Monday, May 31, 2010

Frightful Raw Spring Rolls

The best of May 2010, according to Back of the Cereal Box:
And, of course, the clickable visual index:

Brass Buttons and Epaulettes

My May, as represented by certain 140-character-or-less snippets.
Oh, how I have grown to hate Charline, the chatty Frenchwoman who thinks Windows 7 was her idea.

Jenny Slate’s audition for SNL included an impression of Annette Bening as a tour guide at the Holocaust Museum.

The Catholic version: "Tell me all your thoughts on God, cuz I'd really like to eat him."

Though I haven't recently moved closer to the train tracks, my room now rattles when the Surfliner rolls through town. Good sign?

All the music where I am sounds like a Fred Armisen-Maya Rudolph sketch. ¡Yay Cinco de Mayo!

TV's audio keeps briefly cutting out, making everybody on every show sound like they're swearing horribly and getting censored.

Why hasn't Toyota realized that "Moving Forward" is a terrible slogan in light of the whole sticky accelaror problem?

Wow. This week's Fringe is a total Twin Peaks fest. Even the title, "Northwest Passage," was the working title for Twin Peaks.

The reason it's always windy in Santa Maria is that not even the air wants to be there.

Automated ice cream dispenser at a sunny, hot, 101-adjacent rest stop: bad idea or worst idea?

Hey, remember when we thought we would get both an Arrested Development movie and a Veronica Mars movie?

I am amused that TCM is playing Mildred Pierce on Mother's Day.

Dear DVD companies, please stop hiding your offerings in vaults. Some of us may want to
buy the Dean Martin collection at a later date.

So Lady Sov announced she's gay. And that's weird because all this time I thought she was an Alex Borstein character from Mad TV.

Couldn't remember my room number last night. Then i finally found it. The number? My age and my birthdate. Doy.

Fun game to play at Hoover Dam: Guessing whether the tour guide has an unplacable accent or a baffling, unique speech impediment.

I am pleased to say that I am staying in a hotel that looks remarkably like the one from Twin Peaks.

Ordered for breakfast something called the Rim to Rim Platter. It managed to be even less appetizing than the name implied.

American Apparel sidewalk sale: Do you want XXLarge or XXSmall? Oh, we have just run out of XXLarge.

Dear American Apparel, I am too old and too proud to root through a bargain bin of multicolored briefs. Your rummage sale can suck it.

Six years of Lost and they never fixed the digital scrambling error that happens in the O in the opening title screen.

My breakfast burrito was ready and they called out "Togo," which is not my name but a misreading of my choice to dine out rather than in.

The "celebs die in threes" theory serves no purpose other than posthumously associating people who in life had little to do with each other.

Does it seem mean to anyone else when subtitles have music notes to signify that a song is playing? Wouldn't deaf people rather not know?

Feel like you would have liked to read these earlier? In a different setting? You could have. If only you were following
me on Twitter.

On Appearing to Be Crazy

I am thankful for what I believe to be a keen ability to spot crazy people. Anyone can see the disheveled guy dancing down the street and wearing floaties despite a lack of nearby pools, but I would like to think that I can spot the more subtle indicators of crazy — occasionally emphatic hand gestures that serve no purpose, briefly flashed facial expressions that would be inappropriate for public comportment, minor wardrobe choices that reflect a fractured worldview and finally what I refer to “culprit posture.” These people are usually harmless, but I like to give them a wide berth anyway, just because there’s always a small chance that they’re the type of crazy person who will kill me on the spot but also because I don’t want to invade their crazy person space and set them off like some kind of human car alarm.

However, at times I am confronted with the notion that I may be harshly judging the people I pass on the sidewalk and that they may well be fairly sane people that I am catching in a bad moment. Take, for example, my walk home from the breakfast burrito emporium on Saturday morning, during which I remembered something funny that happened and then miserably failed to stifle giggles the entire walk home. Oh, I stopped laughing for maybe a minute or two — just long enough to turn the corner and encounter a new group of fellow sidewalk users who would witness my calm face giving way to uncontrollable laughter that to them was unwarranted and strange. I tried playing it off as coughing. I don’t think anyone bought it. And, of course, once I arrived home to eat my burrito, the urge to laugh left my body.

So if you saw me on Saturday and wondered if I might be mentally ill, please understand that I was remembering a funny thing and was not, in fact, laughing at invisible bunnies who were performing delightful acrobatic shenanigans.

Sunday, May 30, 2010

The Extended Backyard

While I was home around Easter, I decided to take advantage of the fact that my parents’ house sits only a few miles from the Pinnacles, a national monument that I hadn’t been to since I was in high school. Figuring I’d never be in the area with a day to spare again when it’s neither tourist season nor rattlesnake season, I went. I took pictures. Lovely day. Please look at things.

324 083

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324 067

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324 112

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324 135

324 125

The surprising conclusion being not that I saw a caterpillar at the end of the hike but that my hometown doesn’t actually consume and destroy anything nice black hole-style.

Sexual Liberation on Clinton Avenue

A bizarre Brady Bunch scene that has been eliminated from reruns, probably with good reason. In it, Alice refuses to let Bobby and Cindy swim naked at a neighbor's clothing-optional pool.

Would this have not been weird in the 70s? Or is Alice actually trying to protect the kids from a family of sex predators?

(Via Scrubbles.)

Saturday, May 29, 2010

¡Viva La Fea!

Did you know that Back of the Cereal Box is now the number two hit on Bing image search for the phrase “ugly Mexican woman”? Find out what everyone’s talking about!

And no, this is not the result of some trick I played on one of the various young ladies who tend to be the recipient of such attention from me.

Varieties of Iris Whose Names Sound Like Other Things

Some of them sound like porno films:
Some of them sound like sex acts:
Some of them sound like terrible bands:
Some of them sound like things your grandmother might say about women she does not like:
Some of them sound like strains of weed:
Some of them sound like perfume brands a prostitute would wear:
And some of them sound like baby names chosen by pretentious assholes:

Other things they also sounded like but I didn't feel like making lists for: sugary cocktails, clothing lines for plus-sized women, bargain vacation packages, euphemisms that mafiosos might use to refer to methods of killing people, dances that were popular in the 60s, and slogans for ill-fated political candidates.