Lindsay Lohan confessions of a teenage drama queen
Well, now that Ariel has nearly completed her downfall and is drying up in rehab (yet again), I think the time is right for a little flashback to when it all started to go wrong. Once upon a time it was cokeups and muscleheads, alive, alive-o, and now it’s nothing but orange jumpsuits, enforced Yanni listening sessions and yoga, and the smell of cheap regret.
Those? Those were the days, my friend.
Shebeen Club S is for Scribes!
Just a reminder that tonight’s Shebeen Club meeting, Going Pro with Sylvia Taylor, is at Rogue Kitchen and Wetbar, in Waterfront Station skytrain/seabus station. They’ve developed a terrific seasonal menu for us, too, and of course they offer all the fabulous microbrews of their partner in crime, Steamworks Brew Pub. We have lots of space in our private room, so you can just show up and join us at 7pm tonight: $25 at the door.
Choice of Entrées:
1. Coconut Poached Chicken Salad
snap peas, red & yellow peppers, mixed greens,
thin asian noodles, sesame soy dressing
2. Mediterranean Penne
kalamata olives, basil, tomatoes, artichokes,
yellow peppers, goat cheese
3. The 9.2 oz Rogue Burger
home ground sirloin burger cooked to 160
degrees farenheit, sesame brioche bun, bacon,
cheddar, lettuce, tomato, pickle, sweet relish,
mayo, hand-cut kennebec fries
4. Fresh Halibut Tacos
seared cajun-spices halibut, avocado cream,
mango salsa, fennel coleslaw, white flour tortilla
As someone who knows me (all too) well said, now I will be utterly impossible to live with: It will totally go to my head (or at least two or three of them will):
So there you have it: not only did Social Media Club Vancouver have a totally successful Meet the Geek dinner tonight (superthanks to Melody Fury of Vancouver Food Tour) but Operation Global Media Domination got the ultimate accolade: a tribute in booze and nomenclature. Can there be any higher? I think not! And not just because I’ve been drinking!
So, there you have it: a raincoaster cocktail is:
1 oz Gin (Hendricks, Plymouth, Broker’s, Old Raj, Beefeater)
0.5 oz Lillet Blanc
0.5 oz Cointreau
0.5 oz Fresh Lemon Juice
barspoon of Absinthe
stir, strain, add lemon zest (and Jay Jones always adds a great wide swath; none of your chintzy ribbons for him!).
Then, if you’re like me, you show it off to everyone at the bar and offer them sips of “your” cocktail and then before you or anyone who didn’t yet get a sip knows it, you’re staring into the bottom of your beautiful, vintage cocktail glass with the chipped gold rim, and there’s nothing down there but lemon zest and the dregs of regret. Ah, socialism! Perhaps I should cultivate a fondness for vodka instead?
Dorothy Parker, who really looks more Doloresy here
Endora was the shizznit and don't you even TRY to say different or I'll turn you into a newt. A special-needs newt
One of an ongoing series featuring Angie Dickinson, Suzanne Pleshette, Catherine Deneuve, Catwoman, Britney Spears, Mylene Farmer, Vanessa Paradis, an Iraqi police woman in training, Rembrandt’s Pallas Athena, Barbie, and now, Endora from Bewitched.
I always wanted to grow up to be her, and I think I may have finally succeeded. Now to get my hands on that wardrobe!
Pucci Galore!
What I like about her is…seriously, everything. I even dyed my hair red for a couple of years! She takes no prisoners, takes no shit, takes names and kicks ass, and she was right: her daughter married a total dork. Derwood was a feeb. I’m sorry, all you Derwoods or Darvins or Dickwads or Whatevers out there, but you’re just not good enough and it would be cruel to let you go through life in a fog of self-delusion, correct?
Endora would NEVER stoop to psychoactives. Other than Martinis, of course
Do you know the Sedona Method? Its aim is to give insecure, dweebish people a feeling of accomplishment. Regardless of whether or not they have, in fact, accomplished anything.
You can see why Endora and I would have a problem with that, yes? [clue for Derwoods: say Yes]
So, from Endora I have taken my vociferous contempt for the inferior, my belief that if one is magical enough one can get away with anything, and my taste for earrings of true splendiferositude.
Endora enjoys Champagne mainly on the plane over Spain
Endora and me: can we help it if we're fabulous?
Paging John Cusack: I sense a sequel. Calling all angels…
Sadly, this call could not be completed as dialed.
Mark Eskelsen, the Hot Tub Hobo
It seems Mark Eskelsen, a true aficionado of convivial outdoor bathing, free spirit, alfresco-dweller, and (at least mentally) time-traveller from reformed hippieville Beaverton, Oregon, is not a rock. Nor yet is he an island.
He is a loser.
From the New York Daily News (really, we’re getting our Cascadia news from NYC now? really, interwebs?):
The 45-year-old called 911 from his cell phone on Sunday morning and identified himself as the “sheriff of Washington County,” Beaverton police said. He then asked for medical attention, later admitting that he wasn’t the sheriff.
Eskelsen also said he had been in the hot tub for 10 hours and that his towels had gotten soaked.
“I just need a hug and a warm cup of hot chocolate with marshmallows in it,” he told the 911 operator.
In fact, the police lied: the poor man actually called 411, as any right-thinking, cocoa-seeking hot tub hobo would do in a time of need. Can you imagine the conversation he and the friendly operator must have had? If not for the fact my readers are still recovering from my recent OD on YouTubes, I’d post the scene from 28 Days where Sandra Bullock’s character is driving around wasted in the stolen limo wearing her underwear and drunk-dialing 411 to find a wedding cake, right here. But I won’t.
The operator knew a true human emergency when s/he heard one, and handed off the unsuspecting hug-seeker to 911 emergency response, who promptly responded to our warm-hearted if pruney-toed protagonist’s cri de coeur by calling in the SWAT team to roust him from his roasty roost and put him on ice in the cooler.
And to think: all he wanted was a hug, a cup of cocoa with marshmallows, and some fresh towels. Really, when it comes right down to it, we are all Juan Mann, alone.
“…how hard it must be to live only with what one knows and what one remembers, cut off from what one hopes for!… There can be no peace without hope.”
~ Albert Camus, 1948, The Plague (Trans. Stuart Gilbert), p. 262-263
Emo Luv
raincoaster 