I'm Like the New York Times Distiller

My favorite quote from the old gray lady today comes from the article "Want A Debate With That Drink?" which is a really fab piece about pushing some intelligent debate into the pub scene in Ireland:

"People here are educated," [the moderator] says, but they like getting drunk. "There's nothing worse than a sober group taking itself too seriously."

Can I hear an Amen!

Fitness, JP Style

The gym membership has begun. The thing is, I wasn't even really looking to start a membership, it more or less fell into my lap. My boyfriend actually has a friend that lives in JP; which is really weird for me, seeing as how I only know one person who lives in my neighborhood and I talk to her about once every two years. I feel like I'm in a remote tundra sometimes (but with really great bus service). Anyway, when you have friends that live in the same neighborhood, you -get this- learn things about your neighborhood. For instance, you learn there is a brand spanking new gym known as Mike's Fitness.

One random day, while driving home after a feasting of beef empanadas, the boyfriend startling declared, "That's the street the new gym is on!" Feeling particularly rotund, we decided it definitely couldn't hurt anything to check it out.

Instantly, we were sold.

This is the first hard core gym I've ever joined. By hard core, I mean where most of the machines don't have cute little rivets to hold the little play plates into place. No, most of the machines here require the retrieving and stacking of muscle man round steel weights onto the machines of death. I feel like an iron woman just looking at them. And that's the kind of encouragement I need. No prissiness here. Only heaving muscles, contorted faces, and bellowing grunts. I fit right in!

Ok, I don't really. Maybe the contorted face part (those five pound weights are heavy, cut some slack!), but really I am more like a diminutive blade of grass caught in the hulking shadows of redwood trees. However, I am talking about JP. There are only so many muscle men in the vicinity and they, of course, have all found their way here. But the other locals are also starting to trickle in, too. The other day, I trotted into the aerobics room to do some situps, only to be greeted by a skinny 30-ish white man, complete with white man fro and sweatband, energetically kicking around a hacky sac while jamming to dance hall reggae. Dude brought his own jambox! I mean, COME ON. So awesome.

Not to mention, Mike's Fitness has also afforded me the opportunity to discuss Allure articles with the cutest gay man ever. And did I mention the fanfuckingtastic dance music booming from the speakers? It makes me fondly remember the days when clubbing was an actual verb in my vocabulary.

Won't it be so scary if I end up looking like this woman?


Bring it on, baby! Bring it ON.

"Hey, we are not all the Nokia-wielding people the government would like you to think we are."

I have learned some interesting things about the Finns from the New York Yimes' article Finland Squirms as Its Latest Export Steps Into Spotlight.

First off, Finland is all in a tizzie those ugly creatures above (known as the band Lordi) will be representing them at Eurovision. From what I can gleam, Eurovision appears to be American Idol, except on massive quantities of steroids and involving several countries in Europe, Asia, and the Middle East. Not to mention, it was the springboard for Celine Dion unto the world!

And I thought Americans were tacky.

But, I do not write this post to compare world tackiness! No! That would take much, much too long. No, what I found fascinating about the article was the revelation that the Finns are apparently suffering from low self-esteem. The poor lads, it seems they have come in dead last at Eurovision eight times. The horror! I'm surprised the country hasn't full on revolted and changed it's name to Spainnland or Swedennland or something. AND not only are they being constantly humiliated by the flashy and flamboyant artistes at Eurovision, per the article, Sweden also regularly kicks their ass in hockey! Say it isn't so! My heart bleeds for Finland, particularly when I read quotes like this, (from the lead singer of Lordi) "In Finland, we have no Eiffel Tower, few real famous artists, it is freezing cold and we suffer from low self-esteem."

Sad, so sad. I cry in my soup for you Finland!

Oh! I forgot to mention the most excellent description of the band from the article:

Kita, an alien-man-beast predator who plays flame-spitting drums inside a cage; Awa, a blood-splattered ghost who howls backup vocals; Ox, a zombie bull who plays bass; and Amen, a mummy in a rubber loincloth who plays guitar.

A rubber loincloth??

Now, that's a little fabulous, I have to say. Perk up, Finns, you're heading in the right direction.

I leave you with this last quote by Alexander Stubb, a Finnish member of the European Parliament:

Finns are so uncomfortable with themselves, that when they meet someone for the first time, they stare at their own feet. Then, after 10 years of friendship, they stare at the other person's feet.

Oh, you Finns.

The Theme Of The Day Is:

50% Brain Functioning Power

What a fun theme! And it just lilts off of the tongue, doesn't it?

Evidently, I am sick. The wheezing and the coughing for dear life hasn't commenced yet, but the noticeable loss of brain power has most definitely set in. It's kind of fun and kind of not when your brain doesn't work so well. For instance, it can be kind of fun to stare blankly for a full on 10 minutes at your screen while thinking of something like a pink scarf...nothing more, just a scarf. Ah, the sweet simplicity of life!

Not fun, however, is having absolutely no idea what you were doing before you began your scarf reverie and viewing the open spreadsheet on your computer as if it was written in Swahili.

Oh, and drinking isn't smart when you're sick. But since you're sick and you're already dumb, you can't remember stuff like that. So you find yourself on your third beer while watching Some Kind of Wonderful at 3 in the afternoon on a Sunday, tipsily dreaming of chopping off all of your hair, buying some drum sticks and basically becoming Watts' Single White Female. God, she's cool. Oh wait, I feel a reverie coming on.....

(20 minutes pass)

What is this? Was I writing a post?

We Put the Poo in Pool

Let me break last night's pool antics down for you:

The dorks imbibe too many drinks involving perhaps not enough tonic, realize they really, really laughably suck at playing pool, drink more, then somehow incorporate the basketball game HORSE, which rapidly deteriorates into shooting the cue while doing things like hopping on one leg, crossing one's eyes, and using one's ear for leverage, among other dumb human tricks I'd really rather not remember.

Needless to say, no one wins.

In every possible meaning of the phrase.

The comparatively tame One Legger.

My spectacular break!

If I Were to be Cast as a Monster in a Godzilla Movie, I Fear This is What I Would Look Like

I Prefer Taco Bell Anyway

So, I’m reading the New York Times article “Salads or No, Cheap Burgers Revive McDonald's” and I come to this paragraph:

According to an analysis of government data published this month in The Journal of the American Medical Association, 45 percent of non-Hispanic blacks and 36.8 percent of Mexican-Americans aged 20 and over are obese, as opposed to 30.6 percent of non-Hispanic white adults.

What does this paragraph tell me? There has never been more proof that Hispanics are taking over the world. If each race needs to be delineated in relation to its Hispanic brethren, then fuck! If that doesn't equal a lot of freaking Hispanics, it does equal an inordinate use of the word Hispanic, at the very least. First victory, news articles; next vistory, the world!

It’s really weird to think of myself classified as a Hispanic White, though. But, I’m not a Hispanic White! I’m a White Hispanic. I’m Hispanic, I just look white. Right? Oh wait, I'm both. So what does that make me?

Of course, it has to be some goofy McDonalds article that messes with my sense of identity.

PIGEONS ARE FLYING RATS THAT POO ON YOUR HEAD.