after you leave a show, right? Only this was almost all the time, and only on the left side.

So tonight, after I got home from work, I got cleaned up a little before X and I went out to dinner. After I washed my face, I used a q-tip to clean my ears. Right ear? Clean as a whistle.

But when I pulled the q-tip out of my left ear, do you know what came out with it? Well? Do you?!

A fucking spider. A small one, dead and apparently long shriveled.

In other words, for the last two weeks, I have had a goddamn spider in my head biting away and laying eggs. It apparently got so tired of biting my eardrum and laying eggs that it died. My goddamn brain is full of spider. Fucking. Eggs. When they hatch, they will eat little holes all throughout my brain and then I will be dead.

X was not sympathetic to the resulting hysteria. "Oh," he said, "you're so cute when you're full of spider eggs."

paperback believer

Here's a wonderful video mashup of The Monkees and The Beatles. Fun!

my invitation is hereby revoked

Lorne says I should knock off the bathroom-oriented posts, which is a good point, although it means I'll have to shelve the story of my daschund's truly epic bowel movements she's been leaving for me when I get home from work. Holy cow; Homer could write a poem about that shit. The Poopiad.

That also means that for the time being I can't tell you why my grandmother's new nickname is Fartasia McGassy, but something tells me you'll get over it.

Instead, let me tell you about an email I got from Mae today.

The counselors in my school are planning a "college week." They want us to invite guest speakers (friends) into our classroom to talk to our kids about possible careers and what it takes in college to have those careers.

Any takers? Please believe me, my feelings WILL NOT be hurt if you say hell no! I know how a room full of 7th graders can intimidate adults. I do have a crazy bunch of kids, and they can really punk you out sometimes. However, they can be really fun, too.

Hi Kids!

My name is dV. I'm here to tell you what it takes in college to have an exciting job like mine - a vitally important layer of management bullshit in a large corporation here in the good old U.S.A! So listen up, take off your trucker caps, and gather 'round.

Here's the dirty little secret about college and work that your parents and teachers won't tell you: it's very unlikely that your job will require you to actually use what you learned in college. Most of the people in my company are in jobs that have absolutely no relation to what they studied. Soy un ejemplo perfecto, ¿verdad? But don't let that worry you.

The good news is that it really doesn't matter very much what college you go to. It also doesn't matter what you major in. That's because the first job you take out of college is very likely to be entry level, and your employer will teach you everything you need to know. So don't let your parents bully you into the Ivy League. Instead, pick a school you like and a subject you like, and stretch the experience out as long as you can, because college is one hell of a lot more fun than work. You'll hear your parents prattle on about the "best four years of your life," but the truth is that if you play your cards right - meaning, if you change your major a few times because you "finally figured out what inspires you," you can easily turn four years into six. This is especially important if your parents are footing the bill. Score!