She: My father-in-law's grave now has a headstone and no one knows who placed it.
He: (facetiously) Hmm...maybe it was his mistress?
She: No, it's not. We already called her.
10 years ago
Monday, April 27, 2009
Friday, April 17, 2009
The Circus
So I think I've had enough time to partially digest Britney's Circus that we bore witness to Wednesday night.
Britney lip-synched all but one song, but we were expecting that. My personal pop star philosophy is that if you're gonna phone it in vocally, your dancing should be spot-on. But she was kind of lost in her own overwhelming production (thankfully the technical gimmicks and sheer number of dancers almost justified the $120 ticket price). They obviously gave her some basic choreography outlines but a lot of the time she improv'd (and poorly, I might add), and seemed dropped-in courtesy of Papa Spears' enterprising accord. She made a few generic comments during the show, and managed to remembered what city she was in. In general and at large, her presence suggested a kind of indentured servitude.
There were some honestly scary Circus freaks on stage, and the false opening dragged on WAY too long. Her entrance was not as grand as I imagined or would have choreographed.
Britney one-upped Madonna a few times in the sexuality department. At one point she was hoisted mid-air in an S&M-style swing with two leather-clad men. It was quite impressive from an acrobatic standpoint. With that said, Britney owes quite a bit to Madonna's '93 "Girlie Show" tour.
For a moment, the clouds broke and she appeared in Bollywood pastels, mounted a giant rising umbrella handle and sang one of her cutesy ballads above the stage. And then it was back to the bowels of Circus mayhem.
All in all, we managed to stay mostly mobile with the set, but I wouldn't say I was enraptured the way, say, a Madonna concert could absorb me. But there were some genuine ass-shaking highlights. Did it all come togther from a conceptual standpoint? Let's just say, my final take was Gimme More (both literally as a missing song, and figuratively).
My friend Amanda won stage-side tickets so she sold her original tickets in my and Paul's section. She's so lucky! She's a star.
The Pussycat Dolls got a little tired, even for a 40-minute set, but at least they belted out some live runs. And I was kind of jealous of their outfits.
Britney lip-synched all but one song, but we were expecting that. My personal pop star philosophy is that if you're gonna phone it in vocally, your dancing should be spot-on. But she was kind of lost in her own overwhelming production (thankfully the technical gimmicks and sheer number of dancers almost justified the $120 ticket price). They obviously gave her some basic choreography outlines but a lot of the time she improv'd (and poorly, I might add), and seemed dropped-in courtesy of Papa Spears' enterprising accord. She made a few generic comments during the show, and managed to remembered what city she was in. In general and at large, her presence suggested a kind of indentured servitude.
There were some honestly scary Circus freaks on stage, and the false opening dragged on WAY too long. Her entrance was not as grand as I imagined or would have choreographed.
Britney one-upped Madonna a few times in the sexuality department. At one point she was hoisted mid-air in an S&M-style swing with two leather-clad men. It was quite impressive from an acrobatic standpoint. With that said, Britney owes quite a bit to Madonna's '93 "Girlie Show" tour.
For a moment, the clouds broke and she appeared in Bollywood pastels, mounted a giant rising umbrella handle and sang one of her cutesy ballads above the stage. And then it was back to the bowels of Circus mayhem.
All in all, we managed to stay mostly mobile with the set, but I wouldn't say I was enraptured the way, say, a Madonna concert could absorb me. But there were some genuine ass-shaking highlights. Did it all come togther from a conceptual standpoint? Let's just say, my final take was Gimme More (both literally as a missing song, and figuratively).
My friend Amanda won stage-side tickets so she sold her original tickets in my and Paul's section. She's so lucky! She's a star.
The Pussycat Dolls got a little tired, even for a 40-minute set, but at least they belted out some live runs. And I was kind of jealous of their outfits.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Taking stalk
Let me start this post by saying I have never physically followed a celebrity (I know, this isn't starting off good). I have happened upon 10 or 12 (we can go into it later if you really want to know the roster), but I guess it's a combination of seeing them in mortal settings and me not being a rabid fan in the first place. So thus far my take has been "eh," no need to introduce myself and no need for a photo or autograph.
You'd think at my age I'd have no real reason to start a game of cat and mouse. And under normal conditions that is true, but when you combine Amanda and Diania's celebrity savvy + clever ways of finding free stuff, you may understand why I followed Lily Allen for a few blocks, felt mildly dirty for doing so, but ultimately reaped very tangible rewards.
This all started on Wednesday afternoon with Diania's tip-off that Lily uses her Twitter account to plant three sets of tickets to her concerts a few hours before she takes the stage. Text message clues allow fans to trace her steps and collect the loot.
We were all sitting around the office shooting some...vitamin water, when the first clue came in. Diania had to pick up her bebe, so Amanda and I responded like EMT pros and headed to the Gateway, hoping to hit every green light, and giving us a fair chance as our office is only located two blocks away. Long story short, Amanda jumped out of my car, ran across the street and ultimately made a fool out of herself (with a cliffhanger in her nose, I later pointed out) rushing into Applebee's frantically asking for Erik, only to be told someone beat us. Meanwhile, I found an awesome street parking spot, so I rushed in, hoping to get in on the potential fan photo opp.
I will admit, there was a brief moment of discouragement when Amanda and I rendezvoused outside. It happens in every epic movie, and it was indeed part of our plot. Just then, a fairy approached us, obviously waiting for Lily to finish her Applebee's dinner so that he may also stalk her. We figured strength in numbers (thought Amanda and I branched off for a brief discussion to ensure we would have to ultimately take him down should there only be two provided tickets).
Lily finally exits Applebee's, we freeze and wait for her to pass, and she begins walking north toward the TRAX station. Purchasing her ticket and determining which way she's going, we three hop in the car following the train. YES, she stops at Temple Square (we had been there earlier that day due to a misunderstood Twitter tip-off). So we quickly find a parking space and enter the grounds (where Amanda immediately proceeds to utter a choice swear word, but she can elaborate if she wants).
Some more casual following ensues, we are the predators to Lily's prey, and eventually she and her male friend step into The Tabernacle, where a performance rehearsal is taking shape. I'm not Mormon, but it felt awkward and a bit wrong waiting in street clothes for what we were certain was Lily's second hiding place. We did our best to make small-talk with the little old usher ladies who perhaps thought we were seeking spiritual refuge. Luckily, Amanda's much more tenacious than I am in these matters, so she's intently staring at Lily's back a few rows ahead. Finally, the clue comes in:
"I'm at c 22 upon temple square, I think, I've found jesus come join if you dare."
Our strategy has paid off. Needless to say Amanda retrieves the VIP tickets within about 15 seconds. We sit down at the pew and have a brief hushed chat with Lily, who's nice enough but not terribly involved in the conversation. But we do manage to get a cell phone capture with the pint-sized singer:
After a misplaced quick circle jump and squeal, we exited the grounds and went our separate ways to get ready for the concert. Diania was able to join us, so the three of us had a bangin' good time (literally lots of ass-bopping), thanks in part to two Long Islands each. We were the toast of some surrounding attendees, who couldn't believe our fortuitous story and the photographic evidence to prove it.
After the house lights go up, we head over to figure out what this VIP business gets us. Only two of us are allowed in, but Amanda, ever the resourceful one, manages to sneak in about 10 minutes later to the hangout beneath the stage (announcing it very loudly in front of the guard who originally wouldn't let her in, but to no consequence). Lily finally enters but isn't the greatest crowd-worker, so we head into the leapord-print-encased lounge.
Lily didn't have impressive SNACKS; just empty liquor bottles (not gonna point the finger), some Heineken and a ginger beer (the latter of which I sprung for). Also, Diania took a whole lemon off the craft service table. It seemed sensible at the time.
That Temple grounds exchange ended up being our last interaction with Mizz Allen, but who else can honestly say they met Lily while conducting a scavenger hunt at Temple Square? Anyone?
Didn't think so.
You'd think at my age I'd have no real reason to start a game of cat and mouse. And under normal conditions that is true, but when you combine Amanda and Diania's celebrity savvy + clever ways of finding free stuff, you may understand why I followed Lily Allen for a few blocks, felt mildly dirty for doing so, but ultimately reaped very tangible rewards.
This all started on Wednesday afternoon with Diania's tip-off that Lily uses her Twitter account to plant three sets of tickets to her concerts a few hours before she takes the stage. Text message clues allow fans to trace her steps and collect the loot.
We were all sitting around the office shooting some...vitamin water, when the first clue came in. Diania had to pick up her bebe, so Amanda and I responded like EMT pros and headed to the Gateway, hoping to hit every green light, and giving us a fair chance as our office is only located two blocks away. Long story short, Amanda jumped out of my car, ran across the street and ultimately made a fool out of herself (with a cliffhanger in her nose, I later pointed out) rushing into Applebee's frantically asking for Erik, only to be told someone beat us. Meanwhile, I found an awesome street parking spot, so I rushed in, hoping to get in on the potential fan photo opp.
I will admit, there was a brief moment of discouragement when Amanda and I rendezvoused outside. It happens in every epic movie, and it was indeed part of our plot. Just then, a fairy approached us, obviously waiting for Lily to finish her Applebee's dinner so that he may also stalk her. We figured strength in numbers (thought Amanda and I branched off for a brief discussion to ensure we would have to ultimately take him down should there only be two provided tickets).
Lily finally exits Applebee's, we freeze and wait for her to pass, and she begins walking north toward the TRAX station. Purchasing her ticket and determining which way she's going, we three hop in the car following the train. YES, she stops at Temple Square (we had been there earlier that day due to a misunderstood Twitter tip-off). So we quickly find a parking space and enter the grounds (where Amanda immediately proceeds to utter a choice swear word, but she can elaborate if she wants).
Some more casual following ensues, we are the predators to Lily's prey, and eventually she and her male friend step into The Tabernacle, where a performance rehearsal is taking shape. I'm not Mormon, but it felt awkward and a bit wrong waiting in street clothes for what we were certain was Lily's second hiding place. We did our best to make small-talk with the little old usher ladies who perhaps thought we were seeking spiritual refuge. Luckily, Amanda's much more tenacious than I am in these matters, so she's intently staring at Lily's back a few rows ahead. Finally, the clue comes in:
"I'm at c 22 upon temple square, I think, I've found jesus come join if you dare."
Our strategy has paid off. Needless to say Amanda retrieves the VIP tickets within about 15 seconds. We sit down at the pew and have a brief hushed chat with Lily, who's nice enough but not terribly involved in the conversation. But we do manage to get a cell phone capture with the pint-sized singer:
After a misplaced quick circle jump and squeal, we exited the grounds and went our separate ways to get ready for the concert. Diania was able to join us, so the three of us had a bangin' good time (literally lots of ass-bopping), thanks in part to two Long Islands each. We were the toast of some surrounding attendees, who couldn't believe our fortuitous story and the photographic evidence to prove it.
After the house lights go up, we head over to figure out what this VIP business gets us. Only two of us are allowed in, but Amanda, ever the resourceful one, manages to sneak in about 10 minutes later to the hangout beneath the stage (announcing it very loudly in front of the guard who originally wouldn't let her in, but to no consequence). Lily finally enters but isn't the greatest crowd-worker, so we head into the leapord-print-encased lounge.
Lily didn't have impressive SNACKS; just empty liquor bottles (not gonna point the finger), some Heineken and a ginger beer (the latter of which I sprung for). Also, Diania took a whole lemon off the craft service table. It seemed sensible at the time.
That Temple grounds exchange ended up being our last interaction with Mizz Allen, but who else can honestly say they met Lily while conducting a scavenger hunt at Temple Square? Anyone?
Didn't think so.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Freshious©®™
The name of my future restaurant or hip boutique that may never happen. But just wanted to get it out there so I have a dated record of my awesome portmanteau. And I know freshious.com is registered but it doesn't seem to be hella corporate or domestic.
A quick shout-out to A&D for being there during the birthing!
A quick shout-out to A&D for being there during the birthing!
Monday, April 6, 2009
The Beelzebub Bunnies
Easter is a time for rejuvenation, rebirth and new life. Hence, notoriously fertile, furry rabbits and bunnies are appropriately-invoked symbols. However, after stumbling upon these two (rabid) rabbits last year at the discount retailer HomeGoods (1/28/08 to whomever else is reportedly circulating a photo), it would do my heart some good not thinking of these two going at it like...well, you know...replenishing the Earth with 100% pure eee-vul.
Besides noticing those background hanging lights that in any other setting would indicate the mother ship touching down, I'm thoroughly convinced this demonic duo was placed to scare naughty, and good, children into submission. And the ridiculous price tag of $60 (each!) could only suggest that they were hand-crafted from the fiery pits of hell. How else to explain the male's sinister look like he's about to snatch a peripheral toddler, and the female's unsettling gaze toward what I assume is Linda Blair elevated 5 feet above the mattress.
With that said, Happy Easter!
Besides noticing those background hanging lights that in any other setting would indicate the mother ship touching down, I'm thoroughly convinced this demonic duo was placed to scare naughty, and good, children into submission. And the ridiculous price tag of $60 (each!) could only suggest that they were hand-crafted from the fiery pits of hell. How else to explain the male's sinister look like he's about to snatch a peripheral toddler, and the female's unsettling gaze toward what I assume is Linda Blair elevated 5 feet above the mattress.
With that said, Happy Easter!
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Trash texting
He: That's so trashy that you're waiting in a casino parking lot in Vegas while your husband gambles. But oddly fitting.
She: Haha we are totally trash. Actually, trash would be [our toddler] waiting by himself in the car.
She: Haha we are totally trash. Actually, trash would be [our toddler] waiting by himself in the car.
Cumy to the core?
Last week, my SUV was in the auto shop for several days on account of father backing into it. So I didn't have my usual set of keys, and therefore no attached Gold's Gym pass. I actually managed to make it to the gym last Tuesday, on account of the kitchen renovation madness coming to a close, but primarily because American Idol was postponed a night. This meant that I would have to scan in with my driver's license and finally address my last name being entered as Cumy when I renewed my membership last summer.
I already knew what was going to happen when they searched for my last name and found no record. I couldn't bring myself to pronounce it, so I just said, "Try C-u-m-y. I think someone confused the two Rs for an M. It's not my name and I wouldn't wish it on anybody," I ended playfully. The Gold's Gym associates were having none of the humor, either because they were dense, possibly naive Mormons or my best guess: they were thoroughly trained to not respond to sexual innuendos in any way, shape or form for fear of a corporate lawsuit.
"Yes, there it is. Would you like us to change it for you?" Um, yah please! It's not like I just got married. I'd like my surname to reflect my birth certificate, driver's license and passport, thank ye very much.
I had them throw away the carbon copy change slip, something I regret doing as it would have made for a lovely follow-up scan.
Later that night, I pondered the last name of Cumy. Maybe my family originated from the Cumy clan, and somewhere along the lines of ancient fanciful script, the M was mistaken for two Rs. Was I, and thus my paternal lineage, a Cumy at heart? I searched out the last name online, finding only a few references in the northern United States, but I was more intrigued with the UK 'Distribution of Cumy':
I find it very telling that in this particular distribution, one finds Cumy concentrated near the upper tip. And as I most certainly have English and Welsh blood, my theory of being a real Cumy is all the more plausible.
Riveted, I searched Facebook to see what Cumy would, er, produce. And if my distant relatives were lookers. I did find these two faceless listings, which I think make for some awesome names:
Bob Cumy
Cumy, Trey
I will forever wonder if my true fate is as a Cumy. Or as the French would pronounce it, Coom-ay.
I already knew what was going to happen when they searched for my last name and found no record. I couldn't bring myself to pronounce it, so I just said, "Try C-u-m-y. I think someone confused the two Rs for an M. It's not my name and I wouldn't wish it on anybody," I ended playfully. The Gold's Gym associates were having none of the humor, either because they were dense, possibly naive Mormons or my best guess: they were thoroughly trained to not respond to sexual innuendos in any way, shape or form for fear of a corporate lawsuit.
"Yes, there it is. Would you like us to change it for you?" Um, yah please! It's not like I just got married. I'd like my surname to reflect my birth certificate, driver's license and passport, thank ye very much.
I had them throw away the carbon copy change slip, something I regret doing as it would have made for a lovely follow-up scan.
Later that night, I pondered the last name of Cumy. Maybe my family originated from the Cumy clan, and somewhere along the lines of ancient fanciful script, the M was mistaken for two Rs. Was I, and thus my paternal lineage, a Cumy at heart? I searched out the last name online, finding only a few references in the northern United States, but I was more intrigued with the UK 'Distribution of Cumy':
I find it very telling that in this particular distribution, one finds Cumy concentrated near the upper tip. And as I most certainly have English and Welsh blood, my theory of being a real Cumy is all the more plausible.
Riveted, I searched Facebook to see what Cumy would, er, produce. And if my distant relatives were lookers. I did find these two faceless listings, which I think make for some awesome names:
Bob Cumy
Cumy, Trey
I will forever wonder if my true fate is as a Cumy. Or as the French would pronounce it, Coom-ay.
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