Valve shim

Now, I don't know a lot about valves, but after reading about the valve shim, it seems as though he's trying a bit too hard to make himself sound fun. I mean, this entry is barely three sentences long, but valve shim managed to cram in about five instances of fakery here. To the well-informed, a valve shim is merely a run-of-the-mill metal disc used to make the valves in car engines and the like work more precisely.

Luckily for valve shim, the uninformed see it a little differently. According to Wikipedia, valve shims not only get the good fortune of being associated with one of the more commonly non-fuck-up-able dance moves, the shimmy, they also have some sort of relation to the following terms:

• Rocker arms: Sounds badass, yes? Well, it's not. It's literally an armlike extension that rocks back & forth. Like a grandma.
• Top-hats: Yeah, I know. What's with the valve shim getting all musical & dancey on us? I don't know, but there's a top-hat shim. Is this the classy shim that goes in Rolls Royces and wears a monocle? Nope. It's just another weirdo-lookin' version of the plain ol' shim. Snooze.
• Cam-lobe: Well, I don't know what most people think of here, but I most certainly think about earlobes and piercings and cameras and scandals. But that's just me. And a cam-lobe is just a boring part of an engine or some junk.

Let's recap: A valve shim is not a dance we do when we're at a Def Leppard concert and get tired of doing the rocker arm (sorry, I didn't realize I was about to make an arm joke when I thought about using Def Leppard as my example here). It's not a show-stopping number that's only made more intriguing with the addition of a top hat. And it has nothing to do with the guy at the tattoo parlor that pierces your tongue then takes you in back and videotapes you hooking up on the hood of his souped up Nissan XTerra.

It's just a metal disc. But hey, at least it's metal and not easy listening.

PS: "Shim" totally reminds me of "Chim," which is a name Ron Burgundy uses as an alias in "Anchorman" and which my friends and I have adopted as sort of a euphemism for "douchebag." Learn it, love it, use it. This is Dr. Chim Richalds, signing off.

Master of the Gardens of Love

Master of the Gardens of Love is not a euphemism for that snake from Eden (y'know in the Bible, a book with which I have little to no relationship) or some band that formed in San Francisco circa '67. He's actually a dude--a 15th-century copper engraver from the Netherlands to be exact. But, to be honest with you, I have a hard time not picturing him as The Travelocity Gnome or Billy Crystal's character from The Princess Bride.

I shall call him MoGoL. That's an acronym, not just a super fun way to type an arbitrary nickname. I didn't accidentally have a lapse and think I was a 14-year-old typing up her MySpace page. Anyway, despite MoGoL's small body of work (he only engraved about 26 things, and I guess most of them were tiny), he did a couple works depicting, shockingly, the Gardens of Love (so it's not just a clever name).

He also did a lot of his work in The Hague, a Dutch city to which I have never been, but by which I've always been intrigued. This is basically because any place--or person, for that matter--that can garner a name with "the" in it must be monumentally cool. The Hague, The Netherlands, The Alps, The Great Houdini, The Zack Morris.

This theory does not, of course, hold true for bands, since most of them start with "the" and only a few of those are actually good. And, if it were true, we'd of course have to change all the world's greatest bands to The Good Charlotte, The Fallout Boy, The Staind and The Jonas Brothers.* Yeah. Little known fact (maybe not if you're someone who wRiTes LiKe tHis, but if you're kind of a grownup): it's actually just Jonas Brothers, not The Jonas Brothers. Weird.

I do have a couple friends with whom I refer to everything as "the" something. The Katy and The Niki and I walk around talking about The Jane and The Karl (The Katy's parents), The Fatty (The Niki's brother), The Pedro's (the restaurant we used to frequent in college), The Carpal Tunnel (the waitress we always used to have at The Pedro's who has GIANT hands)...Yeah. We're as cool as The Jonas Brothers for sure. Maybe we should have The Travelocity Gnome book us a trip to The Hague so we can finally be a little less lame. A little better than lame. We'll be The Lame.

*I am, of course, very kidding. Those bands are very awful. We all know the best band ever is The All-American Rejects. AAAAAHAHAHAHA.

Symbolic dynamics

So when I first read the definition of symbolic dynamics, I thought I understood it: "Symbolic dynamics is the practice of modeling a topological or smooth dynamical system."

Without reading any further, I thought it had something to do with literal modeling and topology of physical land, y'know, the kind of thing that land surveyors do (or what I think they do). It's actually a mathematical practice that's used in such fields as data storage and transmissions. BORING. I liked it better when it was about moving dirt and building shit.

Actually, since we're on the topic of me not understanding things, I guess I don't really know what a land surveyor does, anyway. I know they've got those tripods and when you drive by them on the road you're supposed to slow down. I know this because when I was in high school, I got stopped and yelled at by a guy for going too fast in the presence of a surveyor. Whatever. I was late for work at the pool, and, at the time, I was driving my sexy red Pontiac Sunfire (with matching bright red interior--no joke) so I probably looked like I was going a lot faster than I was.

Luckily, it shouldn't be difficult for me to learn what a surveyor does. I have a friend who's a surveyor, but based on his persona, I still have no idea what it takes to do his job. You see, Dan Man (yes, he's one of the 12 million people named Dan that goes by "Dan Man" or "Dan the Man" or something equally unclever) must be a smart guy. He was a civil engineering major at the University of Wisconsin. That's kind of a big deal. However, he's also the last person anyone could possibly take seriously. Here's why:

1. Never once have I heard anyone (except his girlfriend) call him just "Dan." In college, I was disappointed that he went by such a common nickname and I tried to start calling him "The Danimal" (this was before the yogurt existed) to no avail. He's one of two friends stored in my phone by something other than their first & last names. He better go by Dan Man at work.

2. He used to wear a red jumpsuit to every single Wisconsin football game. I've heard more than one story about bathroom accidents in that suit. TMI. Sorry.

3. Two summers ago, we were up at my friend's cabin. He found an old closet full of 1/4-full liquor bottles from (most likely) the 70s. He mixed them all into one giant drink and finished the whole thing. He sat on a folding chair down by the bonfire, tipped backwards and rolled into the lake. Instead of being severely injured like he should've been, he stood up anxiously and proclaimed, "I'm gonna take my shirt off and dance amongst the bugs!"

4. His email address still has "69" in it.

Wait, why was I talking about this? Oh. Yeah. Surveyors. So I don't know if surveyors are like important mathy nerdy engineers or if they're very hands-on manual laborers. He definitely gets a farmer's tan in the summer. Does that help? I don't know. And I still don't have any idea what symbolic dynamics really means. Let's just dance amongst the bugs and forget about it.

2001 in Australian Television

So I don't know about you, but thing that really interests me most on this page about Australian TV (or even Australia in general) is Neighbours.

I actually know very little about this show, but I do know that pretty much every famous Australian was on it at some point. Seriously. Check out this list:

• Russell Crowe
• Natalie Imbruglia
• Kylie Minogue
• Rhada Mitchell (the terrified wife from Phone Booth)
• Guy Pearce (the hottest guy I know that shares my birthday...besides Steve from Full House)
• Alan Dale (the guy who plays Wealthy, Attractive Older Gentleman on pretty much every show ever--The OC, Ugly Betty, LOST...)

Okay, I seriously thought there'd be more people I recognized on that list. Whatever. That's a lot considering how many famous people you actually get out of Australia. Think about it. The only Australians I can think of who aren't on that list are Heath Ledger, Nicole Kidman and Paul Hogan (Crocodile Dundee). Right?

It is kind of strange to me that such a wide range of stars came out of such a mediocre-sounding show. Soap opera about neighbors (or rather, neighbours) who live on a cul-de-sac together? Meh. It must be pretty damn good, though. It's been on since 1985! Not only that, it's on every night! Jay Leno better take note. Until then, I'm going to go see if I can YouTube some Neighbours and see if I can spot the world's next famous Australian.

Ian Joy

Good news, friends. Looks like every guy I've ever loved/crushed on/blabbed endlessly about can be heretofore discarded in place of my latest Wikroll discovery: Ian Joy. Wow.

Not only is this guy a soccer player, he's a super hot half-British soccer player who's my age and was born on Bastille Day. I don't really know why I care that he was born on Bastille Day. I actually don't really enjoy the French (except Capucine, which we've already been over). I just like that it's a nice, easy-to-remember date (for nerds like me that know when Bastille Day is).

I'm guessing those other attractors are easy to understand. Super hot? Duh. My age? A plus, considering more & more professional athletes are actually younger than me, a fact that's hard to swallow. Half British? Love. Let me clarify "half British," BTW: he's American, but his mom is Scottish, so he's go dual citizenship. I'm guessing this means that he has no accent (sad) but he's still been trained to drink & fight like a strapping, manly Scotsman. Clutch.

And, of course, the soccer player thing is always desirable. Right? I coincidentally just spent the weekend with a bunch of my friends from my semester in Spain, and we reminisced a-plenty about the "futbolistas" we managed to meet and subsequently root for at the few soccer games we attended when we weren't a) at a bar, b) sleeping, c) sneaking into the pool at the local 4-star hotel or d) lusting after Spain's other hot commodity: reality singing competition contestants.

Seriously, though. The hottest, most popular guys were for sure the soccer players. At least that's what I thought. I guess there was some dissension in the ranks, because they somehow garnered the nickname "field fairies," an epithet that ostensibly came from the (American) football team? Was this just at my school? Were soccer players "field fairies" throughout the US?

How lame. Why the gay stereotype for soccer? Y'know, football team, your sport is WAY more gay than soccer. In fact, if you're gonna take the Immature High School Boy (or Michael Scott) approach to life, most sports are actually gayer than soccer. Wrestling? Duh. Swimming? Speedos & leg shaving. Basketball? "Ball handling drills." Hockey? Please see DB Sweeney's hit "The Cutting Edge." Baseball? Gay outfits.

But soccer? Come on. Not gay. They can't even use their hands.

Okay, I guess that doesn't mean much when I put myself inside the mind of a 16-year-old dude. But I'll take it. Add it to the list. Ian Joy: super hot half-British soccer player who's my age and was born on Bastille Day who's probably not gay. Probably.

PS: I have to shout out to Cat Deeley, host of the FOX reality show So You Think You Can Dance for forever changing the word "joy" for me. Every time I see it, I read it with such fervor and Britishness that you'd think I was having a Tourette's-induced seizure.

Teen Angel (1997 TV Series)

This probably isn't hard to believe for anyone that's ever met me, but I actually did see my fair share of short-lived 1997 series "Teen Angel." Keep in mind, this show was on during the twilight (read: dying) years of TGIF, and the one season this show managed to survive was my junior year of high school. Also, that there was no DVR back then. What I'm trying to get at here is that I apparently spent plenty of Friday nights at home watching teen sitcoms back then.

This seems strange because I actually did have a normal social life that year. I mean, my parents threw me a surprise party for my 16th birthday, and all the super cool kids came. Then again, Zap DJ was there, so I can't blame them. (Zap DJ was a tag team DJ duo consisting of Big Man on Campus Joey Schmit and theatre kid Steve Stumacher who went on to become Milwaukee radio's own "Kid O'Shea.")

In any event, I was not a giant loser at that point in my high school career, but I guess I've just always made time for my favorite teen sitcoms. Ask anyone. I still watch "Wizards of Waverly Place" and "Unfabulous" like it's my job. Sometimes I watch them at my job. And this one was no exception.

It was really stupid. Here's the general plot: this kid Steve Beauchamp's BFF dies and then becomes his guardian angel, navigating him through the troubled waters of suburban high school life. Marcia Brady and Luther van Dam played his mom & grandpa, respectively. Pretty clutch cast, I'd say. Sadly, it wasn't clutch enough.

At its core, this show was basically the same thing as "Sabrina, the Teenage Witch" but with a boy protagonist. Still, it was the only show I actually watched of the TGIF cohort that year. "Sabrina" and "Boy Meets World" had both gone to college (aka to the dump) and this other show that was on that year, "You Wish," doesn't even ring a bell. Must have really sucked if even I didn't watch it.

But I still watched "Teen Angel." And here's why: Steve Beauchamp (played by Corbin Allred) was hot. And he was hot in an unconventional, super dorky way, though, which is what has always really gotten me. Like, I think these guys are hot, but think I'm the only one, so I think I actually have a chance with them. But then, some legitimately hot girl actually turns out to be the only one who agrees with me about said dude, and she gets to go out with him instead.

In Corbin Allred's case, that girl was Natalie Portman in the crappy-but-endearing "Anywhere but Here." Whenever it's on TBS, I still watch it to see the part where Natalie & Corbin make out. Then I turn it off because the rest sucks. And they make fun of Wisconsin. And it makes me sad watching Natalie steal my unconventional hottie. Thanks a lot.

Oh well, I'm used to it. The same thing just happened to me in real life, too. Only this time unconventional hottie wasn't stolen by a beloved actress/vegetarian/genius/activist/FunnyorDie staple. It was just some random trite bitch. Maybe if I hire Zap DJ to come to my next party, I can turn it all around.

Tony Canadeo

Never heard of him, but it appears that I should have. Tony Canadeo was a Green Bay Packer from 1941-1944 and 1946-1952. He skipped a year to be in WW2 (which begs the question: If they had girl baseball while all the boys were at war, then why didn't they have girl football?)

Obviously, I don't expect myself to know about old timey football players ('cept John Krasinski and George Clooney, of course), but as an indigenous cheesehead, I should probably be familiar with important Packers. Sorry, Wisconsin. I've let you down.

You see, Mr. Canadeo was one of the only numbers to be retired by the Pack. Number 3 will never be worn again...and I'm guessing Number 4 might soon follow since Wisconsinites basically consider Brett Favre more important than Jesus, the President and whoever invented cheese curds. I imagine the felt they same way about ol' Numbah Trey back in the fabulous forties (cue old timey radio voice where I talk about Chesterfield cigarettes and Shirley Temple's new MGM picture).

In fact, Brett & Tony do have one other important attribute in common: they both suffer from premature greying. Tony was actually better-known by his nickname "The Grey Ghost," due to this ailment. And we all know Brett's gotten a bit more than salt & pepper happening. Sadly for the Grey Ghost, though, he wasn't exactly what we'd call a "silver fox."

In other words, he wasn't totally hot despite his unfortunate hair situation. Y'know, like Brett. And Anderson Cooper. And Richard Gere. And Dr. McSteamy. and Stacy London? Meh, maybe not.

At least I can prove to Wisconsin that I know more Packers than I do silver foxes. I was totally into them when they were good in 1997. See? Reggie White, LeRoy Butler, Robert Brooks, Antonio Freeman. Okay, that's all I've got. But a girl on my dorm floor went to that prom party where Mark Chmura totally skeezed out and pulled some statutory-type business. So I've got that going for me. Which is nice.

Champclause

Sadly, while it sounds like it's some kind of loophole to get the small town's star high school quarterback out of that underage DUI he pulled after prom, Champclause is actually a region in the Haute-Loire department of France. And it's probably not pronounced CHAMP-claws like I'd prefer. It's surely got a pretentious French pronunciation that always makes me want to vom (y'know, except when it's Capucine).

Isn't it weird that the French call neighborhoods and areas departments? Again, I know it's not pronounced in the harsh American way I'm imagining in my head, and it's much more romantical-sounding. But still I'd hate to live in a department. Or, rather, a dey-parr-man. Do you think they sleep in cubicles (qu-bee-cluh) and, um...I can't think of another analogy right now. Guess it's a good thing I'm not a really bad stand-up comic because this is the kind of joke I'd try telling. And nobody would laugh (so I'd have to jump in the audience and laugh at myself, a phenomenon which I liken to people giving the thumbs up to their own Facebook statuses*).

While we're on the subject of obnoxious French pronunciations, how 'bout that sucky new McDonald's commercial about McCafe? Ugh. It kills me. Every time. Chore? Chor-ay! Shuttle? Shutt-lay! Thank god I didn't write that crap. Definitely wouldn't merit the auto-thumbs-up.

Speaking of McDonald's, though, on Family Guy the other day, they were talking about the McDLT (skip to about 11:30 on that clip--there's some good Growing Pains humor in there too). Now, the McDLT was something I didn't know about at all. Probably because I always have and always will be strictly loyal to McNuggets. I had to look it up on Wikipedia and, to be honest, it sounds really stupid. But maybe that's just because I'm pronouncing it the French way.

*I stole that joke from my friend Adam. So, if it's not funny, it's his fault.

List of the 100 largest urban areas in Canada by population

Huzzah! Random article has blessed me with yet another list. This time, it's a list of the 100 largest urban areas in Canada by population. I hate to be snarky because Canadians are supposedly so nice, but it really should be the list of largest "urban areas" in Canada. 70% of these "urban areas" are less than 100,000 people. Nearly 50% of them are 50,000 or less.

Come on! I know it gets cold up there, but couldn't you do something cooler with all that space? Your 90th largest "urban area" is not much bigger than my high school (exaggeration to prove a point). The 514th largest "urban area" in the US is nearly twice that (thank you, Del Rio, Texas). Is city planning considered rude, or could you just not get those Degrassi kids to reproduce enough to fill up your huge ass country?

I'm sorry, Canadians. But you need a little bit of motivation. Get it together and get build some cities. I don't care if the rest of the world likes your laid-back demeanor--you're just like Americans but less douchey.

It's understandable. Now that I think about it, you are. You're the Ryan Reynolds to our Matthew McConaughey, the Will Arnett to our Jeremy Piven, the Corey Hart (not Haim) to our Corey Feldman, the Sebastian Bach to our Bret Michaels. (Okay, that last one was a stretch. They're both total bags of douche.) Need more analogies? You're the cast of Knocked Up to our Ben Stiller, the Rick Fox to our Dennis Rodman. Planet Earth basically thinks Canada is filled with Dana Carveys and Michael Ceras while America's filled with Spencer Pratts and John Mayers.

Wow. Americans suck. Browsing the list of famous Canadians made me realize that we really are dicks. Seriously. I'm sorry I doubted you, Canada. EVERYONE awesome is from your country. I mean, we've still got Jason Bateman, Conan O'Brien, Jon Stewart, Zooey Deschanel and a few others. But think about everyone else who's a major asshat. Probably American:

• Angelina Jolie? Why do you think she's got all those foreign kids? To cancel out her Americanism
• Tom Cruise? He'd like to claim he's an alien, but he's American
• Dane Cook? Bostonian (douchiest part of America)
• Oprah? AMERICAN! (read in Oprah's "favorite things" voice)
• Dakota Fanning? America's tiniest douche
• Elmo? American (and the biggest jerk I can think of)

Admittedly, Canadians like Eugene Levy and Howie Mandel do bring a high degree of suck, but it's not enough to cancel out the awesome brought to us by Michael J. Fox and Rachel McAdams. Although, in Canada, Mandel & Levy constitute nearly 2% of the population, which is why they were apparently exiled by the Canadian government (parliament? mounties?) and forced to take jobs where they look as American as possible. I mean, seriously. One's basically become the Screech Powers of the American Pie franchise and don't even get me started on the douchey banality of Deal or No Deal. Sickening.

But now that they're here in America where they belong, I guess it's safe to say I'd like to move to Canada. #97 on the list happens to be Owen Sound, Ontario (pop. 22,649). I'll fit right in. They'll think I'm their queen.

List of sniper rifles

Whoa. Badass. A gigantic sortable list of sniper rifles. I'd like to state for the record that I had no idea there were so many snipers out there...and also that I hope this post doesn't lead to a huge influx of readers who happen to be militant Henry Rollins fans and like to pretend they're paid assassins. But, if you've joined us today, WELCOME!

So, since I'm not into action movies, shooting people or guns, all of these rifles look pretty much the same to me. I shot an air rifle at camp once, but that's the best I've got. Sorry, I'm a girl. And, as we all know, it's not every day you see a girl shoot a gun. Unless you watch a lot of G.I. Jane and SVU. (Olivia Benson is so effing badass, BTW.)

Despite my ignorance, this whole sniper rifle thing is actually pretty timely. I just received via email a video of my little sister Pony (nickname--will explain some day) shooting a pistol...and crying! Apparently, while she and her friends spent Memorial Day up north*, someone's uncle (not sure whose) taught them how to shoot. Sound sketchy? Yeah, it looked sketchy, too.

So anyway, Pony was super scared to even hold the gun. She waited while each of the 7 other girls took their turns, pulled the trigger and shrieked when the gun went off. But when it was finally her turn, she had really worked herself up. She was in tears when she took it in her hands (probably not the best for her aim...or, you know, her stability with a loaded weapon). She finally made herself shoot and do the obligatory shrieking, but then she turned around quickly and revealed her cry face to everyone behind her. Awww. Poor Pony. Is it nap time?

Oh, PS. The girls were up there for a bachelorette party, so I don't know WTF they were doing shooting guns in the first place. At least they got the shrieking part right, eh?

*For those of you who don't know what I mean by that, "up north" refers to the woods of northwen Wisconsin and/or any area that's basically outdoorsy where you stay in cabins, go on boats, mingle with townies and drink a lot. I recently heard that Wisconsinites are like the only people who call it "up north," so I don't want any confusion.

Sweet Savage

The entry for hard rock band Sweet Savage so non-objectively refers to their heavy style as bolstered by "two guitars, thundering bass and powerhouse drums." Now, I'm no music expert (well, 11 years of piano and one song learned on violin), but I don't think those are very unbiased terms, crazy Wikipedia editors. Better log on and send them a death threat. (Seriously, our intern at work got a death threat from a Wiki editor for putting what they deemed "promotional" copy on our company page. Yikes.)

In any event, let's just forget about that and talk about what actually comes to my mind when I see their name: Kevin Arnold. Yes, that's right. In honor of my dear dear friend Jessica Bloodgood's impending birthday, I'll dedicate this post to Fred Savage, her soulmate.

Now, over the years, Jessica has indeed had her fair share of run-ins with really exciting celebrities, including the time she nearly assaulted John Stamos at an airport and told him that she loved him.

But some of the better celebrity moments Ms. Bloodgood has experienced have come in the form of autographs. As a child, Jess had perfected the art of writing letters to her favorite celebrities, and actually got a response once: from FRED SAVAGE. I mean, if anyone's going to write you back, it's that guy right? The dream man of every 12-year-old girl on the planet, the consummate nice guy, the owner of the most adorable dimples ever (next to A.C. Slater, of course).

The headshot he mailed back was clever and totally rad: "Jessica: May all your years be Wonder Years." Wow. Be still my heart (as Jess herself would say). He actually wrote back! And probably from the set of "The Wizard" while he was testing out the big screen debut of Super Mario Bros 3 and hanging out with co-star and future wet dream of every hispter boy ever, Jenny Lewis. It was probably the best celebrity-being-awesome story ever told.

Until Jess got to high school.

By the late 90s, she was living a super fantastic life in Mansfield, Texas, and her then-boyfriend Matt visited her at work, ecstatic to give her a gift. "Jessica. Guess what. I was talking by the bookstore and GUESS who was signing copies of his book. Brandon Tartikoff!"

[Many of you may not even know who that is. But for folks like Jess and me, he was a veritable hero. Mr. Tartikoff was the head of NBC in the 80s and 90s and he was the man responsible for telling us about a "hit idea for the new fall season" on the Johnny Dakota Anti-Drug episode of the best television show of all time, Saved by the Bell.]

Anyway, Matt pulled out a copy of Mr. Tartikoff's memoir "The Last Great Ride," and showed Jess the inscription he "wrote" for her: "Dear Jessica: There's no hope with dope! Love, Brandon Tartikoff."

Awww. Sweet, right? Perhaps. If Jessica wasn't fully aware that Brandon had passed away FOUR YEARS prior. Haha oops. Nice try Matt. I love that he assumed Brandon would write "love" so early in their nonexistent relationship, too. Feeble attempt, but a treasured memory and hilarious story, nonetheless, right?

And at least Jessica still had her Fred Savage headshot. Although by then Jessica had realized that Fred probably hadn't written her back himself and some publicist probably did it. Seems that sweet Savage boy was more the thundering bass, powerhouse drums badass we would expect from something called Sweet Savage.

The Sea-Maiden

Hey, I'm back. And just in time for a weird Irish fairy tale. The Sea-Maiden paints mermaids in a much dimmer light than Hans Christian Andersen did with his beloved children's story, that's for sure. The mermaid in this shit is the bad guy. Or gal (ugh, I hate that word). The Wiki entry was really confusing, though, because this story was adapted by two different authors, and the plot summarydelineates the differences between the two versions while outlining the plot. In other words, I'm not really sure what happens in this story, other than the fact that the mermaid is a Rumpelstiltskin type. Sorry, mermaids.

I guess it's about time mermaids catch a bad rap, though. Their name obviously insinuates their beautiful fair maidenness. And they live in the water so they're extra awesome. I bet this is the only story ever where a mermaid is anything less than totally smokin' hot and fun. This story did for mermaids what Lindsay Lohan did for, um, well, herself. Y'know back at the turning point when LiLo was in "Mean Girls" and everyone--even Tina Fey the genius--said she was the next big thing. But then she decided she liked coke in her nose better than having acting jobs, which was quite detrimental to her own reputation.

Actually, since The Sea-Maiden is a pretty under-the-radar tale, I'm sure it didn't do that great of a job marring the reputation of the mermaid population. I'm pretty sure every guy I know would still say Ariel is by far the hottest Disney princess. Eh, now that I think about it, isn't it more like an ongoing toss-up between Ariel and Princess Jasmine?*

It's like in Pulp Fiction when they say everyone's either an Elvis person or a Beatles person--you can't like both equally. (The answer is of course Beatles. It's only acceptable to say Elvis if your name is Uncle Jesse.) Is a guy either an Ariel person or a Princess Jasmine person (or, if you're Garth Algar or my friend Skinny, a Bugs-Bunny-in-a-dress person)? And, by that logic, is a lady either a Prince Eric person or an Aladdin person? Maybe.

Personally, I find both dudes rather attractive (despite the obvious problem that they exist only on the cels created by those crafty Disney Imagineers), but I'm gonna have to go with Aladdin on this one. He was troubled and down-to-earth even though he was BFF with Robin Williams, a rug and a monkey in a hat. Eric, while conventionally hotter and more rugged, was, after all, a prince. And that means he's probably a bit of a douche.

Maybe not, though. I was recently fooled when I met this polo-clad, BlackBerry-weilding, finance-jobbed, rich-family guy that I was sure would be a total douche. Turns out he was actually rather normal and friendly. Maybe "don't judge a book by its cover" was the lesson we were all supposed to learn from The Sea-Maiden? It was either that or "mermaids are bitches."

Natalie Cole

Yeah, for real. Random article's got a problem being random lately. I keep getting super well-known stuff. But, I digress. Let's just move on and talk about the crazy stuff I never knew about jazz singer Natalie Cole:

1. She's almost 60!? WTF?! I don't know, but I find it hard to believe that Nat King Cole's little girl is that old. Listen to me. I'm acting as though I knew her when she really was a little girl. In reality, I'm just shocked that this broad is older than my parents.
2. Her real name is Stephanie. Knowing that she's so old, it makes a bit more sense as to why she didn't go with Stephanie. It was probably a super weird name that nobody had back then. Kinda like Carly. I never knew any other Carly growing up and they never had personalized license plates for me at gift shops. Now there are millions of little girls running around with my name, and I find it a blessing. When I get old, everyone will think I'm younger than I am. Just like we would've thought with Stephanie Natalie Cole. But I guess going with her middle name helped her secure those ties with daddy Nat and boost her career, eh?
3. She used to refer to her family as "the black Kennedys." No comment. (Tried hard to find the clip from "Jerry Maguire" where Jerry says "no comment" and realizes Cush is cheatin on him with Bob Sugar. No avail.)
4. She was a druggie?! I guess this is old news by now, but I had no idea. Apparently, she's been sick for about a year. Her kidneys are all jacked up because she she got Hep C from doing so many drugs. WTF Natalie?! You been hanging with Pammy Anderson? Your daddy would never knowingly do that duet with you knowing what a bad kid you'd become.

That's probably not true. I bet Nat would've still done the "Unforgettable" duet in real life--not simulated like we all came to know and love it in the 90s. What an impact that duet had, eh? In fact, my prom theme was "Unforgettable" and that was the theme song.

Looking back, it was really weird, because my junior prom was in 1998 and that fake duet came out in 1991. At least we didn't go totally trite like 75% of the proms that year and use a Green Day's "Time of Your Life." We kept it klassy. Senior year's theme was equally retro and Rat Packy: Van Morrison's "Moondance." It was a great song, and the resulting commemorative grey long-sleeved prom t-shirts were pretty rad, but I distinctly remember nobody knowing how to dance to it. It's not a slow song, and it's not a fast song, and we were in high school in the 90s, so nobody knew the foxt trot. It was very awkward and cumbersome, even for 600 white kids. Maybe we could've used some dancing lessons from the black Kennedys.

1991 World Championships in Athletics - Men's 20 km Walk

The 1991 World Championships in Athletics - Men's 20 km Walk took place on August 24, 1991 in Tokyo and was won by Maurizio Damilano of Italy. (Really? That name is Italian? Duh.) The silver and bronze were both taken by Soviets. And, with that, my mind is racing. Racewalking, if you will.

Racewalking is a track event mandating that one foot "appears to be in contact with the ground at all times." Now, of course, the very thought of dudes doing the fast walk probably makes us all giggle. This particular race probably would have made me ROTFLMAO because I was 9 when it took place. Actually, thinking back to '91 and picturing this race makes me smile quite a bit because I'm picturing these guys wearing neon bike shorts and SurfStyle windbreakers. Yummy.

But let's not be accusatory and instead give these guys a little credit. Racewalking is no joke (except when they had it at this random track meet we did in high school--they had all these weirdo joke events like the Boys 1600m Walk and the Girls 3200m steeplechase, and since they were events nobody ever did for real life--and because they were 16-year-old guys, all the boys in that walk wore, um, neon bike shorts and SurfStyle windbreakers, actually).

Anyway, it's no joke. According to Wikipedia, racewalkers develop this cadence to move more quickly with their short strides and, effectively, become nearly as fast as 400m runners. AND the Olympic events are either 20km (12.4mi) or 50km (31mi)! By my calculations, Sr. Damilano won this race by WALKING 6-minute miles. TWELVE of them. OH EM GEE.

No wonder it was completely acceptable for a macho macho Italian to do such a gay-sounding sport. It's not ladylike at all. It's totally badass. Although I guess that doesn't explain the Soviet success in this event. I wouldn't really consider them most manly Olympians. Their specialty has always been gymnastics, yes? And hockey. Hockey is super gay. Then again, this was when they were doing their part to confuse the fuck out of the entire world with their USSR/CCCP/URS/Russia uniforms changing every day for about 4 years.

In any event, I'd like to conclude that I now have the utmost respect for racewalkers...although I still think I'd prefer if they dressed to entertain me, not to reduce resistance as they stroll through town at lighting speed.

61st Annual Golden Globe Awards

At first, when I saw "61st Annual Golden Globe Awards," I immediately thought they had taken place in like 1979. I don't know why. I wasn't even close. They were the 2003 awards. You wouldn't think it would be so difficult to remember movies & TV from just six years ago because I'm traditionally pretty adept at knowing movie/TV factoids (IMDB.com is my home page for Pete's sake), but I had a hard time with it. All I knew for sure without looking at the list of winners was that my least favorite show (besides Two and a Half Men...and According to Jim...and George Lopez) Sex & the City was a big winner. It had to have been, right? Nah. Walked (gallopped?) away with one award for Sarah Jessica Parker.

The real big winner of the party (yeah, apparently stars say the GGs are a huge party because you sit a tables, not in an auditorium and people get all wasted and shit and then lose their rented Harry Winston jewels) was Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King. Nerds.

Unfortunately for my own acceptance rating among the nerds I love so much, I've never seen any LOTR movies. I know enough about them through Led Zeppelin music to know it's not really my thing. Okay, that's not true. I think I have this attitude about me where I never want to get into anything that has a huge obsessive following (besdies Zac Efron--wow--my heart is beating faster just thinking about him) for fear that I will also become culty and/or trite and/or creepy in the process.

In my mind, this psychotic following most often develops around movie trilogies/series. Nearly every series you could name is also one I have never seen. I don't know. I guess I've always been averse to them. Get ready to be disappointed and hereby renounce me as the queen of trivia you've all come to know and love. Here's a list of those fave movie series I've never seen:

• Lord of the Rings
• Harry Potter (I saw part of one once. They played that broom game. I fell asleep.)
• Star Wars (I've seen the ewok movie, but that's it. I tried watching the 1st one [the 4th one?] but it was SO boring I turned it off after 20 minutes.)
• Rocky (Am I really missing much? "Eye of the Tiger," egg drinking, Philly steps, "ADRIENNE!")
• Rambo (See above)
• Terminator
• Indiana Jones (I know. This one is kinda important. It's on my Netflix, but I keep bumping it for seasons of Punky Brewster.)
• JAWS (Listen, my sister was too scared to watch Sleeping Beauty and E.T. There was no way my mom was letting us watch JAWS.)
• Nightmare on Elm Street/Halloween/Friday the 13th (I have seen all 3 "Scream" movies, though.)
• Lethal Weapon (I know nothing about these movies.)
  
• Die Hard ("Yippie kay ay motherfucker" is all I need to know, right?)
  
• Police Academy (Watched the cartoon all the time but never saw any of the movies. Weird.)
• Beverly Hills Cop (Now I have that song in my head...)
  
• The Matrix (Ookay, I saw the first one, but I don't remember it.)
• The Godfather (My friend Tyler made us watch the original once in high school. As soon as we got to the dead horse part, I was done. We put on Allison's "Best of MTV's The State" tape instead.)

Are you sufficiently disappointed? Yeah, I know. Me too. Guess I've got some stuff to go watch.

Soleil Moon Frye

Now this Wikroll merits not just an OMG, but a ZOMG! Are you kidding me?! Soleil Moon Frye is more or less my hero. Well, okay. Her character on beloved sitcom Punky Brewster is my hero. I was Punky for Halloween in 1st grade...and 2nd grade...and 3rd grade.

As far as I was concerned, Punky Brewster was the best TV show of all time. Until 1990, of course. That's when the best TV show of all time became Saved by the Bell, and Punky was relegated to best TV show about Chicago of all time (yes, better than Perfect Strangers). If you know me at all, you know that's my steadfast belief. Luckily, SBTB and Punky swapped cast members occasionally.

Mark-Paul Gosselaar (Zack Morris to those who have never had a television ever) guest starred as Punky's math tutor on one of the later episodes when she'd adopted a more normal super 80s bright-colored fashion sense (after she stopped wearing her signature jeans-bandanna-vest-pigtail ensemble but before she got super hot & sexy). Sadly, the episode ended in Zack screwing over both Punky and Margaux (sorry, Cherie), but at least Punky came through and earned an A+ in friendship (PLEASE watch the clip).

In return, a grown Soleil traveled to Bayside high to play Screech's gold digging fake girlfriend in the Screech's Spaghetti Sauce episode. (The sauce-a you can have, but the secret? She's-a mine.) Of course, this was during a tough time in Soleil's life, right about the time of her monumental breast reduction survey. Yes. Punky grew from a mismatched tomboy to a very voluptuous young lady. In fact, Wikipedia claims she suffered from gigantomastia. Poor Punky.*

It's sad to think about Punky growing up back then and getting more & more uncomfortable. Even more uncomfortable than the time she liked some boy on the show, and he said his favorite color was orange, so she dressed in head-to-toe orange and then attempted to pluck her eyebrows. Ouch. It was not a shining moment for Penelope Brewster. At least she's all better now.

Well, kind of. She's ostensibly more comfortable, but she's making some poor life choices these days:

1. She's been spending her time hanging out with her new BFF Melissa Joan Hart (who hasn't wowed me since her days as Clarissa, to be honest).
   
2. She's voicing Bratz dolls in movies. Kind of ironic, eh? Bratz dolls have the same proportions Soleil was in danger of having before her surgery!
   
3. She's married to the guy who invented Punk'd with Ashton Kutcher. I wonder if that's how he thought of the name Punk'd. I mean, the term did kinda come out of nowhere, didn't it? "Hey, Ashton, let's just name it after my wife. Cool?"
   
4. They named their children Poet Sienna Rose and Jagger Joseph Blue. Poor kids. I hope they don't suffer from gigantomastia too.
   

I guess nobody's perfect. Even my hero Punky. but what would one expect from a lady named Sun Moon? Yeah, I know French. Je te le tua, je ne le ca va?**

UPDATE: Check this out. Punky on Twitter (Ugh, Twitter. It's so WEIRD.): http://celebrity-babies.com/2009/04/22/soleil-moon-frye-finds-a-twitter-pal-in-daughter-poet/

*When I write her name, it makes me think of the Family Guy episode where Brian does his impression of Punky's adoptive father Henry saying "Punkaaaay" over & over. Coindicentally, Jessie Bloodgood does an excellent version of Punky saying "Henry."

**To my knowledge, this means nothing.

Stone Ridge, Virginia

Seriously, what's with all these artificial communities popping up in random article lately? It's creepy to know that there are so many of them around. Stone Ridge, Virginia, is a mixed-use community near WDI (Washington-Dulles Airport). FYI, I like using airport codes whenever possible, although Chicago's "ORD" and "MDW" are very inconspicuous and nobody would ever guess "Chicago" when looking at them. "MKE" is another story, which is why I'm proud to be from the Greater Milwaukee Area originally (y'know, where teachers like to hook up with each other a lot).

In any event, Stone Ridge is what I like to call a "fake town." Developers come in, take a giant plot of land and put in a diversified mix of living arrangements: houses, town homes, condos & apartments (like M.A.S.H). Then they build cute little downtown areas with chain restaurants and generically well-liked (but discount) retail stores like JoS. A Bank and Ann Taylor Loft. Then they build a school or two. And if they're totally into the creepy pod-person Pleasantville feel of the whole thing, there's a church of some sort. Oh, and all the trees are new and tiny because they were planted specifically for the fake town. It's so weird.

They built one near my grandma's condo in Glenview like 6-ish years ago. Coincidentally (or on purpose), it was called The Glen. The year I lived with Grams (The C-dubs if you're really tight with her) after college, it was being finished and expanded. This one was much more upscale than Stone Ridge, Virginia, though. Whereas SRV's got Wendy's, Cingular, Walgreens and Subway, The Glen's got Noodles, Ulta, Dick's Sporting Goods, and Wildfire (which is actually an excellent restaurant despite the fact that it's a small chain). They've even got a golf course.

They weren't messin' around when they built The Glen. It's very lovely. But Grams & I still mockingly called it the fake town whenever we'd go there for dinner and/or shopping and/or movies (and/or church...NOT).

The Glen does have one huge flaw, though: no back yards! Seriously. In the area where they have single family homes, the driveways are all in the BACK of the houses. If you live there, you go around back to a shared alley, and that's where your garage & driveway are. So it's like you've got TWO front yards because there's yard there...it's just adjacent to road and other houses. Again. So weird. Let's hope SRV thought about that when buidling so close to WDI. The last thing I want to see when I'm flying into DC is a neighborhood with no yards.

Neoneli

I wish Neoneli were what it sounds like, a futuristic cyborg version of Nelly (Where the F did he go, BTW? I haven't heard about his exploits/joints/cribs in years, despite the fact that I still hear "Ride Wit Me" on a weekly basis.)

In reality, Neoneli is a "commune" on the island of Sardinia. I think Wikipedia is misusing the term "commune," though, because it sounds like this place is just a town where people really like their space. It's 49 square km, but there are only 776 people there. Population density? Only 16! 16?!!?!

Now, obviously I think this sounds rather ludicrous (nope, not referring yet another rapper from the Welcome to Atlanta Remix) since I live in Chicago, where the population density is like 12,000. But my hometown back in Wisconsin is pretty spacious and a so-called "farmy" locale. And still, the density is 182 and we definitely had enough room that we couldn't see the neighbors.

This was definitely a good thing. To one side was the perpetually drunk couple who had 5 cats, all named after characters from Rocky & Bullwinkle. To the other was the family who spent all winter collecting sap from their trees. And across the street was my 8th grade science teacher, his wife and his twin girls, Missy & Jenny, who babysat us when we were little. They seemed pretty perfect. Oh, you know, until I reached 8th grade and realized the rumor that he was dating another one of the 8th grade teachers, Mrs. Claus, was indeed true. Now that the term is ubiquitous, I can confidently categorize Nancy Claus as a cougar, quite dangerous for all the pubescent 14-year-old boys in her class. With her catlike powers and her penchant for adultery, her name really should've been spelled C-l-a-w-s. Pun intended.

In fact, when I was in 1st grade, I remember some of the 8th graders came down to read us "Miss Nelson is Missing." They said "We're from Mrs. Claus' 8th grade English class," and I never once thought "Oh, like Santa's wife." Nope. I immediately thought of Dr. Claw from Inspector Gadget. I swear. It didn't even occur to me to relate this woman to Santa. Just the villain from my favorite cartoon. And even 7 years before I'd actually meet the woman, I was right. Turns out she was awful. I always knew I had good intuition.

In any event, Mrs. Claus and her married prey eventually got married themselves and his family basically fell apart. With good reason, of course. At least Jenny got to marry an Olympic Gold medalist. She deserves it. She was a good babysitter.

Listen to me now. Two posts in a row about indiscretions of my former teachers. Maybe they should think about spreading people out even more up in Wisco. All this close contact is causing so much drama. I bet Neoneli is totally adultery-free.

Pingfang

Okay, I'll admit it. The first time I hit random article today, I got John F. Kennedy. No joke. But the fact that I had to actually say "no joke" to tell you that JFK really did come up randomly is the reason why I rolled again to get Pingfang. Sorry to compromise the integrity of Wikrolled, but the most beloved guy-who-goes-by-initials of all time (tied with LBJ, FDR and APK) didn't seem random enough. Plus, we all know his story, so we wouldn't have learned anything. I would've just written about the scene in Wayne's World where Wayne imitates Marilyn Monroe singing Happy Birthday to Jack.

In any event, on to Pingfang. Despite being the funnest word to say, ever (next to "preposterone"), Pingfang's claim to fame is super sad. It was the headquarters of the Japanese Biological Warfare Unit 731 in China during WWII (please read "dubya, dubya, two" like John Wayne). And now I'm thinking about Honors English 9 in high school, when we had to read Hiroshima. Yes, I know this is not the same - nuclear bomb sent by the US to Japan is not the same as dungeons and incinerators built by the Japanese in China - but still. I'm thinking of that book.

More notably, though, I'm thinking about what happened when we were discussing it in class. During one of the most serious discussions around the book, Katy Melenchik* spilled a bottle of CK One all over the floor next to Jill Kennedy's* backpack and there was a minor freakout. Miss Jane Grabowski* got all crabby and sent them both to the office, while the rest of the class had to bathe in cheap cologne all afternoon.

But that was back when Jane was still single and crabby. Before she started dating math teacher Mr. Oswald and became nice. When those two got married, Honors English 9 got a fuck of a lot easier. Not only was she Mrs. Oswald, but she was also married into the cool clique of teachers at school, a group she never could've gotten into without good ol' Oswald. You know, the hot social studies & math guys who coached baseball & track...and eventually marry former students.

Well, turns out her tenure in the popular circle didn't last too long. Turns out her new husband ended up getting frisky with Maggie Barnes* on the bus back from Summerfest...the summer before Maggie's senior year. DRAAAAAMA! Like, drama worse than anything from WWII . Bet Jane wanted to send that cheating creep over to Pingfang? Fuck yeah. Give him up.

PS: Apparently Skinny used to date Maggie Barnes in like 8th grade. I can't decide whether Mr. Oswald was a step up or a step down from that.

*Names changed to protect the innocent. AKA, so if they ever Google themselves, they won't find my weirdo blog post.

Real Jardín Botánico de Madrid (Royal Botanical Garden of Madrid)

What an exciting day for Wikrolled. Not only have I heard of the Real Jardín Botánico de Madrid, I've been there at least three times. That picture is actually from my most recent visit in '07. I sound like a douche, don't I? Whatever. It's time for Carly to brag about all her trips to Spain again. Sorry, friends.

My first trip was in high school. We took this big trip with my AP Spanish class. Pretty typical. Some kids got busted for drinking at Kapital, the giant club that was next to our hotel (and really close to the Real Jardin, actually), and we all took some really cool pics with our Kodak Advantix cameras (y'know, entire rolls of panaoramic shots because we forgot to change the switch back to regular). I also bought a prom dress, since senior prom was like the week after we got back. This was thrilling because I knew nobody else would have the same one. Didn't end up wearing it, though. I decided when I got back that I didn't like it anymore and I made my mom get me a new one. What an asshole.

My second "trip" was junior year of college. Wasn't a trip, really, since I lived there for six months, but my visits to Madrid were trips, I guess. Yes, it was study abroad. Yes, I know a million Americans go there every year to "study." Yes, it's trite. And, yes, it was the best time of my life. I actually lived in Sevilla, and we went up to Madrid a couple times to visit all the stuff--the Real Jardin, the Palacio, the museos, the Hard Rock Cafe. You know. The important stuff. Seriously, though. I don't really consider Madrid very Spanish. Sure, they've got tapas and the guys wear tight pants, but besides that, you could be in any big European city. We were really proud to live in Andalusia, I think. They definitely had better accents. I could talk about this for hours, but I won't. You're welcome.

I'll move on. My third trip was a five-year reunion for all my friends from the study abroad trip. Eight of us went. It was oh-so-fun...but oh-so-weird. We spent half the week in Madrid, where we visited all the stuff again (and partied with DJ Reda) and the other half in Sevilla, which had done a 180 in five years. Starbucks everywhere, a metro system, more annoying clubs, you know. Josefina was not impressed. Oh. Josefina was our Spanish "mom" that we lived with during our semester. She was a badass. So was her suuuuuuper old and senile mother, "abuela." When we were there in '07, Katie and I, who had been roommates in Sevilla, went back to visit Josefina, sure that abuela would no longer be there because she was roughly 167 years old when we lived there. Indeed, she was still kicking at 172. What a crazy broad.

Pendergardens

Pendergardens is a self-contained pedestrian development being constructed in the last open space left in Malta. This is straight outta LOST, people! The description makes it sound idyllic, all-inclusive and lovely, but all I can think of is the tropical-yet-creepy Dharma commune and their mysterious (read: psychotic) orientation videos. Like, don't you wonder what kind of people would move there? Do you think there's a waiting list or they have to shadily recruit people and dupe them into coming like they did to Juliet? (PS, I really apologize for all the LOST references. If you don't get them, then just read this instead.)

As it if weren't enough that I picture this place crawling with clones and hoverboards (meaning I think this place is the love child of super 70s Dharma, the movie Gattaca and the "future" part of Back to the Future Part II), I've also got some qualms with the whole "pedestrian development" thing. The only "pedestrian development"* I can currently recall ever visiting is Mackinac Island, which, coincidentally, I was just telling J. Holmes about this afternoon. It's quiant, yes. But all there really is to do there is eat fudge and ride bikes. Oh, you can also go on horse-drawn carriage rides. Yawn.

Thinking about it now, the image I've worked up in my head actually sounds kind of exciting. Like Narnia but without the lions. Exotic and futuristic with lots of dudes that look like Ethan Hawke & Michael J. Fox. Oh, and ponies. Sadly, I perused Pendergardens.com, and it looks like my dreams will not be coming true. Why do they insist on letting me down?

*Another notable pedestrian area is at my alma mater: State Street in Madison, Wisconsin. Check it out on MTV's College Life, a piece of trash reality show that makes me reaaaaaalllllly miss being in school. Madison = utopia.

Oreolalax Nanjiangensis

So when you type in an animal's scientific name on Wikipedia, it usually redirects to a page with the actual English name, like this. But, sadly for the oreolalax nanjiangensis, there is no actual name. He doesn't have one. He's just a totally ambiguous frog-like creature. Hell, I don't even know if he's a frog by reading this article. It just says he's an amphibian endemic to China. So it could be a salamander or a toad. Are those the only amphibians? I think so.

After further inspection of his scientific classification chart, I now know that this animal is a frog. But WTF does he look like? What does he do?! Let's use deductive reasoning, shall we? That's what my good friend Jessie Bloodgood would do.

Oreolalax nanjiangensis. Break it down:

• Oreo: Well, no we're getting somewhere. This frog is obviously black & white. And tastes excellent dipped in peanut butter.
• Lalax: In my mind, "la-la" brings to mind Ashlee Simpsion (sad, I know), and "lax" makes me think of my friend Andy because he often yells, "Guy! ReLAX!" in his ridiculous Boston accent.* But, you know, "lalax" all together just makes me think of Dr. Seuss' most preachy story of all, The Lorax. So, this frog must be an environmentalist. Makes sense, since Wiki says oreolalax is threatened by loss of habitat. Sorry, buddy.
• Nanjia: Duh. Ninja. He's a ninja frog. 2nd cousin of the ninja turtle. His weapon of choice is the throwing star.
• Gensis: Easy. Phil Collins.

In conclusion, we have now determined that oreolalax nanjiangensis is a black & white frog who's a member of PETA and stalks its prey using the kung fu tiger style to the tune of some of the 1980s' favorite soft rock hits. This is Sussudio. A great, great song. A personal favorite. (At least according to this guy.)

*It does NOT make me think of Ex-Lax, okay? There will be no potty humor on Wikrolled.

Fornication in Delirium

Sorry kids. "Fornication in Delirium" is not what I did on Saturday night (although I'm going to guess that some of my fellow promgoers* can't say the same). It is, indeed, the title of the 1992 EP by death metal band Rottrevore, a Pittsburghian band that lived from 1987-1995. That entire sentence sounds terrifying. I wish I could say the same for the title of this so-called death metal record.

While the title does imply "Fucking Like Crazy," I can't say I find their chosen euphemisms to be particularly hardcore. I'd expect the title of a death metal album to be something more like...um, I don't know..."Fucking Like Crazy," wouldn't you?

It doesn't stop there, either. The EP only contains two tracks, both of which are also wimpily named. "Unanimous Approval" sounds like an inspirational adult contemporary-approved alt-rock song by Vertical Horizon or New Radicals. And "Conspiracized" just brings to mind some sort of protest song the Indigo Girls wrote about the multiple illegal alien conspiracy theories surrounding the southwestern US.

I'd like to say that the moral of the story is that the reason you've never heard of Rottrevore is because they were terrible at naming things. But that's not true. Their other albums sound totally scary and offensive: "Copulation Of The Virtuous And Vicious," "The Epitome of Pantalgia" and my personal favorite "Son Of Bllleeeeaaauuurrrrgghhh!"

So what happened in 1992? Can't tell ya. Guess it just wasn't as good as 1987.

*Yes. I attended a prom on Saturday. Deal with it. I'm not a creepy cougar. My friends Josh & Katie, the only married ones of our big bubble of friends, host us every year in their loft. The cops came this year. Yeah, we're badass as "Son of a Bllleeeeaaauuurrrrgghhh!" though.

Table Rock, Nebraska

My first thought when I saw "Table Rock, Nebraska" was "OMG! That's from Oregon Trail!" (Hopefully, because of my generation's incredible propensity for nostalgia, I need not explain that Oregon Trail was an educational computer game played in schools throughout the 1980s to teach kids how pioneers traveled west in the mid 1800s. It also taught us that diseases like cholera, dysentery and bad grass could kill you, that buffalo are easy to kill but impossible to carry and that it's really funny to name people in your party Butthead or Jerk so you could see those hilarious words pop up on your screen at school!)

Sadly for all of us, there will be no moderately paced, 2-oxen walk down memory lane today. Table Rock was in no way part of Oregon Trail. The Nebraskan rock in question was indeed the landmark before which Dumbface would inevitably die trying to ford the Platte River, Chimney Rock. Table Rock is just some tiny town in the bottom right (southeast) corner of Nebraska. It's got 264 people and not much else. Sad trombone.

Now, in my mind, every municipality in Nebraska is relatively minuscule. I know for a fact that North Platte, Nebraska, is the country's smallest television market. My friend Tom was a meteorologist there right out of college. He loved it, especially because he was quite a hit with North Platte's population of 4 single ladies.

I mean, even when I picture Omaha, I don't picture a city at all. I picture one of those highway exits that's got a lot of chain stores--a Target, a Best Buy, a Hardee's, a Ponderosa and a Dairy Queen. (If you've ever driven to from Milwaukee to Madison, you know I'm picturing that Delafield exit that used to have the smiley barn.) Sorry Omaha.

But, yikes. Table Rock is teeny. 264?! There'll be more people than that at the party I'm going to tonight. And it's at someone's house! However, the weird thing here is their population breakdown. Half of those 264 people live alone! 46.5% of Table Rock households are made up of individuals. So, either Table Rock is the hottest spot in the country for singles to mingle...or they all just spend all their time playing Oregon Trail, wishing they lived in the more notable Chimney Rock. My guess is the former. I'm movin' to Table Rock.

PS: Wikipedia makes no mention of where/what the "table" is in Table Rock. WTF?

San Francisco Theatre District

Based on the city's lingering stereotype, I'm sure San Francsico's theatre district is quite a thriving one, especially given that it's located in an area of the city called Tenderloin. Really? Must you be so suggestive with the gay imagery, San Francisco neighborhood naming committee? Actually, I've been informed that the area is actually rather sketchy and not the flamboyant Key West-meets-Land of Oz that I'm picturing in my head right now. Sad.

I've never even been to San Francisco, which is weird because I have several friends out there. Unfortunately, most of my knowledge of the city is entirely derived from Full House. It was a staple. It still is.

In fact, I had three separate conversations last Saturday night about each of the three father figures from Full House:

Uncle Jesse: This guy Jon that I met after my improv show went to John Stamos'* birthday. Apparently, Stamos is rocking a "hot, but still cool" 23-year-old girlfriend these days. Sounds pretty awesome, until you remember that the Olsen twins are about that age. Icky, Uncle Jesse. Icky.

Danny Tanner: My friend Garrett later told me a story about how he met Bob Saget at a theatre in Arlington Heights. He was, indeed, just as dirty as everyone claims he is (or knows he is, based on his Aristocrats performance), and made some super racist remarks.

Joey Gladstone: Finally, I watched an entire improv show that somehow came to center on Dave Coulier (who they referred to as "The Host of 'America's Funniest People'" in the show). That wasn't really a conversation per se, but whatever. It was weird to have the whole thing come full circle. NOTE: I'd like to state for the record that his character was just Joey. He was an avuncular figure, yes, but he was not an uncle. Joey. Not Uncle Joey.

I wonder if the folks in Full House lived near the theatre district. They'd probably get a lot of attention in Tenderloin, being 3 dudes living together and all. Wait, no. I'm confused. Maybe I should just go visit.

PS: Supplementary San Francisco knowledge has been gleaned from Mrs. Doubtfire, which I watched every day before 8th grade because I had a huge crush on Matthew Lawrence, Joey's

*I know a real guy named John Stamos. He's pretty good at trivia. Also, this guy Jon that went to Stamos' bday apparently used to have a fake ID with the name John Stamos. Weird. little brother.

Kurt & Karl von Steiger

When I first saw "Kurt & Karl von Steiger," I figured these guys were probably German war heroes of some sort (read: totally bad guys to me and my Jewish family). Fortunately, they are quite the opposite: Canadian tag-team pro wrestlers. But here's the thing--and it's interesting because the last post suffered from the same phenomenon--Kurt & Karl von Steiger are not real names. They are horribly-crafted pseudonyms. Huh?

Okay. They aren't horrible. These guys didn't start with much. Their real names are Lorne Corlett and Arnold Pastrick, so I guess I applaud them for creating the fake brother scenario. But, as someone with little to no pro wrestling knowledge, I find this stage name incredibly lame and non-threatening. They sound like twins who get dressed up in sailor suits and go to etiquette class and play with that Laura Ingalls Wilder-style hoop & stick game.

Based on their stupid name, do you think Macho Man Randy Savage would even flinch at the thought of fighting them? Maybe if he saw them. It might be a result of the times in which they were doin' their thang (the early '70s, when everyone had amazing 'staches and badass attitudes), but they actually did look pretty tough.

Okay, that's a lie. They looked like those old timey carnival strongmen which is actually more hilarious to me than any of the other fake wrestling around these days (particularly The Miz).

Even more hilarious, though? Their most notable feud over the years was with another tag-team duo known as The Royal Kangaroos. I mean, I get it. Kangaroo court, right? And these guys actually do look crazy tough. But listen, 'roos. Kangaroos are boxers. Get with the program.