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Sunday, June 03, 2007

mutual self promotion, in motion!

every once in a while, teeter and i are paid by a third party to do what we do on this site for free, so in other words, every once in a while, mama gets a steak dinner and maybe a baked alaska depending on how successful that "work" is. so, with our eyes on a sweet, sweet flaming prize, teet and i are taking a moment to promote each other's most recent projects with the hope that you a, buy them, b, stop bitching about updates, and c, buy them for friends. read the book while listening to the cd even! after taking them out of a datexedge totebag? one of us! one of us!

the book sb is in, Damage Control: Women on the Therapists, Beauticians, and Trainers Who Navigate Their Bodies - by teet

Hear ye, hear ye, people of the dateXedge micro-empire! This here moment is SB's time to effing shine; the shiniest shine that ever once shined, literary gold, nobody puts baby in a corner style. Lady-dude has used her bananas people skillz and madd heffer wordsmith-ery stylings to score herself a key spot in a rad-zapping new book of essays on beauty, and as such finds herself in the company of many a fancypant lady celeb. Damage Control, published this June by HarperCollins, features works by a double bakers dozen of brilliant women (SB, Minnie Driver, Rose McGowan, pre-teen superauthor Francesca Lia Block, word!) and was edited by the ever-sasstacular Miss Emma Forrest.

No no no, totes double sware, SB and I are not gay, but yes, natch, her essay is all about me (stop! go on!). She changes my name to Kelly and describes the gnarly (GNARLY) bikini waxes I would get back when I was in a relationship that, in her (sadly, very correct) words made me "a shell of my former amazing self." OH MAN. Didja know that my stoops former selfs shell even lead to SB and I breaking up? LIFE WIFOUT HER was 2+ years of SHEER TORCHER (both parties included). Let's not mince words here, I need this lady to live, in a, totes double sware, fully not-gay way.

When she first read me the story this February on her throw-up brown and orange couch, in her otherwise lovely Silverlake apartment, I was all like "Owch! That cuts like a knife!" and then like "Oof! Is that really how I was? Dang!" and then all "OMG, love yr story so bad, am so proud yr gonna be published in a ginormous book, let's got to Vegan House, I'm chubbs and hungary." No matter the aforementioned linguistic genuis style knife cuttery, I knew every word she wrote was f'reals 100% TRUTH; the subtle ache of which a savory seitan club and soy shake could totes help heal.

Ye Olde Villagers of the dxe Shire, consider SB's contribution to this book a gateway to MAJE AWESOME PUBLISHINGS in the very near future. Let us give her a round of e-applause for bringing the sad plight of my formerly broken mind and hairless hoo-ha to the people - through her ever insiteful and hilarious voice from pen to paper or keypad to Microsoft Word or whatever. OMG LOVE THAT LADY SO PROUD GONNA PUKE CAN'T EVEN STAND IT BUY HER BOOK NOW OR FEEL OUR RATH OR HOWEVER IT IS THATCHA SPELL IT. Also, my review is not as funny as hers. Second-rateness in the world of DXE is my cross to bare.


teeter's new band, ladybirds, and their debut cd, "regional community theater." - by sb

when teeter and i met back in the 1970s, we were both interns at a major indie label, and while i won't say which one, it wasn't sub pop, was located in downtown nyc right above a giant neon sombrero, and was most famous for releasing ground-breaking chart toppers by acts like the arsonists, the demolition doll rods, and the wisdom of harry. while teet has since burnt her bridge to matador (whoops, that's the name) with a beef supreme-style industrial flame tosser (whoops, referenced idocracy, which nobody has seen), it doesn't really make a difference, because, with or without her months in the mail-out saltmines in exchange for mark eitzel cds, she's already got so many ties to the rock world and has left such a distinct imprint that half of her vocab just got sliced into a book about emo (whoops, forgot the bibliography trevor!).

anywho, after years of doing everything from being an internador, overseeing all manner of merch design/product/sales, and briefly fronting a fake band that allowed her to call some tween girl a cunt in front of thousands of people, teet is now singing for a real band with her friend/former fake band bandmate tyler, and she has equal creative imput for once, and she's even agreed to cover yaz's "only you," which would probably be the song playing as the first dance of our wedding were we not not gay. her new band is called LadybiRdS, crazy capitolization as an homage to aforementioned fake band initials, and their first record is called "regional community theater." it's being released on creep records, and getting reviewed in wired and thrasher and stuff, and since i read wired (while wearing a thrasher sweatshirt) (that i stole from teet in 1999 or something and she should just stop asking about it because statute of stolen goods limitations is totally over it's mine now bitch just SHUT IT), i'm ever so impressed.

and also by the songs! cuz they're all keyboardy and made of computers, and usually i hate that shit and would really just rather listen to that john prine song bonnie raitt sings about wanting to be a rodeo poster and having flies in the kitchen and all sorts of thing that make perfect sense when yr depressed as shit. but even i, who hate those new fangled keyboards and want those fucking kids to get off my goddamned lawn, i think these songs are pretty great, especially the one teeter sings with that guy from motion city soundtrack (to WHAT? that band name bugs me almost as much as the fact "law & order" should be "order & law"-- so annoying!) (that i'm just now hearing isn't on the record anymore, but whatever, wait for the limited edition plexi mp3 or what have you). i even have that song on a mix, which says a lot, because that means i actually want to hear it while stuck in traffic in some godforsaken corner of southern california, or pushing my ass up the santa monica mountain range, or writing an article about nicole richie (which i'm doing right now, i swear, and just in case you didn't know, she swears she's not rexic, so just stop asking already). and the other songs are good, too, and there are some noteworthy duets, and publishing rights sure do make lives complicated.

long story short, after a zillion years of having others snake her qualities in order to get into the spotlight, teet's finally doing it for herself, and i'm ever so proud. and it's so good! better than the wisdom of harry even, if that's possible.


Unrelated to us things (dudes that will never be mine, and music from the mid-90's that I can't let go of, primarily) that I am presently obsessed with - in a whole lot less words than SB, cause she's just naturally way wordier than me, if that's even possible, and I gotta go pack for my summer of snowboarding with faux-punk teens at Mt. Hood.


A) Okkervil River - OMG best band on earth that no one seems to know about, can't be shore why, but totes don't mind. I listen to their album, "Black Sheep Boy" on perma-loop .

2) Lost, Season 2 DVD Box Set - I love Jack Shephard so bad, such a committed dude. My life is empty.

D) OMG. SITTING TWO FEET AWAY FROM BOISES FAVORITE SON - My friend Paulie (he's hystairical) and I went to the Nuerolux recently while I was visiting Boise, Idaho - and ended up sitting mere inches from Doug Martsch, lead singer of one of my all time fave bands, Built to Spill. Not to get all halftard stalker style on my very own self, but, let's not mince words here, BTS has long been a mucho important part of my musical upbringing. Dudes an ultra mega unabashed ginormo-genius. Sitting near him was way aces because I not only got to hear his speaking voice when he ordered a drink (waitress refused to let him pay. Sup, famous!), but I also got to watch him sniffle and blow his nose. The nose blowing made for some exceptional full circle mental connections (dude has a cold!) - as I had seen a giant box of tissues on the dashboard of his car earlier in the day when my friend Carter and I rode our bikes past his house 3 to 16 times in hopes of maybe seeing him, like, mowing his lawn or raking leaves or something.

14) Greg Goulet.

J) Archers of Loaf. Fer Life!

17) The little brown boy from Cannon Beach Bike Shop. He totally fixed my bike bell last week with WD-40 and a hammer. I find myself making up excuses to go there. My life is empty.


*rescue me
one thing i've come to realize about boston, now that i haven't lived there for 10+ years and have become so homesick for the east coast that i geniunely miss living among a million catholic people who have such a colorful pronounciation of the word fart, is that it is one giant small town. denis leary's "no cure for cancer" came out when i was 14 i think, and even though it's an OTT collection of jokes about shit, smoking, fucking, and basically a best of-/overdone melange of bill hicks' material (i know, i know, but i'm over it), the guy became a local hero. he's still a local hero. so is john raztenberger. and i'm sure "the departed" is going to top the boston film critics' association's best of list again this year, and next year, and on and on until another movie comes out where everybody pronounces it "faht." the ideal would be "jordan's furniture commercial: the movie!" that regional joke? becoming local legend, as we speak.

but, like i said, i'm east coast homesick, even for new york, which i was so fucking burnt out on a year ago. i spent some time there in january, when it's at its greyest and most soul-destroying, and even then, i wrote an open letter to christ their lord, begging him to deliver me to a job somewhere in the five boroughs that'd allow me the ability to afford my own (currently subletted) apartment. i went to better burger, and while waiting for my turkey deliciousness, a tv was showing ny1 and just the sight of pat kiernan made me want to weep. thank god it wasn't gary anthony ramsey, or i probably would've ripped my clothes and thrashed upon the floor. so when i finally gave in to the chorus of people telling me to watch "rescue me" (a chorus of two; emma was soprano, brendan was alto), it was pretty much the greatest thing ever.

not only is the show dripping with nyfd pride/general nyc goodness (cinema village! vesleka! horrible queens! love it!), but everyone on it is from boston. not just denis leary, but lenny clarke, who sounds like the third tappet brother from car talk, and friggin cam neely-- cam neely!-- who actually gets to play hockey and act like the fourth (not-"funny lookin'") hanson brother from slapshot. can manny cameo as a little league coach? can someone set bill weld's townhouse on fire? can there be a gay couple played by the guys who own jordan's furniture?

and oh yeah, the show is really funny, and denis leary pulls a steve coogan in that he's playing himself to his most assholish finest. i could do without the talking to ghosts, but so could denis' character, and i haven't seen season 3 (dvd out june 5th!), so maybe he does, who knows. i also heard that at the end of that season he sort of rapes his wife (!?), which is an upper level of asshole that might be just out of my reach as a viewer, but whatever, i'll cross that bridge when i come to it. maybe it's a test of my loyalty, and if i can overcome this moment in the show, jesus will deliver me back to my rightful home in manhattan, *and* give me a guild job with dental. ah, jesus. the ultimate caltholic local hero.

*bbc's robin hood
due to many factors not really worth hashing out here, my west coast life is hermity beyond my wildest dreams, hermity to the point where it's crossing over from wildest dreams into worst visions of an empty future followed by a slow, solitary decline. in order to numb myself from the stark reality of my own mortality, and the fact that i'm stuck living in a city filled with actors, trees that burst into flame, and the kind of people who cancel veronica mars, i've started watching a lot of tv. a lot. a lot to the point where i watch heroes on purpose (see my feelings about that show here). on the good side, if i weren't relying on my tivo for solid companionship, i never would have started watching robin hood on bbc america, and then i never would've gotten to see a really pretty english guy (like, gross pretty, the kind of dude who could be on east enders after amicably leaving take that and then coupling off with some one-named english celebumess that nobody in this country has ever heard of) trot around through the woods, speaking with some geordie-esque accent so thick that when he talks to his side kick, much, it sounds less like the name of canadian mtv and more like the guy who painted the scream.

said pretty guy and his band of merry men (including-- hello, 00s-- a muslim woman posing as a dude!) have sword fights with bad guys like lilly allen's dad, work with robins "luuv," a totally awesome/normal-pretty maid marion, and generally act so over the top and unabashedly corny that if you're not enjoying yourself you're beyond dead inside (ie, more dead inside than i am). plus this season ended with such finality, like they have no hopes of coming back next season, that the last shot was a freeze frame of robin and his men (and woman) jumping in the air, fists aloft, and it was such delicious cheese that i would've loved to have spread it on an some wheat bread, put a tomato on it, and fried it up for lunch. but they are coming back! and knowing bbc america, that'll probably air sometime in the '10s, but whatever, love this show, and if you've ever liked to watch actors fight, hear funny accents, or think about doing it with the animated fox in disney's robin hood until you realize you can't eff a two dimensional drawing, this is the programme for you.

[a month+ later, i've realized this is like the 10th mention on dxe.com of wanting to have relations with disney's robin hood. this means we are either a, closeted furries, b, broken, c, doomed to die alone, or d, all of the above (minus the furries thing).

*maximo park, "our earthly pleasures"
maybe it's because two of the only people i speak to in LA are english, or because, like all new englanders, i have a real fondness for the mother country (which, for my family, is actually lithuania, but who's counting), or because the pound is just that powerful right now, i don't know, but long story short, i find myself in a one-two punch of anglo-love. not only do i love robin hood, but i also love maximo park, and while one is a show and the other a band, both have fun northern-y accents and are popular in that place across the sea where it's not that hard to be popular since the country is the size of maine.

i liked the first maximo park record, "a certain trigger," but mostly just the song "the coast is always changing," which was a key summer jam last year and which can still push a car dance out of me if the stars are properly alligned. then i dl'd their recent record, "our earthly pleasures," and i think i've been listening to it almost nonstop for at least a coupla months. and i never do that, or at least haven't done that since the days where i wore only band t-shirts, wrote for zines, and generally gave a shit. i wrote a huge review of this record here (shut up, scroll down), but it was mostly an excuse to rant about other shit (kind of a trend, eg, what you're reading right now), and at the time, i merely "liked" this cd, as opposed to now, when i "need it to live." not all the songs are gold, but the first 3 and the last 4 are like platinum dipped in tastidelite set in diamonds filled with unicorn tears.

and, like robin hood, they are kind of fortified with cheese and an accent that turns the word "luck" into "look" like magic, but unlike robin hood, our hero, singer paul smith (whose name i only recently learned, and which i can actually remember thanks to the clothes i can't afford that share his name), is not gross pretty, but bald. or on the way to bald. first record, he had the creepiest, ambulence-chaser-like, hitlery, giuliani x10 x10 combover. and in videos they'd just try to show his face, cuz it's a nice face, but then bam, he steps back and there's this rainbow of all dark brown pulled over his scalp with a little curl at the end for extra ew. somebody, maybe one of the girls from one of his songs that has tortured his poor, combed-over soul, bought him a bowler hat, and it's a huge improvement. then another girl got him one of those army-y hats from 5 years ago that were supposed to be the next trucker hat but didn't really catch on. i think the baseball hat is just from his mom, but long story short, the comb over is now under a vast collection of headwear. maybe by the next record he'll have a buzz cut and i'll actually want to make out with him.


as it stands, pretty much everything but the band's music is negligible to me, because the more i find out about bands, especially english ones, the less i like them. still, they're two for two record wise, which ain't bad, and since both the new qotsa and shellac cds kinda blow (boring and boring, respectively), it looks like me and "our earthly pleasures," or at least the last 4 songs, are on our way to a combover of the heart.

ps: i second okkervil river, esp since i pushed them on teet in the first place, and would like to remind the world that they are originally from new hampshire, and also that new hampshire is the last state in the union without a seatbelt law, and that okkervil river are playing in concord in july, and that i probably can't go but if i did go i wouldn't be stupid enough not to wear my seatbelt, and also that's not that funny but i wanted to bring it full circle. i'm done now.

Friday, October 06, 2006

dxe first ever POETRY CONTEST open call!

teets note:
ahoy there (micro, if any) pirate readership,*

exciting new dxe development: in the wake of our oodles of free time, sb and I have recently started a slam poetry troupe that performs never and sticks to only 1 theme, as dictated by newly instated (sp?) troupe bylaws. the name of our troupe (and the 1 phrase that is required to appear as the final line of all of troupe poems) is REGRETTABLE NAKED TIMES. (see: fruit of google image search below)

we are asking (all 2 of) you to submit your best, most earnest poetry samples detailing the harshest REGRETTABLE NAKED TIMES you can bare to put to paper. best (read: all 2) submissions will be posted here on the front page of dxe interweb hq and one lucky winner will git to go on a date with us to atlas never because we don't live on the east coast anymore.

please expect our first submissions to be made by either john carney or lauren austin, as they are the above mentioned only 2 people who read this site. i would also like to see something sent in by this dude bryce hackman that i just met as he majored in poetry in college and that fact kindof blows my mind (pieces everywhere style.)

thank you in advance with yr help in this matter.

* - we don't mean pirates in a 'burg-ian, post-ironic mid-bullshit, hobos-are-the-new-pirates kind of thing. we just thought it was a funny intro.

sb's note:
the phrase regrettable naked times comes from my description of my enemy #1 (all about giving myself credit in the 06-07 school year), and since we've all had many of them, the two people who read this site will have no trouble coming up with some real doozies. (see further google image search fruit below. that is shame. channel it.)

oh! lauren and other guy, make sure you sign yr poem with yr name and location, eg, veronica mars, neptune, california. but don't pretend to actually be veronica mars cuz that crosses the line into internetsad.

oh! oh! the last words of every poem must be "regrettable naked times." that's the law. as such, haiku are not admissable unless yr trying some 7-9-7 shit, which seems kinda bullshitty, but whatever.


starter poetry examples by either ts or sb (we share a hive mind tho so none are signed):

saw yr parts
wanna barf
you were mine
now get in line
for regrettable naked times

I touched yr d.
As you watched tv.
I had that thing UP!
As you played fifa world cup.
Yr disinterest shines. And also -
you've got the BO.
Regrettable naked times.

went in for the death grope
then abandoned hope
our love didn't last
but at least the sex was fast
regretable naked times

Yr d is hairy
and that sweat smell is scary.
I cry myself to sleep.
I incessantly fear
yr tongue in my ear.
God, please my virginity keep.
Regrettable naked times.

had to give you the complete tour of my zone
since a woman's parts you did not know
you needed the facts
like, don't touch me like that
regrettable naked times

UPDATE: new (and more pointed-- owch!) contributions:

never met something you couldn't hate
cept my cash, which you loved to take
now we're not in the sack
you won't give it back
regrettable naked times

Yr were my man, but it was a joke
I lentchu money cause you were broke
When we came to that place
When I stopped kissing yr face
You took my dough and ran
I just went and bought mace
To kick yr ass I will race
Hipster minion you know I can
Every generous girl dates slimes, hence

yr a thief, a drunk, a hack
i want my fucking money back
our sexin lead to your web of lies?

Yr life has been impossibly hard
That fragile latin heart is scarred
You've got free reign to be a fucktard
I want my money back, assface.

stayed in nyc for eight weeks
enough to hate life again and kick it to a creep
came home to spent bottles of wine
and hair that isn't mine
(shed during some else's)

now yr turn! make us proud! if you don't, screw you guys, we'll just write more ourselves. nobody's funnier to us than us anyway, and we are one of us.

ps: check the comments and prepare to pee pants!

Tuesday, October 03, 2006


prologue: while this entry is pretty hate-filled, please note that both ts and sb currently live in the woods, don't wear shoes, and, like, make their own bread and shit. we both look/feel like old school neil young and have generally burried all the drama from our new york days but sometimes it's fun to go thru ye olde feuds, like a clip show on yr favorite sitcom. so enjoy!


as if we haven't stressed this enough, we love atlas cafe on 2nd ave. we eat their food, gossip with their employees, and spend overnights there painting the menu on the wall in exchange for pocket change and all the cake we can eat. while those nights are usually good times that leave us with positive memories, renewed appreciation for team dresch, and a drawer full of pants that no longer fit thanks to unlimited chocolate-encased strawberry shortcake, the one downside is that somebody keeps ripping the datexedge sticker off the wall that we've strategically placed right near where we've signed our names under our menu craftsmanship. aw rootbeer thought to laminate it right to the plaster, *and it still got defaced/stoled/toe' up*. so while we used to think people loved the stickers and wanted to give them good homes (teet's note: one did end up scanned on some brazilian post-hardcore chatboard, no lie), now we think it's more likely somebody hates them. or rather, hates us. and we're not actually that surprised.

you see, if yr gonna be as loud and proud as we are, AND live in the same city for decade give r take, AND occasionally fraternize with people from wrong island, yr gonna make enemies. so here's our suspect list for stickergate2000. we lay the case, partner in crime serves as judge. all the parties listed should be ashamed of themselves, really, whether they f'd with the sticker or not.


SB Suspect/Enemy #3: college people.
wait, not people-- actors.

the beef: i don't really know, cuz they started it, but whatever, they're actors.

the motive
: i went to nyu for writing, but a lot of people in my department were writer/actors, maybe because they were *so* self-involved that they could not imagine better lines to deliver than those written for/by themselves. anyway, i was young and a recovering actor myself so i befriended these people, and we tried to make a movie together which i a, financed from my savings, b, filmed in my hometown which meant everyone had to stay at my parents' house, and c, pretty much single-handedly organized, so naturally, the experience ended with everyone hating my guts and resenting the fuck out of me. if you've never been instantly hated before by a small group of people, and i hadn't been, let me tell you, you really aren't missing out. it was like the most psychotic mean girls scenario, except some of these girls were really just girly men, we weren't in high school anymore, and i had to live with/share a bathroom with 2 of these people, one of whom took more of my resources than my dog does in that i not only fed her (she stole my food), cleaned up after her (never met a dish she couldn't not do), and managed her toilet time (only suckers like me buy tp), but also had to hear her run lines. at the time i didn't get how people could be so quickly hateful-- and en masse, no less!-- and i still don't, but at least now the disdain is mutual. if they've taken my fucking sticker, they can shove it up their insane, meisner-trained assholes. none of them were particularly punk rock, but maybe they're just going wherever the eating disorder wind blows them, ie, to a vegan cafe.

teet's side/verdict: Ok Ok, the only actor I ever knew SB to know in college was that kid who now stars in that superstupid sitcom which, natch, is not very good and films in L.A. There was also one other medium fameous dude, oh yes, that's right, Jason Schwartzmann's best friend whose name I cannot recall, who, at the time, was most intriguing to us, because, Rushmore was still life-changing then (Karen Patch 4ever!) and JS had yet to become a classic case Hollywood full-tard. That said, if these dudes are in New York at all, they are likely spending time uptown with Bijou Phillips or that Latina VJ from Fuse. And as long as Atlas leaves their vegan chicken salad unwrapped overnight, has pools of standing water in the kitchen and roaches cruising all throughout the espresso machine, it will probably always be located in it's cozey dirtnook at 2nd ave and 5th street. That said, unlikely candidates indeed, SB don't hate, hearmenow.

sb's response
: dude, none of the actors i'm refering to ever were/will be successful. duh. those famousy guys were aw rootbeer's friends who i cannot remember so well as i met them in the post-actorpocolypse fall-out. my former friends are now doing dinner theater in branson or selling appliances. just fyi.


SB Suspect/Enemy #2:hockey people

the beef: for calling them out on being babies, telling them to go fuck themselves, ignoring pissy emails, and generally not hand-holding spoiled man and women-children in the way they think they deserve.

the motive
: for what seems like 293893 years, i've run a hockey league in the LES. i founded it with the intention of meeting people and playing a fun sport badly, but around season 2 or 3 we got some people who didn't really have a sense of humor and kind of changed the league from being casual friday and silly to rules intensive and, for those of me running it, a job. some of those people were just investment bankers letting off steam, some were people who were repeating the psychotic hockey dad cycle, and some, natch, were from long island. all could easily be pissed at me for being the place where the buck stopped/the wielder of the hammer when it went from an upright to a down position/head nigga in charge, like when i was the deciding vote to punish a guy who *punched someone in the face*. nobody in the league had the courage to kick him out, and i had to be the one to say, hi, he punched someone in the face, goodbye. so now a bunch of ex-hardcore kids-- scratch that, just hardcore kids, because hardcore kids are like alcoholics and must always be referred to as hardcore kids in the present tense since they're tied with high school football stars in terms of owning property on memory lane and never ceasing to relive their glory days of wearing t-shirt sleeves on their heads and crying (teet: also, finger-pointing also) in the front row, at least if they've had a few beers which is funny since the days they look back so warmly on were probably all about not drinking and wearing many, many xxl t-shirts with slogans relating to that fact (with sleeves sometimes removed to be used as headbands), but i digress. anyway, this group of kids with regrettable straight edge tattoos, homies of the puncher/a doucheload* of kids from long island, would all have no problem calling me a cunt to my face if they saw my in the street. and i'm pretty sure they're all vegans since sietan must taste great with whiskey.

^=i am just now realizing that the second season of hockey was best, third almost as good, 4th hit a rhythm, and it all sort of got boring from there, and now i'm pretty much leaving after the seventh season, which means THE HOCKEY LEAGUE IS JUST LIKE BUFFY HOLY SHIT MAJOR BREAKTHROUGH.

*=as whales come in a pod and crows come in a murder, long island kids come in a doucheload. you can look it up.

teet's side/verdict: Dudes, from what I've been able to gather, hockey people don't care about anything cepta drinking themselves and each other under the table each Sunday at Welcome To The Johnsons, winning games, and spreading word that SNL hockey-loving Canadian laugh-factory Mike Meyers plays in their league. Oh, that and working their part part part-time dirtbag Generation Records/Kate's Joint/Beacon's Closet jobs or crunching endless numbers from their Wall Street high-rise/glass-encased conference room/ bullshit executive posish at Globo Chem-Corp (Ed's note: Since the dawn of BTSH, two equally gross yet opposing social worlds have fully collided in the name of the sport. This upsets SB greatly as she hates dude TMs.)

For as far back as I can remember, each weekend SB would have a crush on a nerdy new hockey dude, who in many cases was way gay/short bus/pterodactyl looking and still holding his V card, and who, within 3 games, she oft ended up hating anyway - which is funny and classically SB - although they nevs s'much seemed to hate her back.

Even double moreover, the one time I watched all of them closely interact with her was when she threw last years end of season hockey party at the Delancey Lounge – and, at their drunkest, wiliest and most offensive they still treated her much like I would imagine Warren Jeffs insanebrains Mormon followers treat him, ie, like an EFFING DEITY.

In summing up, although she is a full-whiz on all other subjects, SB is kindof a paranoid half-tard on this one, I think, in part, because years ago she had to kick off that whole team of (shock!) poorly raised, full-tard Wrong Islanders – and has since convinced herself that league-wide everyone hates her gutz, when, in fact, as previously mentioned, they think in total tunnel vision about only the few things listed above, and as for the dudes, probably about quiet Asian girls as well.

Also also, just this very second, on the Instant of Messengers, which, much like teenagers, we communicate on incessantly, SB just asked me to please please mention that: "now no one knows who i am cuz i've been away and they're just all drunx anyway", which, also, unfortchunately, totally blows up her own tenuous spot, cause if someone doesn't even know who you are, how can they shanghai yr much-adored vinyl sticker collection from a restaurant they don't even know you go to? In summation, I win. Verdict overturned. Thank you. That is all.

sb's response: whatevs, motion granted.


SB Suspect/Enemy #1: misc ex-boyfriends.

beef: my ignoring emails in which they tried to sincerely/aggressively passive-aggressively "apologize", their having too much pain in their man-ginal regions to confront me to my face, general bad vibes since our long ago, regrettable naked times.

their motives: ever since my falling out with the acting community, i've tried to purge my life of drama on all other fronts as well. i know when to hold em, know when to roll em, and when things start to sour/i am dumped on my ass, i know when to walk away and when to run (but kind of the other way around). that said, if things start to dissolve between me and a co-sexer, i don't want to prolong the entropy; let's just say it's over and maybe reconvene one day when we don't give a shit anymore and the thought of each other's genitals makes our respective stomachs turn. natch, it never really works out that way, either because i'm pissed or because i'm pissed, and with rare exceptions, relationships end with me never wanting to speak to that dude again. the problem is that that dude, if i've dated him at least, is a metaphorical eunuch (see: milton photo above), so, while he wants to talk to me, he fears my wrath if he tries, so instead he "tries." i've had ex-boyfriends declare their yearning to talk to me on internet message boards, via friends in very, very awkward moments, and by naming their bands after their desire to kill me, so if one of said dudes was trying to get to me by ripping down my stickers, it would be both pathetic and par for the course.

seriously, for whatever reason, i have the world's worst taste in dudes, because even if all of these dudes aren't awful people, we were awful together, hence the dxe lifestyle i embrace today. what they don't realize is that the real wrath comes out when they pull shit like the acts mentioned above, ie, try with just half of their asses. someday, i will date a grown-ass man who can fix his car, has an insanely well-trained dog, and has felt a wounded woodland animal's lifespirit leave its body due to an injury he has caused it in order to use all of its parts down to the hooves, and the wound is most likely caused by a bow and arrow and my future man's excellent marksmanship, but if it's a firearm wound instead, i'll deal. because if this magical dude wants to talk to me and/or call me on some shit, you can be shit sure he'll just show up at my door-- no crazy voicemail, no myspace postings (dude ain't even on myspace, duh), no breakdowny word salad emails that he's written after i've said i need time off because said emails don't violate the time off rule according to him for reasons i'll never understand-- and he will make his thoughts known and generally take action even if he's totally wrong like most dudes usually are.

honestly, i would rather have these guys come up and fight with me than pull the shit they seem to be pulling now. then again, these are the kind of lads famous for projecto-pologies, ie, apologies that are actually passive-aggressive insults. eg,"i'm sorry you won't write me back, i'm sorry you've decided to hurt me, i'm sorry you're such a cold hearted supercunt," etc. if you're a dude and you do this, heads up, you're not being contrite, you're being a manipulative, passive-aggressive asshole. and if you look up passive-aggressive asshole on wikipedia, you'll see pictures of pretty much every dude i've ever boned.

and of course they all know atlas since 10 years in nyc put me in a scene jail that managed to rival the one i grew up in in terms of incestuousness and gossip, cept a boston is the size of a single block in long island city and new york has 3990teen million people, although only a 7teen million of those people are vegan record nerds and of that scene there are only a handful of dudes who don't find me instantly terrifying/strictly date japanese women/immediately suck. and oh yeah they all enjoy cake. not that magical dream guy doesn't like cake, but his cake probably has meat in it. and cheese. oh my god i love him.

teet's side/verdict: Ok check it: this one is not as improbable as the others because, even though she is the single most cynical, judgmental and hysterical person I know; near constantly mocking bike messengers, Philadelphia, Long Island, Mumia, quiet Asian girlfriends and each years crop of awful new bands - SB's past men, with the exception of one, who is an unabashed ginormo-tard, have seemed relatively harmless and well, pretty loving, even if full-on awkwardly so.

Howevs, they have also, most ironically, been the knee-deepiest scene dudes this side of the Mr. Roboto Project or Sean Agnew. And even though the owners of Atlas, a gaggle of well-intentioned skeeezy young dude TM's from Tunisia, can't for the life of them figure out why the "kids who smell awful, wear a lot of black and always always order the Mississippi Chicken Chops" love their cafe so much, let's not lie: we all know that for chow, this place is a scenehog prerequisite, that's why, everytime we go, since the year of Our Lord 1998, we see that medium-cute quiet kid who played in Antarctica, eating by himself. With that in mind, I think, in specific regard only to the ginormo-tard scene-king ex-bf, that he is totally likely jacking our goods over a romantic Mississippi Chicken chops dinner with his quiet Asian girlfriend - because someone once told me that he covertly lurks on the dxe.com and curses SB's good name on chatboards.

sb's response: you call it full-on and awkward, i call it suffocating and self-centered, let's call the whole thing off.


TEET Suspect/Enemy: #3: Long Island, New York

Beef: A History Of Violence.

Motives: Ah, Long Island and anyone on the earth entire raised outside of Long Island - two worlds that, by the grace of its giant non-universal moral fiber and sense of propriety, were never (ever? ever ever. - whattup Outkast!) meant to collide. I'd never heard of this special place until I was 20 yrs old, which is bizarre because I grew up a scant hour away, but, apropos of nothing, I am also 100% F'reals Attention Deficit With Hyperactivity Disorder, so it is simultaneously not that weird.

Without getting into too much detail, cause Mom would be way bummed, Long Island and I, Nassua County if we are to be detail-oriented, waged all-out war on each other during the years of Our Lord 1999 to 2003, with the final months seeing the most shrapnel fly. This war entailed not only yr standard procedure emo chatboard sabatogery, but bicycle theft mixed with equal parts intense emotional abuse and scandalous job loss. 3+ years later the legacy of some of these dynamic events lives on negatively in the heart of many a doucheload (all of whom eat at Atlas and never tip,) including but not limited too that mouthy Hispanic dude that I've never met who plays bass badly in Cobra Starship. That's not too say that gaggles don't look back on it fondly too: as getting a slutty 20th wave mainstreamo superfan who was stealing limited edition Nike colorways fired from her super sweet job at Foot Locker fer snaking yr man is kindof effing awesome, no matter how you slice it. 5 out of 5 non Long Islanders agree.

In summing up, those kids love claiming straightedge even though they all ultimately break it - and since the DXE stickers in question are a parody of said meaningless movement - stealing them seems like a natural extension of everyone's collective letting go issues. Howevs, in retrospect, if I the chance to do it all over, I would have just joined the Peace Corp or would have waged war on Connecticut instead, as though kids don't hang out in the city quite as much. Hell, hindsight is 20/20.

SB's Verdict: first of all, i'm shocked that teet can talk about wrong island without invoking the Guido Overnight Toiletry Drawer, ie the drawer of he-products her soon-to-be-cokehead, at-the-time-cheating-cocksucker boyfriend left at her house so he and his chinstrap beard could start every day looking their very Guido best. second, with apologies to my two friends from long island who seems normalish (sup sheela and brendan who will never read this!), teet is 100% dead on, those kids are broken and should never venture further inland than floral park lest they contaminate the rest of civilization. i say that they are very likely guilty, or at least one of them is (see below , C.Blech), and i sentence them to being barred from the texas is the reason reunion show and having go to p.f. changs with their moms instead. they also have to pay because mom probably does their laundry right down to folded underwear and deserves a little gratitude.


TEET Suspect/Enemy #2: The Locust

Beef: Musically inaccessible, Murder-On-Yr-Ears Rock Band That Can't Handle Criticism.

Motive: In the year of Our Lord 2001 I participated in an invite-only pro-Locust/anti-Locust roundtable for a controversial punk rock fanzine (whattup Jessica Hopper!) where I was staunchly anti-Locust. As it was, I had just seen them fully destroy an Elks Hall in suburban Michigan as the elderly Elks stood by and watched in frozen old-guy shock and sadness. Also, even prior to that, I had been unable to appreciate their catalogue of sonic hellscape-ery, even if their (kindof hot) rexic frontman was in Swing Kids. The threatening phone calls from band member Joey began shortly after the Hit It Or Quit It issue was published and continued for quite some time after, years, I think. Negative chit-chat to mutual friends followed suit, with the most recent case dating back to last week (whattup 5 years later! Dang, do my acts of negative awesomeness have staying power or what?). Even the sending of an apologetic greeting card, (ie, drawing of a little little man holding a white flag ((made of a toothpick and construction paper) with a thought bubble that read 'truce', handmade by me, natch), to Justin Pierson (lead screamers) San Diego PO Box did not help improve the sad state of affairs, which is total drag city because, as you can see from above, it is ever so rare that I make conflict-ending efforts.

Far be it from me to understand how a band that makes weird music for dirt merchant social Outkasts (whattup Outkast!) can't take a little smack talk from a lowdmouth Tardbonics loving lowdmouth. In conclusion, Justin is apparently vegan, although I've heard from a credible source that he rarely eats, and we all know that Atlas is tops for meeting complex sets of vegan needs (even those that do not exist.) Not to make hugely self righteous assumptions, but I bet he Google searches my name, see the endless text about our love for Atlas and then tries to think of ways he can get revenge during those times when he is in NYC not eating. Hence, his sworn vendetta against my stickers.

SB's verdict: ok, ignoring the fact that talking shit is a national pastime for people who have the internet, opinions, and haircuts - the locust, at least when they were at their height/relevant (ooh, did she just say that? here we go again!), were constantly getting into feuds, including one involving a fake florida band that called themselves "ton-e loc-ust" and came into fake-existence only to threaten to open for the locust during their local show (story courtesy of roy styles, tm). when yr sparring with bands that don't exist, on top of wearing costumes and making music that, if it's not the mythological frequency that makes people shit themselves, can still be described as "the brown sound," you need to relax. and maybe have a little nosh. so i doubt it was them who destickered us, but if it was, i would sentence them to 48 hours in a room watching the 40 year old virgin, coming to america, anchorman, airplane!, etc brazil-style with their eyeballs pulled open so they can learn what humor is. that or a scared straight-style intervention where the aforementioned elks confront them on how their feelings were hurt by the locusts actions so everyone can have a good, cathartic cry.


TEET Suspect/Enemy #1: "C. Blech"
[i made teet give him an alias because i truly believe he's nuts and that if we put his full name on the internet teet will wake up in the night with him standing over her, face done up in camo paint, knife in hand, trying to steal the breath from her mouth before stabbing her many, many times. -sb]

Beef: A Raging 5-Year Run of Sporadic Hater-y.

Motive: Although he fits squarely into the straight-up terrifying LI category on a number of levels {whattup, Suffolk County!}, this weasel merits his own {fr}enemy standing based solely on the swiftitude with which he has created dramatsunamis around me, ever since the day we first met, in the year of our Lord 2001, in Long Island, ewh, but natch. Dude is 18 or something now and is a primo fibber of the most highest order. Case in point - he just "hates" Atlas and sposedly "never goes there" because he's "so sick" of the Vegan Chicken Sandwich, and well, frankly, all of the ten million 999,947,585,82 8,000 and a 1/2 other menu items available are "gross." Howevs, shockingly, my non-bitches in attendance at Fat Club meetings have reported seeing him there on something like 3 to 16 occasions. And those sightings were all way late at night too, total covert ops style, almost as if he knows he's being watched - which would, on nites when I'm slacking on having the surveillance team on duty out in the field - provide his wildly Sketchy D style a perfect chance to yank our stickers. Even though they are now LAMINATED TO THE WALL, dudes hate runs deep.

Motives pt 2: C. Blech was sposed to drop 3 hundy to help pay for the first ever wave of DXE merchery in 2004 or something when SB and I were at our primo most broke ever into perpetuity and beyond throughout the universe. Sadly, before we were able to secure his cash moneys - he and I stepped into the ultimate battledome and didn't speak for like 3 to 16 years or something. Hard truth is, he must be feverishly jealous and filled with regret that he missed his chance to be an integral part of this unabashedly retardo mini-empire and can't handle those constant in-his-face graphical reminders at such times when he is NOT at Atlas at midnite ordering a sandwich he totally hates.

Also, as previously mentioned, he's kind of a liar, but one can only hold that medium against him considering the geographic surroundings in which he was raised. In the history of history of all time ever ever - no honesty, justice or righteousness has ever come out of that place -except fer Public Enemy, Long Island Iced Teas and Foot Locker in the Garden City Mall (sup, slut!).

Also also, back when he was like was way young and I was the make-out bandit and before his first wave of dramatsunamery hit I would occasionally kiss his face and touch his 1950's style bathing suit region, that is, until I skipped town to do the same with someone else. Oof.

Also also also, he constantly asks for presents that he gave me back and, natch, I always say no.

SB's verdict: have to say, of the doucheload of LI kids that want yr head on a steak and gaggle of passive fucks who curse me under their breath, this lil' guy is our most likely candidate. unlike the other people on our lists, C. Blech gives hating you his all, texting/calling constantly, sitting outside your house, and generally living his own one-man lifetime movie of the week that, were you to appear in it, would co-star you played by tori spelling. he also embodies what frustrates me most about 99% of the LI-ers i know (so close to liar yet so far!), which is the little-boy-victim attitude; why is the world against me, why won't you be my friend anymore, where are my mommy's ever-loving arms, etc. and it's like, dude, remember the way you were an asshole? said mean shit to me? or, in my case, punched loud adam in the face? and remember from, ya know, being alive that doing bad shit often has consequences? and that "friendship" is usually defined by two people who enjoy talking and keeping each other's company, not one desperate guy who unrequitedly stalks his "friend" and then, as a token of his friendship, tears her stickers off the wall? i swear to god there's something in the water coming out of plainview or wherever that stunts the drinker's emotional growth at age 12. cb practically swam in that shit, but also he's nuts, and ps, he has since found work for american exploiter, er, apparel. which is really all we had to say in the first place. so, long story short, i'm pretty sure he's guilty, pretty sure he's standing outside teeter's building right now wearing a black hooded sweatshirt with love and hate tattoo'd on his knuckles, pretty sure his punishment should be carried out by the proper authorities. ie, the nypd. most of which probably live on long island.



Suspect/enemy: G+ra$d C<>L=Y (Google-proofed) - President and Owner, Matador Records.
Beef: A (most retarted amazing ever) Myspace related e-war (myself, SB and J. Ho vs. G+ra$$d C<>L=Y and his nationwide team of dying hipster indie elitist minions.)


teet's take
: Mid-sweetbeef, my (Rest In Peace) party blog, where said sweetbeef was being detailed and commented on, was receiving up to 6,000 hits a day. Our continuous, now web-fameous claims of G+ra$d C<>L=Y eating rotisserie chicken while getting his back waxed and plucking messages into his Sidekick earned us a fleet of insta-enemies and devout superfans. Let's not lie, we said some of the meanest things ever - many of which, natch, I penned, and so, as you, our (micro, if any) readership may know, involved not a cohesive though t in the bunch - thereby giving G+ra$d C<>L=Y the opp to name my style of writing "Tardbonics," which, I'm fairly certain, he was hoping would e-bum me out, but instead this (effing brilliant vocab overthrow) only heightened my manic stoke and helped me kick out weeks more worth of mouthy, music related linguistic incomprehensibles. Also, from what we've been told through the gossip grapevine, this e-war put a sad end to his hipster baseball blog. O.w.c.h

Granted, dude lives in London, but with the release of the new Chavez record, it is not ridiculous to suspect that he would have the dough to fly the corporate jet over to 2nd Ave and 5th street to jack our wares.

sb's take: i got into this whole mess by stating my opinion re: myspace, which is an opinion i stand by to this day: if you are putting a profile on the internet that showcases you to your e-fullest, you're doing it to get attention and play the game of "whoever has the most friends wins." this is truer than ever a year .5 later, since "thanks for the add" now counts as a heartfelt exchange in the myspace world of e-friendship, but why g3r8937rd, or anyone, would refuse a "friend" is kind of beyond me. you can ignore that "friend," i guess -- i do that in real life all the time, i live in new hampshire! -- but to reject someone for not making it past your e-velvet rope is just sad. it's fuckin' myspace, dude, so yr pristene profile is already forced to share most of a URL with a community made up of half-naked 15 year olds who mistake attention from perverts for love (and often have their toddlers wandering in the background of their noodz), a zillion fake larry the cable guys, and juggalos. while i still think g5r43d c000sl*y should get over himself, i concede that teet's stream of consciousness e-tantrum was a little below the belt, if only because the shrapnel hit other members of the matador staff, including at least one who didn't deserve it. it reminded me of that moment playing with friends as a kid when someone would get hurt or the baby of the group would start crying or someone else would out of nowhere want to take their toys and go home. ie, it was the moment the fun died. but still, conflict! was a long time ago, we're all old now and in the scenester retirement home, let's all listen to tom petty and make fun of sufjan stevens together, shall we?

also, sorry for using e- so much.

also also, who would have thunk that sub pop would emerge from the 90's major indie clash of the titans with their cred intact and with a better roster? or is it just me, or is cred kind of a passe notion now that a blogger can pick up a demo by ratfuck and the asshats and say that it's changed his life, and then a million bloggers fill flikr with pictures from the RF&TAH show at cakeshop, and then pitchfork gives them an 8.3. no, 8.4. meanwhile, ratfuck and the asshats used to be a fuse-style 6 piece (guitar, drums, bass, two screamers [one a former horn player from his days in ska-tological humor] and a guitar player again) whose name was just the image of a single tear and who happened to make really awful music that would probably garner a pitchfork review in the negative integers and not even make it to warped tour's 8th stage on top of the portashitters?

but i digress. anyway, his sportsblog lives on, so much for wishful thinking.

SB's Verdict: since g cissy is in town for the latest jean paul sartre experience ep, i'm guessing he's spending all his time dining at michael and zoe's and angelika's with stephen malkmus and liz phair, hitting shows at brownies and tramps, boasting about the atlantic deal, and just living it up 1996-style, because that is where i imagine him to be frozen in lucite, because part of me is frozen there, too. [insert quiet, sad moment of reflection here.] [i'm just going to shut up now because my fingers ache from verbiage.]

teet's verdict: Dude didn't remember me from my year long torcherous unpaid internship, hence refusing to accept my fake bands Myspace friend request; and thusly inciting the wellspring of hateful web-wordery, but Lord knows he remembers me now! To be honest, from the tone of his text during said e-war, nestled snugly between his moments of total e-maliciousness aimed squarely at me, I think it is fair to say that some of his words read like we really hurt his feelings; in part, because we are young and he is not and we said as such, repeatedly, and being at the receiving end of someone pulling the youth card always cuts like a knife. My guess is that, as a 65+ year old dying hipster, who is desperately holding onto his last moments of relevancy through the work of Chan Marshall - and who is surely taking stock on what his life has become (a la the 'Hurt' Johnny Cash video) that he would rather just avoid the painful memory of us altogether. So what if on the internets he gold-fronted like he came out on top in all of this blog drama; in the confines of his London based, Railroad Jerk funded micro-castle, I know he cried himself to sleep while snotting all over his No Pocky For Kitty pillow case, wishing earnestly for the Homestead Records days of yore.

With all that meanness aside, he's defs no suspect for stealing our dxe stickers, dude's too busy putting out bad records.


Teet's Editors note: In summing up, despite how this whole featurette may read, I am not an awful person, was just bored and feisty in my younger years. Now I live alone in the woods (for real). Thank you, that is all.

SB's Editor's note: i also live alone in the woods, but soon i'm moving to the west coast, so fuck all the haters, keep yr stickers, i'm out.

Saturday, September 02, 2006

SB and I Might Be The Only People To Ever Read This X-tra Wordy Interview, Besides Lauren Austin. At The Thought Of This, I Shed A Single Tear. By, TS

SB Bennett Jackson-Lamay, besides being the most text intensive person I know outside of myself, is my total handsdown bestie fer life, as well as my partner in the datexedge mini-empire, as well as inexplicably hilarious. I know her better than I know anyone on the earth entire, yet because of our mutual fascination with both ourselves and each other - I thought it best to do the LONGEST INTERVIEW IN THE WORLD WITH HER FOR NO APPARENT REASON. Viva 2006 and our dual oodles of spare time.

1. Yr my best bud on earth, hands down. That is why I am interviewing you. I am obsessed with myself, flat out. That said, even though this is yr interview, lets start off by asking me a funny interview question. You have my solemn vow that I will do my best to answer it real funny-like.

1a.SB QUESTION: why are we both so in love with younger dudes? is it because we are both in towns where we are the sole single representatives of the/our (coveted) 26-32 demographic? because we/i work with older women and yarnstuffs all day and am even starting to think the 20 year old at the coffee shop next door who looks like alfred e. neuman seems hot because he has a lot of tattoos and a pulse (and 20's being generous, but i'm guessing he's not 16 unless he started getting tattoos at birth, but if he is that young i'm pretty sure i could go to jail just for writing this)? or because all dudes our age who aren't life partnered up are bald and or drug addicted? where's oprah when you need her?

1b. TEETER ANSWER (be forewarned: not as funny as I had initially anticipated): As we both know, I have severe cases of tanorexia, post nasal drip and mental/emotional arrested development. I am so effing old yet I insist on believing/living/acting like I am still a teenager. Some of my current besties in life, besides you, natch, are 14 to 17 years old. I identify with them on such a solid cultural and intellectual and musical level. In fact, my crankypants 31 year-old sister and I just got into a knock down, drag-out battle while I was trashed on cheap red wine because she said my favorite 16 year-old boypal ever, Gordon Levy, couldn't sleep over in the living room on the aerobed, by himself, after the big emo show next week because he was too young to be in her house and that it was super weird of me to even ask. Also, I love project dudes and the younger ones tend to be way more effed up. Also, Oprah is eating lean grilled chicken in a white wine and sun-dried tomato reduction with her full-time personal chef while blogging about how much she hates James Freys gutz. Obvi! Also, the song Clean Sheets by the Descendents is undeniably very excellent. Also also, apropos of absolutely nothing, I kindof hate Matt Owens. Thank you, that is all.

2. Who would you rather tongue smooch and also maybe touch in the bathing suit region: Jess Mariano from the Gilmore Girls, Logan Echolls from Veronica Mars, Jack from LOST or Angel from Buffy? Matthew Fox is one hot piece of ayass. I know from experience.

I currently live alone in rural new hampshire (tm), so thinking about intimate times with fictional characters takes up a big chunk of my day. it's hard tho, because their real life actor counter parts usually get in the way of my warm thoughts, and as much myself and, say, the kid from everwood would enjoy exploring each other's bodies, i can't get over the fact that said actor (ew) might be canadian/l ron tarded/like, 18 years old. so as i weigh the pros/cons of each character, the lines between fiction and reality might be blurred a bit, so prepare to go through the looking glass, people.

jack from lost: i am getting this out of the way up front because i don't watch lost. i know. i know i should watch lost. i should watch it and try to figure out the stupid numbers and be upset they killed the drunk 'rican girl off. BUT, the thing is, there is no room right now in sarah's tv obsession inn. veronica mars is taking up most of the top floor, gilmore girls has the presidential suite, and now sports night dvds are sharing tandem rooms by the pool. so lost has to wait at least 2 years until it makes its way up the waiting list, and besides, that guy was on party of five where he had a mullet, face moss and an on/off relationship with a bipolar skeleton. VERDICT: i don't know this guy from a hole in the ground and he needs to shave his face.

logan from veronica mars: as you and i both know, dudes on tv named logan are bad news; their characters are usually as unbelievable and contrived as the "wacky" name the show's scribes chose from the "baby names like montana and hunter" book they have in the writers room. in addition to being named for an airport, this logan a, has frosted tips, b, shops at toosh in the west village, specifically for fitted printed tee and manly windbreaker twin sets, and c, has some sort of deviated septum/broken nose/hayfever something something you can hear when he talks that makes it sound like he has to make that gross rumbling sound in his throat and/or hawk a giant loogie after each line of dialogue (and as much as you don't want to be there when he does it, you just want him to effin do it already because you are this close to pulling a mom, putting a tissue to his face, and saying blow). and of course, in real life, this guy is married to his scito high school sweetheart, hands out l ron pamphlets by the freeway, and insists tom cruise's baby is real. also his character coordinated bum fights and "did it" with cordelia. VERDICT: he looks like he just got back from a "lifestyle" conversion camp and i wouldn't want to be his one woman "welcome home" party, if you know what i "mean."

angel from buffy (and horrible angel): as you know, and as you readership should know, i am a yellow belt level joss whedon nerd-- while i've seen all buffys and angels and fireflys (but i didn't see serenity in the theater, i'm sorry!), i'm not lining up to buy my tickets to the james marsters at sea fanfest2000 where an autograph from demon #3 from "once more with feeling" will cost you $20. a lot of buffy fans liked buffy with spike, and in fact, if you go to youtube right now and search buffy and billy joel, you will find homemade videos to "always a woman to me" created to illustrate that fact (go now. i can wait). i guess i thought that pairing was a good idea at first, because angel was so self-righteous/left the show and spike dressed like my av nerd friends in high school (sup, tucked in black t-shirt) and liked the show passions, but when they actually did consumate their love/destroy a house in the process, it kind of made me ill. but whatever, this isn't about spike or the 44 year old man who played him (imdb.com. i've got all day). it's about angel, but the answer to this is simple because a, angel became a ginormo tank towards the end of his series, like, the-fat-guy-on-celebrity-fit-club-who-actually-needs-AA big, b, he has vampire zone cooties from his stupid exgirlfriend/the most insufferable angel plotline ever, darla, c, he married an effin playboy playmate in real life, which means that when his kids ask how he met mommy he'll have to say he fell for her at first sight when he saw her waxed'n'nekkid in a magazine, and d, if you get to know him biblically, he becomes evil and kills everyone, or if he doesn't, that means your private time together didn't make him truly happy, and that's when feelings get hurt. VERDICT: not even when hell freezes over (even and especially if buffy sends him there again).

jess from gilmore girls: as fans of datexedge know, jess was the hands down winner in the '05 gg eff toss, as we liked his punk planet t-shirt, love of the shaggs, and his ability not to be dean, so i feel the subject is well covered thankyouverymuch. then we touched the fourth wall when you had a romantic italian dinner with him (and his friend), and when his then-girlfriend, rory gilmore/"kim", praised the design of a handbag made by the company this very website serves to promote. but notice i say then-girlfriend, because he and rory/not-alexis are no more, and if i am to believe the gawker stalker, and it's more fun to, he was a total jerk to her, called her bad (the worst?) names in public, made her cry, and then told someone who asked if anything was wrong to eff off. this tells me that, unlike all the other dudes, jess and real-life jess and closest to being as one, so while he seems like a buttface, at least he won't chafe my face with his 10 o'clock shadow, try to give me a personality test, or go from being a waxed muscle man to having to shop at today's man big and tall. then again, now that we (ie you) have met him in real life, i feel kinda gross saying "i would venture into that guy's bikini area" when you have broken bread with him. also, he's kinda short, right? VERDICT: maybe? sorry.

IN CONCLUSION: i would easily have relations with the kid from everwood with the short haircut if hard up enough, or, if that creeps you out too much, danny from sports night forever and ever all night with lotion. happy now? also, seth rogen, call me.

3. Please decribe yr dream dude and the type of footwear that would be permissable and not permissable for him to wear. Shortie socks - approve or deny?

we have had many discussions about our dream dude, or at least the slim shaded section of the venn diagram where our dream dude qualifications collide (for example, being little is squarely in your circle, being-able-to-touch-the-rim-of-a-basketball-hoop tallness is in mine). as per our discussion: must be able to build/fix things, can be a sportsfan without having to watch televised sports, skateboarding can be in his past, but not the present/owns no element t-shirts and agrees that bam margera is a pox on humanity, acknowledges that dogs are #1 and wouldn't be a total mary about picking up dog poop (curb your dog, it's the law), reads on purpose, and can cook meats. long story short, normal is the new unique.

as for footwear, most types of classic tennis shoe are appropriate-- chucks, stan smiths, dunks, new balance, half-cabs, whatever-- but if you're wearing flip-flops, you better be on a beach or in a gay bath house, because real men don't put a thong between their toes, nor do they wear tevas, meshy merrils, or any other kind of outdoorsy foot baskets that do nothing but smell bad and make you look like a tourist. dc shoes indicate you believe fred durst, ipath shoes mean you're smuggling something in your footwear, and altaltjapanalt nikes mean you care more about footwear than girls which is gross. and i don't know about formal real shoes because i only date deadbeats that don't have real jobs anyway. but i guess if a dude is wearing bass loafers i'm going to assume he's either over 50 or under 18 and dressed by mom. please note: i have just described all the males in the town i live

oh, and shortie socks are your nemesis. i really don't care, unless said socks are worn with the aforementioned mandals, and then it's like, dude, you don't even deserve feet.

4. Detail fer our readers yr experience as a torchered indie rock teen at that country club style private sleep away high school you went to. Also, please do go ahead n dish the dirt on the poser siblings in Cl@p Yr H@nd5 S@y Y3ah (googleproofed).

i attended a half sleep-away/half not-sleep away private school in the suburbs of boston for seventh thru twelfth grades. despite the fact i made 4 very close friends there-- friends i still talk to and in fact just spent 3 days with cooking elaborate meals, complaining about dudes, and watching sports night dvds-- i never really felt like i fit in there because i was a, jewish, b, fat, c, loud/depressed, and d, not very smart. those 4 traits describe much of the incoming freshman class at tisch/nyu, so that's where i decided to go to college. unfortunately, i didn't possess the 5th trait, which is insanity for girls and homosexuality for boys, so i didn't exactly fit in there, either. but i did get a boyfriend and eat foods from around the world.

as for the twins for that band, i won't mention them by name because google is a tricky mistress, but they were in a phish cover band i think, and if they didn't officially cover phish they took parts of their songs and then put them in a blender and then spit them out different. i hated phish, and i still hate phish, because to me they sound like classic rock they might be giants. everyone at my school loved phish tho, and loved to follow them in their parents saabs and range rovers and wear their t-shirts under button downs their moms bought them at the mall. i liked superchunk, knowing that if i wore my prized foolish ringer with the bunny on it i would be called superchunk, but i didn't give a crap. anyway, those twins, they loved the phish-- put the band on their yearbook page, if i'm not mistaken-- and shared that page with a group of friends that included a guy i had every class with in seventh grade (because we were both pretty stupid) who is, like, 5 feet tall and was inexplicably popular, and another guy whose dad was my french teacher in eigth grade and called me fat in class, in french, thus making me cry, in english. that guy (son of jerk teacher) also spread a rumor that these two not gay girls were gay because they crashed a party and he was just a totally loathsome human being. i hear his dad left his mom for a llama farmer, swear to god. good for her.

the only thing i know about the twins themselves tho is that one was niceish and the other was always a straight-up d-bag, just totally unpleasant to be around and not nice to anyone but girls whose boobs he wanted to see. i also heard a rumor in 9th grade that they'd both gotten electrolysis on their unibrows, which is why they had these red marks between their now-separated eyebrows, but that seemed weird to me cuz they're blonde. they're also now currently balding, but you don't need to know them from high school to know that.

the last thing i know about them is that one of them currently lives with or maybe just dates this other girl from our class who was like insanely smart, pretty, manipulative, blonde, and your general high school nightmare. she was nice to me sometimes but other times i could pretty much tell she was meangirlsing me and i couldn't trust her farther than i could throw her, which was not far, despite the fact she was quite slim. she hates me now because i have a gossip palsy and told a group of people she knows in nyc about this high school rumor involving her and her then boyfriend and her butt, and i know i shouldn't have, but she was seriously so much in the past tense and unreal in my mind that i could have been describing last week's despserate housewives, except i don't watch that show. anyway she has every right to hate me, but i hope it wasn't my callous rumor mongering that drove her to living with/dating? baldy mcasshole von noindiecred.

my 4 good friends all went to the reunion this year (i couldn't had work thank god) and i don't think the twins were there; probably playing some "indie" fest with the manager, publicist and eyebrow stylist they've had before they got signed in tow. (i made that last one up, but please note that i am being snarky because indie bands do not have managers trying to get them signed and if you think they do you probably like/are in the strokes or know nothing about indie music and grew up listening to phish [altho i realize that people's tastes can diversify in college cuz i really like creedence now and in high school any music made before 1977 made me wanna punch a wall]).

i don't think the loathsome guy, or the short dude, or the meangirl were there, either, but 3 of my friends spent the night flirting with this guy who had a mullet freshman year and a different pearl jam t-shirt for every day of the week. so if you're in high school now, don't worry, even the lamest guy could be hot one day if you have enough free cocktails and he's one of the 3 dudes in yr class that isn't totally bald.

5. How didja come to be so painfully funny?

trust me, no one but you and me is going to understand a word of what is written here, let alone be amused. some might cry, tho.

6. I have been obsessed with you since forevs.com or something. We are not gay, howevs, you totally broke up with me somewhere around 2001. Will you be doing any snow shoe-ing this winter?

i'm a big fan of snow shoeing, even tho it's really just walking thru the snow in clown shoes, but i think that's just cuz i don't have the right shoes because my mom and i have the same shoes and i'm about half a foot taller than her so it doesn't seem right. we, you and i, went snow shoeing across the lake once on a warm day just before we broke up and you freaked because there was water in your snow shoe print, so we had to walk along the shore to get home thru the trees and piles of scat, which is a folksy term for deer poop. you also refused to take off your built by wendy coat and from-japan/ill-fitting fuzzy hat, even in the snow, and generally tried to kill me with your eyes. so thanks for bringing that up.

7. This summer I am snowboarding with affluent teens on a glacier in Oregon and you are hiding out on a lake where Stephen Tyler from Aerosmith is yr seasonal neighbor. What do you like better - Sebadoh or sugar free Jello brand Snack Packs?

i'm kind of over jello right now, because trader joes pudding pretty much owns me and i don't need to eat gelatin fruit right now because it's summer in rural new hampshire (tm) and you can get blackberries by the roadside and eat nectarines so juicy you need a wet nap. i still listen to the freed weed in my itunes tho (drugs are bad stay in school) and if you don't get lil chills from hearing brand new love then you are most likely dead inside.

H. Dude, on Tuesdays in NYC we have secret Fat Club meetings at Atlas, our fave mediterranean hole in the wall, on 2nd Ave and 5th street. Our skeezy homies that run that place spell pretty much everything on the menu wrong. Please make up an entree name using some of their most prized mispellings.

maracan chichen sandwhiche pancak - tomoto, cucumbre, creem chee, harts of pam, and spicy.

8. Ask yrself n answer 2 questions that you secretly wish someone would ask you in a published interview situation. Blow peoples minds, please.

1, what 15 movies do you think you've seen more than any other movies?

in my family, we believe that everybody has "a touch of the 'tism," which is to say that, no matter how normal you think you are, everybody's just a little bit autistic in one way or another. i make my way on to the spectrum because, if i like a movie or tv show, i can watch it 900 hundred million times. of course, sometimes "watching" something means listening to it while i crochet (i'm a professional crocheter, fyi) (yes, we exist), but a lot of times, watching means just that. ie, #15 on this list, ie, the movie i have seen the least of the most, is a movie i have seen easily 50 times. judge me if you must, but it's not like i'm rainman or anything but it does sort of explain why i hate being touched. oh my god breakthrough.

also, a lot of the runners up would prolly be in the top 15 if they hadn't come out/weren't favorites in my youth when my parents regulated my tv time and homework destroyed my life. some of the top 15 did come out then but made their way into my summers or came to my attention later in life since they had nipples in them or something and my parents wouldn't let me watch them while in their direct care.

the runners up: rudy / slapshot / roadhouse / ladies and gentlemen the fabulous stains / rushmore / dazed and confused (i saw this 6 times in the theater and i don't even smoke pot! [stay in school just say no]) / before sunrise / raising arizona / better off dead / the ringwald-hughes troika (ie, pretty in pink) / dirty dancing / braveheart / pee wee's big adventure / my own private idaho (river pheonix dude don't mess) / annie hall / the muppets take manhattan / billy madison / other crap i probably blocked out out of shame, and that means it's got to be pretty bad given what my #2 movie is.

15: serenity - when i was moving from nyc to rural nh (also tm), this was one of the only dvds i left unpacked, and in the weeks before i actually filled up the rental van and got the hell out of dodge, i had a job crocheting a sweater for a pattern book. i had, like, 2 weeks to make the entire thing, like project runway for yarnarts, and i spent 50% of my hookin' time with this movie on in the background. i even listened to the commentary once, and i like joss whedon commentary, even tho he refuses to talk smack about his actors (and you know that real life buffy probably wasn't cake to work with), because you can tell he loves all that he does and is most likely totally kick ass in real life and can probably restart an arrested heart with his mind. anyway, this is a great movie, even if you're not a total nerd, because the lead guy is hot (swear to god-- squint a little, you'll see it), stuff blows up, and people say funny crap, even tho there are random swears in chinese and people you like die (unfair!). i'd see firefly first tho, not just because this movie'll make slightly more sense, but because it's just a good show and i really don't get why battlestar gallactica has been on for 2 years and this show got axed in 10 minutes. also, david krumholtz, get a haircut and call me.

14: boyz n the hood - my freshman year of college we didn't get cable, got no reception, and this is the only movie my roommate owned. i think we watched it on a bi-weekly basis, that and party of five, so they're kind of mashed up in my brain now which i don't mind telling you is a little weird and kind of uncomfortable to talk about.

13: anchorman / the 40 year old virgin - i will take any excuse to watch these movies; saw both in the theater more than once, have on demanded them, dvd'd them, forced people who've never seen either to sit thru them, will take planes if they're the inflight movie, whatever. everybody knows about these movies so i don't really need to explain their genius, but if you have the anchorman dvd, the lou rawls commentary is kind of mind bending, and oh also IT NEVER STOPS BEING FUNNY NOT EVER.

12: 28 days later - this is kind of a head scratcher but i caught this movie on cable late at night when i was at death's door with tired and i kind of loved it cuz a, the magic of tivo made the really scary parts fly by, and b, i wanted to be on cillian murphy. so i guess it really isn't that complicated. my friend emma says he looks like a mid-op transsexual, but she's just jealous of how pretty he is. plus he has a shaved head and everyone knows that all boys should look ready to join the military at any given time. in fact, my friend rebecca and i were talking this past week about how the marines are our favorite branch of the armed services because the army does yeoman's work and the navy is just too gay. and we're both total pinkos who used to love evan dando in high school. we hate the war, we support the troops. or at least we want to. in that way. semper fi.

11: shawshank redeption / back to the future - when i was a sophomore in college, i shared a tv with 4 girls, and one of said girls liked to spend her saturdays watching tbs. this should pretty much explain everything. she even called tbs "the shawshank channel." sometimes, when i also had no life, i'd find myself watching andy do the redemption crawl for the 9 millionth time, but i'd only get teary when marty would say he wants to go back to the year 1985, cuz dammit, i'm old and i'm sick of my entertainment reminding me of that fact.

10: kicking and screaming (not the will ferrell movie)- this movie lives in any tivo i have anywhere i am. i guess it's coming out on dvd soon, which is good, because i've broken my vhs copy and ifc can only show this movie so many times a year. this movie is at once totally familiar and totally strange; you've had conversations like this, and you know people like this, or at the very least you've watched enough movies and tv shows that attempt to capture the same thing so it feels like you've lived it a thousand times. even so, you watch it and you're left wondering, why are these college dudes wearing blazers, and is that guy really supposed to be 22, and why do movies and tv make it seem like telling someone you love them is a big deal when i have a friend who signs off business calls that way? noah baumbach directed and co-wrote this movie, and i almost like his other movie, mr. jealousy, better, but
it's hard as hell to find and eric stoltz is a little harder to look at for 2 whole hours. noah baumbach co-wrote the life aquatic, which i kind of hated, because it seemed like a vogue photo shoot come to life instead of a movie, but it makes sense since both noah baumbach and wes anderson made amazing debuts (kicking/bottle rocket), great followups (jealousy/rushmore), and then total crap (aquatic/the royal tennenbaums, aka rushmore with max fisher's traits spread over a bunch of more famous actors). long story short, this movie is funny in a way that things aren't usually funny but if you're a teen it might go straight over your head, if only because one of the leads has some of the worst 90s hair i've ever seen.

9: heathers - i've written 2 academic papers on this movie and bullied my history teacher into showing it at the end of my junior year of high school, which doesn't make any sense since it doesn't have anything to do with federalism or fdr or any american history except that of cinematic excellence. still, i have an excuse for watching it so many times/practically memorizing the entire thing, because it was, like, research or something. kids, your wacky aunts might rent you pretty in pink or sixteen candles and talk about the teen movie glory days, but make them show you heathers even tho they'll say your parents won't like the idea.

5/4 (it's 3 movies but whatever): grease / goonies / disney's robin hood - i had these three movies on one vhs tape when i was a kid and watched them every day for 2 summers straight, sometimes more than once. it's weird watching grease now because it's sort of dirty, but my sister and i just liked the songs and sassy stockard channing. oh, and that weird noise john travolta makes at the end of summer nights, between the "oh suh uh mer" and "nhiy-yights." there's nothing i can say about goonies that teeter probably hasn't already said, but it totally stands the test of time and if they try to make a sequel and ruin it with an olsen twin or andy milinakis or whatever, i will firebomb all of hollywood. as for robin hood, it's probably the best disney movie ever, better than the little mermaid even, and totally better than the lion king which seems racist in a way i can't put my finger on. also every grown woman who saw that movie as a kid wants to kick it to the animated fox and if they say different they are lying.

3+: coming to america / raw - coming to america is always on one cable channel at any time during any day of the year, i swear to god, and 90% of the time, i am watching it and laughing out loud. sexual chocolate, soul glo, stay off the drugs, whatever, i have seen it so much it is playing in my brain somewhere right now and i am still amused. as for raw, i went thru a phase where i watched this movie at least once a week after finding the vhs on ebay, and when i told this really snooty friend of my sister's about it, this harvard guy who looked vaguely like the guy trying to enter the midvale school for the gifted in that farside cartoon, he scoffed at me, like, you watch raw once a week? well, yeah, jerk. kiss my leather suited butt.

2: bull durham - nobody understands why i love this movie so much, but i seriously love this movie, love it like a woman loves a man, or parents love their kids, or my dog loves to pee on the corners in my house (which is more than the other two even tho it's not immediately obvious). i mean, i like baseball in that i know the red sox are the best team ever and coco crisp has a HILARIOUS name, but i can't tell you what an rbi is or what place they're in (ok, they're out, but next year dude) (i'm a cliche, deal with it). i like the dialogue, and i like characters that have been totally crapped on their whole lives, and i like that it makes me like sports even tho i completely hate jocks and watching sports on tv and pretty much everything athletic except for tennis, kayaking, and hockey on feet. the only thing i don't like about this movie is the jacuzzi jazz interlude in the scene before crash (!) goes to annie (!!) to commence their long overdue physical times, because ew. otherwise, this movie is filled with life lessons and even manages to make kevin costner appealing, which is pretty much on par with cold fusion or making peace in the middle east.

1: airplane! - i know this'll be hard for the younger, hilary duff generation to believe, but those of us from the winona generation remember a time before vcrs. my parents got one early since up here in rural nh (tm) didn't used to have tv reception of any kind, not even channel 7 or reruns of taxi. people would come up to visit us a lot on weekends, and we would make almost all of them watch airplane!. then, when they weren't here, we'd finish dinner and my dad would say, "who wants to watch airplane!(?)," and the answer was everyone. i recently updated us to dvd since our bootleg copy is now half decayed into a pile of dust and daddy longleg skeletons, and ps, still funny. i have seen this movie so many times it's practically embedded in my dna, and hey, there are worse things to pass on to your children, like titanic, or crack addiction, sayin.

2, what do you like so much about new hampshire?

i like that it would be perfectly normal to see a guy riding a motorcycle down the highway with no helmet, a tubetopped woman in the back, a fist of state liquor store-purchased cheapo whiskey in one hand and lit fireworks in the other. i like that crocs and immitation crox are the shoe of the year second year running, or really that a shoe can have 2 years in the spotlight. i like my job, and i like that i can kayak after work like it's no big, and i like that i can listen to music really loud while cooking dinner that i would be too ashamed to listen to if anyone else was around/generally embracing that my musical taste has fallen off completely and that i'm turning into an old woman even tho i'm never going to shop at chicos or wear control top hose or really hose period. i like that i can drive down main street and get fresh farmstand produce and run into people i know at the coffee shop and not have to see any american apparel ads that make my stomach turn/not have to listen to people who try to justify american apparel's policy of exploiting workers bad-exploiting women ok/not talk to anyone who really knows what american apparel is. i like that, even tho a dunkin donuts just opened in down, i don't get the feeling like i do in nyc that in the next ten years the only businesses that are going to be able to afford rent are bank of america and dunkin donuts thus limiting your business transactions to taking money out of the atm to get a coolata. i like not being broke constantly, and that the pharmacy has pretty much everything you'd need including tupperware and award ribbons and life jackets, and also, i really like not living in new york.

Tuesday, January 31, 2006

Open Letters Drive Us Apart.

My dearest SB,

Gosh SB, big news: I've just completed my first afternoon scrapbooking seminar
at the Kissimee-St. Cloud Elks Club and while I was there I think I
also found a boyfriend! His name is Willy Janks and he's a total dream.
Granted he's a bit younger {16 and a half} but SB, he really understands me, we
just have this indescribable connection. He's an excellent scrapbooker
- was actually working as the teachers assistant and caught my eye
while he showed Mrs. VanHeusen his most recent finished work. You should
see his Vacation Sensation and Gone Fishin' pages, they have such a
wonderful flow about them.


Gosh SB, then he invited me to Burger Notionz rite after seminar and paid for the
Value Meals and the Cinnamon Twists and Mr. Pibb and everything.


Then we walked down to the duck pond right by the Interstate overpass and
scratched Kenny Chesney lyrix in the mud with empty beer bottles;
talked about life, spirituality, penguins, vlasic zesty pepper rings,
improving ones self-image and renters insurance.

duck pond

The last time I felt that comfortable was when you and I ate Pastrami sandwhiches and nondairy slaw at the 2nd Avenue Deli and then fell asleep face down in our corner



Gosh SB, I'm pretty sure he's the one. In other news, Aunt Brenda and Uncle
Ron are pissed because the Gremlin died last Wednesday and has been sitting
by the dumpster in the 99 Cent Dream parking lot - and I haven't called Troy at
Repairz4Less yet because I spent my entire paycheck this week on some
new pieces for my ceramic kitten collection.


Gosh SB, I sure miss you and Buzzo and NYC and the {F}Atlas crew. No matter how much Willy completes me, life just isn't the same if every Tuesday night I'm not powerstuffing 3 to 16 slices of delicious delicious vegan cake into my garbagey piehole with all my bestest most isolationist big city girlpals.

Cindarella Falafel 4ever!

Kissimee-St.Cloud is fer lovers,

The future Mrs. TS Janks


dear teet,

so here's the scene-- i'm sitting outside the quack shack in my
soon-to-be hometown of manatee*, nh, eating a chocolate vanilla froyo
swirl with double jimmies (on top and on the bottom, only way to go)
when a young man in a john cougar melloncamp t-shirt starts petting
buzzo and huffing his face.



i tell the man that's a bad idea and the man says he likes dogface smell and have i been to the thrift shoppe upthe hill yet tonight because the pickins is good. i point to my $2/bag haul and we joke about the white trash family that comes to the shoppe's late hours every week with the severely downs-y son and grandma who
isn't older than 40.


he offers to buy me another round of froyo and
says he actually recognizes me from my hiptop blog, pocket max
fish-erman, in which i take digital portraits of me and my supercool
friends at new york's hot spot for aging hipsters/livers, and asks if i
want to go with him to a manchester fishercats game. i say, word, and
know that i will never know alone time again.



while i am glad kissimee st cloud has given you access to free food and
a sweet job, do not forget the dxe, young grasshopper. sure i may look
for face-on-face action during my up north sojourn, but let us not
forget that relationship jail always ends with a death sentence, and
while you might be blinded in the sunshine state, i choose to live free
or die. here are my goals for ought6 that no manpiece shall interfere

-becoming a level OVII crocheter, or whatever tom cruise is in his cult


-kayaking down job's creek and seeing a beaver dam



-learning the drums to every song on damn the torpedos


-inventing a cookie recipe that brings out the splenda flavor


-getting my ears pierced


do not lose sight of your dreams in the haze of a special new place! i
believe the children are our future! free aaron echolls!

kill em all,



* - nh town name changed to deter wierdos

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