I could go for less annoying music though.
S. Irene Virbila Reveals Debilitating Napkin Dependency
When it comes to fascinating confessions, very few can top the latest divulgence from Los Angeles Times food critic, S. Irene Virbila. She writes today that despite a bleak childhood seemingly spent entirely at the ironing board, she has since found inner-peace by turning a once gloomy chore into an act of self-meditation. Her secret: she gives herself over to the all-healing powers of napkin ironing. Sure to be the hottest trend since aroma therapy, The Virbs unabashedly endorses this humble act of housecleaning, saying, “Somehow I find the act of smoothing those cloth squares with the hot iron oddly soothing.”
To be fair, S. Irene wasn’t always such an ironing fiend, but still, her penchant for all things serviette-related goes back a self-professed twenty years to the times when, as a young women, she’d troll the brocantes of Alsace, plucking out napkin sets with the reckless abandon of a junkie in search of a sweet, sweet fix. However, even after pillaging countless flea markets and sundry linen stores, S. Irene still only used the humble paper napkin at home, relegating her prized cloth napkins to a dusty drawer where they’d remain until a special occasion (ie. a fireside indulgence of caviar and buckwheat blinis). Then one day, S. Irene’s sinful friend Mary led her down the rabbit hole of everyday cloth napkin usage, and the intrepid food reporter has never been the same since. In no time, S. Irene picked up her worrisome napkin ironing habit, and now it seems there’s no turning back. “Such a daily pleasure,” she writes. Fun.
• Napkins [Daily Dish]
Shut up, ECLIPSE!
Over the last few days, there’s been all sorts of hubbub about the latest lunar eclipse, and while I was fascinated by this celestial event, I knew ultimately it would be a waste of time to get overly invested in it. I mean, the odds of witnessing any sort of intergalactic spectacle were firmly against me. Not only is light-polluted Los Angeles like the worst city ever for astronomy, but there’d been cloud cover all day long. And even if it were a perfectly clear night, chances were that I’d have to go out onto my roof or something to see the stupid eclipse, and we all knew that wasn’t about to happen. I live a very sedentary lifestyle. If I’m gonna get up from my chair, it’s gonna be for a solar eclipse, not some lame-ass lunar bullshizz. Sorry, but I’ll just have catch the show next time it’s in town three years from now.
WELL, imagine my surprise this evening when I happened to look out my window and see there — in plain sight — the moon slowly entering a world of shadowy darkness. I mean, it’s not a shock that the moon was highly visible. After all, that kind of is it’s whole “thing.” But what was a shock was that I could watch the whole thing from the comfort of my desk chair. That’s right. I didn’t even have to move my damn ass to witness tonight’s lunar eclipse. It’s almost as if the moon goddess herself had said to me, “You know what, B-Side? You just sit right there, and I’ll bring this to you. No, honestly, I don’t mind. Sit there. Seriously, sit there. Do not get up! DO NOT!” Okay, so the goddess Diana is a bit wordy and servile in my mind, but that’s beside the point. What I’m trying to say is that despite my expectations to the contrary, I got to see the lunar eclipse in all its (kinda anticlimactic) glory. Some grainy pictures after the jump.
Like ohmygod, Hasta La Vista, Bitches!
“Bitch, these humans are a hot ghetto mess up in here!”
The Terminator franchise took a bizarre turn when it was reimagined as cute, little cupcakes, and now BWE notes that the brand has stepped into new territory once again. Basically, if you’ve ever wondered what would happen if Christian from Project Runway and John Connor had a love child, BWE has the answer:
• The Evolution of Terminator’s John Connor [Best Week Ever]
GO GREEN: Dartmouth Drunk Tank Considerably Larger Than Rest of the Ivies
The numbers are in. When it comes to annual alcohol infractions per 1,000 students, Dartmouth outpaces the rest of the Ivy League by a healthy, if not entirely sober margin. In fact, the venerable institution has over twice the infractions as the next closest school, Cornell. Does this mean Dartmouth students are rowdier, drunker, and more unruly than the rest of the League? Possibly. But I’m more inclined to blame the school’s rigorously oppressive booze laws for the inflated numbers. Either way, it’s always nice to see the Alma Mater top a list.
For more analysis, check out Joe’s Dartblog [found via IvyGate via Gawker]
Three Everyday Things That Are Way Scarier Than They Should Be
There are tons of very scary movies out there, and when you’re someone like me — prone to jumping, shaking, and mild paranoia — even the most innocuous films can be a bit harrowing at times. However, nothing is quite as frightening as some of the more mundane things that can happen in an apartment. I know what you’re saying: how can the guy who got scared (a little) during Monster House be the authority on what things are truly scary. Point well taken. Still, I know what gets the heart racing, and these terrifying incidents — which have happened to nearly everyone, I’m sure — can hardly be refuted. Read on… IF YOU DARE (insert Vincent Price laughter here).
Continue reading “Three Everyday Things That Are Way Scarier Than They Should Be”
The New Face of Target Menswear?
Guess which Barefoot Contessa regular is now modeling for the menswear department of Target? I’ll give you a hint: it’s not Jeffrey.
NOW GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE: Mark Lisanti Edition
The internet lost one of its best today. Mark Lisanti of Defamer has left us. Well, he didn’t die, but today he resigned from his long-standing stint at Gawker Media. I’ve always enjoyed Mark’s writing greatly, and I have him to thank for helping expose TVgasm to a lots of eyeballs back in the day. Plus, without Mark, I never would have been able to party at Arianna Huffington’s house, and for that, I’m forever indebted.
So do yourself a favor and give the ol’ boy a bear hug (in the form of a nice farewell comment).
• A Farewell to Grazerhead [Defamer]
MORTIFYING MOMENT OF THE DAY: Parking Garage Edition
Exiting a parking garage can be a tricky process, at least for those idiots who still haven’t grasped the subtleties of inserting a ticket into a machine. I often grow frustrated with those ill-prepared drivers in front of me — the ones who take upwards of 60 seconds to complete a 30 second transaction. The most common problem it seems is that people simply don’t have their money ready. They’ve idiotically stowed away their wallet or purse in the wasteland of their back seat, hidden under piles of clothing and groceries and general clutter. Of course, there are then those special times — which happen more frequently than you’d expect — when the person in front of you has gone so far as to have packed his or her wallet in the trunk. This, my friends, is simply unacceptable.
Of course, these things happen to the best of us. I one time found myself behind NYPD Blue actor Henry Simmons, and I’m not sure exactly what he had done to the machine, but it was bad enough to warrant him getting out of his car and finding an attendant. How richly embarrassing. The humiliation he must have felt is why I try my absolute best to be quick and efficient when leaving a parking structure. I always make sure money is nearby, the ticket has been placed in a highly visible location (central console, usually), and the window is already at least halfway down by the time I pull up to the attendant or machine. It’s a recipe for success, but sometimes even the best of us have a dreaded misstep. That happened today.
Continue reading “MORTIFYING MOMENT OF THE DAY: Parking Garage Edition”
A Brief Introduction To My Strike Hair
Back in December, I decided that one way to save money would be to cease all haircuts until the strike ended. Well, now it’s over, and I’ve decided to extend my moratorium until I receive my next paycheck, which could be who knows when. While the inner-pride I maintain in the face of such an ascetic lifestyle is a neat perk, the truth of the matter is that my hair is rapidly becoming more and more unwieldy with each passing day. It seems to be speeding through any “birds nest” sort of stage and heading directly for “voluminous tragedy,” although, to be fair, it’s really not that out of control just yet. Plus, the good news is that if my will-power remains strong, there’s an outside chance that the hair could grow out of its awkward phase and into a luscious mane of black wonder, but I tend to think “greasy Antonio Banderas disaster” might be a more realistic outcome. Nevertheless, I’m slowly learning how to deal with the expanding beast on my head, and after the jump, I’ve included some photos that detail this daily, self-imposed battle.