curious m's beach house of horror

Does anyone else watch Dirty Jobs with Mike Rowe on the Discovery Channel? He travels around the country doing jobs that are completely disgusting. Every time I feel weighed down by my college loan debt, watching him wallow around in pig manure/vats of yeast/barrels of fishguts never fails to re-inspire me about my earning potential. It sounds kind of awful, and it is, but trust me--it's awesome (in a horrific, gag-tastic sort of way). I must admit that certain episodes have succeeded in turning my stomach a bit, but none have horrified me as much as the one I saw this weekend. In this episode, he traveled to the beach where he helped flood the sand beds with water in order to dig up geoducks (pronounced "gooey ducks"). It doesn't sound so bad, right? Fresh ocean air, digging in the sand, high pressure hoses. Yeah, that's what you think. But get a load of this:

That is a geoduck. When they first pulled one out of the sand I nearly screamed aloud. And no matter how much they insisted that a geoduck was a type of clam and was delicious when sauteed or served as sashimi, I just can't escape its obvious resemblance to a giant penis and ball sac. Never in my entire life of watching nature shows had I ever seen such a monstrosity. I thought for sure that it was a fake--that Mike Rowe had superglued clam shells to a bunch of rubber dildos and planted them in the sand. But the internet confirmed my worst fears: geoducks truly do exist and people really do eat them. UGH! Of course, I couldn't stop myself and further googling yielded more horror:

Oh God.


Oh God, make it stop!!


Oh sweet Je--actually, this is kind of funny for several reasons. Not the least of which is that everyone unfamiliar with geoducks can only assume that this poor fellow dressed up like a giant diseased (albeit tastefully bedazzled) penis.

Well, now that you're completely creeped out and possibly vomiting into your office trashcan, here are some antidotes for what ails ya:


Exibit A) A cute, curious pup seeking someone to feed her mini-quiches and free her from pink accessories.


Exhibit B) A real-life pirate vessel--a black Chrysler Sebring with a skull and crossbones car-freshener.


Exhibit C) A papa vampire pumpkin and son.

Happy Halloween.

Onion staff schooled by actual headline

Late Wednesday morning, The Onion’s editor-in-chief Carol Kolb arrived at the newspaper’s headquarters in SoHo and called for an emergency staff meeting to be held in the windowless corner of the loft by the mini-fridge, ostensibly referred to as “the large conference room.” An emotional Kolb briefly greeted the three writers and a janitor believed to be the new fall intern before bracing her co-workers for “the most awful moment of [her] 11-year career” at The Onion.

“It’s happened—we’re finished. The world of wacky headline satire has finally been eclipsed by real world news,” she said tearfully, referring to a headline published on CNN’s website earlier in the day [‘Dog saves owner from fire, dies trying to rescue cat’].

Piercing wails and vulgar, ear-blistering curses immediately followed her announcement. “We all knew it might happen some day, but we never prepared for it,” confessed one incredulous writer, Joe Garden. “We just focused on being positive and hoped that it would last forever.”

After a lengthy group crying jag, Kolb summoned every ounce of her stalwart leadership skills to microwave ham ‘n’ cheese Hot Pockets for the entire group. After naptime, she spent several minutes reassuring each member of her staff.

“I’m just telling them that they’ll be fine, even though I think they may all be homeless by next month. I mean, I’ll be fine,” Kolb laughed reassuringly. “I have actual experience editing stories and running a newspaper. But the only experience they have is making up slightly offensive news headlines. Now that their skills are obsolete, it might be difficult for them to hold down a real job. I mean, they’re so used to our format, but if they want to stay in the newspaper business they’ll have to get used to writing the headline after writing the story—that’s the real world of news. Their world has been turned upside down.” Kolb paused thoughtfully before shrugging bravely, “But I’m their boss, and my job is to make them feel good, you know? It’s tough, but I have to be strong for them before I get busy with other things.”

“It’s just like 9/11 all over again,” sobbed Maria Schneider, another Onion writer. “I’m completely shocked that this could happen.” Drawn to the newspaper’s comic genius while attending the University of Wisconsin-Madison, where The Onion was founded in 1988, Schneider volunteered her services as a graphic artist and began working at the paper in 1992. “I love working here because it’s such a great creative environment and the audience is great. I once got an email signed ‘Osama B-L’ commending us on one of our articles [‘Latest Bin Laden Videotape Wishes America 'A Crappy Valentine's Day'’]. I thought it was really cool, you know, that even he was a fan. But I guess it wasn’t really him. If he really liked us he wouldn’t have destroyed us—he’s finally won.”

UPDATE: Since the initial printing of this article at 5:54 PM, 18 October 2006, three of the ten Onion staff members remain unaccounted for and unaware of their newspaper’s demise, while one writer (John Krewson) has already received and accepted an offer letter to work as a news reporter for The New York Times.

what is wrong with me??

I think I have some kind of new, as-yet-undiscovered, debilitating disease. For the second time this week, I've inexplicably spilled a glass of liquid ALL OVER. I'm not talking about carelessly knocking over a cup of water with a wayward elbow--I'm talking full-blown, eruptive splatter-patterns.

On Saturday night, during Cheez-its and wiiine, I somehow managed to spill a small plastic cup of red wine all over myself, my camera, the carpet, the floor AND the wall. (One tiny cup of wine!!) Fortunately everyone was distracted by Donkey Conga, and I was able to clean up most of it before anyone noticed (though as hard as I try, the wine splotches on the wall--two feet above the floor!!--will simply not come out). Tonight I wasn't nearly so lucky: I dropped/spilled/rocketed a full glass of icy water onto my neck, chest, lap, the table, bench seat and floor. I still don't understand how it happened exactly. Just, all of a sudden, pure freezing embarrassment was pouring (somehow) down the collar of my T-shirt and all over my pants in the most God-awful dish clatter you've ever heard. My dinner mates were just as helpful as they were during the wine episode (laughing and laughing and laughing) but every single waiter in the restaurant immediately rushed over with non-absorptive napkins. All I could do was giggle hysterically. Once they'd cleared away the spent napkins and the remains of my drunken noodles, one waiter brought over a fresh glass of water and set it cautiously down in front of me. I tried to joke my way out of mortification by promising to be careful with this one, but he didn't look very amused or trusting. I can't say that I blame him. From now on I'm drinking my fluids out of a goddamned sippy cup.

weekend bragcomplishments

Friday:
- Wolf down burgers from Five Guys
- Watch The Departed
- Admire Alec Baldwin's slovenly comic genius
- Create poster-CD case wall art

Winter on the Quads

Saturday:
- Conduct frantic Cheez-it shopping spree
- Eat early Thai dinner in empty restaurant under watchful gaze of three very bored, overly attentive waiters
- Rush home to host Cheez-its & Wiiiine Party

Extensive Cheez-it selection

- Spill red wine on floor, carpet, wall, camera
- Hold rambunctious Donkey Conga tournament and loud games of Taboo and charades
- Go to bed drunk on wine and beer

Employing gorilla tactics against neighboring terrorist, Screamy

Sunday:
- Wake up feeling like a god
- Make delicious mushroom and cheese omelette to appease boyfriend's queasy hangover
- Discover that crappy-ass DVD player from Best Buy is broken (for the second time in two months)
- Weep uncontrollably
- Wallow in technological despair and self-pity
- Create awesome 'Wall o' Faces' wall art

Every visitor gets their mug on the wall

"this is our country"? dear Christ.

Lately, I haven't felt motivated to post about anything. However, I can't blame my lazitude on a lack of rantable material: skeezified horn-dog politicians, crazy nuclear dictators, my blossoming love for Alec Baldwin. Instead, I'm going to blame it on an overabundance of material.

But despite the bad news saturation level of late, something has finally infuriated me enough to break through to my numb intellect: have you seen the new commercial for Chevy's 2007 Silverado? I read an Ad Critic review on Slate a few days ago and finally had the privilege of catching it on the air today. Good Lord--I have never seen a worse commercial. Instead of focusing on one emotional button (the dad smiling at his little daughter, a good neighbor's helping hands, a Navy jet-fighter swooping over the Land of the Free), Chevy threw reason to the wind and hit all of them: Rosa Parks, war, Nixon, terrorism, firefighters, smiling kids and wheatfields. And don't forget the awesome soundtrack: John Mellencamp's ham-handed tribute to flag-blinded patriotism. The Ad Critic article gives a much better (and hilarious) assessment of this commercial than I ever could, but even without a detailed evaluation you come away with the feeling that Chevy ad executives are now doling out emotional punches with the same finesse as a toddler playing the piano. (Forget fingers--when you use both forearms you can hit ALL of the keys at once! Hot damn!)

The sad thing is, all of this firepower is being whipped out in a desperate attempt to sell crappy American trucks to what we can only assume are easily manipulated red-state Wal-Mart workers who only wished they had a reason to own the motorized equivalent of a giant penis. The sadder thing is--it will probably work.

Ugh. Who needs a Budweiser?

the spirit of the dog olympics

Yesterday we braved the freakishly cold weather to witness Dogtoberfest--a sort of amateur dog olympics sponsored by the local animal shelter. J got some good audio of the events, but since he hasn't posted any of it yet, I'll try to recreate the exciting competitive atmosphere for you here:

Timer: You have sixty seconds to throw the frisbee as many times as you can, but your dog must bring the frisbee back before your next throw. Ready?

Dog owner: Yup.

Timer: Okay. Go!

Dog owner: Go, Artie! Get the frisbee, Artie! Good catch, Artie! Bring it here!... Bring it here, Artie! HERE, ARTIE! OVER HERE, ARTIE! ARTIEARTIEARTIEARTIEARTIE!!!

The yelling is all in vain. At this point, Artie is obsessed with shaking the frisbee to death, and nothing will distract him. The timer keeps a straight face, even when the dog owner runs into the enclosure to chase down his uncooperative pet and wrestle the limp frisbee out of Artie's mouth. The owner finally manages to wrest the toy away and complete another throw, but the result is the same: "Bring it here, Artie! HERE! ARTIEARTIEARTIEARTIIIIIIIIIE!!!"

The other dog events are just as amusing. Everywhere dogs are running and jumping and chasing after thrown objects and sniffing each other happily. Owners smile at each other and cheer for their pets and laugh over their failed coaching attempts. I suppose everyone wants their dog to be a great athlete, but like most amateur athletes, these participants are never going to make a successful career of it. It was still fun as hell, though, because unlike the obsessed parents at a pee wee football or varsity baseball games, no one at Dogtoberfest really expected much out of their participant. They're were just happy if Fido didn't shit in the back seat on the way to the park, or bite another child like last year. And really, that's what Dogtoberfest is all about.