Communal Liquids

HAG
It’s official. Heart Attack Guy has LEFT THE BUILDING, and I hope it’s for good. Not surprisingly, he left quite a heap of garbage in “his” room (like can you not bring your fucking garbage downstairs??), and a plethora of crumpled dirty Kleenex in his trash can. Umm, there was a giant industrial sized bottle of lotion next to his bed, so…uh…get out the rubber gloves! Total freeloader time: 4 weeks and 5 days. Did he offer us a dime? No. Did he clean anything up? No. Did I do his laundry with dirty skid mark underwear? Yes. Am I an idiot? Yes.

Oscar Fashionista?
Was it me or was Cameron Diaz in fact wearing a paper airplane last night at the Oscars? That was a tripped out idiotic dress. I wish someone would just dress funky and not give a shit. And, ladies, let’s learn how to walk in our heels and not look like an ass on a trapeze. Jesus.

Fondue Stube
This week, the “gang” went over to Gs house for some fondue. I was hoping for a totally 70s experience, and actually it came quite close. The house even had sort of a 70s smell to it – I can’t quite articulate what that means; just that’s what it was for me. The fondue itself was quite good – if you’re into communal hot liquids - and the accoutrements were very nice. It was certainly a better fondue than that shitty Fondue Stube restaurant on Peterson in Chicago. What a rip off that place is. My friend, A, loves going there because you can smoke – which I also dig – but I don’t base my culinary choices on whether or not I can smoke. What the hell is a stube anyway? Anyway, after liquid sharing, some of us trucked over to one of the local bars in town to listen to some horrendous garage goat cheese band. I’m not a connoisseur of live bands, nor do I have the ability to really analyze skillz, but this band was wretched in its sameness. Every fucking song sounded the same to me. And as N poignantly pointed out – it was the kind of music that makes you want to kill something.

My Literary Fame
The other piece of good news (aside from heart attack guy leaving), is that I actually got a piece of creative (nonfiction essay) writing (Granny Has Curls) accepted for publication. I was pretty blown away, and I sent the thing off in FUCKING JUNE!! I had basically given up on it. Jesus. Anyway, it will be available in an online not-well-known literary journal. Like I told my writing group friends, I don’t care if the editor is some pedophile sitting on death row picking lint out of his ass, I’m just happy it got accepted.

Library Pervs (continued)
I guess we have a new perv in the library (this will make perv #5) who likes to rub his feet on girls who are studying and then he flees. Supposedly, he sneaks up on them while they’re engrossed in their reading (I guess he doesn’t have shoes on according to one victim) and proceeds to rub their shoulders or neck with his feet. Not sure if he wears socks. So, the building managers and campus security are on the lookout for him. They have yet to catch him. Maybe he just watched too many Jon Waters films.

Phase 2 – Tenure Party
I’m trying to determine where would be a good place for my second party. I think I’ll throw this one out to the group. Here is a list of potential choices, but I’m game for alternatives (I believe we went through this before, so it’s a bit of a repeat. Get over it!). The party can’t take place until I get my stupid fucking letter from administration. Here’s a reality time zone check of turnaround time for anything in this weird academic universe: University time – 6-12 months. Corporate time – 6 minutes. Okay, here’s the list:

- Dance studio - I will have to get permission and see if I can bring in alcohol, but I’m guessing not, and with this crowd that will be a big no.
- Bowling – This is a new idea. There are a couple of local bowling places. I’ve never ventured into any of them, but it could be interesting. Especially if they have fake nachos and bad music.
- The Congress Club – No comment (not to be confused with the Pick Congress - no longer exists - hotel in Chicago).
- Bruiser’s (listed as a “social eatery” in the yellow pages) – uh, no.
- Skate City – We could rent a Lamers bus to get there. Actually, I work for Lamers (a well kept secret). This place is located in that stinky religious paper mill town. On Friday and Saturday nights they have something called “Aggressive Skate Night” and “Outer Limits Dance Club Skating.”
- Fleet Farm – We could have lots of fun in the aisles. Actually, I guarantee we’d have fun – like playing around with those “ball cutter contraptions,” liquid horse medication and rubber tits, eating generic industrial sized candy, and smelling cheap rubber boots, but I’m guessing we’d get kicked out.

Bang the Librarian Hard

Cheap flesh thrills
For some reason, there is still a small crop of chicks walking around this campus with “muffin tops.” Someone in administration must have gotten rid of the full-length mirrors in the dorms as part of the budget reduction. Big mistake. These chicks actually have the audacity to stand in front of the reference desk and start “pogo jumping” on the industrial sized stapler and hole puncher with their tires of marbleized mid-section lard shaking up and down in my bird’s eye view. I thought about putting up some type of “warning” sign, but I experienced temporary vertigo and a headache and just stared in disbelief. I really need to bring my W magazine and just place it right next to the office supplies of “human terror.” Freaks.

Candy stripers aren’t as fun as candy strippers
My role as “candy striper” continues through the month of February (it started in late December). Aside from heart attack guy still being here (tomorrow marks 3 weeks), Tuesday night was quite an interesting evening. After scoring a sub for my ballet class, I sat in my car outside of the local Chinese restaurant – picking up my order to temporarily get out of the house from heart attack guy who was sighing and whining and sitting in the dark – and the car was “inconveniently” parked in front of our local hangout bar. I quickly called N and offered her a 20 spot and free beer to meet me for a drink and she replied, “I’ll be there in 10 minutes.” After a couple of beers and a burger (which I slathered with cheese, salt and mayo because I’m sick of heart friendly food at the moment), N invited me back to her pad. It was still relatively early, and I didn’t want to get home before the German – who was working heart attack guy’s night reference shift. Strangely, M was sitting in their (N&M) living room (no TV or anything else detectibly audible was on) looking like he was shivering from some glacier ice cap melting. Luckily, I didn’t feel like I was interrupting any important “staring.” I think it was about 30 minutes and a couple of beers later, when N’s phone rang. It was our other friend, R, calling to say that her husband, M, was having some type of flu/insulin/seizure/fainting spell and could we go pick them up. M (of N & M) and I got into the car (this happens to be my parents new car – important for the story later) and headed over to pick them up. When we got there, sick M looked very peaked, laden in sweat, and had trouble walking. Pretty scary. Somehow, through the miraculous intervention of keen zingeriness and wit, this sick man was still able to crack a couple of good jokes on the way to the ER. Positively remarkable. I think we were all there for about an hour, and I was disappointed that the ER antics in country town are about as intense as watching the grass grow. Where’s the shit that happens on the real ER or Grey’s Anatomy? Instead, we had to stare at Funions in the vending machine and wish for more beer. Sick M was rehydrated, and the “good ER doctor” (who happens to be dating my friend, Kit Kat, and they are currently on the fritz, so I’m glad I didn’t say hi) released him to go home. In yet another remarkable feat, sick M still cracked more jokes going home, and in the flash of a second he managed to get the fucking dashboard to go back to Fahrenheit from Celsius –realizing that the “E/M” button meant “English/Metric.” Yet another sign of poor correspondence school education on my part.

Kitty Butt Conundrum
As if the medical conditions that have been surrounding me lately couldn’t get worse, R called me tonight to tell me that their kitty, A, had an impacted anal gland that erupted today. They took her to the vet where she was gassed, had her ass shaved, and her little kitty anus glands had been squeezed. I bet that Hungarian woman in Chicago that waxed the crack of my ass that time would have done the same thing for kitty – only cheaper (but probably more vicious).

Bang the Librarian Hard
Between 1975 and 1988, there was a series of “hardish core” porn paperback novels about librarians published by Greenleaf Classics. They tend to make the cyberwaves once in awhile among the biblio mavens (not all of whom are fashionable by the way) who dig reading about that shit. The hilarious part is not the banter related to the description of the novels, but the anger over the classification scheme. For example, “Bang the Librarian Hard” has a PN 7315 call number. PN is the LC (the mother library) classification for literature, and the cutter number may have a different meaning depending on the main title entry. Technically, “cuttering” is to provide a logical and orderly subarrangement within a class number. Typically it’s the topic, main entry, work (title) and manifestation (edition). Topical cuttering is different from classification because it provides an alphabetical rather than hierarchical arrangement. Anyway, you catch my drift. So, it’s this shit that librarians are talking about, not the following “bang the librarian” snippet plot summary:

“Samantha Hamilton is the librarian at Madison High School. She starts by sucking off a student (a junior) in the library workroom as part of helping him on a term paper on the mating habits of modern females. When he is shocked at her crotchless panties, she comments that "I see you have the typical high school stud's opinion of us stuffy librarians." (7) She gives him a pass to his next class so he doesn't have to hurry. "Teaching students the joys of library research was Samantha's specialty." (14-15) They get caught by Joshua McGarrett, the vice principal. They engage in mutual oral sex and hope that Miss Gustafson, the head librarian, doesn't find out, as she is ‘frigid as the Arctic.’ “

This is why I love librarians. They can handle crotchless panties, porn, dried cum in the art books in the oversize stacks, peeping toms and pervs, but fuck if they will stand for erroneous cataloging standards!!! That is complete blasphemy.

Next contest challenge
My contest was quite the success. While I am STILL in the process of processing the prizes, I’m thinking about what my next contest should be. Any and all suggestions are welcome. Shatty shat came up with the heinous song contest, so I challenge any of you witty (and semi-witty) people to come up with a new contest theme. Good luck.

Heinous Song Contest Winner

This was a difficult decision. Even the rubric and poking out my eardrums did not seem to help. Strangely, a handful of gummi worms cleared my mind.

I’ll start with a review of each entry before revealing the winner:

Shatty shat obviously has a hard time sticking to game playing rules (also evident in board game participation). I disagree that the Pina Colada song and The Way That I Want to Touch You really warrant the “most heinous” title. They are catchy in their own syrupy romantic 1970s way. Muskrat Love, however, is completely heinous, so I’ll give you that one. (A Justin Timberlake entry just came in from Shatty Shat, but I’m afraid it’s too late to be considered).

While some argue that “...even the oft-damned 'Owner of a Lonely Heart' isn't bad - come on, that's a catchy bass line - hell, if Zappa liked it enough to incorporate it into "Bamboozled by Love", who are we to say?" [Source: Reviewed by Bob Eichler from Ground & Sky Review site], others are smart enough to never make that argument. N, in a moment of afterthought, changed her entry to We Built This City on Rock and Roll by Jefferson Starship – a world favorite heinous song according to this blog posse and 389,000 people on Google. This is a good case of last minute switching.

Plum, in her fastidious and scrupulous attention to details of all matter – including music – also chose We Built This City on Rock and Roll by Jefferson Starship. Given her declaration that this song has the “ability to drive all other songs out of your head,” as I was tortured not so long ago by the Facts of Life theme song, her entry is also consistent with the 389,000 Google people and blog posse.

Surlycheshire is a walking “Facts on File” of all songs (she also frequently sings “Baby got Back” at karaoke night). I had never even heard We Don't Have to Take Our Clothes Off to Have a Good Time by Jermaine Stewart (former Soul Train dancer). This song was the hit single from his album, Frantic Romantic (1989). I think the video speaks for itself. It’s definitely in the El DeBarge/Milli Vanilli genre of musical talent. I give it an A+ for most heinous.

CarnivalArsonist chimed in with Mr. Roboto, but I’m afraid I’m in complete agreement with Plum that it’s “catchy, kitschy, fun and funny - even in its awfulness.” I also had no idea this song was based on a rock opera with a pretty complex plot line:

“The song is sung by Kilroy (as played by keyboardist Dennis DeYoung), a rock and roll performer who was placed in a futuristic prison for "rock and roll misfits" by the anti-rock-and-roll group the Majority for Musical Morality (MMM) and its founder Dr. Everett Righteous (played by guitarist James Young). He escapes the prison by overtaking a Roboto prison guard and hiding inside the emptied-out metal shell. The Roboto is a model robot which does menial jobs in the prison. The song may be understood as Kilroy's dedication to the robot that, through being sacrificed in such a way, allowed Kilroy to escape the prison.” [Source: Wikipedia].

Man, that’s some intense shit. I also think this song has a lot of potential rhythms for some concept break dancing. However, there was still mention of everyone’s favorite, We Built This City on Rock and Roll by Jefferson Starship. Therefore, I believe this is still the most heinous song according to this blog posse and 389,000 people on (the) Google.

Other N wondered why Billy Joel's We Didn't Start the Fire even exists, but luckily (being the good librarian) I found the answer from a Mr. Ron Kurtus on a site called, “School for Champions - an educational website that shows you how to achieve your dreams.” I don’t know if this is the most heinous song, but I do think Mr. Kurtus’ interpretation of why this song is so powerful (it even includes a mini-quiz) is certainly heinous:

“In 1989, singer Billy Joel released a popular song entitled We Didn't Start the Fire. The song simply lists historical personalities and events from 1949 until 1989. Just hearing the mention of them brought back memories of the times to many listeners. The lyrics of the song proved to be a good summary of the history of that era. Questions you may have about this are:

How good a song can a list of names be?
What are the lyrics to the song?
What about these people and events?

Mini-quiz to check your understanding:

1. Why did Billy Joel pick the years from 1949 until he wrote the song in 1989?
- Those were the most important years in the history of the world
- Those were years he experienced while growing up
- Those were the years after television news programs started

2. Were the events and people mentioned in the song historical?
- If they were in the news, they were historical
- All people mentioned were personal friends of Billy Joel
- Most events never happened and were taken from TV shows

3. What did starting the fires have to do with anything?
- Billy Joel was known as a "fire bug"
- He uses fires as a metaphor for negative events
- Fires have been historical events since the great Chicago fire

There is nothing more to say. Mr. Kurtus has said it all.

Last, but not least, is Jim Beam’s (aka Zinger – no, not the Little Debbie type, but the witty comeback type) entry, Everybody Have Fun Tonight by the 1980s London new wave band Wang Chung (originally called Huang Chung). This song was voted the third worst song ever by Blender magazine. I must say there is nothing catchy or fun about this tune. It’s unadulterated awfulness. But the good news is that in 2002, Geffen Records released 20th Century Masters - The Millennium Collection: The Best of Wang Chung. We couldn’t live without it. HEINOUS!

WINNER
I know this is an intense moment. I struggled with coming up with one winner for most heinous song, but I simply couldn’t do it. They were all great heinous entries. Therefore, you’ve all won the most heinous song contest!

Prizes will be mailed or hand delivered within 2-4 weeks. The return of any prize as undeliverable will result in forfeiture of the prize and selection of an alternate winner, which will be difficult in this case because there are no alternate winners. So, please claim your prize!

Thank you all for playing. You’re awesome. I love you.

It's raining men

My house is pretty flush with testosterone right now. Two men and a dog. This morning’s breakfast conversation was a trip down old hippy memory lane – psychedelic mushrooms, skinny dipping, tuck pointing in the nude (this seems dangerous to me), and discussion about some cactus hallucinogenic. While things have been fairly routine in the last week (and two days), there is simply too much farting and old men talk for my sophisticated taste (there was even a discussion about “mall walking” as a form of exercise when it’s cold, and talk about purchasing those geriatric old Jewish man blublocker sunglasses – as seen on TV). God help me.

Later today, a couple more guys stopped over today to visit T for some pre-game TV watching. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m actually happy to get out of here to go to a super bowl game (I loathe football). I feel a bit trapped in my own house lately. At least there’s potential for the super bowl game to have something interesting commercial or half-time wise – like “nipplegate.”

I read that Lil’ Jon will be celebrating the super bowl at the Playboy mansion with his entourage of flesh and flash. What’s up with that dude’s teeth? I can’t figure it out. He looks like he’s completely kicked back on some serious weed. Totally doped out. One freaky mother fucker. I’d love to hear him in concert though – that would be trippy.

Last night was ArtsBash. This event is Central Wisconsin's version of P Diddy's "white party" in the Hamptons, sans the hip-hop stars, paparazzi and celebs (actually the "white party" is a rip-off of Capote's Black & White parties he used to host in the Hamptons). It was a good time, but slightly more disappointing this year than previous years. Attendance seemed low, and the performances, frankly, were lame. As a matter of fact, I didn’t realize they were over until R & M told me. Kinda strange. At least I had cool straight ironed hair, thanks to R. She did a most awesome job. And P looked tres fab in her dress made of colored bias tape. Aside from the usual basement band gang, it was also good to hang out with the “dance” crew and others I haven’t seen in ages. Too many fun people – too little time.

CONTEST!
So, here’s a little contest for my blog posse readers (inspired by Shatshat). Please submit your answer in the comment section. The winner will be announced next week and will receive a lovely prize for participating. Okay, here’s the question (concentrate):

What was the most heinous song ever recorded?

CONTEST RULES
1) One entry per person
2) Winner(s) will be announced 2/11/07
3) Most heinous song will be determined by:

• rubric outlining specific performance levels for heinous songery (thanks PSM)
• listening to all heinous songs blindfolded while holding an ice pick to see which one makes me feel like poking out my ear drums (thanks M)
• another method yet to be determined.

4) Beautiful parting prize will be delivered to winner.