Monthly Archives: August 2008

julia child: she cooked, kicked ass.

Turns out Julia Child, the sweetest old lady I never actually met, was a freaking spy for the U.S. during World War II! That’s right, the lady that had the cooking show on PBS that used to come on after all of my favorite shows. Now when I screamed this exciting piece of news to my mother at the top of my lungs, she looked at me and said, “You knew that already! We learned that at the…” And then she launched into recounting our visit to the Julia Child exhibit at the Smithsonian American History museum a million years ago. Yes, we went to that. But I didn’t remember, so I’m still fired up.

According to the AP, there were 24,000 spies that made up the Office of Strategic Services–an early version of the CIA. And Julia wasn’t the only well known person on the list. Supreme Court Justice Arthur Goldberg, Chicago White Sox catcher Moe Berg, Teddy Roosevelt’s sons, the drummer for The Police’s dad (fact). There are others. And the records are being released today.

They were soldiers, actors, historians, lawyers, athletes, professors, reporters. But for several years during World War II, they were known simply as the OSS. They studied military plans, created propaganda, infiltrated enemy ranks and stirred resistance among foreign troops.

Heaven’s to Betsy! I don’t know if I should picture Julia as Bond infiltrating enemy ranks, or more like a Bond Girl baking poison pies for the Nazis. Haha. “Child, Julia Child. Shaken, not stirred, dear. That’s right. Now you add just a pinch of ginger and dress it with some freshly peeled lemon rind. Oh delicious!” If you’ve never heard her voice, I recommend YouTubing her right now. It sounds like Robin Williams doing Mrs. Doubtfire. Anyway, I bet she was more like a Jason Bourne. Rawr.

Whatever her role was, I’m extremely impressed. She did a lot with her life. And maybe all her spy training explains why she was so good with knives in the kitchen. Oh man, if J.C. was still alive, there would be no need for that Rachel Ray chick. Girl, she could have kicked your ass–in and out of the kitchen. And, if anyone important is reading this, I’d love to be a spy. Hint. Hint.

I bet she could have used this as a weapon to take down an entire brigade of Nazis:

[Posted by Kathleen]

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making up for lost cry faces.

Wow, so I’m a terrible blogger because I forgot the Hump Day Cry Face last week AND this week. To make up for it, I’ll give you two. Consider this a dedication to life in DC:

[Posted by Mallory]

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obama: more perfect than we thought.

Look at these pictures, then tell me how anyone could possibly want to vote for John McCain. 

[Posted by Mallory]

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watch what you say. someone’s listening.

I get weekly updates from the site Overheard Everywhere, where people can submit the ridiculous things they overhear (pretty self-explanatory there). This week, there were some pretty good ones:

Guy to another: Dude, she’s way out of your league. She’s in the Majors and you’re a tee-ball coach with questionable photos on your computer.

Hungover guy: Man, I got so fucked up last night. The last thing I remember was walking into the bathroom. And then this morning I woke up to the sound of someone yelling “Who the fuck are you?” So, naturally, I responded with, “Well, who the fuck are you?” and then I looked around and said, “Wait…yeah, I might be in the wrong place.” And the guy goes, “Wait, no, I think I might be in the wrong place.”

Female office worker: Once I was at this club and there was a mirror across from me. Not only did I walk into it and break it accidentally, but before I did it, I remember looking at myself and saying, “Who is this bitch?” and then, crash. I talked shit about myself and then I broke the mirror.

Ha ha! People are funny. Keep your ears peeled.

[Posted by Mallory]

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and i’m BACK in the game!

Okay, so even though I am an adult and got the cable and Internet arranged, the Comcast guy doesn’t come until tomorrow, so I’ve been practically weeping at every Olympic reference in the news because I still don’t have a working TV, dammit. Today, however, I remembered that I have very little to do, plus a working computer, plus access to the Internet. And MSNBC has video. At least for swimming, I’m feeling a little caught up. The commie Olympic folks won’t let people post videos on YouTube, but if you didn’t see the men’s 400 free relay, find a way to watch it immediately. I may have sobbed while watching the boys celebrate. Here’s Michael Phelps celebrating in a slightly terrifying way:

Nice work, Michael. Equally nice work in the 800 free relay, and everything else you’ve swam and won. I’ve gotten plenty of flack on this blog for making fun of the way certain European monkey athletes look, but I’d just like to see a little less of Michael Phelp’s fucked up teeth (which are on an amazing body, and he is an amazing athlete, calm down, Etienne) and a little more of Mr. Lochte. Just saying:

Mmm, now what was I talking about? Ah, right Olympics. Go America! 

And Ryan? I like the hair better shaggy.

[Posted by Mallory]

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i vant to suck your blood.

Has anyone else heard about the exciting new beverage called Tru Blood that is supposed to LOOK LIKE BLOOD? Yeah, don’t trip over each other running to 7-Eleven. I first saw a billboard for the stuff this past weekend when I was in the dirty Jerz (if you can manage a good guido/blood joke, you win my eternal respect), then I kinda forgot about it until now. Because I am an excellent, respectable blogger and a legitimate news source (and the only news source for people like my sister), I did some research. First, I stumbled upon this brilliant commercial:

Ah, see, now you totally want to drink it. No?

Then I took a look at the beverage’s website. For starters, to enter it I had to write in the day I “turned.” At first I was confused, and thought maybe this was alcoholic blood and I had to enter my birth date because that is the most legitimate way to determine if a person is of age. Then I looked again. The date I “turned.” What the fuck? I haven’t even read those Twilight books, so I’m not into the vampire shit. (Although my friend Alaina does do a HI-larious Dracula impression.) But, like I said, I’m a respectable blogger, so I played along. I think I turned on July 5 of Century IV. Cool. 

On the site, I am told that Tru Blood is “All Flavor. No Bite.” It is “a synthetic blood nourishment beverage.” Hmm. Somehow, I’m still not convinced. BUT there is a quiz to see what “type” I am! I’m a sucker (pun intended?) for quizzes, so I tried it out:

Q: How many times per night do you get the urge?

A: Um. Er. Twice a night?

Q: Who is your taste?

A: Ha ha, you can choose a regular size guy or a huge dude. My roommate loves huge dudes. For me, it’s the normal-sized dude.

Q: How do you spend your free time?

A: Home alone? No, I practically lived in a commune all of last year. Theater? Uhhh, no. Playing sports? Is breaking hearts and taking names a sport? Oh Jesus, I’m sorry. Partying? If partying means drinking heavily and then only talking to your closest friends, then yes.

Woo, I’m type AB, “the cerebral architect.” Apparently that means I’m claustrophobic but also mingle well with most other types. Heh, I do love strangers. Just FYI, the other “types” are O, which is hearty and satisfying; A, which is light and delicate; B, which is aggressive and energizing. 

There’s also store, where you used to be able to buy things like a Tru Blood onesie or “ladies boy briefs.” Unfortunately, they are sold out.

Best part: the disclaimer at the bottom: “Synthetic blood products contain varied cellular content than actual blood. Please consult a Tru Blood Cellular Specialist for specific nutritional information.”

That sentence doesn’t even make sense. And I’d really like to contact a Tru Blood Cellular Specialist, but they don’t give me a number. 

And yes, just maybe, this is all a huge marketing ploy for the new HBO series True Blood, but if they ever do come out with a drink, you know I’ll be the first dutiful researcher to buy it.

[Posted by Mallory]

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youtube clip of today: claw machine.

This little girl knows how to go after what she wants. Haha, oh man I would sacrifice the few hairs on my beloved hairless dog to have sound with this clip. Everyone’s reaction is priceless. The mother, when she doesn’t believe her son. The mother again, when she realizes that her daughter is actually inside the machine. The father, who doesn’t really care. The little girl as she rolls around in glory surrounded by stuffed animals. And the waitress, laughing hysterically as the little girl is finally birthed out of the claw machine.

Enjoy!

[Posted by Kathleen]

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rad girls: definitely not the hills.

Picture the three craziest bitches you knew in college. Now picture them with their own TV show doing dumb shit. Tah-dah! Now you’ve got the Rad Girls. These girls are smokin’ hot, have no internal monologue and literally have no social constraints. The ladies, Ramona Cash, Darling Clementine and Munchie, are bona fide badasses. In fact, they are being hailed as the female Jackasses. Sorry for the obnoxious rhyming– it was unavoidable.

They hold a contest to see who can pee the most while traveling around in the back of a van (obviously, somebody’s bucket of pee is going to fall over and they even take things a step further. Click here if you dare. The peeing clip starts about three and a half minutes in), make out with old men (their parents must be thrilled), fart in people’s mouths (it must be because they’re hot, because who in all of God’s wholesome creation would allow that) and use animal feces for batting practice (best line: “ew! there’s poop in my hair!”). Anyway, they are wild, hot, crass and hysterical–and I kind of like them. Because let’s face it. At the end of the day, farting is still really funny.

This clip is mild…

[Posted by Kathleen]

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bigfoot’s big news? or big lies?

Two dudes are getting ready to pull off the biggest prank ever, or make a mockery of all of us non-freaks (kidding!) who laugh at the supermarket tabloids. In the tabloids’ defense, they did bring the John Edwards (I hope Jesse Jackson goes after him, if you know what I mean) affair to the attention of the mainstream media. Anyway, so Matthew Whitton (AKA Gary Parker…that’s what the Web site says. What does that mean?! That’s almost as mysterious as Bigfoot) and Rick Dyer found Bigfoot! They’ve got pictures and everything. And if anyone was to find it, I’m glad it was these guys because they dedicated their lives to it. Yes, they are like the Ghostbusters. Except they are Searching For Bigfoot, Inc. Seriously. And they found Bigfoot in the woods in Northern Georgia. Really, Bigfoot? Nothing against Georgia, but there are better woods in this country. Like….NEW HAMPSHIRE.

But I’d like to give some credit to George Lucas for this discovery.  Perhaps he saw Bigfoot years ago, and instead of turning him in, used him as a muse for Chewbacca.  I don’t know, just a thought.  They do look really similar…

I’d totally blow these guys off and make fun of them mercilessly, but they are having a press conference on Friday to present their evidence. They’ve got a body, and, in true CSI or other generic TV crime drama form, they will present DNA evidence. Gasp! DNA!? AWESOME. Anyway, you can read more about it here, or go to Searching For Bigfoot, Inc. (super duper tackytastic Web site)

What do you think? I just feel like this summer is so crazy. First the astronaut says there are aliens, then we have the Montauk monster. Now I need to go pick up a few tabloids. You never know, maybe Elvis is next.

[Posted by Kathleen]

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update on my east coast adventures.

It seems that every so often, Kathleen or I get busy with exciting things going on in our real lives, and then we write a post apologizing for our embarrassing lack of blogging. I clearly just took a little hiatus myself, so let’s get you updated on my life, shall we?

The reason I’ve been more or less out of commission the past few days is that I made a huge, grown-up move to Washington DC. Hooray for me! I’m so mature that I even ordered our cable and Internet and bought (and put together!) my own bed. Chuckle all you want, but these things are huge for me. We didn’t have to do that stuff at my college. (Side story about the bed: I ordered it from Craigslist from this stranger boy, and arranged for it to be dropped off the next morning, while I was alone in my apartment. I told my mother this plan, and she immediately freaked out and assumed that I would be raped and murdered by said stranger boy. So naturally, I Facebooked him to see if I could gauge his rapist tendencies. Turns out, we sort of have a mutual friend, and also, he’s a professional lacrosse player. He didn’t rape or murder me, and now I get to sleep where a professional athlete once slept. Take that, Mom.)

Aside from slowly becoming a huge fake adult for the past few days, I’ve also been up in New York/New Jersey visiting some of my best friends from college. I hadn’t seen any of them all summer, and I was insanely excited to be reunited. The weekend did not disappoint.

For starters, I got to see the Counting Crows live, which made me giddy because they are my favorite band and I’d only seen them once before. Katie and I maybe had a little too much cheap wine before the concert, and we maybe forgot to eat dinner, and Katie maaaybe slept through Maroon 5, who opened, but it was still wonderful. I don’t care if Adam Duritz is old and kind of unattractive; he has dreadlocks and I’d like to marry him. 

The rest of the weekend was filled with straight-up college-style debauchery, just as we hoped. There was drinking, excessive eating, obnoxious dancing, and enough stories to fill several books. Here are some highlights (and I truly wish I didn’t have to censor these, but if I’m ever going to change the world, people have to think I’m respectable): 

  • Katie’s poor boyfriend having to meet all FOUR of Katie’s parents at once. It was so fun to watch. Katie’s dad and stepmom were coming home to meet the boy (whom we will call “DJ”), so Katie’s mom decided that she would come over with her own boyfriend and add to the awkwardness. I must say, DJ performed quite well.
  • DJ telling me I look like Karen from Californication. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH THIS MEANS TO ME?! She is my idol, and I don’t know that any compliment will ever again make me as happy as that one did. 
  • The fact that Madeline and I actually won two out of three pong games to win the only portion of Beer Olympics that we actually paid attention for. Have I mentioned that I’m TERRIBLE at pong?
  • The end of my vegetarianism. Did I not totally predict this shit? The offending meats were breakfast sausage and pepperoni, obviously.
  • Making friends with all of our NYC cab drivers. We met the greatest people! One man, Ram Lama, was a sherpa in Everest who worked as the head sherpa on like a million expeditions. I’ve never understood why sherpas don’t get more credit. We freak the fuck out when some American white dude climbs Everest, but sherpas climb it regularly. Without oxygen. While carrying all of the American white dudes’ crap. It’s amazing. We also met a Pakistani cab driver who essentially said that because I dressed like a whore, I could never be a Muslim. (And, for the record, I was not really dressed like a whore. My dress just happened to be, er, a little short.) I proceeded to get in a bit of a religious debate with this driver while my friends laughed from the backseat. 
Exciting things that did NOT happen this weekend: I didn’t get to ride in the Cash Cab. Sigh. Maybe next time.

 

[Posted by Mallory]

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