Yet another doozie from the kind, quick-witted folks at Funny Or Die.com...
Wednesday
Seeing double
I'm sitting in the audience of Diggntion at the Palms right now (thank you, WI-FI!) and though I didn't have any beer myself, I swear I'm seeing double:
That's "Great White North" circa 1982 vs. "Diggnation" which is going on right now, kiddies...
That's "Great White North" circa 1982 vs. "Diggnation" which is going on right now, kiddies...
Wednesday
And I thought I was bad at math
Bill O'Reilly's infinite wisdom strikes again! It never fails to amaze me. Or, should I say, shock and awe.
My favorite Fox commentator recently explained that Canadians have a longer life expectancy compared to Americans. Or tried to, at least.
As usual, he made no sense whatsoever.
See for yourself: (sorry, I can't embed it)
My favorite Fox commentator recently explained that Canadians have a longer life expectancy compared to Americans. Or tried to, at least.
As usual, he made no sense whatsoever.
See for yourself: (sorry, I can't embed it)
Friday
Hot, hot, hot... and sweet
It's 6:41 p.m. and it's 43 degrees C outside. That's 110 F, or, as most people put it, "hot as hell."
While sure, you could lounge by the pool or use the heat as an excuse to go for ice cream, I'm thinking of trying something new.
After all, days like these are prime time for baking cookies. In your car.
Forget the old fry-an-egg-on-the-sidewalk trick; this cookies-in-the-car thing is not only tasty, but sanitary, too. (Really: Who wants to eat eggs when it's so hot out anyway? And eggs that were cooked on the sidewalk? Gross!)
The plus side: It'll leave your ride smelling chocolaty chippity fresh.
Check it out here.
While sure, you could lounge by the pool or use the heat as an excuse to go for ice cream, I'm thinking of trying something new.
After all, days like these are prime time for baking cookies. In your car.
Forget the old fry-an-egg-on-the-sidewalk trick; this cookies-in-the-car thing is not only tasty, but sanitary, too. (Really: Who wants to eat eggs when it's so hot out anyway? And eggs that were cooked on the sidewalk? Gross!)The plus side: It'll leave your ride smelling chocolaty chippity fresh.
Check it out here.
Wednesday
At least they're honest
Wouldn't it be great if all transit notices spoke the truth like this spoof?
Timmy's hits the Big Apple
The Canadians are invading and they are infiltrating Manhattan one super-caffeinated cup of joe at a time.And the chain, which was founded by NHL Hall of Famer Tim Horton but has since merged with the American company that owns Wendy's, is taking the Big Apple by storm.
The quintessential Canadian coffee company, Tim Hortons, recently opened a dozen storefronts across New York City: two in
And that's not all: Along with his awesome-tasting coffee, Tim is bringing 63 different types of donuts and 34 types of Timbits (those are donut holes for those of you who don't already know the joys of bite-sized par-baked "fresh baked" goodness) with him.If you're unfamiliar with the Canada's iconic hot beverage provider of choice, here's some background: The first Tim Hortons was opened in Hamilton, Ontario in 1964. By last count (in March of this year, prior to the recent NY openings) there were 2,930 Timmys in Canada and 527 in the U.S. -- today, however, there are over 3,500 Tim Hortons coffee shops scattered across North America.
Canadians love the place and the stuff they serve. So much, in fact, that the government of Soviet Canuckistan made arrangements to have a Timmys location in Afghanistan to keep troops happy and caffeinated. Or happily caffeinated, at least.
Great White Northerners love their Tims so much that the Canadian coffee giant enjoys a commanding market share: Coffee drinkers are "rrrolling up the rrrim to win" on seven of every 10 cups of coffee sold in the country's quick service restaurants.So move over, Starbucks, there's a new kid in town. He wears plaid, watches hockey, and hunts moose in the off-season. You can call him Tim.
His place isn't fancy, but it serves unpretentious, tasty beverages. And the best part: the barristas don't communicate in tongues, aside from the occasional "touque," "toboggan" and "eh."
Monday
Adventures in eDating
As some of you may, and others may not know, I recently hit an all-new low and signed up for eHarmony.
I blame it on the abundance of tourists and married men in Las Vegas; my hectic work schedule; and a weak moment at a party where I found myself talking to two women, both coupled, one who found her +1 -- to whom she is now married -- on the dating Web site.
I was at a CineVegas party, actually, and the ladies were encouraging me to break from the flock and go find me a man. The crowd of short LA transplants was less than appetizing to me (and I've already blogged about the shameless CineVegas party boy crowd) and the one successful eDater bent my ear.
A week or so later, I broke down and signed up for eHarmony.
Since then, it's been fine. So far, so good, I guess. I've been matched with a bunch of local-ish guys (within 300 miles, originally, though I've since narrowed the filter to within 100 miles) and even went on a date.
That's not my issue.
The problem, for me, is the closing of matches.
See, despite being set up with people based on 10,001 factors of compatibility, I still get a lot of shorties, fatties, fuglies, and obvous d-bags sent my way.
(I've also been matched with two people I already knew, which was slightly awkward but still very funny to me.)
Whenever I get matched with a potential suitor, I try to review his profile immediately so I can delete him before he sees me in his matches. That way, he won't be so discoraged when he sees me suddenly disappear from his list. Or, worse yet, decline his "communication request" and instead seve him with a delete notice.
The service gives you a long list of reasons to cite when deleting a match: "I think the difference in our values is too great;" "I have too much happening in my life at the moment;" "Based on statements in their profile, I'm not interested in this match;" " I don't feel that the chemistry is there."
There are two rather ambiguous ones, as well: "I would rather not say" and "Other."
I tend to use the latter a lot, since eHarmony doesn't have "You're obviously a child molester," a "You're wearing Ed Hardy in your profile photo," or "You resemble Jabba the Hutt," options.
Needless to say, the search continues.
I blame it on the abundance of tourists and married men in Las Vegas; my hectic work schedule; and a weak moment at a party where I found myself talking to two women, both coupled, one who found her +1 -- to whom she is now married -- on the dating Web site.
I was at a CineVegas party, actually, and the ladies were encouraging me to break from the flock and go find me a man. The crowd of short LA transplants was less than appetizing to me (and I've already blogged about the shameless CineVegas party boy crowd) and the one successful eDater bent my ear.
A week or so later, I broke down and signed up for eHarmony.
Since then, it's been fine. So far, so good, I guess. I've been matched with a bunch of local-ish guys (within 300 miles, originally, though I've since narrowed the filter to within 100 miles) and even went on a date.
That's not my issue.
The problem, for me, is the closing of matches.
See, despite being set up with people based on 10,001 factors of compatibility, I still get a lot of shorties, fatties, fuglies, and obvous d-bags sent my way.
(I've also been matched with two people I already knew, which was slightly awkward but still very funny to me.)
Whenever I get matched with a potential suitor, I try to review his profile immediately so I can delete him before he sees me in his matches. That way, he won't be so discoraged when he sees me suddenly disappear from his list. Or, worse yet, decline his "communication request" and instead seve him with a delete notice.
The service gives you a long list of reasons to cite when deleting a match: "I think the difference in our values is too great;" "I have too much happening in my life at the moment;" "Based on statements in their profile, I'm not interested in this match;" " I don't feel that the chemistry is there."
There are two rather ambiguous ones, as well: "I would rather not say" and "Other."
I tend to use the latter a lot, since eHarmony doesn't have "You're obviously a child molester," a "You're wearing Ed Hardy in your profile photo," or "You resemble Jabba the Hutt," options.
Needless to say, the search continues.
Wednesday
12:34:56-7/8/9!
At 12:34 and 56 seconds on the seventh month on the eighth day of the year 2009 -- which is today, last time I checked -- the calendar will reads 12:34:56 7/8/9.
How cool is that?!
Happy monu-Millennium, kiddies.
(Thanks to Justin Bowen for passing this tidbit on.)
How cool is that?!
Happy monu-Millennium, kiddies.
(Thanks to Justin Bowen for passing this tidbit on.)
Saturday
Fourth of July Friskiness
So as you all know, I go out a lot -- not by choice, per se, but for work. I chase celebrities up and down red carpets and to VIP sections at swanky and/or over-hyped nightclubs on a very regular basis.
Given my social calendar, it's not all that surprising that I get hit on from time to time.
While Flo Rida still holds the title of most blatant flirt (he's the only one to have kissed me on the red carpet -- on two separate occasions, no less -- and unsolicitedly give me his phone number in the middle of an interview. Twice.), this weekend has seen a handful of shameless attempts by those who should really know better.
And by better, I mean know not to hit on reporters.
Mind you, not all of them realize I'm a reporter. Heck, a lot of the time I didn't even know who they are.
Case in point: Amar'e Stoudemire. He's a four-time NBA All-Star who plays for the Phoenix Suns
I bumped into him at Tao on Thursday while I was trying to find a friend. I had no idea who he was and he just came up to me as I was texting on my BlackBerry and, well, grabbed me.
I thought he was just some random tall dude and didn't believe him when he said he played basketball. I mean, if I was a tall black dude, I'd tell all the clueless white chicks that I played basketball -- most girls love that shit.
He joked about driving a Pinto, then said, cheesily, how he actually drives a Shadow but doesn't like telling people that.
I tried to stop my eyes from rolling back into my head but the cheese factor was making me gag.
Without skipping a beat, I looked up at him and said that I didn't know what a Shadow was so it didn't impress me, but I knew he wouldn't fit into a Pinto.
When he explained that it was a Rolls-Royce my teach-this-guy-a-lesson instincts kicked into high gear.
"Oh, that's original," I said. "Welcome to Las Vegas. EVERYBODY dives a Rolls-Royce here, or a Mercedes, or whatever. Big deal."
"I really don't care about cars," I concluded as I looked away in hopes of spotting my missing friend.
Unfortunately, my attempts at blowing him off seemed to have the opposite effect.
"You're going to come home with me tonight, right?" he said.
This, after our two-minute oh-so-superficial-and-lame conversation.
"Um, no."
"Well you're going to let me go down on you, aren't you?"
Again, I shook my head. NO.
It was at this point that I the realized the word "no" probably isn't one he often hears.
He tried to kiss me a few times, and reissued offers to both go home with him and, more explicitly, have sex with him. All without even knowing my name. And all within five minutes, max.
After a few minutes without seeing any sign of my friend I quickly got tired of Stoudemire's game and told him I had to go find my friends. I promised to bring them back but, of course, never did.
Elsewhere in the club that night, I had my ass grabbed repeatedly by some douche from Pittsburgh.
I jumped and swatted him away, effectively spilling his drink all over him.
Apparently it was a silly asshole move.
"What? You have a great ass!" he said, as if nothing was wrong.
"Um, that doesn't mean you can just grab it."
"Why not?!"
"Because I'm a lady, not some whore."
"Oh, I know that..."
*SWAT AGAIN*
What is it about long weekends that make people behave so badly?
Isn't this weekned in honor of Independence Day? Time to celebrate the liberties and freedoms of this country?
Hmm.
I guess overpriced bottle service, random hook-ups and loosie-goosie rub-downs are the American way. (So, is this where I'm supposed to say 'God bless America?')
Prior to the shenanigans at the Venetian, I endured what seemed like the second-longest red carpet in America for the third-annual Ante Up for Africa chairty poker tournament.
A handful of A-listers were there, including Ben Affleck and Matt Damon.
Brad Garrett of "Everybody Loves Raymond" fame was also there.
I had never met him or Affleck or Damon before, but the latter two of the three were very polite.
The 49-year-old comedian apparently took a shining to me -- or at least my glasses -- as we chatted about this and that (and my glasses) on the carpet.
"I look at your glasses and I feel like I want to weld something," he said.
He's such a charmer, I know.
"I want to weld a tunnel between my room and your room."
"This isn't weird, this isn't weird, we will be dressed as pirates..."
Naturally, I laughed, somewhat nervously as the People Magazine and US Weekly stringer stood there, equally stunned and amused, and laughed as they witnessed the exchange.
It wasn't awkward at all.
Given my social calendar, it's not all that surprising that I get hit on from time to time.
While Flo Rida still holds the title of most blatant flirt (he's the only one to have kissed me on the red carpet -- on two separate occasions, no less -- and unsolicitedly give me his phone number in the middle of an interview. Twice.), this weekend has seen a handful of shameless attempts by those who should really know better.And by better, I mean know not to hit on reporters.
Mind you, not all of them realize I'm a reporter. Heck, a lot of the time I didn't even know who they are.
Case in point: Amar'e Stoudemire. He's a four-time NBA All-Star who plays for the Phoenix Suns
I bumped into him at Tao on Thursday while I was trying to find a friend. I had no idea who he was and he just came up to me as I was texting on my BlackBerry and, well, grabbed me.
I thought he was just some random tall dude and didn't believe him when he said he played basketball. I mean, if I was a tall black dude, I'd tell all the clueless white chicks that I played basketball -- most girls love that shit.
He joked about driving a Pinto, then said, cheesily, how he actually drives a Shadow but doesn't like telling people that.I tried to stop my eyes from rolling back into my head but the cheese factor was making me gag.
Without skipping a beat, I looked up at him and said that I didn't know what a Shadow was so it didn't impress me, but I knew he wouldn't fit into a Pinto.
When he explained that it was a Rolls-Royce my teach-this-guy-a-lesson instincts kicked into high gear.
"Oh, that's original," I said. "Welcome to Las Vegas. EVERYBODY dives a Rolls-Royce here, or a Mercedes, or whatever. Big deal."
"I really don't care about cars," I concluded as I looked away in hopes of spotting my missing friend.
Unfortunately, my attempts at blowing him off seemed to have the opposite effect.
"You're going to come home with me tonight, right?" he said.
This, after our two-minute oh-so-superficial-and-lame conversation.
"Um, no."
"Well you're going to let me go down on you, aren't you?"
Again, I shook my head. NO.
It was at this point that I the realized the word "no" probably isn't one he often hears.
He tried to kiss me a few times, and reissued offers to both go home with him and, more explicitly, have sex with him. All without even knowing my name. And all within five minutes, max.
After a few minutes without seeing any sign of my friend I quickly got tired of Stoudemire's game and told him I had to go find my friends. I promised to bring them back but, of course, never did.
Elsewhere in the club that night, I had my ass grabbed repeatedly by some douche from Pittsburgh.
I jumped and swatted him away, effectively spilling his drink all over him.
Apparently it was a silly asshole move.
"What? You have a great ass!" he said, as if nothing was wrong.
"Um, that doesn't mean you can just grab it."
"Why not?!"
"Because I'm a lady, not some whore."
"Oh, I know that..."
*SWAT AGAIN*
What is it about long weekends that make people behave so badly?
Isn't this weekned in honor of Independence Day? Time to celebrate the liberties and freedoms of this country?
Hmm.
I guess overpriced bottle service, random hook-ups and loosie-goosie rub-downs are the American way. (So, is this where I'm supposed to say 'God bless America?')
Prior to the shenanigans at the Venetian, I endured what seemed like the second-longest red carpet in America for the third-annual Ante Up for Africa chairty poker tournament.
A handful of A-listers were there, including Ben Affleck and Matt Damon.
Brad Garrett of "Everybody Loves Raymond" fame was also there.I had never met him or Affleck or Damon before, but the latter two of the three were very polite.
The 49-year-old comedian apparently took a shining to me -- or at least my glasses -- as we chatted about this and that (and my glasses) on the carpet.
"I look at your glasses and I feel like I want to weld something," he said.
He's such a charmer, I know.
"I want to weld a tunnel between my room and your room."
"This isn't weird, this isn't weird, we will be dressed as pirates..."
Naturally, I laughed, somewhat nervously as the People Magazine and US Weekly stringer stood there, equally stunned and amused, and laughed as they witnessed the exchange.
It wasn't awkward at all.
Friday
Yay news!
Sometimes the news is so good, it's better than good news; it's yay news.Some yay news came today: Sarah Palin is resigning as governor of Alaska.
Granted, this yay news will probably result in bad news -- her seeking higher office -- but here's hoping the driving factor behind today's revelation is a dark dirty secret that's about to come to light, ~ ~ ~ ~ Sarah Palin: I quit. ~ ~ ~
or a skeleton in her closet that's
about to come to life.
Nudie pics would be great. Or a mistress (a straight affair wouldn't be bad enough IMO). Or a meth habit. No -- meth lab in her basement.
There's a slim chance that she's terminally ill, and of course I wouldn't wish that on anyone, but chances of that are pretty slim.
Alas, let's face the facts: She's probably going to seek a seat in the Senate, or prominent placement on the 2012 presidential ballot.
"I think this is a stupid, stupid move," CNN Republican strategist, Ed Rollins, said. "If this was for 2012, this was a very very stupid idea."
In a basketball analogy-laced speech, Palin claimed she would not seek reelection because she was the point guard and had her eye on the basket and she knew it was time to pass the ball in order for her team to win. Presumably, so someone else could score the basket.
It wasn't clear what "team" Palin was referring to: Team Alaska, Team Republican Party, Team America, or Team World. And we all know that each of these teams have very different ultimate goals.
She held a press conference on the Friday afternoon of a holiday weekend and didn't take any questions following her speech. so it looks like we'll have to wait and see what the real story is.
Just in time for the Fourth of July
Allow me, the pescetarian, to share with all of you carnivores the secrets to the perfect burger.And by me, I mean the NY Times.
Those Big Apple Eaters have put together a great animation outlining the basic elements of burger bliss.
Click here to read their tips, from the bun to the beef to everything in between.
Wednesday
Happy Canada Day, Eh!
It's Canada Day, meaning I should have the day off with pay, dammit.Alas, I do not.
Thankfully, these painfully Canadian videos are funny enough to make me forget about my lack of vacation time, stat pay, and CBC-TV.
Peace oot and enjoy the videos, eh.
And, as I "tweeted" earlier this morning, if you need me I'll be hiding from the Mounties in my igloo, listening to Rush, watching hockey on CBC, drinking beer, and eating poutine.
The spoof that started it all: "I am Canadian"
The spoof that followed: I am not Canadian
(a Quebec parody)
(a Quebec parody)
French-Canadian swears (Chalice, tabernacle, austie...) and mentions of Montreal's Club Super Sex (yes it's real, on Rue Ste.-Catherine), buying beer at the deppaneur, and poutine (that's French fries with cheese, folks.) Classic.
Canadian Beaver Fever
"Up here in Canada, we've got some really nice beaver."
Where's your pet beaver?
The Canadian Code
Ya can't beat 'em, so ya might as well join 'em, eh.
... Or just blame Canada like everybody else.
Tuesday
Movin' on in, shackin' on up...
I'm single but still find this totally hilarious. (*No hints, just humor.)
Monday
In case of fire... do not use Twitter.
Lord knows it will be hard to resist tweeting about how the building you're in is on fire, but unless you're a reporter and the burning building is a major Strip hotel (ahem, Monte Carlo?) please heed the sign's advice:
In case of fire, do not use Twitter.
Oh, and if you're not already, you can stalk me, 140 characters at a time, via the handy-dandy and oh-so-very addictive status updater otherwise known as Twitter by clicking here.
Another shameless plug: If you haven't already read the account of my using Twitter to stalk out Dave Navarro a few months back, here's some fireside reading for ya: http://www.lasvegassun.com/news/2009/apr/14/dave-navarro-and-other-musicians-tune-fans-through/ (Dave actually tweeted about it, and linked to the story, too...)
In case of fire, do not use Twitter.
Oh, and if you're not already, you can stalk me, 140 characters at a time, via the handy-dandy and oh-so-very addictive status updater otherwise known as Twitter by clicking here.Another shameless plug: If you haven't already read the account of my using Twitter to stalk out Dave Navarro a few months back, here's some fireside reading for ya: http://www.lasvegassun.com/news/2009/apr/14/dave-navarro-and-other-musicians-tune-fans-through/ (Dave actually tweeted about it, and linked to the story, too...)
Funnies from the HardBat Classic
Some of the signage from this weekend's HardBat Classic at the Sands Expo Center (a.k.a. the Palazzo/Venetian)
Love it.
(The no streaking rule must've been brought in before Anna Kournikova agreed to appear at the event...)
Love it.
(The no streaking rule must've been brought in before Anna Kournikova agreed to appear at the event...)
Further evidence that Facebook ads are crap
I've said it before: Facebook ads are crap. But now this.Facebook apparently thinks I'm gay.
WTF?! It seems to be a common trend, or something.
A month or two ago it was revealed that a friend who's known me for over a year thought I was a bonafide lesbian.
I'm not. Not even close. Not that there's anything wrong with it... it's just not my thing.
I've never kissed a girl. Heck, I don't even like that Katy Perry song about kissing girls, and I've already blogged about my distaste for the tasteless girl-on-girl kissing contests.
I'm not. Not even close. Not that there's anything wrong with it... it's just not my thing.
I've never kissed a girl. Heck, I don't even like that Katy Perry song about kissing girls, and I've already blogged about my distaste for the tasteless girl-on-girl kissing contests.
But now Facebook thinks I'm a lesbian, too? This is too much.
So, one last time, let me make it clear:
I'm in love.
Mom, Dad, I've met someone special.His name is Stanley. (You can call him Stan.)
We've met a few times before, but, as you can see, we really hit it off during the NHL Awards when they were in town. Eddie Olczyk introduced us over breakfast at Simon. (Stan and Eddie have been friends for several years.)
I know, I know, Stanny boy is a few years older than I am, and has been around the block a time or two. But you know I like older guys -- and he makes me so happy.
I think he's a keeper. Meet your new son-in-law.
Energetic Jackpot!
Forget shoes or clothes, and never mind the mall or eBay. The best shopping is for energy supplements, and can be done at your friendly neighborhood truck stop.
Cheers.
Local celebrity journalists are given a table at the Bank and all hell breaks loose: Drinks are poured, inhibitions fly out the window and we run out of glasses.
Thankfully, a seasoned member of the group knows just how to handle the situation... and we all meet deadline.
Thankfully, a seasoned member of the group knows just how to handle the situation... and we all meet deadline.
Step one: OJ.
Step two: Vodka.
Step three: Ice.
Step four: Mix.
Step five: High five!Wednesday
It's a bird! It's a plane! It's... a f-ing hipster!
"Look! There's a f-ing hipster on the ceiling! Oh, wait -- the ceiling is mirrored and that f-ing hipster is me..."I LOVE the "Look at this fu©king hipster" Web site. The only thing that tops it is seeing a living, breathing hipster in the wild and snapping a photo of the fool all by yourself.
I saw this f-ing hipster out on Saturday at Lavo and, as luck would have it, he was out again on Monday, this time at Privé -- wearing almost the exact same, oh-so-hip-and trendy outfit.
I couldn't help myself... and I still can't.
Stanly Cup = Simple Math
Some people were shocked that the Pittsburgh Penguins came back to win the Stanley Cup during Friday night's NHL final.I was not one of them.
Granted, they came off a 5-0 loss in Game 5 and barely survived Game 6, with an overtime win against the Detroit Red Wings.
The win sent them back to the Motor City for the Stanley Cup Final. No home turf advantage, no nothing. The odds were against them.
They were +175, actually.
I really, really wanted to lose my Vegas gambling virginity to this match-up. I knew Sid and the rest of his Pens would take it.
Sadly, I got stuck at the office and didn't get over to a Sports Book before face-off.
I sure wish I had:
A $10 bet would've paied $27.50; A $50 bet (which was what I was thinking of doing -- either that or a solid hundo, depending on my mood at the gate) paid out $137.50; and, had I put a Benjamin on the Pens, I would've walked away with $275.
Dammit!
I don't know how anyone got things wrong. Simply looking at the number of Canadians on each team was a clear indication of who would emerge victorious.
Forget the stats, odds, and other wishy-washy mumbo-jumbo: The Wings had nine Canadians on their roster while the Pens had 15.Read: No brainer.
Detroit's Canuck roster quotient included Kris Draper and fellow former Winnipeggers Darren Helm and Derek Meech.
Pittsburgh's Great White Northerners included the team capitan/boy genius otherwise known as Sidney Crosby (dead giveaway that they'd win, helloooo!) and Jordan Staal.
Both teams' goalies were Canadian: The Pens had Marc-Andre Fleury and the Wings had Chris Osgood.
The difference, here, was Fleury was awesome and Ogood, while decent, was left defenseless and didn't stand a chance.
He was also Quebecois, which, generally speaking, settles the coin-toss of which Canadian (er, Canadien) player is better, the Anglo or the Frenchie.
I really, really wish I made it to GVR's Sports Book before the game started. Damn it anyway.
Despite my missed chance at a handsome monetary gain, the Pens' victory was a sweet one.
I an hard-pressed to convey how happy I was to see the Wings lose.
I mean, the Wings are awful. Like, the worst team ever in the history of hockey.
OK, I might be *slightly* biased, given my history as a Winnipeg Jets fan and the fact that the Jets lost out to the Wings in first round playoff action on an annual basis... and that the last game at the Winnipeg was against the Wings and, yes, the Jets didn't win that night.
I also *might* still have my ticket stub from that game. Not that I'm holding onto the past or anything. Whatever. It's just an honest coincidence, really...
Friday
Betty White: Beer Pong Princess
Yet another gem passed on by the one and only Kevin Rose of Digg.com's Twitter feed: Everyone's favorite Golden Girl, Betty White, playing beer pong with SNL alum-turned-talkshow host, Jimmy Fallon.
Thank you, Kevin; my life is now complete.
If you're not already following the Digg.com founder, you should. He's a UNLV grad and somehow, despite Digg's success and current big-deal status, has time to find all sorts of random videos and stories and shares 'em with his followers on a regular basis.
I wish I had the time to both crawl the web on my own and watch Fallon's new show. Sigh.
PS: Continuing my love to restate the obvious, I have to say that I <3 Jimmy Fallon; Weekend Update hasn't been the same since he and Tina Fey left...
Thank you, Kevin; my life is now complete.
If you're not already following the Digg.com founder, you should. He's a UNLV grad and somehow, despite Digg's success and current big-deal status, has time to find all sorts of random videos and stories and shares 'em with his followers on a regular basis.
I wish I had the time to both crawl the web on my own and watch Fallon's new show. Sigh.
PS: Continuing my love to restate the obvious, I have to say that I <3 Jimmy Fallon; Weekend Update hasn't been the same since he and Tina Fey left...
Pittsburgh Perogies: Cooking with Evgeni Malkin
It's Game 7 go time, kiddies -- let's hope Pens center Evgeni Malkin has sufficiently carb-loaded for tonight's Stanley Cup final.
And let's hope he didn't do so with homemade pierogies.
The Russian was featured on Pens TV a few months ago whipping up some of his homestyle monstrosities. Check out his culinary adventure below.
Apparently Russian pierogies are different than the Ukrainian "perogies" my family is oh-so-fond of: His were thick and breaddy, baked in the oven and downright awful looking while the Ukie version I'm familliar with are D-shaped, doughy little dumplings that are boiled, then fried with onions, butter (and sometimes bacon) and served with sour cream.
Oh, and my version is delicious.
I think I should challenge him and his missus to a pierogy-perogy-off.
And let's hope he didn't do so with homemade pierogies.
The Russian was featured on Pens TV a few months ago whipping up some of his homestyle monstrosities. Check out his culinary adventure below.
Apparently Russian pierogies are different than the Ukrainian "perogies" my family is oh-so-fond of: His were thick and breaddy, baked in the oven and downright awful looking while the Ukie version I'm familliar with are D-shaped, doughy little dumplings that are boiled, then fried with onions, butter (and sometimes bacon) and served with sour cream.
Oh, and my version is delicious.
I think I should challenge him and his missus to a pierogy-perogy-off.
+++++++ CineVegas Lesson #1 +++++++ L.A. = Fun; L.A. Guys = Short, desperate
So CineVegas is in town which means L.A.'s up-and-coming filmmakers have invaded Las Vegas.
The annual film festival like Sin City's mini Sundance, on a smaller, more B-list scale. Still, fun folks and parties abound.
Last night's kick-off soirée was at Privé. On my way into the VIP section I was interviewed by the Independent Film Channel. They asked me, among other things, how Privé ranked in terms of the Vegas nightclub scene.
I didn't lie. I'm not a huge fan of the joint -- but the Planet Hollywood nightclub is OK. I mean, it could be worse... it could be Tabu. Or in the Fiesta.
But I wasn't about to say it's up there with XS or Blush or Tao or even Lavo. Heck, I even like LAX better.
And like my thoughts about Privé, I'm not going to hold back from sharing the lesson I learned last night: The vast majority of L.A. guys suck.
If the largely L.A.-based crowd demonstrated anything last night, it's that L.A. guys are short and reek of desperation. Well, the ones at this party did, at least. They couldn't handle their liquor, either.
It's not that I have anything against L.A. I actually quite like the city, depite its brutal traffic and materialistic ways.
Still, I am hard-pressed to recall a party where I was hit on so much and by such a large collection of low-quality fellas (yes I use the term "quality" loosely; I'm sure they were all nice/successful enough people). And I say this after attending the saus fest otherwise known as the Playmate of the Month party last week -- which was, coincidentally enough, in L.A. (And yes, I fielded more than my fair share of offers that night. But that's not the point. All of said offers were, as all of those I received last night, declined, ever-so-politely.)
Unlike the fairly savvy set of guys at Foxtail last week, however, the vast majority of last night's selection had no chance whatsoever. Not that that stopped them.
Perhaps it's because they were out of their element, on vacation, and didn't hink they had to worry about anyone recognizing them again.
Vegas does, after all, make people think irrational things and behave in irrational ways.
I'm not sure what it was, but whatever it was, it rendered the guys shameless.
Is it that these shorties (and oldies, and douchies) actually thought they had a chance? Because they didn't. And don't. It should be obvious... but somehow, it (apparently) wasn't.
I still had a good time, though -- with the smattering of fun cool locals who were there, I mean.
Highlights: The three cute guys in attendence; realizing the standard issue L.A. guy uniform consists of jeans, a black blazer, Chuck Taylors and artie/emo hair (nerd glasses optional); some hot chick asking me if my friend, Sarah, was my girlfriend, and when I explained that she was my friend but not my girlfriend, she replied "Oh, sorry, I was going to hit on you, but never mind..." (I get a kick out of being confused for gay -- don't ask); the open bar (not that I drank); the gift bags (even though I didn't get one); talking about perogies and singing "Who Stole the Keeshka" with my newest flaming Ukrainian friend; the room being the perfect size for the VIP reception; the music not being too loud or shitty; the fact that CineVegas is officially underway.
Lowlights: Perceived gender imbalance; male dinosaurs hitting on me (the rules are simple: if you're older than my boss you're too old and if you're older than my dad you're downright dillusional); groundhog guys who refused to take the "I've got to go find my friend..." hint and kept reappearing; their running out of gift bags; having to pay for Red Bull; having to go home afterward and write until 5:30 a.m.
The annual film festival like Sin City's mini Sundance, on a smaller, more B-list scale. Still, fun folks and parties abound.
Last night's kick-off soirée was at Privé. On my way into the VIP section I was interviewed by the Independent Film Channel. They asked me, among other things, how Privé ranked in terms of the Vegas nightclub scene.
I didn't lie. I'm not a huge fan of the joint -- but the Planet Hollywood nightclub is OK. I mean, it could be worse... it could be Tabu. Or in the Fiesta.
But I wasn't about to say it's up there with XS or Blush or Tao or even Lavo. Heck, I even like LAX better.And like my thoughts about Privé, I'm not going to hold back from sharing the lesson I learned last night: The vast majority of L.A. guys suck.
If the largely L.A.-based crowd demonstrated anything last night, it's that L.A. guys are short and reek of desperation. Well, the ones at this party did, at least. They couldn't handle their liquor, either.
It's not that I have anything against L.A. I actually quite like the city, depite its brutal traffic and materialistic ways.
Still, I am hard-pressed to recall a party where I was hit on so much and by such a large collection of low-quality fellas (yes I use the term "quality" loosely; I'm sure they were all nice/successful enough people). And I say this after attending the saus fest otherwise known as the Playmate of the Month party last week -- which was, coincidentally enough, in L.A. (And yes, I fielded more than my fair share of offers that night. But that's not the point. All of said offers were, as all of those I received last night, declined, ever-so-politely.)
Unlike the fairly savvy set of guys at Foxtail last week, however, the vast majority of last night's selection had no chance whatsoever. Not that that stopped them.
Perhaps it's because they were out of their element, on vacation, and didn't hink they had to worry about anyone recognizing them again.
Vegas does, after all, make people think irrational things and behave in irrational ways.
I'm not sure what it was, but whatever it was, it rendered the guys shameless.
Is it that these shorties (and oldies, and douchies) actually thought they had a chance? Because they didn't. And don't. It should be obvious... but somehow, it (apparently) wasn't.
I still had a good time, though -- with the smattering of fun cool locals who were there, I mean.
Highlights: The three cute guys in attendence; realizing the standard issue L.A. guy uniform consists of jeans, a black blazer, Chuck Taylors and artie/emo hair (nerd glasses optional); some hot chick asking me if my friend, Sarah, was my girlfriend, and when I explained that she was my friend but not my girlfriend, she replied "Oh, sorry, I was going to hit on you, but never mind..." (I get a kick out of being confused for gay -- don't ask); the open bar (not that I drank); the gift bags (even though I didn't get one); talking about perogies and singing "Who Stole the Keeshka" with my newest flaming Ukrainian friend; the room being the perfect size for the VIP reception; the music not being too loud or shitty; the fact that CineVegas is officially underway.
Lowlights: Perceived gender imbalance; male dinosaurs hitting on me (the rules are simple: if you're older than my boss you're too old and if you're older than my dad you're downright dillusional); groundhog guys who refused to take the "I've got to go find my friend..." hint and kept reappearing; their running out of gift bags; having to pay for Red Bull; having to go home afterward and write until 5:30 a.m.
Monday
Best. Cocktail napin. Ever.
This one needs little explanation:One of the particularly cute bartenders at this particularly fun bar in LA gave me one of these babies last week while I was enjoying a particularly tasty cocktail.
Brilliant, I say.
Sadly, I was half way through my second cucumber martini when he pointed out the napkin's suggestive underside and I failed to fill it out for him.
Not so brilliant, I know.
Sunday
It pays to shop around
I was recently walking the Santa Monica Pier when I was reminded of the importance of doing one's research before making any purchase, big or small.
I was minding my business amidst the kitschy tourist trap when I saw a man selling grains of rice with names written on them.
Now I've seen these sort of "souvenirs" before and never understood the attraction. I kept walking.
Not 30 seconds further down the pier did I encounter another man, also selling grains of rice with names written on them.
This time, however, the vendor was selling granules with your name and a drawing on them, too.
(Fancy, I know!)
Again, I had no desire to buy one, but I couldn't help but feel bad for the countless suckers who buy their inscribed grain from man #1, only to be disappointed minutes later when they realize they could've bought more bang for their tourist buck from man #2.
Meh.
I was minding my business amidst the kitschy tourist trap when I saw a man selling grains of rice with names written on them.Now I've seen these sort of "souvenirs" before and never understood the attraction. I kept walking.
Not 30 seconds further down the pier did I encounter another man, also selling grains of rice with names written on them.
This time, however, the vendor was selling granules with your name and a drawing on them, too.
(Fancy, I know!)
Again, I had no desire to buy one, but I couldn't help but feel bad for the countless suckers who buy their inscribed grain from man #1, only to be disappointed minutes later when they realize they could've bought more bang for their tourist buck from man #2.
Meh.
Wednesday
New news for the MTV generation?
Maybe, if the evening news was like this, more people would actually watch it.
Aw, who am I kidding? No one would watch it. We're already too used to getting our news from the Daily Show...
Still, this "auto-tune the news" thing is pretty hilarious.
Aw, who am I kidding? No one would watch it. We're already too used to getting our news from the Daily Show...
Still, this "auto-tune the news" thing is pretty hilarious.
Tuesday
Officially "a little different than others"
I went to the dentist today.
Most people hate the dentist. I am not one of them. I’ve always enjoyed going, actually. I like clean teeth – so much so that I brush mine in the middle of the night, whenever I get up to use the loo or whatever – and I always leave the dentist with that minty-clean feeling.
Today’s visit, however, was not for a cleaning. I needed a filling.
I didn’t have a cavity but I knew one was on the way – this is how OCD I am with my teeth; I ASK to have fillings before things get ugly; I think of it as preventative maintenance.
So there I was, in the chair, good to go. I got the shot, sat there, and waited for the left side of my mouth to numb up.
Part of it did, but part of it didn’t. So the doc shot me again.
This time, I could feel it. Not the needle going into my gums, but the freezing liquid, as it shot across my face.
Yes, face. Upper lip especially.
I told the Good Doctor about the sensation.
“That’s odd,” he said, leaning in to take a closer look. Meanwhile, the better part of the left side of my face was slowly freezing up.
By the time the stuff ran its course, I couldn’t feel a thing from the bottom of my nose all the way down, over my chin and half way to my throat. From the center of my face, things were frozen straight though to my ear, and up to my cheekbone.
It was really wacky.
The doc determined that for some reason, a blood vessel that usually sits back near the base of the jaw decided to run across my face instead – and it was the catalyst for freeze-o-rama.
“That’s not a bad thing,” he said, trying to assure me after, essentially, telling me I’m f’d up from the inside out.
“You’re just put together a little different than others,” he said.
I laughed again.
“You’re not the first guy to tell me that,” I said.
Most people hate the dentist. I am not one of them. I’ve always enjoyed going, actually. I like clean teeth – so much so that I brush mine in the middle of the night, whenever I get up to use the loo or whatever – and I always leave the dentist with that minty-clean feeling.
Today’s visit, however, was not for a cleaning. I needed a filling.
I didn’t have a cavity but I knew one was on the way – this is how OCD I am with my teeth; I ASK to have fillings before things get ugly; I think of it as preventative maintenance.
So there I was, in the chair, good to go. I got the shot, sat there, and waited for the left side of my mouth to numb up.
Part of it did, but part of it didn’t. So the doc shot me again.
This time, I could feel it. Not the needle going into my gums, but the freezing liquid, as it shot across my face.
Yes, face. Upper lip especially.
I told the Good Doctor about the sensation.
“That’s odd,” he said, leaning in to take a closer look. Meanwhile, the better part of the left side of my face was slowly freezing up.
By the time the stuff ran its course, I couldn’t feel a thing from the bottom of my nose all the way down, over my chin and half way to my throat. From the center of my face, things were frozen straight though to my ear, and up to my cheekbone.
It was really wacky.
The doc determined that for some reason, a blood vessel that usually sits back near the base of the jaw decided to run across my face instead – and it was the catalyst for freeze-o-rama.
“That’s not a bad thing,” he said, trying to assure me after, essentially, telling me I’m f’d up from the inside out.
“You’re just put together a little different than others,” he said.
I laughed again.
“You’re not the first guy to tell me that,” I said.
Monday
Rabbits, rabbits and more rabbits
I'm not sure why, but my Gramma always says "rabbits, rabbits and more rabbits" on the first of the month -- and, as luck would have it, today is the first of the month.
That's right, kiddies: it's June already. (Rabbits, rabbits and more rabbits!)
Today marks the beginning of national "iced tea" month (don't ask how I know this) and, as bad luck would have it, the official start of hurricane season.
It also marks the ushering in of the Western Hemisphere Travel Initiative (WHTI), which requires everyone coming and going to and from Canada and the U.S. to show their passport (same goes with people coming from or going to the U.S. and Mexico, Bermuda, and a few other places...)
In (dis)honor of the WHTI, I'll be sure to provide my passport as I.D. if asked for it all month long. (Unless it's at the door, of course, and I need to show local I.D. to get in for free, haha.)
On the bright side, the first Monday of the month is also mixology Monday at my beloved downtown Vegas watering hole, DCR -- perhaps they'll feature a new bevvy (hurricane in a hurricane? twister tea-tini?) to mark the momentous month ahead.
And what a month it will be: the newest (and totally hilarious) Vegas-based blockbuster, "the Hangover," opens tomorrow (nationally on Friday) CineVegas is right around the corner (June 10-15!) and the NHL Awards (and all the corresponding parties) hit the Palms on the 18th.
So hold on to your hats, folks -- and cheers to the fab month ahead.
That's right, kiddies: it's June already. (Rabbits, rabbits and more rabbits!)
Today marks the beginning of national "iced tea" month (don't ask how I know this) and, as bad luck would have it, the official start of hurricane season.
It also marks the ushering in of the Western Hemisphere Travel Initiative (WHTI), which requires everyone coming and going to and from Canada and the U.S. to show their passport (same goes with people coming from or going to the U.S. and Mexico, Bermuda, and a few other places...)
In (dis)honor of the WHTI, I'll be sure to provide my passport as I.D. if asked for it all month long. (Unless it's at the door, of course, and I need to show local I.D. to get in for free, haha.)
On the bright side, the first Monday of the month is also mixology Monday at my beloved downtown Vegas watering hole, DCR -- perhaps they'll feature a new bevvy (hurricane in a hurricane? twister tea-tini?) to mark the momentous month ahead.
And what a month it will be: the newest (and totally hilarious) Vegas-based blockbuster, "the Hangover," opens tomorrow (nationally on Friday) CineVegas is right around the corner (June 10-15!) and the NHL Awards (and all the corresponding parties) hit the Palms on the 18th.
So hold on to your hats, folks -- and cheers to the fab month ahead.
Thanks but no thanks
It's always nice to be appreciated, but let's face it: It's important to be aware of your audience.
And, as a wise man or woman once said, "Never confuse respect with popularity."
Now just for the record, I think my blip.fm playlist is hilarious. It's random and contains both gems and downright awful jokes that somehow pass themselves off as singles.
Still, when I received a "props" notification from a fellow Blip.fm user who uses the handle "assnacho," I couldn't help but laugh.
This is what makes the internet (and my playlist?) great. It's so random, you never know what you're going to get.
And, as a wise man or woman once said, "Never confuse respect with popularity."
Now just for the record, I think my blip.fm playlist is hilarious. It's random and contains both gems and downright awful jokes that somehow pass themselves off as singles.
Still, when I received a "props" notification from a fellow Blip.fm user who uses the handle "assnacho," I couldn't help but laugh.
This is what makes the internet (and my playlist?) great. It's so random, you never know what you're going to get.
Friday
Top Secret Top Chef
Sometimes a secret is so good it’s hard to keep.You know the kind: It’s so exciting it just begs to be spilled.
I’ve got one of those big burning secrets right now. And it’s a juicy one, let me tell you. Delicious, even.
Alas, I am a good secret-keeper and my lips will remain sealed. For a few months, at least.
The spicy secret in question stems from a top secret “Top Chef” filming that I may or may not have attended last night.
My story about it can be found here...
Tuesday
Is waterboarding the new S&M?
(Of course not.)
When I first saw this video, I wondered why Playboy was doing anything on waterboarding. I mean, really, what, oh what, could possibly be sexy about waterboarding?
I figured if anyone was going to find the sexy side of torture, it'd be the guys at Playboy.
Unfortunately, it would appear that there is absolutely nothing sexy about the practice. Call it torture, call it enhanced interrogation, call it whatever you want -- just don't ever call it remotely sexy.
Despite the lack of sex appeal, this video is still worth a watch. In it, the journalist volunteers to get waterboarded -- again, not the kind of WBing described on Urban Dictionary -- to see just how hardcore the technique is.
I've often wondered what it'd be like so it's neat to see someone else volunteer -- in this case, a grown man -- thinking they could take it, they literally tap out after just a few seconds.
When I first saw this video, I wondered why Playboy was doing anything on waterboarding. I mean, really, what, oh what, could possibly be sexy about waterboarding?
I figured if anyone was going to find the sexy side of torture, it'd be the guys at Playboy.
Unfortunately, it would appear that there is absolutely nothing sexy about the practice. Call it torture, call it enhanced interrogation, call it whatever you want -- just don't ever call it remotely sexy.
Despite the lack of sex appeal, this video is still worth a watch. In it, the journalist volunteers to get waterboarded -- again, not the kind of WBing described on Urban Dictionary -- to see just how hardcore the technique is.
I've often wondered what it'd be like so it's neat to see someone else volunteer -- in this case, a grown man -- thinking they could take it, they literally tap out after just a few seconds.
iPhone ap used to design New Yorker cover
While New Yorker artist Bob Staake is still using Photoshop 3.0 (circa 1995, people!), another artist at my favorite publication, Jorge Colombo, recently created cover artwork using nothing but his iPhone.Now how cool is that?
Granted, I still don't have an iPhone (I'm pretty sure my relic of a cameraless BlackBerry was manufactured during the Pleistocene era) but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate this, or the cool ap that Colombo used to create the design, Brushes.
The whole thing is made all the more cool when you consider how Brushes costs $5, unlike Photoshop, which costs a cool $299 for the consumer version.
OMG, TFLN... WTF?!
When I lived in Ausralia a few years ago, I didn't get it. Nobody called each other; everyone texted. It was so, so annoying.
But then it hit me. Or, should I say, bit me. And I've been texting ever since.
Fast forward a few years and everyone on this side of the pond is texting, too. And as text messages replace phone calls, good old fashioned drunk dialing is being replaced by what I call tipsy texting: text messaging friends, former lovers, current crushes and, at times, the wrong person altogether, when you're mildly-to-completely intoxicated.
Naturally, typos and innuendos abound. As do the laughs.
But unlike drunk dials, tipsy texts remain on the record, both on the sender's phone and on the recipient's handset. And online, too, thanks to the brilliant folks at Texts From Last Night.com.
The site lets you upload messages you sent or received and publishes only the area code.
Some of them are pretty funny. Others are raunchy. Most, however, are simply hilarious.
You can also sort by area code, allowing you to see what hijinks happened in your back yard the night before as you slept soundly and/or remained sober enough to avoid committing the same sort of faux-pas.
I find it curious that TFLN isn't bombarded with messages emanating from Vegas' area code, 702 -- but it's not the locals who misbehave, drink way too much at Rehab (ahem, Jeremy Shockey) and make fools of themselves.
Well, not usually, at least.
702, 212, 310, 202, 540... they're all on there. Heck, there might even be a 604, 204, 418, or, lord help us, 613 -- I haven't checked. But feel free to go have a look-see for yourself.
The site, again, is Texts From Last Night.com -- http://www.textsfromlastnight.com/ -- here's the link.
But then it hit me. Or, should I say, bit me. And I've been texting ever since.
Fast forward a few years and everyone on this side of the pond is texting, too. And as text messages replace phone calls, good old fashioned drunk dialing is being replaced by what I call tipsy texting: text messaging friends, former lovers, current crushes and, at times, the wrong person altogether, when you're mildly-to-completely intoxicated.
Naturally, typos and innuendos abound. As do the laughs.
But unlike drunk dials, tipsy texts remain on the record, both on the sender's phone and on the recipient's handset. And online, too, thanks to the brilliant folks at Texts From Last Night.com.
The site lets you upload messages you sent or received and publishes only the area code.Some of them are pretty funny. Others are raunchy. Most, however, are simply hilarious.
You can also sort by area code, allowing you to see what hijinks happened in your back yard the night before as you slept soundly and/or remained sober enough to avoid committing the same sort of faux-pas.
I find it curious that TFLN isn't bombarded with messages emanating from Vegas' area code, 702 -- but it's not the locals who misbehave, drink way too much at Rehab (ahem, Jeremy Shockey) and make fools of themselves.Well, not usually, at least.
702, 212, 310, 202, 540... they're all on there. Heck, there might even be a 604, 204, 418, or, lord help us, 613 -- I haven't checked. But feel free to go have a look-see for yourself.
The site, again, is Texts From Last Night.com -- http://www.textsfromlastnight.com/ -- here's the link.
Thursday
The 8 rings of Vegas Hell
This video is a must-watch for anyone who lives (or has lived, or, heck, has spent more than a weekend) in Vegas -- if you've gambled/partied/stayed at the Hard Rock especially.
(whomever wrote this sure hated the Hard Rock. For the record, I don't think the place is that bad -- this short just does a really good job of exploiting its cheesiest characteristics -- which, of course, aren't exclusive to HRH.)
The premise goes like this: Two friends decide to go to Vegas where they quickly find themselves sucked in by the douchebaggage emanating from the city's very core.
Armed with four talking sidekicks -- a condom, an obnoxious/ugly shirt, a cell phone and a money clip -- the guys have all they need. They hop a plane (modeled after Virgin's signature fleet of dance-dance-revolution/dance-dance-aeroplanos) and head to Sin City.
Once in sunny LV, they wear tacky shirts, party at tacky clubs, and -- lord have mercy -- go to the tackiest place in the entire cesspool: Rehab (The Hard Rock's pool party, not the self-help place; THIS rehab is as opposite of self-help as you can get... from what I understand, you have to be a straight-up masochist (or completely insane) to voluntarily go there.)
Needless to say, debauchery ensues: The guys do a few kilos of coke, sleep with a bimbo, and party with the devil.
At any rate, animation is great, the story is funny and you should totally check it out.
Enjoy.
(whomever wrote this sure hated the Hard Rock. For the record, I don't think the place is that bad -- this short just does a really good job of exploiting its cheesiest characteristics -- which, of course, aren't exclusive to HRH.)
The premise goes like this: Two friends decide to go to Vegas where they quickly find themselves sucked in by the douchebaggage emanating from the city's very core.
Armed with four talking sidekicks -- a condom, an obnoxious/ugly shirt, a cell phone and a money clip -- the guys have all they need. They hop a plane (modeled after Virgin's signature fleet of dance-dance-revolution/dance-dance-aeroplanos) and head to Sin City.
Once in sunny LV, they wear tacky shirts, party at tacky clubs, and -- lord have mercy -- go to the tackiest place in the entire cesspool: Rehab (The Hard Rock's pool party, not the self-help place; THIS rehab is as opposite of self-help as you can get... from what I understand, you have to be a straight-up masochist (or completely insane) to voluntarily go there.)
Needless to say, debauchery ensues: The guys do a few kilos of coke, sleep with a bimbo, and party with the devil.
At any rate, animation is great, the story is funny and you should totally check it out.
Enjoy.
Aaaaaall the single ladies...
Naturally, no cheesy girlie playlist would be complete without Beyoncé's "Single Ladies."
(Hey, I tried to warn you.)
In case you live under a rock (or just have far better taste in music AND the ability to filter out this kind of mainstream garbage) the video for the song -- which, for the record, we heard played FIVE times at Moon this Valentine's Day, and we arrived at midnight -- is at the top.
Apparently I'm not alone in my love for this song. Or for the already-dated SNL parody of the music video, featuring Ms. Sasha Fierce herself, along with Justin Timberlake (who I actually have come to respect as a result of all his self-depreciating work on SNL); my non-romantic funny man crush, Andy Samberg, and the always enjoyable Bobby Moynihan.
The skit, which premiered on NBC back in November, was by far my favorite few minutes of SNL in a long, long time.
It parodies the Beyoncé's sexy video using leotarded-up Timberlake, Samberg and Moynihan in the place of the very sexy, very female back-up dancers in the actual video.
Naturally, hilarity ensues.
My favorite part:
"You boys warmed up?"
"Oh we're warmed up."
"We're warmed up like biscuits."
"Yeah, dance biscuits."
As luck would have it, I stumbled upon a few other "Single Ladies" parodies today while I was trotting though YouTube.
They include an Italian version featuring 22-year-old daughter, 42-year-old mother and 66-year-old grandmother; and a Dan Band parody (yet another gem from FunnyOrDie.com).
So to all the single ladies out there, enjoy.
And to all the single guys: enjoy the videos, too -- just remember not to take your girl for granted because before you know it, your fine-behinded version of Beyoncé might be on her way out the door, leaving you with nothing more than the chorus a-ringin' in your ears: "If you like it then you should've put a ring on it..."
"Uh-uh-oh, uh-uh-oh, uh-uh-oh, uh-uh-oh..."
;)
Wednesday
Mother-lover-hood: growing on me
At first I wasn't a fan but this clip featuring Justin Timberlake and Andy Samberg is growing on me. Also, the Susan-Sarandon-Rocks meter has reached an all-time high because of it.
Check it out:
Check it out:
Lego rock
Metallica rocks and so does Lego. Why it took this long to put two and two together is a mystery -- but better late than never.
PS- Is it just me or has Kirk Hammett put on weight?
PPS- James Hetfield sure is mellowing with age.
PS- Is it just me or has Kirk Hammett put on weight?
PPS- James Hetfield sure is mellowing with age.
Sunday
I get the best spam
I don't know what it is about me, but I always seem to find myself in the wrong target audiences.
Walking down The Strip, the "lady card" guys are always shoving their lady-covered cards at me.
Am I really their target market? Do the guys I walk next to look that gay? Or is it obvious that I wear the pants in the presumed relationship, and therefore, would be the one who would make the decision to, ahem, spice things up and give one of the ladies featured on the cards a call/try?
Whatever.
And I've already blogged about Facebook's stupid ad strategy.
Yet my e-mail spam also seems to have me confused for a guy. But unlike the hawkers' lady cards, the misguided spam I get makes me laugh. In fact -- and dare I say -- I both enjoy it and look forward to it.
Not that I'm looking to "keep (my) rod iron for hours," (iron-hard? maybe, but rod iron? No thanks.) "unleash (my) male power," or try some "free penis pills."
Some of them are downright hilarious. Some of the recent gems:
"Britney naked again!" (oh, no, not again...)
"Take this, my Don Juan, so your body won't let you down at hot rendezvous" (ooh! rendezvous! sounds classy...)
"The size of can of Coke -- believe us it's no joke. (it rhymes so it must me true.)
I swear I'm not making this up. Don't believe me? Check out the screen shot of my junk mail filter.
Walking down The Strip, the "lady card" guys are always shoving their lady-covered cards at me.
Am I really their target market? Do the guys I walk next to look that gay? Or is it obvious that I wear the pants in the presumed relationship, and therefore, would be the one who would make the decision to, ahem, spice things up and give one of the ladies featured on the cards a call/try?
Whatever.
And I've already blogged about Facebook's stupid ad strategy.
Yet my e-mail spam also seems to have me confused for a guy. But unlike the hawkers' lady cards, the misguided spam I get makes me laugh. In fact -- and dare I say -- I both enjoy it and look forward to it.
Not that I'm looking to "keep (my) rod iron for hours," (iron-hard? maybe, but rod iron? No thanks.) "unleash (my) male power," or try some "free penis pills."Some of them are downright hilarious. Some of the recent gems:
"Britney naked again!" (oh, no, not again...)
"Take this, my Don Juan, so your body won't let you down at hot rendezvous" (ooh! rendezvous! sounds classy...)
"The size of can of Coke -- believe us it's no joke. (it rhymes so it must me true.)
I swear I'm not making this up. Don't believe me? Check out the screen shot of my junk mail filter.
Friday
Bearded wonders
The 2009 NHL playoffs are in full swing and that means one thing: Playoff beards are out in full force and things are getting, well, hairy.
Granted, none of these guys have anything going on like a certain Perth third basemen did in 2007 (that we're aware of, at least) -- that's right, I'm talking about you, Scalabrini -- but that doesn't mean the Blackhawks' playoff beards aren't awesome.
See for yourself:
Granted, none of these guys have anything going on like a certain Perth third basemen did in 2007 (that we're aware of, at least) -- that's right, I'm talking about you, Scalabrini -- but that doesn't mean the Blackhawks' playoff beards aren't awesome.
See for yourself:
Tuesday
Tom Morello tweets smarter, not harder
THIS is why I love former Rage Against the Machine guitarist Tom Morello:
He's smart, political, and bold.
And he never takes the easy way out, either.
Oh, and he plays badass guitar, too. Right.
While he could use Twitter to tweet about his morning coffee (like Jane's Addiction guitarist Dave Navarro) or, better yet, give some tickets to away for some upcoming shows,* he doesn't. Instead, he uses his new Twitter account and subsequent feed to comment on society and point out how stupid and superficial the world can be -- and make all of his "followers" think, too.
Shameless plug of the day: I wrote a good story about Navarro's tweeting about a month ago. If you haven't already, read it by clicking here.
Morello is currently on tour with his new band, Street Sweeper Social Club, and will be in Vegas in a few days, at Wasted Space on Sunday and the Pearl on Monday.
(SSSC is opening for Nine Inch Nails and Jane's Addiction's current NINJA tour.)
Follow Morello on Twitter via tmorello; Navarro via davenavarro6767; Reznor via trent_reznor; and/or yours truly via marseniuk. And be sure to catch NINJA at the Pearl on Monday if you can -- it's shaping up to be a great show, despite Perry Farrell's calf injury.
* NIN's frontman, Trent Reznor, is an extremely tech-savvy member of Twitter nation, and has been giving away five tickets and backstage passes to any show in the U.S. every day for about a week now. Navarro gives tickets to shows away via Twitter, too, but only for shows that same night, and no backstage passes.
He's smart, political, and bold. And he never takes the easy way out, either.
Oh, and he plays badass guitar, too. Right.
While he could use Twitter to tweet about his morning coffee (like Jane's Addiction guitarist Dave Navarro) or, better yet, give some tickets to away for some upcoming shows,* he doesn't. Instead, he uses his new Twitter account and subsequent feed to comment on society and point out how stupid and superficial the world can be -- and make all of his "followers" think, too.
Shameless plug of the day: I wrote a good story about Navarro's tweeting about a month ago. If you haven't already, read it by clicking here.
Morello is currently on tour with his new band, Street Sweeper Social Club, and will be in Vegas in a few days, at Wasted Space on Sunday and the Pearl on Monday.
(SSSC is opening for Nine Inch Nails and Jane's Addiction's current NINJA tour.)
Follow Morello on Twitter via tmorello; Navarro via davenavarro6767; Reznor via trent_reznor; and/or yours truly via marseniuk. And be sure to catch NINJA at the Pearl on Monday if you can -- it's shaping up to be a great show, despite Perry Farrell's calf injury.
* NIN's frontman, Trent Reznor, is an extremely tech-savvy member of Twitter nation, and has been giving away five tickets and backstage passes to any show in the U.S. every day for about a week now. Navarro gives tickets to shows away via Twitter, too, but only for shows that same night, and no backstage passes.
Jennie's a gun-toting PC
Oh, Funny Or Die, how I do love you so. I'd count the ways, but, well, I'm lazy and don't feel like taking off my shoes.
Still, my love for that site is true; almost as true as my love my work-issued Mac. (Not that I have against the iMac desktop I have at home.)
At any rate, here's a cute video from FOD about Jennie Pierson's quest for the perfect computer to have, hold, and love for all time. (Or the next 2-3 years, whatever.)
As Jenny finds, true compu-compatibility is hard to find.
While I don't agree with her chosen companion (a PC) I know we all can't love overpriced spaceship-like Macs.
Still, my love for that site is true; almost as true as my love my work-issued Mac. (Not that I have against the iMac desktop I have at home.)
At any rate, here's a cute video from FOD about Jennie Pierson's quest for the perfect computer to have, hold, and love for all time. (Or the next 2-3 years, whatever.)
As Jenny finds, true compu-compatibility is hard to find.
While I don't agree with her chosen companion (a PC) I know we all can't love overpriced spaceship-like Macs.
Laptop Hunters: Jennie - watch more funny videos
Monday
Like a boss on a boat
Those of you who know me know I like to laugh.
Andy Samberg doesn't know me but he sure does know how to make me laugh.
Here are two oldie-but-goodies from Lonely Island to get your work week rollin': "Like a Boss" and "On a Boat."
"Like a Boss*" features two very funny -- and offensive -- dudes: Andy Samberg and Seth Rogan.
Caution: It's almost as catchy as it is funny. You might get it stuck in your head, and you might have to fight the urge to finish your sentences with "like a boss" after watching it.
"On a Boat**" is just as funny but not quite as vulgar. Basically it's just Andy on a boat*** with Akiva Schaffer and T-Pain.
I think I find it funnier than most people because this of this random dude I encountered at Lavo one night. His business card is hands down THE funniest one I've ever seen in my entire life (sorry I don't have it with me; I'd love to include a pic to show y'all just how glorious it is). At any rate, he added me on Facebook and I OK'd the request just because his FB profile pic (that's it, to the right) is of HIM on a BOAT -- and therefore solidified his spot as "cheesiest guy I've met in Vegas" -- and everyone knows Vegas is one of the cheesiest (while simultaneously coolest) places on Earth.
Hope you enjoy the video. As Schaffer says, "This isn't Seaworld, this is as real as it gets."
Other favorite moments include Samberg's mentioning of "flippy floppies" and Schaffer's dolphin-riding. The best line, though, goes to T-Pain: "Believe me when I say I fu©ked the mermaid."
Once again: Enjoy.
*course subject matter, language and images.
**course language.
***it's not a boat, it's a yacht.
Andy Samberg doesn't know me but he sure does know how to make me laugh.
Here are two oldie-but-goodies from Lonely Island to get your work week rollin': "Like a Boss" and "On a Boat."
"Like a Boss*" features two very funny -- and offensive -- dudes: Andy Samberg and Seth Rogan.
Caution: It's almost as catchy as it is funny. You might get it stuck in your head, and you might have to fight the urge to finish your sentences with "like a boss" after watching it.
"On a Boat**" is just as funny but not quite as vulgar. Basically it's just Andy on a boat*** with Akiva Schaffer and T-Pain.
I think I find it funnier than most people because this of this random dude I encountered at Lavo one night. His business card is hands down THE funniest one I've ever seen in my entire life (sorry I don't have it with me; I'd love to include a pic to show y'all just how glorious it is). At any rate, he added me on Facebook and I OK'd the request just because his FB profile pic (that's it, to the right) is of HIM on a BOAT -- and therefore solidified his spot as "cheesiest guy I've met in Vegas" -- and everyone knows Vegas is one of the cheesiest (while simultaneously coolest) places on Earth.Hope you enjoy the video. As Schaffer says, "This isn't Seaworld, this is as real as it gets."
Other favorite moments include Samberg's mentioning of "flippy floppies" and Schaffer's dolphin-riding. The best line, though, goes to T-Pain: "Believe me when I say I fu©ked the mermaid."
Once again: Enjoy.
*course subject matter, language and images.
**course language.
***it's not a boat, it's a yacht.
Sunday
Let them have cake...
A few months back my friend Chantal asked me to make the cake for her wedding.Now I realize that it comes as a surprise to many of you that I actually know how to bake -- but I do, dammit. Had I ever worked with fondant icing before? No... and I had never made a tiered cake, either.
But I wasn't about to let such minor details get in the way.
I ordered the CakeLove cookbook, did some online research, watched a cake decorating video on YouTube, then gave it my best shot.
(Originally I told myself I'd do a few dry practice runs, but those never happened.)
Yes, there were a few anxious moments but after the smoke cleared (note: there was no actual smoke) the legions of doubters were ultimately silenced.
It wasn't perfect by any stretch of the imagination but have to admit the cake turned out pretty good: It was tasty as heck and didn't look like it had been hit by a bus or dropped from a third floor window, either.
In fact, my handiwork was even declared "best wedding cake ever" by a large and independent collection of unsolicited wedding-goers -- which made the whole process totally worth it.
If I was a cake inspector, I'd give it a 90%, or 4.5 stars out of a possible five, depending on the grading system.
Bill McConnell told me in 8th grade home ec that I'll "make a good woman some day." Well, if cake-baking is a requirement of said status, it appears that, at the ripe old age of 26, I may finally be on my way.
At any rate, here's the example that I modeled my design after (top left), the final product (bottom left), and plan B (the obvious right) which was ultimately deemed unnecessary:
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