spelling bee

yeah, i can spell some, stuff like asshat, dumbass, and my favoritest is making up words and nouns, like fuckuppery, or ass hattery (better even assberdashery), clearly, i cannot spell 'mesmorize', and i quit trying. so, yeah, i like spelling, but i never got to do the spelling bee thing. i grew up with people who, while nice enough as parents, didn't have any comprehension that spelling bee might be something they should encourage. nor, reading, really. but playing football with an empty two-litre bottle of soda, clearly a priority. clearly, i suck at life because of it, but i am fascinated and mezmorized by the talent that is the super speller. spelling helps my scrabble game. it does. and misspellings slow me down at weboggle. i did say the other night at sid's bourbon boggle night that deign was spelled D-A-N-E, the person from northern europe (see, dumbassness). i am THE fucking editor in my department.

so, i have said it once, and i will say it again, spelling bees are gateway activities to scrabble and the heroin-like addiction of on-line boggle. sid knows what i'm talking about here. anna. spelling bee person. i am like the crack head who never smoked pot. so, perhaps it is time to take a big ol' puff of the spelling bee ganja. in the fashion & style section of the nytimes, there is a piece entitled the night life of bees. this piece is about the growing rage of spelling bees amongst the hipster 20-30 something set. i have watched the documentary about national spelling bee, and i have watched a number of spelling bees on the deuce. i would get cable just for the deuce (espn2, for those not in the know.) at any rate, anybody want to bone up on her spelling? let's turn this bee ON.

word.

a model is down

i repeat, a model is down, someone get a marlboro light, a diet coke and a fattie line of coke. STAT.

vno, i joke. it's never funny with the unnaturally beautiful, thin supermodel goes down. never. it is simply schadenfreude at its most glorious. but there is seriousness going on right now with all the spring shows--designers on the loose, and models turning on their handlers and shit...the prada spring ready-to-wear show happened yesterday in milan. here is a review.

the beginning quote from the piece: "I wanted to go forward by trying to cancel out nostalgia. By canceling out the body," said Miuccia Prada. She opened her search for new proportions with a big, loose, odd-looking overshirt, pulled over thick gray stockings.

how fucking amazing is this woman? cancelling out the body? cathy horyn has a great piece in the times today about prada: 'The Bourgeois Lady Is Finished,' Miuccia Prada Says

overheard

Paramecium? Nobody talks about those anymore.

that is so true. noone talks about paramecium anymore. at least i don't talk about them.

sidehawk

from the smoking gun's mug shot section--that's cold. not even letting a brother finish his hair before you haul his ass off. damn.

from the Morning Call's Police Beat

Police Say Poop Scooped Into Storm Drain

PEN ARGYL

Pen Argyl police are looking for the person who dropped 15 plastic bags filled with dog feces in a storm drain on E. Plainfield Avenue between Davey and Vine streets in the borough.

The bags were discovered by borough employees who were clearing a clogged storm drain, police said Sunday.

The person who tossed the bags in the drain faces charges of scattering rubbish and criminal mischief, police said.

Police ask anyone with information to call them at 610-863-6704.

i love how the writer used poop in the headline, and feces in the body of the article, like somehow it's real news. i mean, just go for it, dude. use poop the whole time. or crap. like that time i heard the weather man in tucson say, 'the weather for tomorrow--cold and crappy. and then, it had the five day forecast, which read cold and crappy.' it made me immensely happy.

stuff on my cat

you know how i usually detest cutesy cat things, or really, anything involving pictures of cats doing stuff, but carol just sent this site to me, and as i went on and on and looked at more and more pictures, i laughed harder and harder until tears were rolling down my face. to quote the website, "stuff + cats = awesome"

The fourth level of hell: Family circus

today i goto my work mailbox and there is something that looks very similiar to this sitting in there:

fucking bloody hell. the one in my mailbox has fucking billy standing at the door declaring "I untied my shoes all by myself!" holy fuck.

i think i actually threw up a little in my mouth. i once ranted in the lunch room that bill keane needs to die for his mesmorizing and horrible little circular comic strip which, because of its strategic placement and shape, evilly catches your eye sucking you into the hell that is the jeffy dotted line trek through town. it's madness. it's impossible to turn away, yet i think it destroys your soul. 'move to the suburbs' it says. 'buy an suv'. 'vote republican'. i know i am like travis bickle when it comes to family circus, but HOLY crap, who is torturing me? they pick the most painful ones too. i see this little strip of newspaper and i pull it out and say, 'OH for the love of all good and holy, what is this sh...?' and look around, there is some planner somewhere laughing his ass off. lurker, i'm looking at you. they end up in my box every three months or so, the most painful ones to boot.

how can one comic strip suck so much? what disturbs me about this today is that the signature now reads jeff and bil keane. sweet baby jesus, if he is passing his pen off to his son to continue the madness, i'm pretty sure my head will actually explode. i am writing another letter to the inquirer about this. they need to be stopped. and i'm the girl to stop them.

UPDATE: a co-worker admitted to the family circus madness in my inbox. he also sent me his biography, written by bill keane himself.
even his profile is mind-numbingly horrible, and i quote:

"I was born in Philadelphia. Well, I wasn't exactly born, I was discovered there by Benjamin Franklin (Oct. 5, 1922). (yo, Bil, you are killing me.) I grew up in that city with a penn (fucking hell) by my side--William Penn! When asked who cracked the Liberty Bell I replied, "Not me!"--my first association with that invisible gremlin who showed up in "The Family Circus" many years later. "

seriously, what the fuck is wrong with this guy?!?!?! honestly, i had almost successfully blocked the 'not me' invisible gremlin from my consciousness. i can't read anymore of this shit. it's two minutes of my life i will never get back