Merry Christmas!

Here is your Frosty the Snowman "personal massager"!

Happy Thanksgiving!

Porkchop is thankful for her pup, who gorged himself on turkey and buttered bread crusts discarded during the preparation of bread pudding, and ralphed several times throughout the night, thoroughly lubricating her bedding.

Porkchop is thankful for her department, with whom she will be spending the day. She is bringing the aforementioned bread pudding with raspberry sauce and curried carrots. (mmmmm)

Porkchop is thankful for, albeit a little pissed at, her parents, who no doubt will call before the night is over to yell at her for buying a turkey before Thanksgiving when she could have waited and gotten one for $0.19/pound. They will then chide her for living like she is rich although she is poor and she will have to hold the phone away from her ear while she waits for them to tire themselves out.

Happy Thanksgiving, one and all!!!

Merry Christmas!

Buy me stuff.

Pin the Tail on the Beaver

here

AHHH!

This is a fantastic Xmas present for all my friends. Cute, soft, affordable.

Actually I'm thinking of getting myself an 'ulcer,' although 'yeast' is adorable.

I rule.

First I found $6.00 on the sidewalk (dry, even). If this happened every weekend I wouldn't mind the noisy drunkards disturbing the peace all night. In any event it's a start.

I then checked my myspace profile, and apparently I am still desirable, recent history notwithstanding:

Hi, this is Jim,
I am a single white man in Elgin Illinois. I saw your profile and thought we had a lot in common,,why don't you check out my profile, and if you feel the same way,,you are welcome to give me a call at 847-///-////. I give you my number to put you at ease as anyone willing to give up their phone number is not a person to be afraid of. I also do this to weed out those women just looking for a cyber relationship. I am looking for the real deal and have no patience or time for a woman who wants only a chat buddy or to tell me how horrible her ex was and how devastated she is by this, hey we all have a past, and if you are over the age of 2..you have been hurt at least once in your life. Get over it and move on, life is too short for self pity and wasting time…...If you are ready to pursue a new chapter in your life and ready for a man who is emotionally as well as romantically available then give me a call,,bye for now- James

So now I have $6.00 and a new boyfriend who lives in Elgin, Illinois! Fuck, yeah. Sometimes I'm GLAD I woke up.

It's Bad Art Day!

I have to say, www.itsablackthang.com has so much bad art, it was a challenge picking just the one, but that's editorial responsibility for you. I rose to the challenge. More shit next week, my interest level permitting. Now I must read until my eyes cross and worry about how I am going to get through the rest of the month on $60.00.

Smmmoooooches, loyal readers.

Bloggity!

For God's sake. A wise man once said, "it's all fun and games 'til the papers come due." I am in hell right now, writing three big ones by the end of the semester, on: 1) Japanese nationalist sentiment and language policy; 2) Rogers Brubaker and the concept of ethnicity; and 3) undecided - possibly a look at commodification of the body by the state or some such. In any event, I have had to pass up an invitation to Bon Jovi tomorrow night (whose "Slippery When Wet" was my first cassette tape - after all, what would lead my mom to think it might have some objectionable/suggestive material?) and, worse yet, Drink to the Ban heads to Mickey's on Thursday night. You heard me: Mickey's, the only bar that matters. Instead I'm camping out with a stack of library books, some post-it notes, and several 2-liter bottles of Diet A&W Root Beer, which I have recently rediscovered. So fizzy and cloyingly sweet... As for tonight, I'm off to Espresso Royale for some decaf chai to practice for tomorrow's oral exam.

Batshit insane

Dammit dammit dammit! I had a mini-tantrum today in class when we were discussing sexist language in English and I came up with "hysteria," to which this clique of douchebags responded with laughter, as if *I* were the idiot. It immediately brought me back to the 7th grade when my douchebag English teacher, whose name I am pleased to realize I can't recall, had to lecture my classmates against mocking me since they might learn something. I had half a mind to lay into these fools (one of whom, 'Luke' is just a moron who keeps challenging everything I say, despite the fact that I am always right) but instead sent them the above link. Seriously, if you are unexposed, just shut up and learn. Fools! I am pretty sure this qualifies me as batshit insane, but frankly at this point I just don't care.

Today I'm just very, very tired

It's been a long day, and it's cold outside, so I've spent most of it bunched up, trying to keep my core temp at some reasonable level. I'm kind of cranky, but I wanted to remind my make-believe readers in Madison that tonight's Drink to the Ban is at Slice's on Pennsylvania Avenue, starting at 7:00.

I will either be out with my department or soaking in a jojoba-scented bubble bath.

Holy Shit! Jon Secada?!!!!??

Please hit this link with sound ON... please.

Into the rabbit hole

REMINDER!

It's only 1 hour, 43 minutes until Part II of the Perrin/Fisher "Trading Spouses," my new favorite show. Here is a link to a blog from some dude from Brooklyn

Try as I might, I couldn't find a still portrait of Ms. Perrin on google image, so just take my word, okay?

Blogpression

Dude, this blog needs more pictures, especially now that blogger has enabled people like me to include pictures without even typing a line of code. (I prefer mouse-clicking, especially when there are helpful icons to show me the way: Thank You, Blogger.com!)Today's image comes to us from Big White Guy, a blog written by a (presumably) more interesting person than me.

Here you go - today's rant is:

Last night I rearranged my schedule to attend a talk on "The Coming of Photography to India," by a renowned British anthropologist, underwritten by the South Asian Studies, Art History and Anthropology departments. As with too many academic lectures, his talk was incomprehensible, and I have a more catholic theoretical background than most. My friend and colleague Krista confided, at the end of the talk, "I haven't the foggiest idea what he is talking about." Thank God. The whole "emperor's new clothes" syndrome in academia is beginning to get me down; the most confident intellectuals assume that if they don't know what the hell he meant by "neo-techno-materialism" or his hasty, self-serving, inappropriate use of pretty phrases poached from works by Benjamin and Adorno (which, incidentally, referred to non-photographic technology, and were written approximately 75 years after the moment he discussed), then they are just underexposed or intellectually limited.

Finally some grand poobah from South Asian Studies raised his hand and asked, essentially, what on earth he was talking about, and the speaker simply answered (this is soooo fantastic!): "Well, that was what I addressed when I apoke of the 'curve of the photograph.' I don't know how to clarify it further without recapitulating the points of the paper I just presented." FUCKING BRILLIANT! After another couple references to abstruse works by Bataille and Lyotard, he presumably took his speaker's fee (shwoinks!) and made off to the nearest pub to laugh at the coup he just pulled off.

I realized that my efforts to improve my writing by making it clearer and more easily comprehensible have been entirely misdirected. From this moment on I will cultivate a style of writing which is so dense and esoteric that only I understand it. When someone asks what the hell I am talking about, I will simply snort at him something to the effect that, if he has to ask, he'll never know.

Movie Review!

Last night I watched "I HEART HUCKABEES," which apparently was written by a high school sophomore who has just read "No Exit" in Francais Annee Deux and has realized that incomprehensibility = depth = existentialism. Okay, I'll drop my ironic pose - this movie is a steaming pile of shit. But for the moment when Jude Law's character proclaims, "I drive a BMW SUV and I LIKE driving my BMW SUV" and Marky Mark's character attacks him, it was two hours of terrible writing, terrible acting, and a gross misinterpretation of "existentialism." I did, however, come to know myself better by the end of the film. For one, I came to terms with my hatred of Jason Schwartzman or, as I like to call him, the poor man's Luke Wilson. I also came to terms with the fact that I still want to make gritty, Dorchester Avenue-style hobo love to Mark Wahlberg.

No, Really II

To quote the inimitable Onyx, "b-b-b-but wait, it gets worse!"

This morning I was late for class because, I fucking kid you not, my rear bike tire is flat.

After class I guilted my friend Ben into taking me back to Tires Plus, where they recognized me, of course, and my shitty car. They had to order my tires, and the dudes on the east side fucked up, so I wound up with FOUR ENTIRELY NEW TIRES for a mere $173.00. I have now purchased eight tires in under 48 hours.

Gross

So this morning I received two e-mails from two exes - the one who just dumped me making a good-humored reference to my mocking him for his recent discovery of myspace, and this, from one who lives in Boston:

... it looks like I'll be in Madison the weekend after next. I still have that key (no, I didn't melt it down to make a vampire-killing bullet) so maybe I'll just roll up and be laying naked, in your bed, covered in Culver's. Little brown hairs (and cheese) everywhere...

I'm so amused, and also horrified, that I felt I had to post this, although he will remain nameless. Porkchop respects a person's right to privacy, even when that person is a raging freak.

Myspace

So I think I'm pretty much over myspace at this point. I haven't had the courage to end it all yet and commit myspace suicide, even though it would be so simple: delete/zap/no more.

In addition to the fact that my now-ex has just discovered it (which is a little like just discovering "The Onion," really) I get friend requests from guys who: a) are looking for their soulmate, and think I may be it; or b) are gratuitously adding women ages 18-29. Take this turd, for instance.

In other news, Siobhan is trying to set me up with some tattooed math genius named "Jeremy." Frankly some dirty tattoo sex would do me some serious good.

The quest for the perfect vintage aluminum Christmas tree continues.

No, Really.

No, really, this is really how I spent my day. Swear to God.
1. Piled into the car with pups to take him to Verona dog park (the nice one, in the country)
2. blew right front tire
3. started walking aimlessly, in search of pay phone
4. am rained on
5. picked up by nice guy in pickup with "In His Footsteps: What Would Jesus Do?" paperback on passenger seat; call AAA from his phone
6. return to car/wait for tow, very wet, cold
7. tow to Tires Plus
8. 2.5 hours and $350.00, plus $40.00 at PetSmart to keep us busy while waiting
9. still cold, wet, and now stinky, take newly aligned car to Target for detergent, warm new sweatpants to enjoy at home
10. driving back to beltline, in dark/rain, HIT MEDIAN--
11. BLOW TWO NEW TIRES
12. nervous breakdown; go to nearest store (Milio's Subs) to call cab
13. wait in cold and rain with dog for 1/2 hour for cab; abandon car, go home

This just doesn't happen to normal people

A Song About Blood and Shamrocks, For My People

So just 26 hours after my attack on the invention of Irish-American ethnicity in my anthro. seminar, Siobhan (Hot Siobhan, of the Shamrock tattoo) invites me to The Kissers' CD release party at the High Noon Saloon. Given my hatred of "Irish Punk" and the High Noon Saloon, one would rightfully expect me to decline, except that I was sorely in need of a night out. After playing "who's fucking Greg's wife?" I amused myself by requesting such numbers as "Bottle of Smoke," "Galway Bay," "Jump Around," and of course, the Corrs' "Leave Me Breathless," the title of which we were all too drunk to recall for the first hour and a half. After intense concentration I squeezed it out of my aftmost brain quadron to raucous applause by my party, disdainful looks from the surrounding tables who apparently take their 'heritage' more seriously. During the encore I yelled out a request for "A Song About Blood and Shamrocks, For My People in Galway" which was not well received. Then I was alternately insulted and hit on by a tiny dude with muttonchops in a satin jacket with "Scofflaws" and "Rancid" patches on it, and decided to go. I am now totally confused by the fact that there are TWO champagne-colored Lexus SUVs taking up spots, one the guest spot and one the handicapped spot. Is this a COUPLE with matching SUVs, both of whom think they are entitled to monopolize parking spaces which they are obviously not entitled to use? The plot thickens.

Excellent.

There is a word for my private hell.

Here is a message to my classmates:

Fucktards: grow up. Japanese language study is (further) handicapping your chances of seeing real, human pussy. It's paying my tuition and a generous stipend. Seriously, if I suck at Japanese, it's 'cause there are better things out there on which to spend one's time. Trust me; I'm a grownup. Now navigate away from the World of Warcraft forum and get some fresh air.

I may kill myself before my fellowship obligation ends.

Update

The Venus serenaded Dr. Price of archeology on Tuesday, his birthday. She now lives in an archeology lab. Photos, er, eventually.

Burger Quest '05

So, fortuitously enough, Drink to the Ban headed this week to the Caribou, so I was able to 1) support a local business suffering as a result of the ban (fuck you, Steve); 2) meet up with some friends from the department; and 3) conduct some valuable hamburger research. The PlazaBurger fiasco made me a bit reluctant about bar burgers, but the 'Bou is for sure a 5 out of 5, provided you don't require such fancy items as lettuce. It's just a fucking delicious burger, with cheese $3.75, fries extra. Fresh vegetables nowhere in sight, although pickle slices come standard.

In other news, I followed some asshole for two blocks who was going about 2mph. Because I have basic trust in people, I opted not to beep or turn on my highbeams, assuming there must be some good reason. The reason was that she was on her cellphone. A bas le road cuntery, for rizzles. I've had enough.