Please, Please, Tell Me Now...

Yes, that is a poster by Tara McPherson of a Duran Duran show. Yes, I love Tara McPherson and would kill get this poster. HEre's the link: http://www.posterpop.com/ This site has a TON of posters by artists I love (or "lurve" if you're Woody Allen). I'm seeing Duran Duran in Central Park tommorrow so I'm trying to get back in the mood. I never really thought I'd be one of those people who go see all their old favorite bands (like the shows you see on TV, like on Oprah of David Cassidy or Rick Springfield and all these middle-aged women with mom-haircuts screaming and holding glitter signs) but in truth, I am 37 which is a stone's throw away from 40 so I must embrace my past. "Live it, learn it, love it." Sans the mom-haircut, front-butt and glitter sign. Still, that first Duran Duran record holds up, even the second, but the third, not so much. Oh John Taylor, make me feel young again...

Summer session is on and it's slow at work, which is the most excellent time to get other stuff done. Thank YOU summer session.

What's the grossest thing that happened to you yesterday? Here's mine: sitting on the sofa after eating a mighty fine salad for dinner and up pops Maddy, with a new rawhide jammed in her jaw. Impressed as I was that she could jump-up on the sofa with a rawhide bigger than her in her clutches, I scutchied over a bit and let her snuggle in all close. Within a few minutes I noticed a pooesque aroma whose origin I could not decifer. I got up, did a full inspection of my apartment, and found nothing. I concluded that the massive rawhide produced a gaseous response from Maddy and left it at that. That is until I was chatting happily on the phone and in mid-conversation I became doggedly in pursuit of the mysterious aroma, I lifted Maddy's tail and to my horror discovered a smashed poo pile, moist and fairly fresh. I suppose when I let her out when I got home she pooed and thus deposited part of her pile into her fur. NOT COOL. My dear Maddy got yet another bath (a picture for a later post) using my lovely Aveda products (I really should buy her doggie shampoo I suppose, I mean, I'm not made of moola). I wrapped her up in her robe (YES, I did buy her the cutest terry cloth robe for xmas, weird, but very useful, this way she just nuzzles and dries). So, that my dear non-existant reader, is my tale of grossness at the hands of my beloved mongrel. Lesson for the day: If it smells like poo, it probably is.

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http://thewhalehunt.org/

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This is Funny

To see more: http://www.serializer.net//comics/asofterworld.php

And this too: http://www.ironicsans.com/

TC is My Homeboy

Lately, I've been taking a count of how many times, and from what walks of life, people hawk up and shoot giant flem globbers out of their gobs. Today, so far, thrice, one a worker/construction dude, one a hipster. Yesterday, four times, two suits, one gangsta, one average guy. SERIOUSLY. That is effin' Ga-Rooosss. I have a dog and that is why I am very particular about where I walk her. VERY. What's wrong with people?

Also, and I know this is trivial, but sometimes I just want people to get out of my way. Last night, I missed a train at Canal because this couple in front of me had to walk veeerrrryyyy slow. I missed it by a hair. MOVE OUTTA MY WAY! Now, it doesnt' take a fly (who I guess have lots of eyes or somethin') or a lizard (lots of those dinosaur-descendants have very flexible eyes) to know (or, see) that someone is walking close to you and up on you. Step aside, let said person pass. How do these people get to where they need to go in a reasonable amount of time? Or, do they just build their sloth-like transportation skills into their allotted commute time? Dunno. What I do know is that I would greatly appreciate it if they would just MOVE. Pretty soon I'm going to start tasering people. Double true.

I went to bed early last night. But, not before I watched part two of the Tom (his friends like ugly Jada Smith and her hubby call him "TC") Cruise interview on Oprah. I was curious in that car crash must look sorta way. It was boring. He was all best behavior and everyone was tonguing his crack. I prefer crazy, laughing inappropriately, pizzed-off TC to this button-down Mr. Nice Guy. I don't buy it. I ain't no schmo, yo. Still, Risky Biz is in my top ten films and there are others I like (Vanilla Sky, Eyes Wide Shut, Magnolia) and then there are the vast majority of his films that either irritated me in general (Rain Main, Born on the Fourth of July) and those that flat out made me irate that people liked at all (Jerry McGuire, Top Gun, Color of Money, Cocktail, et. al).

Enough of that rant. I'll be sure to keep my big yapper shut when I'm over at TC and Katie's pad this weekend, slaughtering the sacrificial alien all in the name of Scientology and admiring the wonderful view from their billion dollar Telluride CO home. (I watched that part of the interview too. The best Oprah quote was when she got the tour from TC and saw his kitchen and said "Oh, this is so kitcheney." In typical Oprah oratory greatness, she repeated it twice for emphasis. I wanted to reach through the g-d TV and exclaim: "That's because it IS a kitchen Oprah!" Duh.)