Sweetney

“Lisa, vampires are make-believe, like elves, gremlins, and Eskimos.”*

I grew up in a household where going to see movies (in the actual Movie Theater! gasp!) was a weekly occurrence. Some of my earliest and fondest childhood memories are, in fact, of swimming in enormous theater seats in the dark, craning my neck to see around the gigantic screen-eclipsing orbs of adult human heads in front of me, trying to get a glimpse of whatever luminous spectacle was unraveling in the near-distance. I have vivid recollections of weekly trips to Shakey's Pizza, where my family would gorge ourselves to an almost heroic degree on thin slices and Bubble Up, and then pile into our wood-trimmed boat of a station wagon to motor on over to the theater, my brother and I rattling around in the “way back” of the vehicle like loose change in a dryer (ah, ye olde unregulated 1970s, how I miss thee).

Missing it

And now here it is, your moment of zen:

sniff.

links for 2007-07-30

• Peanuts, by Charles Bukowski
  Oh the funny
  (tags: bukowski writing peanuts humor)
• WFMU's Beware of the Blog: Goobers (MP3s)
  26 mp3s for the kids
  (tags: music children)
• Science in comedy: Mmm... pi : Nature
  The top ten science moments in The Simpsons, as chosen by Nature
  (tags: science simpsons tv)

A scene repeated every evening at our house

letz meh into teh bathstimes!

And, of course, Drama would immediately call shotgun

As anyone who knows me very well at all is keenly aware, I'm not a very sentimental person. I'm not much for sap, or overt emotional displays, or mushy proclamations of love and devotion. My tendency toward guardness -- in terms of both displaying and expressing my emotions, and opening myself up fully to others -- is something I'm actually actively working on with my therapist at the moment (along with trying to quiet the voices in my head urging me to kill David Hasselhoff... but that's another post entirely). At the end of my first session with her after starting up therapy again last month, my headshrinkess suddenly said to me -- in a manner that seemed apropos of nothing -- “You're very contained.” And at the time I puzzled over that statement a bit. I mean, don't I spend most of my time every single day writing and sharing my thoughts with the whole freakin' world?

But as it sunk in, I realized what she meant, and it honestly shook me a little. Because, of course, writing is a very controlled and contained act, an almost perfect platform of expression for someone who has, ahem, intimacy and trust issues. My sharing here is completely controlled and contained. By me. I decide what to reveal and what to hide, I decide how things are presented and how much I invest, and therefore how much I can, well, get hurt. But beyond the boundaries of the internet, that approach doesn't really work very well. As I'm realizing (like, duh).

Well that's just wrong

Somebody get Peta and Greenpeace on the phone, a-sap!

The State of the Little Sweetney Union

It seems to me that she's been kind of getting the short end of the stick as a subject around these parts of late, so I thought it might be appropriate to hep y'all to the preschooler-lady haps (or at least the top ten eleven of them). Prepare to be both enlightened AND entertained (or some cut-rate facsimile thereof)!

1. Is thoroughly convinced that she's a Care Bear, but can't decide which one (alls I have to say is it better not be Grumpy Bear, because that bear's a fucking asshole. I have my fingers crossed for the dominance of Bedtime Bear, honestly... because I for one could pretty much always go for a nice little nap). This situation is further complicated by frequent additional personality switches, including to that of the cartoon characters Bloo, Picachu, and SpongeBob. And no, none of this is annoying. AT ALL.

2. Current televised obsessions: Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends & El Tigre (both of which are, I have to admit, kind of awesome).

3. Favorite daily topics of conversation/inquiry include disturbingly serious consideration of when she's going to have a baby, as well as when she's going to be old enough to drive my car. This clearly does not bode well.

Astounding

More than 1,500 inmates of the Cebu Provincial Detention and Rehabilitation Center in the Phillippines do “Thriller”:

And apparently this is just them practicing, and not the final routine.

Consumed one night last week by myself alone, on an empty stomach no less (and yes, hilarity ensued)

Many lovely beers, courtesy of Dogfish Head.

Hello, and welcome to our overly-freckled blinding shininess

Kelly & Me, July 19th 2007

A Conversation From Teh Futures

(Subtitle: Every Dog (or Cat) Has His Day. And Every Day Must Come To An End.)

“Hey, remember when the LolCat thing broke? What was that, 2006? 2007?”

“2006, I think.”

“Yeah. and remember how funny that shit was back then? And how everyone started making their own LolCats and stuff?”

“Totally. And talking like 'i can has ____'. Heh, good times. That was some funny stuff, man.”

“Until it wasn't. Anymore.”

“Roger that. P-L-A-Y-E-D.”

Paper placemat from dinner last week

(Awesome courtesy of our friend Justin)

Could it be.... BACON?

EDIT: Alright, so I know this has been done, done, done, and most definitely by better photographers than I, but I'm going to start doing a Picture Of The Day-type feature here. My intention isn't necessary to produce Art (with a capital 'A'! ooooh, scary!), but just to use a little creativity to keep y'all (and myself) amused and entertained (see: Could it be.... BACON?). Back in my long ago I actually almost went to The Art Institute in Chi-town for photography, and once fancied myself something of a semi-serious photographer (like, I inexplicably had art shows and won awards and stuff (SUCKERS!), and I had a full darkroom in my basement). That particular delusion is looooong gone of course, but doing something like this will at the very least give me a chance to exercise my creative muscles in a different way, and different is good, right? So here it is, installment one: BACON [overly-elaborate bow].

PS: I think that paragraph needed more parentheses. (And BACON.)

Lost Week(end)

Courtesy of my best girl Kelly, a video from our just-ended beach house week that is probably more descriptive of/telling about what our vacation was like than anything I could offer in words. Featuring Tom as Casper The Belligerent Drunken Floral Ghost, as well as the posing of that eternal question: “Why are you so drunk?” (and I should note here that this video was captured just following Kelly and I listening to Sir Casper chatter for about a full half hour nonstop about how drunk he was. You guys? I am SO drunk. Have I mentioned how drunk I am? Really? I have? Just now? OHMYGODIAMSOOOOODRUNK... lather, rinse, repeat. Twas comical.):

Gawd, I miss those guys already. sniff.

Oh and PS: I feel compelled, as a contrarian of sorts, to heartily proclaim:

I AM *NOT* READING THE NEW HARRY POTTER BOOK! WOOOHOOOOO! In your face, people who... are...umm... everyone but me. cough.

I'm a small and very lonely person, actually.

Puking: A Primer

So, as is the case with most vacations, at least one member of the vacation party must at some point tangle with the fury of Le Vomitmonster. Its, like, a going-on-vacation rule or something, right? Anyway, as my luck would have it, last night it turned out that *I* was that unfortunate, pathetic sap.

And it occurred to me, during my dance of near-death with every porcelainized receptacle in our beach house household, that in my own meager experience there are at least three very distinct and wholly separable types of puking:

1. The Illness Puke: You have the flu and you already wish you were dead, but fasten your seatbelt bucko, cuz its gonna get a whole lot worse when the spaghetti and meatballs you had for dinner a few hours back make a semi-digested, frothing reappearance. The Illness Puke has additionally been voted Most Likely To Make You Weep And Call Out For Your Mommy (even if said Mommy resides on the other side of the country).

Le Freckle Face

You may not be able to see them too well in these photos, but the girl is breakin' out with the pinpoint pigmentation here at da beeyatch:

She's reaching almost criminal levels of cuteness and squishability, people. I may have to write her up a citation for a Moving Violation... MOVING MOMMY TO TEARS, THAT IS.

/end fawning parental sap

Rehoboth Beach, DE

A few shots from this hazy, hot, humid morning...

Notice:

The non-BlogHer BlogHer post

Those of you who read blogs by women are, as you may or may not be aware, about to be inundated with posts about and related to the upcoming BlogHer conference, taking place in Chicago in about two weeks. Many bloggers I know -- some of whom I consider dear friends -- are going, and of late the subject of the conference has come up in conversation and communication more times than I can count, invariably in the form of something like “Oh, and I'll be seeing you at BlogHer!” Which, all things considered, is a fair assumption, granted.

But I'm not going.

I'm not going to BlogHer. There, I said it.

I'll let y'all marinate in that for a moment. And alert the media. (snort.)

Coke Is It

Today I couldn't be prouder -- as an American and as a consumer -- since on this very special day, direct from the annals of wacked-out marketing, it is my distinct pleasure and honor to present: Diet Coke Plus.

Its like drinking battery acid, but with vitamins and shit in it! Woohoo!

Baltimore Blooms

Love to you from Charm City, now with my own special brand of “I know nothing about gardening or flowers” attempts at naming and identification. Please to enjoy!

I'll call this one Psychotic Horn O' Plenty

WARNING: A truly ridiculous number of photos after the jump...

You are what you read

Perhaps this will come off sounding a touch trite or banal, but I've always been of the mind that an individual's interests and tastes -- as embodied by the music they listen to, the books they read, and all the other media they personally select and consume -- collectively say far more about them than any utterance they might willingly offer to describe their own personality and who they think are. I suppose you could say that I look upon people's choices in literature, film, and music as unguarded glimpses into their identity, into what makes them tick and how their mind works -- as small but telling artifacts of the true unfiltered self, if you will.

And so with this in mind, I thought it might be interesting to have a looksee at some booty gathered from my own media buying binge this past weekend... Following the train of thinking described above, what might one presume from my selections about me, I wonder?

Exhibit A: “Final Exits: The Illustrated Encyclopedia of How We Die” (Michael Largo)

• Fascinated by the macabre, permanently installed on local law enforcement's “persons of interest” list
• Enjoys the films of Ingmar Bergman, the works of Poe, competitive sulking
• Wears black on the outside, because black is how she feels inside
• Likely has serious alcohol and/or compulsive body scarification problem

Portraits Of A Lady

Hello, and welcome to my hangover

Urrrggggghhhhh. Blaaaaaaaargh. Mmmgggaaahhhh.

And you?

Show of hands: who's feeling a little on the crapulous side today? If you can actually even raise your hand above your head this morning, I applaud you. Because I certainly can't. Well not without, you know, the vomiting.

Okay, let me break it all down for you people:

The Sweetney Household Celebration of Intoxication Inebriation Independence Day, as told through a nearly impenetrable fog of morning-after bilious agony (where THE FUCK is my Excedrin?!?):

1. There was quite a bit of frenetic Wii shenanigans all day and evening long, which involved lots of hopping and jumping and jostling around. This while, of course, completely sauced.

2. People ate this, as if it were actually real food:

Make Yer Own MySpace Hilarity

Heads-up, mah peoples: Y'all best get on this. I'm not even joking. Do I look like I'm joking? No, I thought not.

$250 $500 in prizes! Public adulation and admiration! ALL YOUR MYSPACE ARE BELONG TO US, YO.

And you have today off, right? Like you have anything better to do? [incredulous snort]

So get to page creatin', and please spread the word (to your homies, your mutha, etcetera).

PS: Happy 4th, compatriots!

We are but guinea pigs in a prolonged experiment in delayed gratification, apparently

The podcast from my panel at SXSW in March is up and ready for your listening pleasure. Finally. After four long months. Why the delay? Because we were collectively so incredible, so freaking unbelievably fabulous, that SXSW dared not release our podcast too soon, for fear that it would so outshine all other panel podcasts that no one would bother to listen to them. Umm, HA?

So anyway, there it is, do what you will. I won't be listening to it, as the sound of my own voice makes me throw up in my mouth a little. But from what I remember of the experience, its all pretty good stuff. Enjoy!

EDIT: Okay, I listened to it. And despite the nausea, I was actually pretty pleased. Oh and also despite the fact that I still think my voice sounds like Bea Arthur on ludes. Thanks to my comrades Danny, Amy, Asha and Marrit for being so smart and funny and making that whole experience so much real fun.

This is what I get for using the term “ass chips”

Well that and “fuckwad”, “bastards” and “motherfucking cocksucker”, but who's counting?

Click image to find out your own site's rating, and let me know how much more wholesome you are than me, you goddamn asshat (hey, think my rating has hit NC-17 yet? snort.).