Fri, May 31, 2002

Cartoons for Hipsters:

So I've been a rabid, er avid fan of "The Simpsons" since it began. And of course, I always loved some of the more unusual animations like "Ren and Stimpy," "SpaceGhost: Coast to Coast," "The Brak Show" and "Southpark." But I also appreciate the toons meant for kiddies but appeal to us almost-thrity-somethings. Yeah, that would be "The Powerpuff Girls" and "SpongeBob Squarepants." But recently I came across some reruns of the cartoon "Mission Hill."

It reminds me of something Dan Clowes of "Ghost World" and OK Soda might draw. And the humor is pretty adult. Heck, it's very adult. But that's why I dig it. It's a bunch of cartoon slacker kids in a hip neighborhood trying to get along with each other. And it's not your typical MTV commercial crap. Anyhoo, I've been watching all the episodes every week from Cartoon Network's Adult Swim programming.

I love it almost as much as "Aqua Teen Hunger Force." Hey, you just can't compete with crime fighters who double as a value meal. Plus they have a kickin' theme song. Word.

More fun:
Download the Aqua Teen Hunger Force theme song


Tues, May 28, 2002

Recipe of the Day:

7-Up Cake
(recipe from Yum)


  • 3 sticks unsalted butter, softened
  • 3 cups sugar
  • 2 TB lemon extract (or juice)
  • 5 eggs
  • 3 cups flour
  • 1 cup 7-Up


Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Cream butter and sugar together. Add eggs one at a time, beating after each one. Then alternately add flour and 7-Up, a little bit at a time. Beat in lemon extract. Bake in a ring-shaped cake pan for 45 minutes to an 1 hour. Check on it often.

More 7-Up Cake recipes on Yum


Mon, May 27, 2002

Spider-Man never looked this good in hot pants:

With all the attention, and money, being spent on superhero movies, I'm hoping the next wave of comic-book-based movies will start giving us gals our due props. When am I ever going to see a Wonder Woman movie?

Sherilyn Fenn would be perfect for this role, or even Guinevere Turner? Heck, I'd be happy if Lynda Carter came back to play the role.

I've been sitting through all these boy movies praying that Wonder Woman gets a chance to amaze audiences with her truth lasso, invisible jet and bullet-bouncing bracelets.


Wed, May 22, 2002

At Least I'm Not the Iron, right?:

Take the Monopoly Piece Quiz!


Mon, May 20, 2002

Witchy Woman:

In high school I fancied myself as the local freak. Actually I was a nerd dressed up in Goth clothes who secretly wanted to be accepted by the Benetton lemmings only a few years earlier. I suppose I gave up on becoming one of the popular kids and decided to be the "scary girl who messes with a tarot deck in homeroom." That suited me just fine.

In fact, I may have taken that spooky chick role a wee bit overboard at times. I remember using a ouija board in study hall. I pretended to ask demons the answers to a take home quiz on Russian literature. When the teacher nervously asked me if I wanted to join a study group, I said I already had some old souls helping me out. You could hear a pin drop in that room. Heh.

Granted, I always thought of it as an inside joke. Don't get me wrong. I have the upmost respect for legit Wiccans. But I just wanted people to leave me alone, and they already thought I was some creepy witch, so why bother arguing? I never casted any mean spells or curses. But I would do tarot readings at lunch for a few cheerleaders, and I would occasionally say a good luck spell underneath by breath during Algebra pop quizzes. But I was no Willow. I had no interest in the Black Arts, and I sure as hell wasn't going to mess with demons and such for the sake of annoying a bunch of pompous mall rats.

So when I see "Witch Spells 101" articles in magazines like Seventeen and YM, I wonder if these teens know what the hell any of this means. You can't just say a few words, wave around some lavender sachets and expect the cute guy on the hockey team to ask you to prom. Trust me, it doesn't work. TV shows and movies have betrayed angry girls into thinking that if you become a teen witch you can have it all. Have you seen the movie "Teen Witch?" Pure '80s tripe, but she did have great hair.

Most of the Wiccan books I read gave me the impression that the authors weren't mysterious witches but merely nature-loving hippies who liked to do a few jigs in the nude under a moonlit sky. Every Wiccan text I've read warns that vengeance spells come back to bite you on the butt (not a direct quote, mind you), and they simply aren't worth doing. But if you want a good herbal remedy for a nagging cough, or a few words of positive on your way to a self-fulfilling prophecy, then you've come to the right place.

I'm not sure if this obscure ramble came from my anticipation of the Buffy season finale where the annoying tag line reads "Hell hath no fury like a Wiccan scorned." (Egads.) Or maybe something triggered in me when I spotted this site seeking Witchy Writers? You tell me.

More fun:
Tarot Card Collectors
Museum of Talking Boards


Fri, May 17, 2002

At least I'm not Gonzo:

You are Fozzie!
Wokka Wokka! You love to make lame jokes. Your sense of humor might be a bit off, but you're a great friend and can always be counted on.


Thurs, May 16, 2002

Fruit of the Loom Responds:


Thank you for your e-mail regarding adult size Underoos.

We appreciate your interest. Our company is working on final production plans for adult size Underoos and is seeking ways to sell them over the Internet. We will keep your e-mail address and notify you if they are available to purchase via the Internet.

Thank you again for writing.

Teresa Sikes
Consumer Services
Fruit of the Loom, Inc.


Wed, May 15, 2002

Dear Folks at Fruit of the Loom:

Are there any plans to release a line of Underoos for adults?

Please say there is. I think your company would make a lot of money from this idea. Do you know how many of us GenXers there are who would be willing to shell out a pretty penny for Spider-Man underoos that actually fit?

Don't even get me started on all the girls I know (besides myself) who would love some Wonder Woman underoos to wear under our business suits. I know I'd feel more empowered in meetings and job interviews. (Heck, vintage Wonder Woman underoos are selling for around $50 these days on eBay!)

We're all very tired of going on supermodel diets just so we can squeeze our butts into your Boba Fett underoos. And let me tell you, those Bat Girl underoos were not designed for chicks with child-bearing hips!

Honestly, please think about it. I look ridiculous trying to fit into the largest child size you offer. My Incredible Hulk underoos are ripping at the seams.

If you make an adult size, I promise to buy at least five pairs.

Thank you for your time.

Sincerely hoping for Tank Girl underoos,

Bonnie Burton


More Underoos Fun:

Send a plea for adult underoos to Fruit of the Loom yourself.

Wearing Underoos is Fun!

Yesterdayland Fashion: Underoos


Mon, May 13, 2002 (around 10:30 pm)


Let me make one thing clear: I HATE EARTHQUAKES! Having my house shake until we all run out the front door screaming into the darkness is not my idea of a fun time. But that's exactly what I got to do tonight, courtesy of a 5.2 earthquake in Gilroy, way too damn close to where I live.

I'm no stranger to natural disasters. I grew up in the middle of tornado country in Western Kansas. I was raised to properly fear Mother Nature. Unlike earthquakes, you know when a tornado is on its way. It rains, hails, then gets very still and quiet. Your pets freak out and then BAM it hits. But you can see tornados approach by looking at the sky and staring at cloud formations. Tornados are dangerous, and yet it's comforting to know that at least you have some sort of warning.

Earthquakes don't work that way. One minute you're watching Trading Spaces wondering if Doug will talk boring homeowners into painting their equally dull neighbor's fireplace purple and then the next minute you feel like you're trapped inside a huge bag of Shake'N'Bake.

Since moving to Northern California, I've been through four mild earthquakes. I felt my first quake while I was simultaneously watching "Melrose Place" and chatting on the phone with a pal. I saw people run into the street and start screaming "Quake! Quake!" I didn't know if I should join them on the sidewalk, or stand in an archway or hide under a desk. I opted to stay on the phone and hope my apartment didn't collapse.

All the other times I either slept through them thinking it was someone opening a garage door underneath my studio, or I was walking down the street and didn't seem to notice.

Well, tonight I noticed, and I was still just as unprepared. It's like that question everyone asks you at slumber parties when you were a kid. "If your house was on fire, what three things would you take with you?"

The proper answer to that question for me tonight would have been:

1. The dog
2. car keys
3. shoes

But instead I searched desperately with my eyes around the room as it was shaking, grabbed some tissues, my soda and a seed packet -- with the dog barking and running after me as I leaped out the front door.

A seed packet? What the hell was I thinking? I had no shoes on, no jacket. And I don't even know where my car keys happen to be. But if I was thristy or needed cry, I was set. Sheesh.

My boyfriend looked at me like I was the last doofus out of the building during a fire drill. I don't blame him. I was being a doofus. Even while I was outside I was thinking, "Dammit, I left my new issue of Giant Robot on the bed, and I haven't read it yet." With a chaser thought of "If the house collapses how am I going to watch the season finale of Six Feet Under?"

As you can tell, my priorities are a bit screwed up during a crisis.

More fun: Earthquake FAQ


Mon, May 13, 2002

That's Not Funny:

I don't like to be teased. I hate it. I can't stand when people make fun of my reactions. I don't know why, but it gives me the impression that someone is talking down to me like a child. When I'm teased, I feel as though someone is just being cruel for the sake of a few giggles. I become a punchline.

The more someone mocks me, the more upset I get - and in turn the more that someone probably thinks it's funny. From my point of view, I feel as though my request to "knock that off" falls on deaf ears and that my hurt emotions aren't taken seriously. To everyone else I come off as a Killjoy who doesn't know how to take a little harmless joking around. But if it's joking, how come I'm not laughing?

I've always been this way. It's not that I'm too serious of a person. I have fun and chuckle as much as the next person. So why do people keep telling me to lighten up? Maybe I'm simply over-reacting, but I wish I could figure all this stuff out. Hmmmm. Any suggestions?


Sat, May 11, 2002

Hey, I'm a Genius (or Insane):

Well, I am according to this Pixies song quiz.

Where Is My Mind?
You're smart, shy, and often nonsensical. You have dreams of being famous, and you're quirky enough that you just might pull them off. Some would call you a genius, others would call you insane, but in reality you're pretty well-adjusted. Take a vacation once in a while- it'll help take your mind off of your troubles.

Which Pixies Song Are You?


Wed, May 8, 2002

Just One More Plant, Please:

Confession: I completely obsess over new hobbies. For example, when I jumped into mail art, I spent every spare nickle I had building one of the hugest rubberstamp collections you could imagine. If I was on eBay, I was there on a mission to buy the weirdest, coolest rubber stamps around -- cowboys riding jackalopes, chickens in bunny costumes, talking hot dogs, squirrels racing bicycles. You get the picture.

The same goes for my comic book collection, zine pile, TV addiction (don't ask me many hours I spend glued to the set -- Amen for TiVo!) and most recently my newly-acquired green thumb.

I never had the same knack my mom had for saving abandonned plants and bringing anything green back from the dead. My mom was legendary for her gardening skills. When you walked into our upstairs dining room all you would see was a mass of philadendrons, spider plants, rubber plants, devil's ivy and mother's tongue. It was our own little indoor rainforest in the middle of suburban Colorado. Outside Mom and Dad grew tomatoes, beans, squash, lima beans (yuck), chard, lettuce, carrots, radishes, cucumbers, peas and sometimes corn. One summer they grew so much broccoli, my brother and I had to eat it raw, steamed, grilled, mashed and so on just to get rid of it. (shudder)

And so since I have plenty of time on my hands as a semi-recently laid off dot-commer, I've decided to learn a skill worth knowing -- gardening. Unfortunately for my boyfriend who spends more time programming on a computer than breathing fresh air, I've been using his home as a test bed. His once minimalistic home of techie gadgets and computer wires has been invaded with rabbit-foot ferns, cacti, alien-looking succulents, elegant ivy, baby's tears, mini-palm trees, lilies, rubber plants... you name it. To date, his home has over 60 houseplants. And that's not counting the veggie and herb garden I have growing on the deck.

But it's worse than you think. I've managed to also get an entire plant encyclopedia set from the '60s, around 20 various gardening books and plant identification dictionaries, as well as magazine subscriptions to Organic Gardening, Garden Design and Martha Stewart Living. I told you I was obsessed.

I can't walk into a hardware store, grocery store or nursery without buying a plant. And if I can't buy, I propogate. Every windowsill seems to be littered with little jars of water filled with ivy leaves and even a pineapple top or two. I feel like a mad scientist.

So why am I unusually plant-happy when I used to fear taking care of anything with leaves? I suppose after being laid off, not finding any writing jobs, dealing with failure stress and of course being in denial of terrorism, violence and everyday depressing news, it's nice to spend the day repotting houseplants, toiling in the garden or pruning herbs. It's a productive form of therapy. You feel good about growing something for yourself, and in away you regain a tiny bit of control over your life. Sure you may wave your fists in anger at the squirrels and deer who nibble on your garden, or you may freak out over finding a herd of mealy bugs on the undersides of your favorite houseplant, but at least you can say with certain that it's a fun distraction from the harsh realities of life. When my cacti bloom or I go snip some fresh basil for a sauce, I have an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. My mom would be proud.


Mon, May 6, 2002

Well-Dressed Pets:

I love cats an dogs as much as the next person. I had a large cat growing up who used to pee on my dad's favorite chair to get back at him for stepping on her tail. And now I have a puppy who snores when she sleeps and likes to chomp on ice. But no matter how cute my pets are, or how drunk I ever get, I refuse to dress them up in outfits.

Why do some people feel compelled to force Fluffy and Fido into sweaters, rain jackets, dresses or even bumble bee outfits? Do pets become expodentially cuddlier when they pretend to pass as humans, or is this some sick fascination we have as pet owners?

Perhaps we should blame Alfred Mainzer for his elaborate illustrations of cats riding scooters or playing the piano. Personally, I hold the Dogs Playing Poker painting responsible.

I don't think I could bring myself to stuff my puppy into an embarassing snow suit or a "Wild Ones" kind of leather jacket. It seems these outfits would take away your poor pet's dignity. Imagine if his buddies at the dog park saw him prancing around in a flowery sweater. Sheesh.


Sat, May 4, 2002

Drowning in Decos:

I'm a sucker for any kind of mail art. Some might say I'm slightly addicted to anything invloving rubberstamps and the post office. Yeah, they'd be right. So when I first discovered the underground world of mini-books called decos, I was ecstatic.

There's something rather satisfying about making a little blank booklet and sending it to another person to fill a page with interesting designs, graphics and glitter. Eventually after it gets around to enough folks, you end up with a booklet of creativity that takes mail art one step further. After doing this for over a year, I got my first full deco back yesterday.

My decos are always a bit offbeat and bizarre. I collect everything to use for collages: chopstick wrappers, magazine illustrations, paper doll clothes, Bazooka gum comics - you name it. It's always a challenge to pick through scraps of paper and found objects to make a quality deco page.

If you want to see what decos are all about, join a beginners deco club or a funky/weird deco club, and get inspired by people who love to see their mailbox filled with interesting tiny books.


Thurs, May 2, 2002

Tell Me Something I Don't Know:

High school was a drag for me most of the time. There weren't many wannabe Goths (they called us Death Rockers back then) and skate punks when I was in school. We usually got shoved around in the halls by jocks and ridiculed by preppies. I constantly felt like I was in a John Hughes movie, or maybe Ghostworld. Just call me Enid.


Wed, May 1, 2002

Just Call Me Siouxsie:
Ever since I got the latest book by X legend Exene Cervenka I've been thinking about my own punk past. Well, I don't know if I'd call it punk living in Colorado during the '80s, but I tried.

It's not like there were any "How to Be Punk" manuals around at that time. The best you could do was imitate Vyvyan on "The Young Ones" and look through Commander Salamander catalogs for ideas. Or you could copy what folks like Siouxsie Sue, Exene, Lydia Lunch, Strawberry Switchblade and Fuzzbox wore in their videos.

I was a mix of punk, Goth and skate girl. I listened to Bauhaus, Sisters of Mercy, Cocteau Twins, Cranes, Ministry, Skinny Puppy, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Sugarcubes, Modern English, Tones on Tail, Love & Rockets and so on.

I would wear skate shirts, black clothes, combat boots, creepers, black and white striped tights, black fishnets and the usual gloom-and-doom threads. Of course putting on makeup so I could resemble Siouxsie took hours. (It's not easy to get that eye makeup just so.) I even got up way before my 7 am Chemistry class just to straighten my hair. I was dedicated.

There was no set-in-stone look to mimic. You sort of just did your own thing and didn't care if you looked like a nut. Awww...those were the days.

Gawk at my embarassing punk photos here and here and oh no here's another.


previous months


My Amazon Wishlist
Grrl Gets the Goods
Phreaky Phun Linx
Relationships 101
Absurd Auctions
Plant Journal

Magnificent Obsessions
Excitement Machine
Everlasting Blort
News of the Dead
Spike Report
mister pants
Not Martha
Lots of Co.
ljc blog
Fark Store
Grrl Gift Guide
My books
My eBay collectibles
My Amazon books/CDs

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