wikrolled

Hatakeda Station

2010-01-27T22:18:00.002-06:00

Hatakeda Station is part of the Japanese rail system, and here's what's really exciting: I've been there! Okay, I may have been there. I've been to Tokyo, but I wasn't there long enough to differentiate between all the 13-letter words comprised completely of Hs, Ks, Ms and Ts. Sorry, Japan.

I went to Tokyo in September as part of this sort of Asian immersion trip through school (I'm getting a Master's of Science in Integrated Marketing Communications from the Medill School of Journalism and Northwestern University. See how I made it sound so pretentious? In reality, I go to a random classroom in downtown Chicago twice a week and g-chat with my friends about how much smarter we are than the teachers. Sometimes we do group projects where we do the same thing, but in person...while drinking Miller High Life.)

So this trip lasted roughly 17 days. We went from the crowded chaos of Mumbai to the crowded snobbery of Shanghai to the crowded silence of Tokyo. And of all the sites and company visits we managed to cram in over the course of a couple weeks, I was definitely most preemptively advised about Tokyo.

This is, of course, because of my affinity for g-chat. It just so happens that two of my friends who bear the brunt of my g-chat addiction due to their willingness to respond to my blabbing and my constant need for humorous stimulation, Jessica & Charlie, both lived in Japan at one time and obliged when I asked for tips, recos, et al. (Incidentally, they're probably two of the few people who will ever read this. Tx, guys.)

In any event, Jess was more or less OBSESSED with the fact that I was going to visit her former home. She'd IM me something new every few hours in the weeks before my trip. Five days before I left, she sent a three-page email titled "important j. things." It had useful phrases, must-see phenomena and important dos & don'ts. It was overwhelming to say the least.

And sadly, I got to do very little of what she suggested. We were basically ushered around the city every day by NU alumni who took us on the Metro from company to company all day, where we learned how much better Japan is at using cell phones and making normal shit look crazy. In all, we were probably in about 674 different metro stations. One of them could've been Hatakeda Station, right? In the little time we had left, though, I got to revel in the following "j. things":

"Doa ga shimarimasu" which means "doors are closing." Every train, elevator and even taxi told me this many times a day. Japanese machines are very polite.
"Kawaiiiiiiii desu" which means "that's sooooooo cute." I said this as much as possible so the Js in the crazy Shibuya stores would think I was badass. Turns out they already thought I was badass. I'm American.
100 Yen store. Jess talked these places up soooooo much because this is where she got all the hilarious poorly translated postcards she'd send us all the time. A group of us spent nearly all of our free time trying to FIND one...but when we finally did, the bad translation flourished.
Hachiko, the dog at Shibuya station, which Jess billed as "the best and worst meeting spot ever." This is because it's easy to find...and because EVERYONE meets there.

That's it. Okay, that's not it, but it's almost it. This means I REALLY need to go back. Mostly to check whether or not I've ever been to Hatakeda Station (I haven't, because I just realized it's not anywhere near Tokyo). Oh well. Doa ga shimarimasu and it's time to go to bed.

NOTE: I could probs write like a few more pages about Japan. I made it sound sort of stupid. It was badass. Hopefully, in the future, I'll get another Wikroll that will lead me back to Tokyo...maybe it'll be a metro station I've actually been to.

Al Foster

2010-01-25T21:13:00.005-06:00

Today, I went on a Pandora adventure that took me through the melodies most algorithmically related to Sharon Jones & Dap Kings (inspired by my recent viewing of Up in the Air, which features a sultry yet upbeat Sharon Jones cover of folk/3rd grade music class favorite "This Land is Your Land" during its opening credits). As such, I was already feeling pretty jazzy & funky. And yes, I realize that I sound like a mom who appliqués bunnies on jean vests when I call myself "jazzy" and "funky." Unfortunately, I've been having a real adjective problem lately.

In any event, this day of uber-cool jazz-funk (not g-funk) is only continuing as I explore Al Foster, former drummer for Miles Davis. Is it bad that I grew up so entrenched in my own generation's pop culture phenomena that when I hear Davis's name, I can't not think of the old lady from Billy Madison who laments that "If peein' your pants is cool, consider me Miles Davis"? I think it might be. I'm sorry.

I'm sorry most of all to my grandpa, who was actually an incredible jazz pianist. He had piles of Oscar Peterson and Duke Ellington albums stacked among his own recordings that he "laid down" (I'm not cool enough to say that, hence the quotes) on his totally badass keyboard. My sister and I used to have a ball messing with that keyboard. We'd put on the pre-fab"swing-jazz" backbeat & melody and dance around the rec room, speeding up and slowing down the tempo bar to force each other to prance furiously like Flashdance, then stop short and sloth around for the next few bars. Yes, it's okay to sound the nerdalert now.

You'd think being surrounded by all of this would've bred a true jazz connoisseur. It did. Her name is Amy and she's my sister. She listens to all the albums she inherited from Grampy. She's one of those cool people that has a record player and actually uses it.

I've tried. I have. I want to love these great musicians, and, of course, pop culture has inspired me to do so. When I saw Jerry Maguire, in which Chad the babysitter claims he's going to introduce Jonathan Lipnicki to Coltrane, I was like "yeah, introduce me, too." When I went through the obligatory "I find John Mayer endlessly attractive & soulful" phase, the lyrics "...but you could distinguish Miles from Coltrane" in reference to Mayer's "Comfortable" ex obviously made me want to educate myself.

It never happened. But you know what? Al Foster never learned to read music. So there. Even Mr. Mariah Carey, Nick Cannon, learned how to read music in Drumline. Maybe, someday, I'll learn to appreciate highbrow, important cultural icons. But for now, I'm going to go watch "The Bachelor" on DVR.

Just kidding. I watched it live.

Milk River, Alberta, Canada

2010-01-24T19:27:00.007-06:00

So I think this is my karmic retribution for making fun of Canadians in my last post. Let me just state for the record that I highly enjoy most Canadians. Off the top of my head, I can definitively state that the only ones I can't support are the members of Nickelback.

Let me also just state for the record that Milk River, a town of 816 located on the body of water of the same name, evokes (for me at least) endless visions of gumdrop mountains, candy cane lanes and peanut brittle bridges, all watched over lovingly Lord Licorice, Princess Lolly and that cold bitch Queen Frostine.

Listen, I know milk isn't exactly the sweetest beverage around, and it's mildly random that the possibility of a river of milk is causing me to daydream of Candyland characters, Willy Wonka's factory or that creepy-ass Charlie the Unicorn video, but I'm thinking it has something to do with a story my friend sent me earlier this week. Apparently, this restaurant in NYC called Momofuku Milk Bar (I know, WTF, Clockwork Orange?) is now selling milk that tastes like delicious cereal has been soaking in it all day. It's infused (to sound like the pretentious foodie that I'm not) with the delicious sweetness of Fruity Pebbles, Cap'n Crunch or Lucky Charms.

Now, while this sounds more than palatable on two counts (I don't care what you say. Lucky Charms are sick.), I don't know if I really agree with this. Trends that entice people to pay $5.60 for something that would usually cost roughly $.49 generally make me uneasy (as in Starbucks instant oatmeal and that dumbass Cereality chain). I mean, why drink the tasty, sugary milk without eating the cereal first? I would prefer to do both, which is why I bought myself a box of Fruity Pebbles about four hours after I read about the magical milk bar. And I've eaten at least a bowl every day since.

I should probably mention that this milk article was sent to me as yet another counterpoint in a longstanding debate over how long it takes to pour & eat a bowl of cereal. My co-workers and I did some intense market research (i.e. asked our friends via Facebook & gchat) to figure it out. Many of those questioned claimed it takes upwards of 12 or 13 minutes, but after actually testing it out realized it only takes about 5 or 6 minutes at most.

It takes me 3. But not if the bowl is the entire Milk River the cereal is a lifetime supply of Fruity Pebbles. God, I hope I dream about that tonight. And that there are unicorns there
(and snozberries).

Old Dutch Foods

2010-01-20T15:02:00.005-06:00

Now, as it happens, I'm actually very familiar with Old Dutch Foods, a manufacturer of potato chips and other schnacks in the midwest and Canada. They make all kinds of crap--from tortilla chips & salsa to ketchup chips (silly Canadians).

But, in all honesty, I remember Old Dutch particularly for the twin packs. You'd buy a big box and inside were two clear plastic bags of potato chips, preferably with ridges if you knew what was good for you. Old Dutch calls the ruffly ones "Rip-L," which reminds me of this kid I went to school with back in the day (which I now know was a Wednesday, thanks to Dane Cook). His last name was Rippl, and his younger siblings were triplets, earning them the nickname "The Riplets." How cute is that? Not quite as cute as when Michelle Tanner would say "ouce cream," but close. I said close, Sweetin. Don't get all methy about it.

Since they are so midwesty, and basically just a notch up from generic, it's no surprise that I associate Old Dutch with my most Wisconsinny childhood memories.

We'd buy Old Dutch twin packs at the Antigo IGA (the one with the weird stand-up carts and racks of Archie comics) when we'd trek four hours to go up north to our cabin every other weekend in the summers (until my parents sold it in 1994 to buy a sailboat, thus crushing my dreams of having a really cool vacation home now that I'm kind of a grown up).

We'd buy Old Dutch along with cans of Old Style (for real not because my parents were hipsters), cardboard trays of assorted Faygo soda and 4-packs of Batles & Jaymes from the family-run liquor store Schnapps Haus (where my dad can actually say "put it on my tab" and they actually write down what he bought and bill him later) before going up to Green Bay for a Packer tailgate. The brats were already in the car, okay?

And, I can't be certain about this, but I'm pretty sure there were a few twin packs present the day we packed up about six minivans of family friends, hitched the avocado green motorboat to the back of our brown & black Ford Bronco, and headed out for a day at Long Lake, which I think was part of some sort of state park we'd go to when we were kids. On this particular day, though, my dad took a swig of his High Life only to find out there was a bee inside the can. A BEE. It stung him in the throat. FROM THE INSIDE. Panicking, he grabbed a bottle of Benadryl from one of the moms and chugged the whole thing. Needless to say, he was rather fucked up for a while.

But that's why, from then on, at any outdoor gathering, my mom always supplied us with those nifty little color-coded can covers. And, why the announcement at the Wisconsin Badger games once I got to college really struck a chord with me: "Remember: Drink plenty of liquids, and check for bees in your drinks." Y'know, I bet that announcement was sponsored by Old Dutch.

Valve shim

2009-08-12T15:59:00.002-05:00

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

2009-07-29T15:51:00.002-05:00

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

2009-06-24T15:29:00.003-05:00

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

2009-06-16T12:52:00.003-05:00

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

2009-06-14T16:37:00.002-05:00

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)

2009-06-08T15:45:00.003-05:00

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

2009-06-04T14:35:00.003-05:00

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

2009-06-03T10:37:00.002-05:00

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

2009-05-27T09:47:00.008-05:00

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

2009-05-26T20:16:00.006-05:00

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

2009-05-17T22:26:00.002-05:00

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

2009-05-12T14:49:00.004-05:00

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

2009-04-30T12:57:00.004-05:00

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:

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.
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?
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.)
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

2009-04-26T18:48:00.002-05:00

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

2009-04-23T16:39:00.005-05:00

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

2009-04-22T15:42:00.005-05:00

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:

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).
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!
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?"
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

2009-04-21T15:02:00.004-05:00

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

2009-04-20T09:30:00.002-05:00

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

2009-04-17T15:11:00.004-05:00

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)

2009-04-16T13:20:00.002-05:00

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

2009-04-14T16:18:00.006-05:00

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

2009-04-09T15:38:00.005-05:00

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

2009-04-06T19:13:00.002-05:00

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

2009-04-04T10:37:00.004-05:00

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

2009-04-02T14:39:00.002-05:00

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

2009-03-31T18:09:00.003-05:00

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.

Don Diablo

2009-03-28T09:23:00.003-05:00

I'd never heard of Dutch recording artist and Esquire Best Dressed Man of 2007, Don Diablo*, until today, but it appears he's the most famous man in the Netherlands (you know, where Dutch people are from).

It also appears he was the main inspiration when those hilarious little scamps crafted "J*zz in My Pants." Seriously. Some of his tracks sound like theirs, and he's often pictured wearing a super tight suit & accessories most easily found at your local H&M. If I were him, I'd be pretty jazzed that even though I'm not famous in the States, I've been parodied by some of its more relevant humorists.

You know what, though? I bet he is famous here and I just don't know it. It's not like I spend my weekends waiting in line to go dance my heart out and look supes awesome at the hottest clubs in Chicago. I barely even know today's Top 40 hits let alone what's spinning on the world's dance floors. If I had to guess what went on there, I'd picture something like MTV's The Grind or Nickelodeon Roundhouse.

I mean, if this guy was voted best dressed, and MTV News made a documentary about his charitable efforts, and this crazy Falcor-lookin' thing wants to hang out with him, he's probably totally famous. I mean, his music isn't very good, but what Scandanavian music is really? And since when did one have to make good music to be famous anyway?

*PS: The "Don" is not like the title Don. His given name was actually Don. As in Donald. Like the Duck or the Trump. That deserves this.

Javan Scops Owl

2009-03-27T15:38:00.004-05:00

Look. I know this isn't Fuck You, Penguin, or anything, but I'd really like to take this opportunity to give the Javan Scops Owl a piece of my mind for being so sad & whiny, rubbing my nose in his loneliness. He looks like a real passive aggressive fucker, doesn't he? "No, it's fine. I'll go to Party City and buy all the food and decorations. I'll clean the house. Don't worry about me. You just come to the party and have a good time. I don't want you to help me." But you want help, owl. You want help.

That's why he has no friends, you know. He doesn't even have any relatives. They all got sick of his shit and peaced out. It's right there on his Wikipedia page. The entire thing is two sentences and they both sound like they were written by a grandma that got no phone calls on her birthday:

The Javan Scops Owl (Otus angelinae) is a rare owl native to Indonesia. There are no sub-species.

That's it. That's all he gets! You know what, owl? You better shape up and stop it with the sad panda act. You're not even close to being as cute as a panda so you better just let your glowing personality shine through and find a girlfriend, or you'll be the last to carry the Javan Scops name. And what a lovely name it is.

Alec Issigonis

2009-03-26T13:46:00.004-05:00

Aside from having a hard-to-pronounce last name, Sir Alexander Arnold Constantine Issigonis, Sir Alec* if you're nasty, is credited with the development of the coolest tiny car ever: the MINI.

Totally badass. It's the star of the Italian Job, for Pete's sake. As a tiny car owner, I have to bow down to the surprising masculinity MINI is able to pull off. Sure, my VW Cabrio is pretty cute in a daddy-bought-me-a-car-for-my-21st-birthday kind of way.** But I highly doubt you'd ever see MINI's Italian Job co-star Mark Wahlberg in one (surely Jason Statham and even intellectual rapper Mos Def would steer clear as well). Maybe this is why I can't get a dude. My car's too gay for any guy to picture himself in. Yeah...that's it.

At least my Cabrio is cooler than a Smart Car, right? We picked one of those up and moved it, Mentos commercial-style, when we were in Spain. Ay dios mio! And no matter what, I know my car is more acceptable than this Nano thing. Right? I mean, it only costs $2K, but it's creepy and, ostensibly, only available in India.

Okay, let's be honest. I kind of want one. I'm going to Mumbai in August, so I can pick a couple up. Marky Mark won't get in the car with me, but maybe it has enough exotic panache to help me snag the kid from Slumdog Millionaire. Or Anoop from American Idol. Or Jay Chandrasekhar (maybe just so I can give him a ZJ).

Fuck, I don't know why I'm assuming I can only pick up Indian guys with this thing. I should expand my options. Seth Green was in the Italian Job, but totally wasn't man enough to get near the MINI. Hmm. I did quite enjoy him in Can't Hardly Wait. Get out of my dreams, get in my Nano, Seth!

PS: Mark Wahlberg talks to animals. Just in case you forgot about this one.

*Just so we're all clear, let's not confuse Sir Alec with Count Alex, of Real Housewives of NYC fame (aka the only reason The Countess deLesseps has more class than you). God, I love those crazy broads.

**For the record, I bought the car myself when I was 25.

"Imagine That" (LL Cool J song)

2009-03-25T16:05:00.005-05:00

First off, I have to admit that this still is not from the video for "Imagine That," the second single from LL Cool J's aptly acronymed album G.O.A.T. (Greatest of all Time to the layperson). It is indeed from the video for "Doin' It," and this image of LL is one of the only ones I've ever found attractive. Personally, I think he looks a little bit like a Muppet. All of his songs are about banging chicks or punching dudes yet I don't find him very good looking...except when he's eating that peach. As the stripper he's watching in this scene would probably say, "Daaaaaaaamn."

Despite his physical ickiness, I think he's managed to churn out some good work over the years. "Phenomenon" was on the first mix tape I made when I got my driver's license in '97 (accompanied by Marcy Playground, Spice Girls and many hot trax from the Space Jam soundtrack, but let's not get into that).

Sadly, though, I can't say I'd ever even heard "Imagine That" before today. It came out in June 2000, meaning it was hitting TRL just as we moved out of the dorms my freshman year of college. And, that summer, instead of watching MTV with my dormmates every day, I was working at a country club, where we played nonstop DMB, Guster, Dispatch and other yuppie hippie live sessions you'd hear in the Abercrombie store.

So. No slow jamz in the summer of '00 for me. Sorry LL. But I will listen to it now and appreciate lyrics like:

You could read the Iliad and the whole Odyssey
But no Trojan soldier scold you like me
Match the calculus then measure my frequency
But when you blast on my lap that's the highest degree

Wow. Now I know why the ladies love you, cool James. Listen to more stimulating lines & watch LL's lips say "Imagine That" 1200 times here.

PS: I would be remiss to post about LL Cool J without giving a shout out to a high school BMOC (big man on campus), Chris Dunn, who crafted his AOL screen name after LL. Yep, LLCD99 and I had some really deep IM convos back in the day. And yes, even the super popular kids were computer nerds at my school, I guess.

PPS: Also can't let a post related to goats (or G.O.A.T.s) slip by without telling you to go see "I Love You, Man," if only to hear my future husband Paul Rudd say. "Totally. Totes McGoats."

Runcinated tesseract

2009-03-24T11:18:00.005-05:00

Here's some complicated shit. More or less, the four-dimensional runcinated tesseract is the love child of super-intense geometry and science fiction nut-jobbery. Like, for real. When I see "4D "it only means one thing to this Doc Brown-influenced mind: time travel. Since I'm no physicist and didn't fully understand this article, I pieced this term together as well as I could:

Runcinated: At first glance, "runcinated" looked like "truncated" (come to find out, they're closely related). In 7th grade math class, we origami'd some "truncated tetrahedrons" and it was supes kewl. For those of you who aren't math whizzes, a truncated tetrahedron is a pyramid with the top cut off. It's easier to make than a paper crane, but more complex than those childish fortune tellers.*

Tesseract: A freaky ass time warp dealie (technical term), from Madeleine L'Engle's crazy train (read: amazing) novel "A Wrinkle in Time." I read it in 4th or 5th grade and totally understood it, which is insane because just reading the plot summary now makes my head feel like I just ate a gallon of ice cream in 7 seconds.

Back home, there's also an art store (read: a dilapidated witch's house that happened to have some art supplies for sale) called Tesseract. I went there pretty much every week from 3rd-6th grade with the Vial girls and Katie Gattoni, and we spent our allowance on Fimo, neon lanyard plastic and embroidery floss. Then we'd attempt to sell our wares in front of the Mequon Pool. We made like $3.75.

This all makes me wish I'd taken some sort of math after high school calculus (stats doesn't count), so I could have a greater appreciation for this shape. Because if runcinated = top cut off and tesseract = time travel-capable witch's house, then, as far as I'm concerned, a runcinated tesseract is really just an elusive home in need of some roof repairs. WRONG.

Although that does seem like an image ripped straight from the pages of "A Wrinkle in Time." Guess that's why this all made so much sense to me when I was 10.

*By childish, I obviously mean we made two of them at the bar on Friday night and used them to spark up conversations with strangers. True story. Make your own now!

Quarter-life crisis

2009-03-18T11:54:00.012-05:00

Disclaimer: This blog title sounds like something a whiny, woe-is-me, Sex-&-the-City-loving gal-on-the-town would write. "Boo hoo, I'm 23 and I'm not married." Cue the sad trombones. Well, it's not like that. Quarter-life crisis was a legit Wikroll. Deal with it.

In a nutshell, the QLC (that's really what they call it) is when young adults feel shitty because they're not totally awesome immediately after graduating college, so they either get super depressed...or get their shit together.

I first heard the term as a lyric in consummate douchebag John Mayer's 2001 single "Why Georgia?" At the time, I listened to that song and felt that he really got me. This is partly because I was about to graduate college and partly because I was one of the dum-dums who thought John Mayer was dreamy. (I'll be honest. When I interviewed him for the school paper back in '02, I pretty much thought everyone was jealous. They weren't.)

There was also a show about peeps hit with the QLC. "Quarterlife" was a web show that graduated to real TV for about 12 seconds. Then, it was tossed out on ass for not being totally awesome immediately after graduation. If that wasn't bad enough, it then heard that its ex was getting married...to a doctor. Typical.

Y'know, I don't really feel like QL warrants a C. Instead, I just take pride in my refusal to grow up, and so do my friends. Which is nice, because I don't think I ever want to see Skinny or Sheridan grow up from this and go through mid-life crises. They'd both look silly driving Miatas.

If we never get out of this anti-QLC lifestyle, we'll always stay at the 1/4 mark...and live forever, right? Sounds fun, until you think about the ending of "Death Becomes Her."* Then it's just depressing. Maybe I should have a QLC after all.

*This was my favorite movie when I was 11. Why was I watching such grownup things when I was in 6th grade? Maybe I'm not refusing to get old. I'm just aging backwards. That's some Benjamin Button shit.

Curtain rod

2009-03-17T17:05:00.005-05:00

Wow. I wish I were sleemailing right now instead of blogging about curtain rods. Since I didn't really learn anything from Wikipedia on the subject--aside from the fact that Curtain Rod Day is December 16--I shall dedicate this post to rods in general.

I think the rod topic is top-of-mind because one of my besties, J. Holmes, recently competed in our annual beer pong tournament under the name "In Rod We Trust." When I asked her what that was in reference to, she said "oh, any number of Rods," including but not limited to:

A-Rod: Roided up & banging Madge? Sickening. This begs the question, though: If Alex Rodriguez is A-Rod, can Benny "The Jet" Rodriguez be B-Rod? Benny is, of course, the star of The Sandlot--a movie every girl my age loved because of all the cute boys in it. This is also why we loved The Mighty Ducks. Wasn't it a disappointment when Adam Banks got ugly between D1 and D2?
Hot Rod: No, not the car Tim "The Toolman" Taylor was always fixing up in the garage. The shitty movie starring Andy Samberg. J. Holmes and I actually saw it and were so disappointed that we sneaked into The Bourne Ultimatum right after in an effort to get our money's worth. People seem to think Hot Rod isn't all that bad, and given the recent prominence of Jorma Taccone and Danny McBride, I'd be willing to give it a second chance.
Rod Farva: Gimme a god damn liter of cola. The powdered sugar is delicious. I got you good, you fucker. If you don't know what I'm talking about, I weep for you.
Rod Roddy: Wouldn't it be kinda cool if the devil won a bet and got to pull Rody Roddy down to hell, just so he could use him to entice other people to come down there by requesting they "COME ON DOWN"?

So let's honor you, rods of the world. No, I didn't talk about Rod Stewart, Rod Flanders, Rod Serling, Rod Tidwell or fishing rod--but I still love you. In Rod I trust.*

I other news, I found this hilarious thing yesterday. Put your name in, or what-have-you, and it gives you anagrams. I anagrammed "curtain rod" and didn't get anything good, though. Rick Astley's got some great ones, though.

*Okay, there's another one, but I'm not going to talk about him. No politics on Wikrolled. Especially politics that embarrass the hell out of the city I live in.

Sleep emailing

2009-03-16T09:30:00.005-05:00

OMG! LMAO! ROTFLOL! This is hilarious. Not so much the concept of sleep emailing itself, but that it warrants a Wikipedia entry. I mean, what kind of explanation is necessary? Who would look this up and be surprised to learn that, "Oh! Sleep emailing is when you email while you're asleep!" Probably a sleep emailer. WTF?! DUH.

What IS surprising, is that the first case of sleep email wasn't recorded until just three months ago, in December 2008. I find it hard to imagine that in all the years since Al Gore invented the internet, no sonnambulist has ever emailed while in his sleepwalking state. At least someone got right out and Wikipedia'd it, saw there was no entry, and hastily made a 2-sentence page for it. Thank you.

Of course, sleep emailing is similar in nature to drunk emailing, which Google has tried to curb with its Mail Goggles (I need this...but for Facebook). In both cases, you probably get a lot of this kinda thing: "Heydfs, Whatsd'dk updfSF? I gtoota go toafkldjnjffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff....go clean yoru room."

For the record, I'd like to propose we portmanteau the shit out of this disease and start calling it "sleemailing." It's fun to say, and it's easier to say if you're really, really sleepy. Or drunk.

Lara Spencer

2009-03-15T08:39:00.005-05:00

Cool! A legit semi-famous person that I've actually heard of. Lara Spencer hosts the syndicated celebrity gossip trash The Insider. Now, honestly, I don't know how these shows can survive anymore, what with 4,000 bloggers sitting in SBUX all day long waiting to post the newest "news" about Miley, Posh, St. Angelina and my favorite robot Katie Holmes. By the time The Insider's on, everyone's known that shit for at least 2 hours. Old news. Must be why Lara's got a side job hosting Antiques Roadshow. No joke. How fitting.

One exciting thing about The Insider is that it's the former home of crazy, nasaly, fueled-up, oversexed junkie Pat O'Brien. Of course, that whole description is gleaned from Jimmy Fallon's awful impression of the guy (and what I read on up-to-date gossip blogs). Shame it's not very good because his decent impressions are pretty much Mr. Fallon's only saving grace. These days, they're no match for Justin Timberlake's Michael McDonald*, though.

Speaking of which, why is JT BFF with everyone who's ever been on SNL lately? Lara Spencer & Pat O'Brien certainly weren't BFF on The Insider. I remember reading about their ongoing feud on dlisted.com, my celebrity blog of choice. By the time they actually got around to talking about said feud on their show, even the grandpa who brought in Kit Carson's old-ass blanket to Antiques Roadshow knew about it. Thanks for keeping us all in-the-know, Perez Hilton!

*The other day, I finally realized that "Regulate" by Warren G was sampled from "I Keep Forgettin'" by Michael McDonald. No lie: it came on in a bar last night, and everyone was like "REGULATORS!" No. They were legitimately playing Michael McDonald. Best.

St. Crispin's Day

2009-03-14T08:54:00.005-05:00

Huh? How is it even possible that Wikipedia gives me some other dudes' saint's day as I'm about to go observe St. Patrick's Day? Today, we'll celebrate the Irish...and two martyred twins named Crispin and Crispinian, who garnered themselves their own day. St. Crispin's Day is October 25. Mark it down!

Now, I find it incredibly hard to believe that anyone would name their child Crispin. It's even more difficult to understand that the crazy hellion (sorry--mother of saints) who had these two didn't think just one Crispin was enough. She needed a Crispin AND a Crispinian. It would appear that the Catholic Church and I are on the same page here. They took these two crispy bitches out of the liturgical calendar because there was "insufficient evidence that they actually existed." Damn straight.

Now, Biff. I'm not trying to con you. I want to make it clear that I do indeed respect the one notable REAL Crispin out there, George McFly (Crispin Glover), and I will celebrate him on his now defunct saint's day. Although maybe it would be more fun to celebrate him by lighting up a J on his real birthday (which he shares with Hitler & my good friend Allison), April 20. Let's get crispy!

Wow. I think I just invented a new euphemism for stoned. Sweeeeet.

Charles D. Parker

2009-03-13T11:19:00.005-05:00

Well, this is some lucky randomness. I get to blog about the land of cheese, badgers, and ME: Wisconsin. Isn't today supposed to be unlucky? I mean, it's not like I've ever actually heard of 1880's sexiest Wisconsin politician Charles D. Parker, but he pretty much sounds awesome. Well, okay. He was originally from Waukesha, which is not all that great. I have fallen for the charms of one particular man from Waukesha, and it didn't end well. He was fickle and a little boring. Admittedly, he won me over with his extensive knowledge of Ferris Bueller trivia. Come to think of it, one of his best friends is a Parker. Maybe this is a coincidence?

At least this Charles Parker character got past his Waukesha upbringing and became a regent at UW-Madison, my alma mater. I feel like UW is the only school that ever talks about regents. It's usually a term reserved for legit royal dudes (and royal ugly dudes), no? The high school in Madison is even nicknamed the Regents. What a shitty mascot. FYI, Reggie the Regent is a lion. Where the hell'd that come from, Madison West? (Yeah, I know. Lion=king=royal=regent. Whatever.) And, yes, my high school mascot was a dude in a kilt, so I guess I shouldn't talk. Shut up.

Hey, wasn't there someone actually cool named Charlie Parker? Indeed, there was.

PS: Since this was my lucky day, make it yours. Watch this. Happy St. Patrick's Day, my babies.

Windjammer (disambiguation)

2009-03-12T11:54:00.010-05:00

What a fucking treat. This is the first time I've been greeted by the elusive "disambiguation" category on my wikrolling adventure. I haven't decided what to do in these situations, so, for now, let's take a look at all this cool shit named windjammer:

A huge boat with a million sails and a movie about a huge boat with a million sails. Looks like Swiss Family Robinson without the people. Boring.
An album by jazz trumpeter Freddie Hubbard. With a name like "Windjammer," your album better be the highest-quality Yacht Rock, not trumpets, okay?
TWO basketball teams: The Halifax Windjammers and the Maine Windjammers. "Maine Windjammers" sounds awkward and not at all catchy...until you think about the fact that "main" is a kind of sail. And then it's not such a stupid name, is it?
A boat cruise line. From what I know, I think it's got a sort of skeezy tinge to it--kinda like Sandals, but on a sailboat. I picture it having an activities director named Kandace who's got lots of organized games like you'd play at your first 7th grade boy-girl party. Ya know, where you pass the orange down the line via necking? And then, before you know it, everyone's doin' it in the hot tub (on the cruise, not at the 7th grade party, I hope).
A surfing themed rollercoaster at Knott's Berry Farm that was "was known to be a mechanical nightmare," involving a problem with momentum that made the ride slow down to 5mph so it wouldn't be able to advance. Holy shit. Could you imagine if you were floating along in your SoCal-laid-back-palm-treed coaster car, listening to a looped track of Beach Boys hits and it just stopped right before the big drop? I imagine the ride was also shut down frequently due to people soiling themselves. Sick.

This is why the soft breezes and cool melodies of the ocean shore should only be reserved for the albums of Christopher Cross. Or Andy Samberg/T-Pain. Oh, and maybe this guy.

Gold Dust Gertie

2009-03-11T16:33:00.004-05:00

Today, random article gave me this little gem, Gold Dust Gertie, which was an "all-talking musical comedy" from 1931. Now, apparently, it was originally produced as a full-on musical, but there was a "backlash" against musicals back in '31, so they made it into a regular movie. Now, I don't know about you guys, but doesn't that seem like a horrible, horrible idea? Think about some musicals you know. Then think about what vapid junk they'd have left if they took out all the music & dancing.

Grease: Bad accents, teen pregnancy, incompetent hurdling and a slutty black outfit. No thanks.
High School Musical: Pretty high school boys playing basketball in a natural, un-choregraphed way. Unless one of those boys is also a werewolf, I want nothing to do with this movie.*
West Side Story: Romeo & Juliet. Okay, bad example.

So, it seems that all this movie had after they took out the music was a couple of dudes in matching suits and a tiny pony. And let's be honest, I'd probably watch it just for the mini pony. Sadly, I checked out the trailer, and there's absolutely no pony to be found. WTF? Guess Gold Dust Gertie really was nothing after they pandered to the musical backlash.

At least they all talk in my favorite dialect: old timey. Say, put on some records and let's smoke us some Chesterfields, say? I heard that Gertie'll knock your bridgework out. No foolin'.

*See, if you take out the musical part of HSM, you take out half the plot, and all that's left is the basketball part. Kinda like when you take all the dialogue out of The Hills. Smart!

BarlowGirl

2009-01-21T13:50:00.005-06:00

Today, random article brought me the the entry about BarlowGirl, an all-girl Christian rock band from Elgin, IL. Doesn't the one on the left look like Kelly Clarkson?

Now, since Elgin is kinda near where I grew up (Milwaukee), I wonder whether they're related to the Barlows I know. Probably not. They aren't Christian. They're Mormon. Mormonism isn't part of Christianity, is it? Damned if I know. I am, as it were, a Cashew (Catholic Jew) and, as such, know very little about my own religion(s), much less anyone else's.

In any event, it seemed strange that they were Mormon because, to my knowledge, there wasn't a huge Mormon contingency in southeastern Wisconsin. Was there? Again, I have no idea.

Anything I had heard about Mormons was that they got married a bunch and lived in Utah, neither of which was a true statement about the Barlows. Granted, I was 15 and lived in ridiculously homogeneous suburb, so I was clueless. But, to me, the Barlow family was anything but creepy polygamists.

In fact, my BFF Kim and I (who ended up not being a BFF after all when we stopped being friends in 8th grade-ish) were in love with the oldest brother, a lifeguard at the pool we frequented every summer from 1988-1994. We were crushed when he suddenly stopped working due to some sort of drug bust involving him and this other super cute lifeguard Cody. Very un-Mormon of him, no?

Come to think of it, Cody happened to be from the one other Mormon family in town, which is, again, weird. Right? I thought they weren't supposed to do drugs. I guess you can see why I'm so confused about Christians and their rock bands. Whatever, I'm going to go watch Big Love.

wikrolling: an experiment or an experience?

2009-01-14T23:15:00.005-06:00

So I'm not necessarily sure the phenomenon commonly (?) known as Rickrolling has swept the nation as vastly as I originally thought. In my social circle, it's rather commonplace due to our pre-Rickroll affinity for Rick Astley's classic tune. In any event, for those of you unaware or too lazy to click on that link above, Rickrolling is ostensibly a bait & switch trick in which one sends a friend/nemesis/unsuspecting parent a link, claiming it's awesome/awesomer/a quiz to tell you which flower best represents you (respectively)...but, SURPRISE! It redirects to the YouTube video of Rick Astley's 1987 hit "Never Gonna Give You Up". A hilarious albeit elementary concept to say the least, Rickrolling as a trend seems to have worn out its welcome.

That's why I find it necessary to bring it back...kinda. As I tend to not read books (deal with it) but rather immerse myself in the randomly useless facts I can find by browsing the wonder that is Wikipedia, I've decided to Wikroll myself as part of my foray into the blogging community (that sounded really effing trite, but it's true, okay). What this means is, whenever I find the urge to log-via-web, I'll wander over to Wikipedia, click the always precocious "random article," and see what surprises me. Maybe it's something awesome--like Bora Bora or Reese's Pieces. Maybe it's not--like Philip V of Spain (perhaps the most unattractive king of all time) or sap. Either way, in true improvisational comedy fashion (I do have over $2000 worth of experience on the subject), I'll see what kind of funny junk this random topic inspires from me. If all goes well, you'll all laugh a lot. If all goes poorly, then, uhhh...shut up. Let's get started. Click here for the first post.