Monday, November 24, 2008

Slow blogging is silly. It's called writing. I am most closely associated with the school of FLB (Fucking Lazy Bloggeury), revered widely for its general disdain of everything except fine cream-based cheeses, sophisticated chokeholds, and weekly nonsense posts molded together with a mysterious sticky substance that smells like sour cream (Note: I have seen the evidence of the sour cream facial and I believe in it. Just like I believe in Obama. The only problem is I would eat my face if I slathered it with sour cream, so I prefer the gentler Whale Sperm facial remedy.)

Members of the FLB, or bloggeurs, as we are apt to call ourselves, sometimes earnestly, sometimes with a tongue-in-cheek Palinesque wink, will barf filth all over the Internetz but still want you to call the next day to say you had a fine time. Bloggeurs will have phone sex wearing top hats. They'll rendezvous with Hillary while secretly whispering Shakespeare's Sonnet #54 to Barack through their microscopic collar mic. They'll take you out for ice cream, and expect no favors in return. You'll only realize you love them once you uncover their monocle in your top left sock drawer. Bloggeurs are Steampunks through and through.

Bloggeurs like the word shit-fuck; also fucking the shit out of fuck.

From the NYT article on slow blogging:

A Slow Blog Manifesto, written in 2006 by Todd Sieling, a technology consultant from Vancouver, British Columbia, laid out the movement’s tenets. “Slow Blogging is a rejection of immediacy,” he wrote. “It is an affirmation that not all things worth reading are written quickly.” (Nor, because of a lack of traffic, is Mr. Sieling writing this blog at all these days.) Ms. Ganley, who recently left her job as a writing instructor at Middlebury College, compares slow blogging to meditation. It’s “being quiet for a moment before you write,” she said, “and not having what you write be the first thing that comes out of your head.”

Ms. Ganley blogmedibating by the creek.

Later, after a day of contemplating both the beauty and violence of nature she sat down to write her blog masterpiece. That afternoon she had witnessed two ducks making love, followed by the excruciating horror of watching a sweet baby frog drown while its Daddy frog callously shouted "Survival of the fittest, my son!" and continued to play poker with the watersnakes. She took a deep sigh, and began to slow-blog:

ow put your hands up
Up in the club, we just broke up
I’m doing my own little thing
Decided to dip but now you wanna trip
Cuz another brother noticed me
I’m up on him, he up on me
dont pay him any attention
cried my tears, for three good years
Ya can’t be mad at me

Cuz if you liked it then you should have put a ring on it
If you liked it then you shoulda put a ring on it
Don’t be mad once you see that he want it
If you liked it then you shoulda put a ring on it

If her post sounds reminiscent of the lastest Beyonce single to you, you're right on: Beyonce also wrote her tribute to the patriarchy while sitting by the pond, with her new boo, who put like 8 million rings on her crazy roboto-finger.

A few points:

Beyonce wrote this while honeymoon-bloggeuring.

One of the Single Lady Dancers has a peen!

Beyonce is strangely socially conservative. Stay tuned for her next album "Dey Won't Buy the Cow if that Milk is for Free Girl" with songs like, "If You Want A Blow J, Give Me A Necklace", "It's Anal Only Until We're Married", and "Independent Bloggeur".


Ur Bloggeur.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

If You Insult My Culture Good Sir, I Will Cut Out Your Heart With My Monocle

Here’s a theory: In times of recession, people get a hankering for the good ole days. We miss things like grandpa’s ownership imperative, the New Deal, spankings, electing African Americans to national office, Campbell’s Soup (not the To-Go Cup kind, rather the slow-cooked, laid-off friendly variety), marrying the high school sweetheart/baby momma, unicorns, and flared jeans.

Kate Beckinsale's flared jeans: the embarrassed friend of that would-be-totally-awesome-with-a-timepiece Steampunk vest.

Srsly, just try on an old pair of flared jeans right now instead of blowing your load on new skinnies at the soon-to-be-bankrupt GAP. THEY FEEL SO GOOD. It’s like your calves are free from their denim-skin shackles and now you can put that spared paper towards renewing your subscription to _______ magazine. Oh snap, nevermind, that print shit just got shot down by a Steampunkian sleuth submarine. Better read a bloggeuah, suckah.

Culture is the same way. The old feels as good against your anxious head as Mom’s overplump bosom. And who can think of a better era to get all wet in the nostalgia orifice over than the industrial rev. years? Factory lines meant hot uniforms, greasy environments, tousled dirty hair, and what do you know, showering ain’t that good for your looks anyhow. Poor betches got to quit their jobs as plebes or whores and get their hands cut off at the mill alongside the men: gender appendage equality. Also, all the new products led to mass consumerism, new modes of transportation, and duh, the birth of the sexy advertising industry. Don Draper, tip your hat to the modern day lifestyle historians of this great era: Steampunks.

Draper: What Do Steampunks Want?

What do Steampunks want for their Dickensian Christmas? Here's just a short list:

1.) Steampunk-themed bumper stickers for one's horse-powered "automobile" $5-$10

2.) Steampunk hand-crafted Robocop on a unicorn $50-$100

3.) Magical Steampunk Chastity Belt $100+

Benjamin: I am like wall-e
me: list the ways and I will judge
11:50 AM Benjamin: I like "eva"
11:51 AM me: I think you mean E-Vas (like E-vaginas?)
11:52 AM Benjamin: who doesn't?
me: Steampunks
11:53 AM Benjamin: they like chastity belts
11:55 AM me: So true, chastity belts made out of metal studs with the magic password "dirigible"

"Dirigible" is also a suggested safety word-- for more tips see

I also have it on good authority that Obama has mandated a Steampunk be found to fill the Secretary of State slot. Clinton is currently converting her lower half into a single-engine train.

Your new boyfriend: I hear that Steampunk helmet also has special licking abilities.

Friday, November 14, 2008

Sarah Pee's Legacy: It's In The Eyes

If Sarah Palin did one thing for this nation, it was to expand the meaning of eyewear. No longer do glasses automatically connote intelligence. And no longer do glasses mean you're not a sex kitten. Clearly Dorothy Parker, that tightly packaged bubble of caustic sass, if alive, would be forced to amend her seemingly age-infinite adage, Boys Don't Make Passes At Girls With Glasses. Something like a general guideline to help get us back to glasses as the original signifier of intelligence would be useful. Maybe: Don't Make Glasses For Girls That Cannot Passeth (school exams) Because It's Confusing For Everyone.

And Tina Fey is going to have to find a new way to pretend she's ugly on 30 Rock.

Thursday, November 6, 2008


Together again!

Now a little more centrist, but DOUBLE the hot quotient.

If only Saul Bellow could see this.

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Scattered Notes From Election Night

-- 11pm Elizabeth Moss partying on the street outside of Southpaw in Brooklyn. Why is she in Brooklyn? Could she be a method actor? Does this mean she is currently knocked up by a slimeball? Start the rumors.

-- 12am Hugging at 4th Ave Pub. Drinking. People dancing to Feist, the whitest music ever invented.

-- 1 am, Drunk people making out, exclaiming drunkenly "This is history, man! This is history!" in between making out.

-- 2 am, "Yes We Can" chant on the corner of 5th and St. Marks in Brooklyn. Cars honking. Tears. Lots of Tears. Looking for Peggy Olson. Wondering Who Would Don Draper Vote For? More Tears. More Hugs.

-- 2:45 am, Home, awed, turn on Roomba to clean up apartment mess. Watch Roomba clean, watch CNN, thank country for 1.) inventing a self-operating vacuum cleaner, 2.) making intelligent choices.

TXT messages received from Election Day:

10am--- Dude, I'm behind like 150 people! There was no line last time. Go America!

12pm-- Whew, that felt great.

8pm-- You delivered Penn!!!!!

9pm-- FUCK OHIO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OMG!!!!!!!!!

9:33pm-- Obama just on the presidency!

10:52pm-- Congrats to you (and me and everyone)dear

10:56pm-- I'm now gassy in a good way.

11:10pm--i gots chills all over


1:05am-- Call Gaga! She's still up!

1:12am-- Grant Park is insane!

1:16am--I've been openly weeping for hours this is wonderful. And surreal. xoxo.

2:12am-- Did you pee yourself yet? YOU PROMISED.