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SO much better than elfing yourself!
Today, thanks to PopBitch, I ran across this cute little text-to-voice synthesizer that turns your typing into an overblown, overorchestrated Barbra Streisand song: GoBarbra!
Dudes, I don’t think I’m giving away too much when I say my “raincoaster rocks” is going to OWN dancefloors around the world in a few weeks. Does anybody have DeadMau5‘ email?
It’s Wednesday. Is it ever Wednesday. It’s that Wednesday, in fact, when you’re invited to a fabulous cocktail and catering showcase in a swanky hotel and you get there and the staff says Sorry, it’s not in this hotel, it’s in that hotel, and you go to that hotel and wander around, peeping in the ballrooms and concluding (on very little evidence, it must be admitted, except the Board of Trade cards left on one of the tables) that it looks like no balls were had that day, not even those of the cute bellboy, because you were running a bit late and besides, still weren’t entirely convinced you was in the right hotel, and when you ask the staff they say you were worried for good reason because the event is not, in fact, in that hotel, but in still a third one if it’s anywhere, and now you’ve got a 15-minute walk ahead of you in your flowered sandals which are very pretty but definitely more akin to a cheese wire between your toes than one is or should ever become used to, and so you go halfway to the third hotel, decide you’re hungry and your feet hurt, and stop for a #14 with beef and a diet coke.
THAT Wednesday.
That Wednesday when your computer scan renders the system so unstable that you conclude that it, itself, is a threat, and you delete it.
That Wednesday when you’re 48 hours behind on something that isn’t even due yet and you’re already two days late with it.
That Wednesday when the office is full of people having meetings at the back and guys doing construction at the front, and, very definitely, the smell of dairy products gone bad ages ago, perhaps when Elvis was last in the building, and now lying, forgotten, in a dark corner where they are becoming progressively more expensive cheese products by the day.
That Wednesday when, if you open the door to get some fresh air, the crackies chat you up.
That Wednesday when you think THIS would be a good post.
That Wednesday when you fantasize about winning the lottery and opening this:
The Progress Bar, loading in progress. I'll take the seat closest the whiskey
Ahhhh, that’s more like it. And so, in the name of progress, we present my inaugural link roundup at the ol’ raincoaster blog, a new tradition which is destined to continue at least until Google has seen the error of its ways and reversed The Soundtrack for Losers Situation. Yes, this is what I get paid for, three times a week.
Mean Disney Girls just a bunch of drama queens (raincoaster)
The Beatles, Captured! (Lolebrity)
Rihanna is disoriented, hideous (Ayyyy)
Reznorvision coming soon to your screens? (AgentBedhead)
The Face of Kotex! (BusyBeeBlogger)
Some people will do ANYTHING to impress Sandra Bullock’s castoffs (CeleBitchy)
Spot the cyborgs among us! (CelebrityCosmeticSurgery)
Violent repeat felon seeks custodianship of Lindsay Lohan (CelebDirtyLaundry)
Michael Bolton, it is FAR too late for respect! (CelebritySmack)
Gaga a Go-Go (CityRag)
Naomi Campbell’s feet are HUGE (CojoStyle)
Yes, everyone but me DOES have a book deal (DailyStab)
Macaroni Rascals (DListed)
A foursome isn’t just for golfing and bridge? (EvilBeet)
Sly, stylin’ (GabbyBabble)
Brigitte Nielson is looking younger (GoFugYourself)
Get your Bieber Babies! (HaveUHeard)
Michael Bolton is the Rodney Dangerfield of show pony has-beens (INeedMyFix)
Catching up with Bristol Palin’s favorite show (IBBB)
Oh holy Jeebus, even Hilary Duff has a book deal (JustJared)
This will be some actress’s lowest career point (MovieLine)
Baby Buble (PerezHilton)
B from the block (PinkIsTheNewBlog)
Backney! (PoorBritney)
The Mysteries of Minnelli (PopBytes)
Jon’s got a Ham in his pants (SeriouslyOMG)
And special bonus links:
What we have here is a failure to communicate: Comments vs no comments; the eternal argument
Bukowski: the worst hangover: (warning, this is NSF Peace of Mind)
Harry Potter and the Homework of Vengeance: A GOOD story about spammers
And I’m selling this link service, so if you run a gossip blog, jump on this bandwagon now by leaving me a comment. When I have five subscribing blogs, the price will go up. That’s what you call high-pressure tactics. I read it on JohnChow.com. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with an imaginary bartender.
Don’t we all, buddy. Don’t we all. 13,800+ unread messages and counting.
Which reminds me of my old friend Mark. I don’t know what Mark is doing for a living right now, but he used to be a building design engineer, a professional driver, a rally judge, and on the executive of the Mini association back before the Mini had a renaissance. He lost his gig as a rally driver when he ruled a team had won because they crossed the finish line first even though they did it on their roof, not on their wheels; the association thought he could use a little “time out.”
Mark is the man Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes grew up to become.
What he really should be is a professional talkshow guest. He has more outrageous stories than your whole bookcase even if it has a complete collection of Baron Munchausen, and as his sister once said to me, the most annoying thing about them is that they’re all true. The one about using a giant pine tree as a slingshot to shoot his friend through a third-story window, nearly causing a fatal cardiac infarction in said friend’s mother, who was in the room, making the bed at the time? True. The one about betting kids a quarter they wouldn’t jump into a hole in the ice he made with an axe in the middle of the Canadian winter? True (best four dollars of entertainment I ever spent, he said). The one about the guy vansurfing and getting slingshotted right off the top of the van by a “welcome rally competitors” banner hung across Main Street? True. The one about the Lambo that’s too long to tell here but awesome? True, and you can ask the police of Washington and Oregon about that, though it’s best to have a lawyer with you when you do.
But the best Mark story dates back to the time nearly 20 years ago, when Macs were new and Nexts were yet to be, and a Maccer had to virtually razorwire his cubicle to protect the Sacred Box. Mark was, you may imagine, something of a prankster, as well as quite possessive; he set up a “fail-proof” defence system. Did it fail? Well, yes and no, depending on whether you think getting woken up at 2 in the morning is a failure or a win.
It is 2am.
The phone rings.
It is a coworker, gibbering desperately, “I’m sorry, I’M SORRY OKAY? HOW DO I TURN IT OFF?”
What had Mark done? Simply set his computer so that, unless while shutting it down you entered a particular key sequence, it would warn you with “Don’t do that, Dave” then go dark for a few seconds, then come back to life and say, “I told you not to do that, Dave.” Over. And Over. And Over.
raincoaster 