knifefight in BK

the greatest story ever told

I think anyone who has an interest in both cats resembling people/things AND Wilford Brimley is probably well aware of the genius that is 5 Cats that Look Like Wilford Brimley. However, I've learned from my new husband of one month and 2 days, Justin, that Mr. James Earl Jones, for one, was actually NOT aware of the Wilford Brimley lookalike cats - until a fateful trip past the refrigerator at my husband's place of employment yesterday. That's right, not only was the man/myth/legend IN my husband's office, but he saw the picture of the Brimley-type cats Justin had lovingly taped to the fridge, and the voice of Darth Vader totally busted out laughing. Because of cats. Cats resembling Wilford Brimley. Justin informed me that Mr. Jones (who is apparently neither 8 to 9 feet tall OR constantly bathed in the golden glow of an unseen overhead spotlight, as I had assumed) passed by the refrigerator in his office, paused to inspect its single adornment of Brimley/Cat wonder, and then laughed somewhat heartily, in the general fashion one would expect from the person who authoritatively declares that this is, in fact, CNN. If this is not the greatest celebrity sighting ever in the history of celebrity sightings, then somebody had better stop the world, because I want to get off. Thank you and good day. THIS is Knifefight in Brooklyn.

trump ice is bottled water that scowls at you for some reason

BEHOLD TRUMP ICE.
NOT TO BE CONFUSED WITH: Pepsi Ice Cucumber, Trump v. Rice, poor people water.
UNDERTONES: Dirty ashtray, sad cocktail waitress, wigs.
VALUE: Cheap as free* (*while gambling in one of Mr. Trump's stately, rundown casinos in scenic Atlantic City)
BEST PAIRED WITH: A dollar yo, a motorized scooter, an elaborate slot machine ritual.
PREFERRED BY: If you're in a casino long enough to "prefer" its bottled water... wow.
WHAT IT "SAYS": "I think that last complimentary vodka tonic was made with rubbing alcohol, yet I can't manage to tear myself away from Gamblor's neon claws to rinse out my mouth with some non-Trump water."
FINAL RATING: Um... you're... fired?

return to the social security office (of horror)

  Hi! Sorry I disappeared, I was getting married. But enough about me, let's talk about the Brooklyn Social Security Office! You might know this place by its formal name, "The Land of Eternal Sadness and Agony and Lines." If you're keeping track of a complete stranger like a weirdo, you'll recall that I have been to this shrieking Hell before, and it was possibly the most harrowing adventure ever to be undertaken in the history of mankind, ever, ever, ever, EVER. There was aggressive rectal anarchy, there were pork rinds, that's more than any government office should ever force on you. If you're asking yourself right now WHY I'd decide to spend another glorious afternoon in a douchebag sandwich, let me tell you about   how both Jesus and the government are, like, SO against me: I can't just mail stuff in and have the Social Security Office acknowledge my legal name change, because I, total depraved bastard that I am, CHOSE TO LIVE IN BROOKLYN. Like a jerk! And what does the Social Security department think of my fellow Brooklynites, and our brethren in Queens, Orlando, Phoenix, or Las Vegas? They just don't like us. It's all "Hey guys! Getting a new/revised/pine-scented Social Security Card is easy! Just scrawl your X on this line, spend 42 cents, and WHEEEE! It's Christmas! Except for everyone in Brooklyn, Queens, Orlando, Las Vegas, or Phoenix, 'cause FUCK THOSE GUYS! You guys can go stand uncomfortably close to a gassy elderly woman for 3 hours, assholes! Ha!" That's... bastardly. I can't speak for Orlando, Las Vegas, or Phoenix, but... I will because I imagine their local Social Security office is just as hellishly ridiculous as mine: This is bullshit. It's really smart, though, to force people in really crowded areas to have to get their Social Securitizin' done in person in the world's least efficient office ever, because at least half the people who bother to take the time to show up will probably die of heatstroke, old age, or typhus while waiting to be served. It's super smart! Hey, let's kill off half our potential clients! Neat! My OWN personal joyous fun time mostly involved the woman behind me who was kind of half-leaning on my back while angrily (ANGRILY) discussing the flaws of this particular office with herself, and the small, entertaining child who appeared to be hell-bent on dismantling the waiting area piece by piece while his mother stood by, mouth wide open, possibly having been diagnosed brain dead like 20 years prior. I hope you enjoy the pictures I took to showcase this young man's awesome talents and psychotic flailing! If only I could've recorded his incessant shrieking, and the parts where he would run up to a random woman and start slapping her thigh and screaming MAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMA! while his mother essentially drooled into her purse. Oh, and I would've loved to have captured for posterity the moment where Deputy Douche (the security 'tard who made me throw away my water and then proceeded to awkwardly hit on me for a solid hour) asked if anyone wanted to claim their child before he got injured by the door he was attempting to scale. I believe this child is science's first successful human/hummingbird hybrid - his mother offered further proof by furnishing him with some kind of Tic Tacs, which I believe are the primary food source of the HumanBird (name pending review). The moral of this story: if you live in one of the Social Security Administration's Least Favorite Places (TM) like I do, be smart and don't change your name in any sort of legal way, or develop your own obnoxious personal habit/bring a crazed toddler/brain yourself with a chunk of cement a few times before you go. Or, hey! Just move to Canada. That's totally my Plan B.

tim and eric (great job)

I'm sorry I haven't posted anything in a long time, this whole "wedding planning" thing gives me renewed respect for Jennifer Lopez. She sure is the hardest working woman in showbiz. No, for real, though, it's hard to do anything hilarious when you're having panic attacks over shoes. Justin and I handed off our most important wedding invitation last night, to these guys. I'd show you some shocking, life-altering pictures from the show at the Highline Ballroom (and God bless sausage fests because I didn't encounter a line for the lady-bathroom once)(not that you pee a lot when beers are $7), but I don't want DJ Dougg Pound to come to my house and beat me up, and also I really want Tim and Eric to get YOUR $15 because how else will they afford all that shrimp and white wine? Most importantly, it was a beautiful show, filled with friendship, emotions, wonder, and magic. And codpieces. And love. It's Tim and Eric, they're shining boys, it's for your health.

street meat (ha ha get it?)

Having lived in major metropolitan areas, I feel like I've gotten past any discomfort about homeless people. They're there, you'll go broke if you give change to everyone who asks, and the ones who aren't crazy or running intricate scams are just normal people who don't have a house and might have several jackets on at once and probably aren't real thrilled to be sifting through that garbage can. I takes a lot to make me pull a "terrified small child gawk" (aka "the Midwestern staaaaaaare") at this point in my life. I can now say that standing right in the middle of the sidewalk, looking like David the Gnome in greyscale, fully exposing your penis falls into the category of "things I WILL gawk at." That's right! I saw homeless David the Gnome's genitals. Because they were on full, joyous display, in spite of Mr. the Gnome's shirt being fastened securely to his pants at the sides. The major design flaw in pinning your pants to your shirt JUST at the sides seems to be that your penis and testicles may or may not be exposed in the approximate 2 foot gap between articles of clothing at the front (the front being where the male reproductive organs generally can be found, and perhaps an area warranting a pinning more than, say, the sides). Naturally, I did enough of a rubberneck when I walked past to notice that his pants were securely attached in the back. I mean, naturally. It kind of reminded me of the time I was walking into my dentist's office in Chicago and this nice woman in a sweatsuit backed up against the corner of the building, yanked her pants down to her feet, leaned forward, and unleashed a torrential downpour of urine with unbelievably impressive aim - all while yelling at someone across the street. But I digress. David the Gnomeless, you definitely snapped me right out of my post-boxing stupor, and I really wish I didn't have to see your penis. I'm a little curious as to WHY your penis was flapping out in the breeze because it was pretty chilly and rainy today, but I didn't think it would be very cool to stop and point out that your genitals were making a grand appearance. Especially if that was the "look" you were going for. Sir. I mean, if Tara Reid can walk around with her entire breast flapping in the breeze, I suppose it could happen to anyone. Right? 

i guess that's good... right?

Sometimes my pals forward me cute little things that daily candy talks about. This was not one of those things. So basically I'm gathering that it's a fancy looking, non-absorbent maxi pad that sticks to your skin so when you're getting out of your limo at 4 a.m. you don't accidentally show off your cervix to the paparazzi AND you need not suffer the shame of... a waistband? I don't know, the website keeps saying "no pantylines," but I thought pantylines were the lines on your butt that g-strings would theoretically eliminate, whereas waistband lines are something one remedies by, like, wearing the right size underpants. But you know what? I'm not a scientician. So I don't know. What I DO know is that the best part of the amazing strapless g-string's site is the part where they casually sneak "pole dancing" into the list of contexts tailor made for their product. You know, tight dresses, short dresses, EROTIC DANCING, going to the spa... Huh? Aside from the fact that having a li'l swatch of fabric, cute or otherwise, straight up TAPED to your pubis and coccyx is kind of, I don't know, whatever the opposite of attractive would be called, I like that they have a bridal version, and that if you go to the instructions page, they tell you how to go to the bathroom - "carefully pull the panties to the side and replace when finished." Thanks, strapless g-string!

i thought they LIKED boobs at that store

Maybe I'm just completely out of the loop because I don't shop at Victoria's Secret or, you know, know who half of the people are when I read Star magazine at the gym, but... how is this poor, starving child a bra model? Does anyone else feel like this picture screams sad Russian child hooker? This is totally a Lifetime movie waiting to happen - "Yevgeniya was like any other starving street child in desolate post-Chernobyl Belarus, when one fateful meeting in 1986 opened her eyes to a glamorous, decadent world of bras, rhinestones, and clown makeup (but still no food)... 'I was an Emaciated Russian Child Hooker: Yevgeniya's Story,' tonight at 9." I mean, this woman could be happy, healthy, and 26 years old, but this picture openly says "emaciated pre-Yeltsin Russian sad child hooker in clown makeup." GIVE THIS WOMAN SOME BORSCHT. SHE'S HUNGRY AND HER SIZE 000 BRA IS TOO BIG. Perhaps their Bangladeshi sweatshop employees weren't sexy enough, so Victoria's Secret started scouting this place in Lipetsk for more gorgeous, malnourished workers? I don't know, but what I DO know is that this woman's ribcage makes me uncomfortable, AND her makeup confuses me, because she might be 11. That is all.

dear women's athletic shoe consortium,

Hi, my name is Gail. You might remember me from the time I fractured my foot during boxing a few years back, because it seems that banged up Chucks from high school are not "appropriate footwear" for "boxing," and then I walked around on a fractured foot for 5 weeks before I saw a doctor because I figured that sometimes your foot just swells up, turns purple, and sends fiery, nauseating waves of agony up your leg every time you take a step? You know... how that happens sometimes... right. It was at this point in my life at which I was introduced to you, lectured repeatedly on your importance, and informed that you were going to become a part of my life unless I was into periodically grinding my foot's innerworkings into a pulpy mash of nastiness. Remember me? Hi! How are you? Anyway, I just wanted to mention that, unless you WANT me to start jogging in cheap heels and flip flops and knowingly pulverize my metatarsals into a fine dust, you need to stop making every piece of functional women's athletic footwear I come across look like a 5 year old girl picked out the color scheme. Why is every other pair of functional athletic shoes I see white? Does the word LADY combine with the word RUNNING to spell NURSE SHOES? For reals. Justin has the pick of every combination of silver and gunmetal, and I have effing white with periwinkle? I will say good day, sir. Is it really necessary to make the ONLY black shoes all black, because I don't really think I'm going to Jazzercise anytime soon. And yet THIS is how you treat me, women's athletic shoe consortium, like I'm definitely looking for something to match both my baby pink Tinkerbell backpack AND my late 1960s nursing career, or like I'm some kind of ephedra-addled aerobics relic from 1989? Reeeeally? I know I'm weird for caring, but if MEN'S functional athletic shoes can manage to look like they weren't hallucinated by a feverish preschool girl, why must women's? My options are white, white with dusty pink, white with cornflower, white white white, or black on black for chain-smoking aerobic instructors drinking Tab in 1987. Oh, good! Good. I can rarely be bothered to care about what I look like in a fitness environment, but I will not put my feet into the shoe manifestation of Princess Frostine and attempt any sort of activity. Don't even pretend like it's ok to make all the soles white, either - that's just a giant middle finger to people who live somewhere that necessitates walking and don't plan on devoting their lives to shoe care (like my former boxing coach, true story, half our session was spent with him lovingly, diligently wiping the street-filth from the sides and top of his hurt-your-retinas-white gym shoes). Don't make me buy men's shoes just because you're a jerk, women's shoe consortium. In conclusion, dusty pink can rot, and women like monochromatic greys just as much as our penised colleagues. Suck on that before you spit out a whole new line of "baby pink on cloud white" abominations.
Your friend (?),
Gail

good job, beefy men!

You've probably noticed by now that the Giants won their Fun Happy Bowl, much to the chagrin of Mr. Gisele and his pals. Justin was really excited about this event (notice his affection toward Eli Manning, and Eli's coyness) because he's been a Giants fan forever, and our pal Dave was excited because he has to love the Giants now that he lives here. I'd like to share why, as someone who only understands football in the sense that I pick my fantasy league based on player names and if they're smiling in their team photo, I'm pleased about the Giants being the 2008 Super Football Champion Wonder Stars of USA.
1. Michael Strahan is PRECIOUS. In CAPITAL LETTERS. I want to hug him.
2. Plaxico cried! Awwww.
3. Osi Umenyiora may or may not like to poop on a lady at times. I'd pause to find that fact offensive, but it's too busy being hilarious.
4. That one mid-tackle, back-bend-and-helmet-catch thing was pretty fun, and I actually paused while making cookies to watch the replay 82 times. Great job! Super bendy head catch! Number 1!
5. I will bet you $50 Canadian that Eli Manning says or has said "aww, shucks," in all seriousness. Also, his brother makes nice commercials about cheering for insurance adjusters, which is thoughtful. Thanks Team Manning (Teammmmmanning)!
6. I don't like The New England Mister Giseles.
Go sports!

all of your slow-mo beer-spilling needs covered in one cute, robotic package

BFF-ing it up

Y'all: I'm in San Francisco. I'll say something when I get back. Meanwhile, I have a date with some sea lions...

the end is nigh

Did anyone else notice that it's a sunny, pleasant 67 degrees out today? I'm not one to be unsettled by... unsettling... weather phenomena, but if Mayor McCheese rises over the city, weeping rivers of Shamrock Shake, or all the pigeons form like Voltron into a giant homeless guy, obliterating every bakery in sight (or whatever else is supposed to happen when it's summer in January in New York and our country is actually considering a politician who isn't a homey, Southern white dude), could someone let me know? I'll be busy crafting serious aluminum helmets for us and the cats, and, I don't know, maybe setting fire to the local American Apparel store. Thanks guys!

happy __________!

As we approach/exit/are nowhere near the holidays (depending on your religion)(and mine is nata de coco), I'd like to take a moment to thank everyone who reads this crap. You're awesome! I'd make you a pie if we were physically and emotionally close enough for this action to be warranted! I mean, thanks. Pacman Jones and I will be looking for you under the mistletoe. (And if you steal the picture I've lovingly crafted for this occasion, I will be waiting with a baseball bat.)

Love and kisses,
Gail

achievements in bottled water: joe's kwik marts

BEHOLD L'EAU DU JOE'S KWIK MART.
NOT TO BE CONFUSED WITH: Bill's Quick Mart-type water, Water Joe - ewwww. I'm not sure what exactly upsets me about caffeinated tap water, but ewwww.
UNDERTONES: Pennsylvania, gas, essence of surly cashier.
VALUE: Yes. And outdoor portable toilets.
BEST PAIRED WITH: Joe's Kwik Mart's fine range of outdoor portable toilets.
PREFERRED BY: People who like surly cashiers, discriminating rural Pennsylvanians.
WHAT IT "SAYS": Fiji water, my ass.
FINAL RATING: Why the outdoor portable toilets, Joe? Why?

this is the greatest commercial ever.

I hope to one day be a banana ghost.

BRONX WINS

I totally wanted to post the video Justin and I took of the thrilling last 2 minutes of the Bronx/Queens Championship bout, but I don't understand the YouTube/why the YouYube hates my Mac, so... Here's a blurry picture. The Gotham Girls Roller Derby may well be the greatest sports league ever. It was an unbelievably exciting game (I'm not just saying that because we were in the posh VIP seats for Justin's birthday)(WOOOOOO VIP!) and the last 10 minutes were unreal because it could've gone either way. But the Bronx won, 95-90, and I was super excited because many of the ladies who've won my heart during Skills Night are on the Bronx Gridlock. YAY GRIDLOCK!

melt-banana is awesome

Ok, if you want to understand the majesty that is Melt-Banana live, you should read this guy's review. He saw them in Rochester and he says stuff about what it's like to see them if you're not familiar with why they're awesome. I can't be all... writing... fancy words... and stuff. I noticed a lot of things (that won't win me a job as any sort of music writer), though, such as: Europa is a weird place. I don't think I'm Polish enough to go there (in that I'm not at all Polish, in spite of what every elderly Polish-speaking woman in our neighborhood seems to think)(STOP COMING UP TO ME AND GIBBERING ON IN POLISH! I DON'T UNDERSTAND YOU! NOT EVEN WHEN YOU SPEAK LOUDER!), but I think it's nice that there's a place where Melt-Banana's poster can co-exist with a non-ironic poster for Friday Night Bikini Contests! and noise bands can enhance their songs with a (also not ironic) disco ball and fog machine (not that I've ever seen a straight up hipster place use an ironic fog machine. Would it be called a "smug" machine? Ha ha! Get it? Because smug sounds like smog, and... get it? Ahhh, jokes). Also I noticed that the "18 and over" clause on my ticket was not necessary, in that I'm certain I was in the closest-to-18-in-attendance category, and... I'm 27. I'm pretty sure there isn't a word to describe the majesty of walking into a crazy noise show and noticing that half the rabid fans have probably been rabid fans since I was 12. I have several theories (based on the section of my post after the jump) about Europa occupying several dimensions at once, which would neatly explain why there were also drunk middle aged people passed out/"freak dancing" out of rhythm who seemed to appear from nowhere for no obvious reason, and... this whole post has been really distracted because I'm trying to figure something out before skills night tonight (um, like sustaining forward motion) so my brain's just not here (it's in a quivering puddle, next to my nerves, inside my stomach - YAY!). Sorry friends! More later...

iced canes

Hockey is interesting. From what I understand, the men are trying to whack the disc into a net that another man is trying to cover up. This is what you should know about hockey: Rangers fans are extremely enthusiastic. And this enthusiasm extends to many things, like voicing their appreciation of various players, and audibly questioning the sexual orientation of members of the opposing team, and singing some of Neil Diamond's greatest hits. The gentleman next to me had a very interesting method of demonstrating his enthusiasm: he stood up about every 3 seconds, and had what appeared to be some kind of major gluteal seizure. Ok, and that sounds confusing, so let me first take a survey. Who's been to Madison Square Garden for a sporting event? Have you seen the seats? They were clearly made in an era in which most sports fans were not actually 70 pounds overweight. So basically, this gentleman's constant leaping up (should've used Preparation H?) resulted in his ass cheeks occupying about 40% of my visual field (28% of which was already occupied by the classy fauxhawk pictured - sweet! It's cool to pay $34.50 to watch a bulbous skull and a twitchy ass REACTING to an event you can't actually see for yourself. No wonder my ticket said "limited view."), and NOT noticing that his ass was spasming would've been possible only if I'd actually gouged my eyeballs out (YES! I did consider this after the first extended period of leaping-glutes-up-in-my-face). The best part was that, in between twitching his ass about 3 inches from my face, this guy was alternately having a peanut fight with his so-drunk-she-almost-got-into-a-brawl girlfriend (Thanks guys! I was so glad to find your gifts in my purse when I got home!) and having some self-important, loud conversation on his cell phone about how "no one takes (him) seriously as a writer." I know what you're thinking, and of COURSE I asked him to be my best friend! Pompous AND totally oblivious of your own obnoxiousness? SIGN ME UP, NEW FRIEND! Anyway, I tried to take a video of it, because I think the world needs to know, but the recording conditions up in the nosebleed section of MSG are atrocious even WITHOUT some moron's pulsing butt blocking out all light and sound...

violins, violence

I've been to some rowdy punk/hip hop/noise/metal shows in my life. I've definitely seen crazy multi-person fistfights break out mid-set for no apparent reason, I've definitely been clocked a few times by someone/thing flailing wildly in front of a stage (once by a fake leg - the Jesus Lizard, Omaha, 1997*), and I'd generally like to think that I'm ready for whatever comes flying my way (body parts, glass, small rabid animals, throwing stars) at a $5-for-7-bands noise show. What I'm NOT ready for, apparently, is the crazed ferociousness of feral classical music patrons. That's right, those people are crazy. Justin and I were at Carnegie Hall the other night, because we're classy (or maybe because my Mom's friend's outrageously talented daughter and son in law are in the philharmonic that was performing and they graciously hooked us up with comp tickets), and I received completely unwarranted, forceful full body contact from no less than 6 fancy-lookin' ass-hats who NEEDED to literally pass through my body to get to the other side of the lobby. Where some mohawked crust punk will possibly apologize for incidentally bodyslamming you upon realizing you're just some small woman on line for the bathroom, a fur coat-ed blue hair will likely not pause to survey the carnage after hurtling all musky 86 pounds of herself at the backs of the unsuspecting in a brash effort to get herself 3 inches closer to the elevator line before she actually turns back into dust. What the crap is wrong with these people? "Oh, I've already proven my intellectual superiority, simply by purchasing a ticket to this fine display of orchestral majesty, I don't need to press the point any further by behaving like a civilized human being - I'm wearing a 7 pound brooch and that's enough politeness for the masses, thankyouverymuch." I seriously got bodychecked like 6 times whilst innocently standing in that lobby, which means I'm NOT counting the foppish doucheclown who walked straight into me full-force ("Oh. Sahhhhrry.") while I was standing outside TO AVOID BEING TACKLED BY DICKS IN FANCY JACKETS. I remember being at a Murphy's Law show at this club in D.C. when I was about 16 and thinking that was probably the craziest audience I'd ever see... Flash forward over a decade later, Carnegie Hall lobby, as I practically got laid out by some wee college-nerd girl with glasses who simply HAD to access the line immediately to my left with as much brute force and as few words as possible. Naturally, once we were seated, the audience stopped being raging, pre-verbal fuckwits and sat politely in their finery, appreciating said orchestral majesty... some while also smelling like old man breath. For real, the second to the top tier in the main hall was an olfactory assault I can liken only to climbing headfirst into an old man's mouth after he's had a cigar and 3 coffees. Is there anything nastier than being enveloped in a stranger's unpleasant breath? Let me think about that, while I sit down and ice the parts of my back that are at bony old lady shoulder-height.

why didn't anyone tell me about clinton portis?

I'm not entirely certain what led me to the discovery that Clinton Portis is crazy, but it happened, and the world is a better place now. Frankly, if I made millions of dollars for playing a game in front of thousands of adoring fans, I'd probably wear a lot of hilarious wigs to post-game media conferences as well. I appreciate these wacky antics because I find them more entertaining than the actual game of football. Look at him! He's dressed up as his own version of Napoleon Dynamite! He actually had a shirt made that reads "Vote for Santana" (Santana Moss, brother of the awesomely-named Sinorice Moss) and that says just about everything I personally need to know about the consideration and forethought Mr. Portis afforded his "characters."

happy happy halloween

...hope your mask doesn't turn your face into bugs and snakes for some reason!

bfffestival

spring break?, originally uploaded by justin and gail.

You know how sometimes you go to your front door on a friday morning, expecting to find your best friend's west-coast based best friend (I know, we totally have a BFF triangle, but it's one of mutual love and respect), but instead you find both your best friend's best friend AND your best friend, who you had no idea would be appearing on your side of the country because your man-prize best friend (stay with me here) is really good at keeping your best friend's travel secrets? Me too, because that is what happened to me on friday morning. My weekend was a flurry of skee-ball, best friendery, Wii-ing, and joy, broken up only momentarily for me to go get my ass schooled by the wonderful women of the Gotham Girls Roller Derby (I LOVE YOU, SURLY TEMPLE!). I'll be back shortly with your regularly scheduled posting.

i'm sure you were hoping i'd have some halloween costume ideas for you

Of course I do. I've gathered a few of my favorites here from some random internet costume shop. Please use them and enjoy them because they are brilliant.
First we have a Dressy Devendra Banhart. I like to think of this as his "Elegant Evening Devendra" look. What you need for this look is:
1. A penis
2. A beard
3. A dress
4. I don't know, probably makeup?
5. Probably a good 15 obsessed sensitive hipster-girl stalkers walking behind you or something.
I want to say "just dress up like Manson, but super ethereal." Yes, I know he doesn't always wear a ton of makeup and jeweled bikinis. Look at that picture and tell me it's NOT Devendra Banhart. I dare you.

The $900 Broccoli for Some Reason
This costume is A. broccoli, 7. costs $900, and H. what? Yes. True. Good luck with all that. I hope there's a veggie-sexual group of plushies you can join afterwards or something. Perhaps you can start such a group. I really don't know what else you're going to do with a $900 plush broccoli outfit, although the possibilities for weirding out, say, people at a funeral are ENDLESS.

I'm pretty sure this was supposed to be an Anna Nicole Smith costume, but then she died, so they copped out and called it like "Wacky Drinkin' Housewife" or whatever. But listen, you know and I know that this is an Anna Nicole costume. All you need to complete the look is a hideous, clammy man creepily hovering next to you, and a lot of pink clothing. Bonus points if you go as zombie Anna Nicole... too soon? Hmm.

I don't know, I think this is either a "Crispin Glover Lumberjack" costume, or a "Williamsburg aging hipster" costume. There's really no other way to explain the hair, and the man's creepy face. And now I'm noticing that he seems to have some kind of... left breast? I don't even know what to make of this concept, or the fact that someone would charge you $19.95 to BE this awkward Crispin Glover/hipster/lumberjack with one breast... You know what? Don't go as this.

Have you ever thought to yourself, "I really want to dress up like Star Trek-era Kim Cattrall, but I also really want to dress up like Rick James?" PROBLEM SOLVED.

The legged dolphin. I'm assuming it's a special order because dolphins don't have legs. I think it would be nice if your Halloween costume honored the.. differently-abled... aquatic life. Imagine the heartbreak of realizing you're the only dolphin with legs, and bring that anguish to your performance. If dolphin ostracism alone doesn't help you craft a truly despairing-but-noble, tear-soaked rendition of legged dolphinry, think about this: you just spent like $800 on a legged dolphin costume.

Elderly Jesus. WTF.

This one's my absolute favorite: Sad Child Secretary. Are you looking for a clever-but-also-sort-of-depressing costume for your child? Here's what you need:

1. Wig from 1993, possibly run through a blender
2. Ill-fitting "power suit"
3. Sad blouse (yes, a blouse can be sad - look)
4. Benadryl enough to make your child slightly groggy and crooked-faced

Voila! Your child is a sad child secretary. Prepare for the complements to roll in. And also the job offers.

you were probably thinking you'd have liked to join a massive horde of the undead yesterday

Yeah, totally. What a nice day to rise from the grave and wander down 5th avenue? Justin and I went to Zombiecon 2007 yesterday, largely because I just really like buying fake blood, and it seemed like it might be nice to have an actual use for this blood. Anyway, it was a good time, there were some truly hilarious zombies, I got to hug a screaming Korean tourist, and I learned that while the people at Bloomingdale's have a pretty good sense of humor about like 200 makeup-drenched dorks stumbling through their perfume displays and shoes, the guard at Gucci is pretty much not feeling it. The only truly scary parts, I thought, included an instance in which some huffy girl on the sidewalk picked a fight with one of the zombies for "ruining" her sweater, and also when some girl decided to kind of plop herself in the middle of the street and nearly get her hand taken off by a truck. I'd like to thank Justin for being a sport about letting me put him in a bunch of greasepaint and corn syrup (although, in all honesty, that's kind of like one of the first times we hung out*), and the tourists on 5th ave for being so excited about our parade of the undead. Also, big ups to the breakdancing crew who put on "Thriller" for an impromptu zombie dance party near Central Park. New Yorkers, man, good people. Here's the link to my flickr album of the day if you need to bask in the glory of my improvised neck wound, which I'm extremely proud of, because I made it from glue and toilet paper in like 2 minutes and it lasted all day. Thank you and good day. Oh, and if you watch this clip, you can see Justin's riveting zombie-pointing at the 49 second mark.

sweet jesus.

This bird... is awesome. Snowball here's a big fan of the Backstreet Boys, it seems, and one day he just felt like rocking' out... with his cockatoo out - I'm sorry, I had to say that. I know it was lame. But come on! Anyway, I'm sure the Backstreet Boys will be quite pleased to know that they have one fan left who isn't their moms, and also this fan is obscenely cute. And also a bird. Have a nice day. I have to go buy a jug of fake blood now.

oh, THAT'S why linda evans gives me nightmares.

I don't know, is it just me or was this "Rejuvenique" concept actually some sort of twisted joke David Cronenberg told David Lynch one time in the mid-1990s, but then they both stopped laughing and said, "No, stop, that's not funny, that's legitimately the most horrifying thing ever," but Lynch called "JINX" and Cronenberg hasn't spoken since because the jinx-penalty involved something about his Id separating from his being and manifesting itself "somewhere, sometime," in the form of a thousand stoplights? Regardless, I'm willing to bet the farm that 99.9% of all Rejuvenique purchases were made jokingly or while high. I remember accidentally watching these infomercials when I was in college, and then wondering how long it would be before I saw one of those scary-ass masks in somebody's video/film/performance art project one week. I never did, actually, which brings me to what I think their tagline should've been - "Rejuvenique: Even Too Fucking Creepy for Art Students." I know it's pretty tired to make fun of the bizarro wackiness that goes on in the paid programming that pops up at 4 a.m., but I've never quite been able to get the Rejuvenique mask completely out of my head - I feel like I'm either waiting for a Channel 7 exposé about how they make your face dissolve/turn into bugs, or maybe for some avant-garde middle-aged women's dance troupe to incorporate the masks into some kind of critically-acclaimed interpretive routine depicting the death cycle or something. Anyway, don't even get me started on my Linda Evans conspiracy theories.

D'Brickashaw, D'Brickashaw, D'Brickashaw!

This man is named D'Brickashaw Ferguson. Apparently, his name is a creative variation on a character's name from "The Thorn Birds." And huzzah to that. Football has some of the most interesting names in our nation's sports (sorry, Joba), including both a Taco and a Pork Chop. I'd like to share with you a few of the names I find most compelling in the NFL and possibly the country (sorry, Mormons)...
PLAXICO BURRESS (it's pronounced PLEXico, stupid)
TIKI and RONDE BARBER (they're so cute! twice!)
EDGERRIN JAMES (co-owns an indoor go-cart track in arizona - awww!)
VISANTHE SHIANCOE (my favorite TE draft pick)
TARVARIS JACKSON (i love the t-jack)
LAVERANUES COLES (he just seems like such a nice gentleman)
TROY POLAMALU (mostly gets my vote for his beautiful, flowing hair)
CARNELL "CADILLAC" WILLIAMS (i hope he's friends with ronde barber)
ROCK CARTWRIGHT (best 70's porn/action star name)
VINNIE TESTAVERDE ("testaverde" makes me giggle)
ALGE CRUMPLER (come on)
HINES WARD (hines!)
Before you mock this silliness, know that my fantasy football team (Lady Batterley's Shovers) is the only undefeated team in our league, and I chose my roster pretty much entirely on how much I enjoyed their names. Think about it. Giants, I'm free to coach whenever you need me. I'm doing this for OSI UMENYIORA, SINORICE MOSS, and Michael Strahan (regardless of what his heartless, gold-digging ex says - look at that face! Who could steal $15mil from that face?).

oh, david gest... the horror...

When I saw this picture on Go Fug Yourself, I seriously thought Gene Simmons had gotten into some sort of horrible face-accident. But no, it's just David Gest, the meltiest-looking of Liza Minelli's gay ex-husbands/domestic abuse victims, wearing a really embarrassing outfit. I mean, after seeing his website, it's kind of hard to imagine how he could make himself look more like a sad, sad, clown, desperate for any sort of fame possible... but then we have this outfit. The ladies of Fug didn't even seem to offer any real theory as to why Mr. Gest was wearing this decidedly "young urban chic" getup, in public, in full view of photographers, while still actively a creepy old man with the chronic melt-face disorder. All I know is that my better half claims it makes his skin crawl when he hears old white men saying things like "give props" and "diss," and I think this is the (equally offensive) clothing-based version of that phenomenon. In conclusion, huh? And also, stop.

my neighborhood enjoys a bit of wrasslin' with its parades

My neighborhood is great. I love being periodically woken up by a half-assed parade rolling down my street, and I love the fact that I can look out my window at any point during the day and probably see an old lady in a housedress. I found a new thing to love this weekend, this thing is THE $2 AMATEUR WRESTLING SHOW IN A PARKING LOT. It had all your Brooklyn backyard wrasslin' all-stars: guy in a bad wig and a skirt, really large man in white plastic overalls, that referee who didn't have a costume, skeevy bald goth dude, fat man with a sad ponytail in a dirty tank top, AND MORE! It was pretty much the best $2 I've spent in the past  month - that's right, MTA, I said it. There were 7 matches, but like the other 6 hipsters in attendance, we bailed after about 2.5 -  believe it or not, watching grown men in sad costumes doing the "stage combat" thing quite rapidly devolves from hiiiii-larious into existential-crisis-inducing... Heh... But anyway, we took some nice pictures so you can share in the joy, check them out below.

i saw vincent d'onofrio

Picture it: A sunny Tuesday afternoon. 2:30-ish. I'm walking across the street at 15th and 3rd. Before me I witness the hulking frame of Vincent D'Onofrio in all his majesty! That's right, friends, I saw the man and the myth himself, live and looking totally sweaty and a little confused. The best part? He was carrying a GameStop bag. I don't know why that's the best part, but it was. I've attempted to illustrate the moment (poorly) at left. For the record, he was 3 dimensional, in color, and less scary looking than my drawing. But he was about 19 feet tall. My totally suave reaction was to do a double take and immediately call Meghan, the wonderful lady who informed me that Law and Order: Criminal Intent erotic fan fiction DOES EXIST. Have a nice day.