Archive for September, 2006|Monthly archive page


In Uncategorized on 09/30/2006 at 2:43 am

developing news… BladderGate kicks World Chess Championship in the…

In Uncategorized on 09/30/2006 at 2:29 am

and you thought chess was boring…


In Uncategorized on 09/30/2006 at 12:25 am


Lady: You’re making me wet… I SAID you’re making me wet.
Man: Yes, I tend to have that effect on the ladies.
Lady: With your umbrella.
Man: I’m flattered, but it’s not that big.

–1 train

Overheard by: Sloane

via Overheard in New York, Sep 29, 2006

29-Year-Old Virgin?

In Uncategorized on 09/27/2006 at 10:08 pm

A rant from my friend Helen. Hope you enjoy.

Attention “awesome dudes”: Jane, a women’s magazine-turned-pimp, needs you! The popular rag in a generous act of charity has recently picked up the plight of 29-year-old Sarah, a virgin determined to have sex before her 30th birthday. Thanks to the Jane website, men can now send in their applications to have a date (and if they’re lucky – mate) with the celibate. Also featured is a blog chronicling Sarah’s journey (“All Virgin, All the Time”), descriptions of would-be-wooers (including those who fall under the creepy category of men hand-picked by Sarah’s father – one goes as far as to claim he’s amazing in bed), and of course, an online polling station so any asshole with a computer can choose who Sarah should sleep with by picking who she will next date.
It’s not a novel concept to use the internet to solicit sex, but it must be the first time someone is choosing to use Jane magazine, a publication that boasts the writing talents of Pamela Anderson. Sarah insists that she has been holding out all these years for Mr. Right but unfortunately never found him. Now following in the wise footsteps of reality-television contestants and leaving her love-life in the hands of mass media, Sarah seems to genuinely be searching for more than just a one-night stand…at least until November 7th, her birthday, when she’ll say goodbye to 29, and her chastity belt.
Personally, I think it’s a publicity stunt. As a self-proclaimed stand-up comic, what could be better for Sarah’s career than a load of interviews, a feature in a magazine, and a bold re-enactment of 2005’s comedy, The 40 Year Old Virgin? Madonna (the singer – not that other Virgin) knew what she was talking about when she said, “I always thought of losing my virginity as a career move.”

Follow the virgin’s progress or assert your power-to-deflower via application at right here 🙂

worth a look…

In bblonde on 09/27/2006 at 6:39 am

He is a University of Washington State drop-out who believed in dreams. Currently he is the fifth richest man in America, worth a mere $16 billion. He is crazy about sports and bought not one, but two teams, football’s Seattle Seahawks and basketball’s Portland Trailblazers. He’s a cancer survivor, real estate developer, philanthropist, venture capitalist and both the lead strategist, the real brain behind world’s richest company AND the lead guitarist, in a rock band aptly named ‘Grown Men’. Oh yes, and he is a major contributor to the SETI, or Search for Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence project.

And now, Microsoft co-founder Paul Allen has successfully completed an ambitious web based, 3D atlas, one that maps all the genes in a mouse brain. The Allen Brain Atlas, unveiled today, will literally change some of our lives as we search for cures to such brain disorders as Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s, epilepsy, schizophrenia, autism, depression and behavioral mechanisms underlying compulsive addictions.
We humans have more than 90 percent of our genes in common with the Mouse; mapping this represents a significant step in understanding our own brain. Ultimately it may also help unlock the mysteries of how we think, see, feel, hurt and experience other emotions and sensations that fly around the 1 quadrillion communications points in the brain.

All of this is the culminating results of a project for brain science that Allen established in 2003 and provided $100 million in seed money as they embarked on a three-year quest to map 21,000 active genes in a mouse brain. The genes were detected in various sections of the brain, filled with a photogenic substance and then photographed by automated microscopes and uploaded into a computer.

The atlas shows a map of active genes in the brain, which in turn provides links to specific brain functions.
More than 85 million images were captured; the 600 terabytes of information in the on-line atlas could fill 20,000 I-Pods. A 5minute demo of the atlas is available here.
Roughly one-fourth of American adults, or 58 million people, suffer from a diagnosable brain disorder in a given year. About 4.5 million have Alzheimer’s; autism is the fastest growing developmental disability in the nation; 2.7 million have epileptic seizures; schizophrenia affects 2.2 million people, and 1 percent of Americans over 65 have been diagnosed with Parkinson’s.

“Computers are simple,” Allen says. “Brains are far more complex.”

really is worth a look… warning #1; you must download and install BrainExplorer software from here 🙂 and warning #2; do not click on image above if you think you are squeamish about mouse brain dissections :))

life in the fastlane ….#29

In Uncategorized on 09/24/2006 at 12:45 pm

How to tell when it’s time to leave your job…

CBC boss dumps himself over odd remarksUPDATED: 2006-09-20 02:40:43 MST

OTTAWA — CanadianBroadcastingCorporation Chairman Guy Fournier has resigned his post after finding himself in deep “doo-doo” for making bizarre comments on bestiality and bowel movements.
Heritage Minister Bev Oda confirmed in the House of Commons yesterday that Fournier had resigned and will be replaced by someone who reflects the position’s importance.
Fournier incorrectly claimed in a magazine article that men in Lebanon are permitted to have sex with animals “as long as they are female. Doing the same thing with male beasts can result in the death penalty.” The erroneous suggestion sparked outrage in Montreal’s Lebanese community. During an interview aired on a popular Radio-Canada television show last Sunday, Fournier sang the praises of a good “poop.” He said the pleasure of a bowel movement is longer-lasting and more frequent than sex.
update; A little bird told us that fun loving Guy, already on the hot seat for his party soirees and gourmet meals at taxpayers’ expense, had in fact not resigned with ‘grace’ but had to be pushed out in a rather ugly confrontation. oh Guy Guy.. what were you thinking?

thanks kate 🙂

ps. In the interests of accuracy, here in fact are Guy’s exact words; “The most extraordinary thing is that, in the end, as you grow older, you continue to go poop once a day if you are in good health, while it is not easy to make love every day. So finally, the pleasure is longer lasting and more frequent than the other.” hmm.. Guy, maybe it was time to flush…

starbucks confessions #13

In Uncategorized on 09/23/2006 at 2:29 pm

“…at the last staff meeting, another new partner and I were going through the nutritional information brochure, trying to find the most calorie-laden drink at Sbux. It’s a Venti breve white chocolate mocha. Breve (pronounced “brev-ay”) means that it’s made with half-and-half cream. 900 calories, my friends, and if that wasn’t enough to stop your heart, you also get 51 grams of fat. That’s like half of some people’s daily diet! Ewwwwww… I haven’t had anyone order it yet, but have had a couple people order breve drinks, mainly tall breve lattes, and the smell of steamed half and half is gross enough. “

thanx colin 🙂

on faking it…

In lisa fitterman on 09/23/2006 at 2:39 am

Sadly, Fay Weldon dulls sharp edge of her feminism and recommends joyless sex.
“Fay, honey, sometimes I’m really happy when I’m being… really bad.”

Call it a classic movie moment. It occurs in woody Allen’s film Celebrity, in which the main character’s former wife, Robin, visits a hooker to take lessons in oral sex.
“What goes through your mind when you’re doing it?” the hooker asks, curious.
“The Crucifixion,” Robin replies.
Oh, the suffering. (Not that I suffer, although why I feel I have to come right out and say that is perhaps fodder for a future column. Or not.)
I raise this topic because one of my all time favorite authors, the one who wrote Praxis, The Fat Woman’s Joke, Female Friends and the viciously funny Life and Loves of a She-Devil, the writer who planted in me the seeds of a cranky feminist- is now telling women that it’s best to fake it. Come again? (C’mon. Could you resist?)
I kid you not. Fay Weldon, long considered at the very vanguard of the feminist movement, is not only telling women to pretend they’re having the most earth-shaking, fabulous orgasms in the world, but to praise their partners afterward in order to make them feel like real men.
In What Makes Women Happy, scheduled to be published this Wednesday by HarperCollins, Weldon, now 74, sounds surprisingly conservative as she dismisses views that women have fought for over the years, like the right to have it all. Even the book’s cover (at least in Britain), is telling, as it depicts a naked male torso with a six-pack, period.
Is this what makes women happy?
Surely Weldon is being tongue-in-cheek as she explores how our lives, jobs, families, bodies, needs and responsibilities affect our happiness?
Surely she’s joking when she posits that women with successful careers will probably end up alone, that sexual pleasure and high-powered jobs don’t go together, and that we women should simply throw in the towel and be happy with our lot?
And she can’t be serious when she concludes that the Victorians were right: to be happy is to be good, and to be good is to be happy?
I mean, Fay, honey, sometimes I’m really happy when i’m being bad. Really bad.
Sadly, it’s no joke. According to Weldon, a whopping 80 per cent of us have orgasms only sometimes or even never, so we should just deal with that and move on. In effect, she subscribes to that other seminal movie scene in the deli between Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal in When Harry Met Sally, where Ryan fakes an orgasm so strong, an elderly woman tells a waitress, “I’ll have what she’s having.”
“If you are happy and generous minded,” Weldon writes, “you will fake it and then leap out of bed and pour him champagne, telling him, ‘You are so clever’ or however you express enthusiasm. Faking is kind to male partners… Otherwise they too may become anxious and so less able to perform. Do yourself and him a favour, sister: fake it.”
Not even a nudge-nudge, wink-wink suggestions to fool him and keep the champagne to our non-orgasmic selves!
It’s as if this is the ugly female flip side of the Michael Noer column on that i wrote about several weeks ago, in which he suggested that men not marry career women because they’ll end up alone, sick or living in dirty houses.
I don’t know about you, but the thought of lying there groaning and panting in increasingly loud increments while thinking about what colour to paint the kitchen puts me to sleep. That’s not to say i haven’t faked it when pressed for time: I have, on occasion, and those who piously claim you’ve never done so, well, liar, liar pants on fire.
But if you can’t experience orgasms with your partner, i suggest it’s much more beneficial to the relationship to tell him about it, and tell him what you do need. if he has problems with that, them kick him out of the bedroom. After all, relationships are grounded in the belief that you shouldn’t betray or deceive each other.
Why should sex be any different?

Lisa Fitterman is a columnist on the edge for the Montreal Gazette. She writes about sex, relationships, housecleaning and anything else that is offbeat, off kilter or simply catches her eye. Vancouver born and bred, she began her career in 1983 at the Vancouver Sun as a general assignment reporter and quickly progressed to covering politics because no one else in the newsroom wanted to move to Victoria.
Over the past 20 years or so, she has also lived in Edmonton, Boston and, of course, Montreal, where she has settled down with He Who Must Obey.
Her stories have run the gamut, from grisly murder trials to provincial elections and sports coverage. She has won a National Newspaper Award for sports writing.

No Drunks on Board, Please

In cocktales on 09/21/2006 at 5:47 pm

What follows is an actual letter sent to a friend of mine (not me, honest) by Air Canada. Ha. Specifics changed for the purpose of safeguarding identity.

Dear Miss Waitts,

Thank you for your extensive email describing the events surrounding your travel on August 8, 2006. We are truly sorry to learn of the series of events which prevented you from travelling on AC225 from Edmonton to Vancouver. Based on your description we can certainly understand your frustration. Our staff is expected to carry out their duties in a professional, courteous and efficient manner at all times. Whenever we fail to meet the expectations of our customers we are concerned. Your concerns and comments have been documented and forwarded to the appropriate manager for internal review. As per the Canadian Domestic General Rules of Tariff No. CDGR-1 Rule 35AC Refusal to transport *Passenger’s Conduct – Refusal to Transport Prohibited Conduct and Sanctions * our staff felt it was in the best interest of all concerned, denied boarding on this flight was necessary.
At this time our staff requested the disposal of alcohol in a pop can which was in your possession at the gate. Our staff was able to accommodate you on AC349 departing two hours later. It is noted our staff in the lounge was able to assist you and we apologize for any inconvenience caused. While we realize this is not the answer you were hoping for, our staff was acting in good faith. Once again, Ms.Waitts, please accept our sincere apologies for the disruption to your trip. We appreciate your support and look forward to welcoming you on board again soon.

Cara Klump,
Customer Solutions

Author’s note: This is an ongoing and progressively nasty correspondence, if any one wants to hear more.

life in the fastlane… #23

In Uncategorized on 09/19/2006 at 8:11 am

All in a day’s work ; Maxim interviews two ladies named.. um.. Heaven and Diamond. (we swear. who could make this stuff up??)

Maxim: You’re onstage, dancing, grinding, taking your clothes off. What are you thinking about?
Heaven: Sometimes I think about cleaning my room. Or paying the car insurance. When you’re working naked, you tend to think about bills a lot.
M: Does it make a difference whether you’re stripping for a handsome guy or an ugly slob?
Diamond: Oh, big time. If he’s ugly and pathetic but very sweet, I’ll try to make it extra special for him. But if he’s good-looking, I enjoy it more.
M: What song do you hate stripping to?
D: “Y.M.C.A.” You just can’t be sexy to “Y.M.C.A.”
M: Any lap dancing moves in your arsenal guaranteed to make guys fork over money?
H: It’s not rocket science: I shake my ass in their face. But if you touch them, even a little, it drives them crazy. They whisper to their buddies, “She touched me! She touched me!” And out comes the money.
M: Ever get any weirdos at the club?
D: Some guys come in wearing bras or women’s panties.
M: Ever go home with a patron?
H: No, there’s a line you don’t cross. But I’d say 60 percent of the girls cross it. Some do it once for the money, but then they end up doing it again and again.
Can I buy you a drink?
H: You gotta be kidding me.

thankx nadia 🙂

real fall fashion…

In Uncategorized on 09/18/2006 at 5:09 am

GOING Once, GOING Twice, SHE’S GONE : Not that we have ever gone in for such blatant schadenfreude, and gods knows we gals take enough falls on our own. However there is no denying misery loves company and we simply want to point out that shoes have become treacherous for even top seasoned professionals, like this model at the Proenza Schouler runway show. The new wood block platforms and sky-high pumps have facilitated several stumbles during the Fashion Week unless of course this is a new form of fashion statement 😉

thanks nadia 🙂
(Brad Barket / Getty Images)

If Only It Had Been A Relay Race

In cocktales on 09/16/2006 at 6:48 pm

(Continued from Dr.Jekyll Y Señor Hyde)
By the time we were through a few more beers and some more or less useless conversation, the both of us being intensely aware that the majority of it was pretense since all we really wanted to do was start ripping each others’ clothes and do some serious porch-wrestling, I returned to the patio with two more Coronas. By now I was completely enthralled not only with the Auzzie’s couches, but the steel corner he had installed on his kitchen counter for the sole purpose of knocking bottle tops off. (I often tended to use park picnic tables or cement steps, depending on whichever was closest, and had sustained numerous injuries in the process) I returned to our little Island In The Sun (well, Terrace Over the Parking Lot,) and the amount of space on it had seemed to have shrunk considerably. It was time for the games to begin. I don’t really remember who started it, but someone touched someone and then there was kissing, and, funny how this seems to happen, but next thing I knew I was stark naked and enjoying everything that comes with two people being undressed in an enclosed space at the mercy of the Great Outdoors. It was just like camping. Rainproofed tarp folding chairs with cupholders and a Corona. Except that I was getting head while I was sipping my beer. What more could a girl ask for? Some time later, and another round of booze in place of traditional after-spooning, which would have been awkward considering our seating arrangements, a chill passed through the air and it became time to retire to the living room. I was certain that the couches were mine.
It was still relatively early, and Auzzie suggested we go out and make the most of the rest of the evening. I agreed, and we left to meet up with a friend of his at a bar with reddish lighting that made me question my earlier assessment of my exact degree of my drunkenness. When I returned from the ladies’ room, there were drinks on the table. Good. But then I noticed there were two beers for the boys, and some pretty little thing with a cherry in it for me. Bad. I became immediately suspicious. Anyone, and I mean anyone, who listens with even half an ear to any conversation with me for the majority of an evening, especially while we are drinking beer, knows that I don’t drink pretty little girly things, and am quite dedicated to brewed pleasures. I had the distinct feeling that something was amiss and that my status was being relegated to that of the token girl for the evening. I was certain that the maraschino cherry was mocking me. I started to feel concerned that my couches were slipping away.
Realizing that Dale was still drinking (I relaxed on my insistence that we take public transit after he insisted that he’s not a D&D) I was seriously questioning the wisdom of his being behind any wheel, even that of a beater which would have great difficulty running over a cat, as we continued on to the next place-a hip lounge with a great dance floor and an adjoining room with mood lighting and couches for the seal-the-deal conversations that are more difficult to orchestrate on the dance floor.
I was in the midst of a conversation and some shots with the Auzzie’s friend at the front bar when I noticed that we hadn’t seem him since we’d come in. As we started to do a tour of the lounge in search of our lost companion, it didn’t take me long to notice that he was quite comfortably parked on one of the said seal-the-deal couches with a quite attractive brunette. ‘Maybe she’s his cousin’, said the don’t-get-angry voice in my head. But then I also noticed that his friend was displaying obvious signs of discomfort, of the ‘I’ve seen this before and I know what’s coming’ kind. Hmm. Not the type to jump to conclusions, and reasonably certain that it was bad etiquette to pick up while escorting a two-hour-old fuck, I sat down on the couch, said hello, and was greeted with an ‘Oh! there you are,’ introduced to the mystery woman, and then promptly ignored as they reengaged in whatever obviously scintillating conversation they had been having before we so rudely interrupted. I turned around just in time to see his friend running for the door, fumbling excuses about having another engagement he had to attend. I had to hand it to Dale. Even I hadn’t successfully managed to get out of any interpersonal involvements this cleanly and with that kind of speed.
I debated letting him have it, dumping my drink in his lap, or alternately pickup up someone else myself etc.etc., but I honestly thought the latter option was kind of gross (I mostly limit myself to acquiring one new sexual partner per evening, unlike some people) and couldn’t muster enough emotional attachment to bother with causing any kind of scene, or wasting my drink, for that matter. I mostly just felt sorry for the poor girl beside him on the couch, who would,in a matter of hours, be stuck drinking the wrong drink, and mysteriously felt the sudden need to get an STD test. It was time to go to IKEA.

brainwashcafe french lesson…#39

In Uncategorized on 09/15/2006 at 9:08 pm

wisdom of jean claude vanDamme

La Coke :”La coke la coke y a pas plus merdique que la coke ok ? ça arrête la tête, ça te fout tout en l’air, hein, on sait pas ce qu’on dit, on sait pas ce qu’on fait, ok ? […] La coke faut pas toucher c’est de la merde. J’ai essayer moi de la battre. On peut pas la battre. Alors elle devient, quand on la connaît, elle devient un compagnon qu’on touche pas. Je suis allergique à la coke, c’est très simple, et c’est pour ça que je sais parler maintenant, je suis en forme, j’ai peur de personne, je suis fort dans les yeux, parce que j’ai pas de coke tu vois ? Bon je parle un peu vite. C’est pas un problème non si je suis rapide. Chuis un mec qu’est rapide, je suis speed, pourquoi ? Je mange que des légumes.”JC Van Damme.

and… the amazing google translation 😉

Coke: “Doesn’t coke coke have merdique there than coke ok? does that stop the head, that you fout all in the air, hein, one does not know what one says, one does not know what one makes, ok? […] Coke is not necessary to touch it is shit. I have to try me to beat it. One cannot beat it. Then it becomes, when it is known, it becomes a companion whom one does not touch. I am allergic to coke, it is very simple, and it is for that that I can speak now, I am in form, I am afraid of anybody, I am strong in the eyes, because I do not have coke you see? Good I speak a little quickly. It is not a problem not if I am fast. Chuis a guy who is fast, I am speed, why? I eat that vegetables.”

Extract from brainwashcafe‘s “Perfect French in 99 Lessons” coming soon to a bookseller near you..
merci Fabian;)

in memoriam…

In Uncategorized on 09/14/2006 at 5:55 am

Totally Useless… part I

In lisapicks on 09/11/2006 at 5:20 am

These are some useless facts that I’ve collected over some length of time. Enjoy. P.S. It’s really long, so it will kill some time at work. LOL.
The first couple to be shown in bed together on prime time television was Fred and Wilma Flintstone.
Coca-Cola was originally green.
Every day more money is printed for Monopoly than the US Treasury.
City with the most Rolls Royces per capita: Hong Kong.
State with the highest percentage of people who walk to work: Alaska.
Percentage of Africa that is wilderness: 28%
Percentage of North America that is wilderness: 38%
Barbie’s measurements if she were life size: 39-23-33.
Cost of raising a medium-size dog to the age of eleven: $6,400
Average number of people airborne over the US any given hour: 61,000.
Intelligent people have more zinc and copper in their hair.
The world’s youngest parents were 8 and 9 and lived in China in 1910.
The youngest pope was 11 years old.
First novel ever written on a typewriter: Tom Sawyer.
The San Francisco Cable cars are the only mobile National Monuments
Each king in a deck of playing cards represents a great king from history. Spades – King David, Clubs – Alexander the Great, Hearts – Charlemagne, and Diamonds – Julius Caesar.

111,111,111 x 111,111,111 = 12,345,678,987,654,321 !

If a statue in the park of a person on a horse has both front legs in the air, the person died in battle; if the horse has one front leg in the air, the person died as a result of wounds received in battle; if the horse has all four legs on the ground, the person died of natural causes.
Only two people signed the Declaration of Independence on July 4th, John Hancock and Charles Thomson. Most of the rest signed on August 2, but the last signature wasn’t added until 5 years later.
“I am.” is the shortest complete sentence in the English language.
The term “the whole 9 yards” came from W.W.II fighter pilots in the South Pacific. When arming their airplanes on the ground, the .50 caliber machine gun ammo belts measured exactly 27 feet, before being loaded into the fuselage. If the pilots fired all their ammo at a target, it got “the whole 9 yards.”
Hershey’s Kisses are called that because the machine that makes them looks like it’s kissing the conveyor belt.
The phrase “rule of thumb” is derived from an old English law, which stated that you couldn’t beat your wife with anything wider than your thumb.
The Eisenhower interstate system requires that one mile in every five must be straight. These straight sections are usable as airstrips in times of war or other emergencies.
The name Jeep came from the abbreviation used in the army for the “General Purpose” vehicle, G.P.
The cruise liner, Queen Elizabeth II, moves only six inches for each gallon of diesel that it burns.
The only two days of the year in which there are no professional sports games (MLB, NBA, NHL, or NFL) are the day before and the day after the Major League all-stars Game
The nursery rhyme Ring Around the Rosy is a rhyme about the plague. Infected people with the plague would get red circular sores (“Ring around the rosy…”), these sores would smell very badly so common folks would put flowers on their bodies somewhere (inconspicuously), so that it would cover the smell of the sores (“…a pocket full of posies…”), People who died from the plague would be burned so as to reduce the possible spread of the disease (“…ashes, ashes, we all fall down!”)
Q. What separates “60 Minutes,” on CBS from every other TV show?
A. No theme song.
Q. Half of all Americans live within 50 miles of what?
A. Their birthplace.
Q. Most boat owners name their boats. What is the most popular boat name requested?
A. Obsession
Q. If you were to spell out numbers, how far would you have to go until you would find the letter “A”?
A. One thousand
Q. What do bullet proof vests, fire escapes, windshield wipers and laser printers all have in common?
A. All invented by women.
Q. This is the only food that doesn’t spoil.
A. Honey
Q. There are more collect calls on this day than any other day of the year.
A. Father’s Day
Q. What trivia fact about Mel Blanc (voice of Bugs Bunny) is the most ironic?
A. He was allergic to carrots.
40% of all people who come to a party snoop in your medicine cabinet.
An apple, onion, and potato all have the same taste. The differences in flavor are caused by their smell. To prove this you can pinch your nose and take a bite from each. They will all taste sweet.
The estimated number of M & M’s sold each day in the United States is 200,000,000.
Grapes explode when you put them in the microwave.
Wine will spoil if exposed to light, hence tinted bottles.
A hard-boiled egg will spin. An uncooked or soft-boiled egg will not. (I’m going home to boil an egg tonight)
Domestic cats hate lemons or other citrus scents.
Every citizen of Kentucky is required by law to take a bath at least once a year.
Parker Brothers prints about 50 billion dollars worth of Monopoly money in one year. (which is more than real money printed in a year)
203 million dollars is spent on barbed wire each year in the U.S.
No word in the English language rhymes with “month”.
If you put a raisin in a champagne bottle, it will rise and fall continuously.
The letter J does not appear ANYWHERE in the periodic table of elements.
In Canada, if a debt is higher than 25 cents, it is illegal to pay it with pennies.
Impotence is grounds for divorce in 24 states in the United States.
Federal law forbids recycling used eyeglasses in the United States
If you have three quarters, four dimes, and four pennies, you have $1.19. You also have the largest amount of money in U.S. coins without being able to make change for a dollar
If you are hedenophobic, you have a fear of pleasure.
“Almost” is the longest word in the English language with all the letters in alphabetical order.
If you toss a penny 10,000 times, it will not be heads 5,000 times, but more like 4,950. The heads picture weighs more, so it ends up on the bottom more often.
The longest word that can be typed solely with the left hand is stewardess
There is only ONE word in the English language with THREE CONSECUTIVE SETS OF DOUBLE LETTERS…. Bookkeeper
Cleveland spelled backwards is “DNA level C.”
The # symbols is often referred to as a “number sign” or “pound sign.” Its actual name is an octothorpe
The letter “W” is the only letter in the alphabet that doesn’t have just one syllable – it has three.
The letters in the abbreviation e.g. stand for exempli gratia – a Latin term meaning “for example.”
Women blink nearly twice as much as men do.
This one is deep…think about the cultural impact this could have: NO WAR HAS BEEN FOUGHT WHERE BOTH COUNTRIES HAD A McDonalds
For the “wrong handed” people…Over 2500 left handed people a year are killed from using products made for right handed people! That means DEATH to Lefties
The sentence “The quick brown fox jumps over a lazy dog.” uses every letter of the alphabet!
The only 15 letter word that can be spelled without repeating a letter is “uncopyrightable”!
A cockroach can live several weeks with its head cut off – it dies from starvation.
The state of Florida is bigger than England!
The youngest person to give birth was a five-yr. old tribal girl (C-Section of course)

thanks jeanPaul:)

Roll out the red carpet, I have arrived.

In Uncategorized on 09/10/2006 at 6:21 pm

Although I may lack the ability to be spontaneously creative, I do have quite the grasp of English and French grammar beaten into me by perfectionistic parental units and a sense of style cultivated through extensive multilingual perusal of literature. Or so my loving parents and loyal friends tell me. I’m Anna, and I’m here at the invitation of the Brainwash/Redlight team to review your posts, if that’s alright with you. Feel free to criticize my criticisms, to find fault with my suggestions, to tell me when I’m doing a fabulous or a terrible job. I’m here to work with you, and I very much respect the time and effort that goes into blogging and hope to make the experience more enjoyable for everyone.

most likely to succeed…

In Uncategorized on 09/09/2006 at 4:46 pm

thanks nadia 🙂


In Uncategorized on 09/08/2006 at 2:45 am

bw profile…bottomfeeders #24

In Uncategorized on 09/07/2006 at 6:06 am

Bottom Seeder ; Life in the not so fastlane.

Not everybody playing at the U.S. Open is a star. Some are just making gas money.
By Geoffrey Gray

(Photo: William Mebane)

Ryler DeHeart is the lowest-ranked men’s player at this year’s U.S. Open. He didn’t want to dig into his savings to pay for a hotel room in New York. It’s way too expensive. Not all players at the tournament are endorsement-bedecked brands like Agassi and Federer. Players like DeHeart hop around the country and use their meager winnings, if any, for gas money and fast food. The goal is to boost their rankings, pick up corporate sponsorship, survive. “How much cash is in my wallet right now, you wanna see?” he asks. “Zero, man. I got zero. But I got a couple credit cards.” He’s crashing on a pullout in the grungy hotel room a college pal splits with three other investment-bank trainees. “I’m ranked 700 right now, so obviously it’s not like one in a million for me, but it’s still—it’s like a lottery-ticket kind of thing.”
At 22, DeHeart feels like he’s won already. He was ranked as the nation’s top college player at one point last year while at the University of Illinois. He’s one of nine players who earned a wild-card birth in the Open. “There’s so many guys in worse shape than I am. I mean, you hear stories like Patrick Rafter sleeping in, like, a telephone booth. I think it makes you tougher. I don’t mind that some other guys are staying in nicer hotels and eating better dinners and stuff, ’cause, I mean, it doesn’t really matter that much. It just matters how you hit the ball.”
His journey here started after graduation this summer. He drives to tournaments in a ’93 Honda Accord that has no A/C. He’s slept on cement floors, dines on Egg McMuffins, and has pulled off some major upsets, like toppling the top singles and doubles seeds in an Illinois tournament this July.
“I got $1,200, I think, to win singles. You win here [at the U.S. Open] it’s, like, $1.2 million, so it’s a little different.” He needs to win three matches to qualify; lose once, he’s gone. “But even if I lose I get $3,000. That’s twice as much or more than anything I’ve made this whole summer, so—not bad.” He lost 6-2, 7-5, to Rainer Eitzinger, an Austrian ranked 193rd, in the first round.

no not our chef… :)

In Uncategorized on 09/07/2006 at 3:22 am

merci alain;)

Leather love

In cocktales on 09/06/2006 at 5:47 pm

Cont. from Doctor Jekyll Y Señor Hyde)
As it turned out, our conversation was nearly the same as voicing my resignation, since apparently the lack of enthusiasm in my responses signified to Juan’s sensitive emotional state at that point that my heart just wasn’t in it anymore.
No more Friday-night after work margaritas with the staff , laughing and nodding along, pretending to understand most of the conversation. I, of course, became more fluent the more Tequila shots went around. Our level of conversation changed almost instantaneously from extensive dialogue to staccatoed rants from Juan regarding the insanity of my lack of awareness that we did, in fact, have shrimp for sale on a certain day or the laziness apparent in my having missed a spot sweeping the floor. I received only the edited versions of his upsets, though I witnessed the angry and unintelligible tirades in Spanish which accompanied many of these moments. Clearly there was much more Juan wanted to say to me, but couldn’t find the words.
So Jojo’s was out. My one consolation was that Juan forgot to ask me to return the keys, which left me with an open-ended option to do a midnight empanada run if ever I should so desire. It was time to re-acquaint myself with my CV. I have a love-hate relationship with my resume. We’ve been together, on and off, for a very long time. True my resume finds me work, but it also makes me tell little white lies. i.e. ” I was daytime manager at a fine dining establishment” equals ” I was the only person working during the day because the place was too small and unfrequented to need more staff and I spent the majority of my time picking gum off of the underside of the tippy tables “. Resurrecting my CV also brings the mental association of repeated rejection inherent in looking for work. It kind of requires putting your self-esteem on hold for a few days. We’ll call you. We’re not looking right now. We’ll keep your CV on file. I’ll pass it on to the manager. Get your silly ass out of here, we don’t take your kind.
After making multiple photocopies, of multiple CVs (I have the ‘serving’ CV, the ‘receptionist’ CV, and the shot-in-the-dark ‘maybe I’ll get a grown-up job’ CV.)
I decided to look for work in a bar. No more unlicensed work for me. I wanted drunk people who would tip me well and entertain me with personal anecdotes and terrible dance moves. Think Vanilla Ice on speed. I headed straight downtown, determined and on a mission. Later on in the day I took a pause from my CV snowballing and happened upon a relatively small place which was not necessarily exactly what I was looking for, appealed to me for some reason regardless. Little did I know, MC Squared (Slogan: ‘It’s hip to be square’) was under management by an Australian bloke who bore the typical hallmarks of the Auzzie bartender. Cute, Flirtatious, Nice Smile, deceivingly professional upon first encounter but likely to tickle your panties at any opportunity. Very charming, definitely a total slut, and I definitely wanted to sleep with him. I immediately became completely sidetracked and the conversation, mostly carried on by me, yammering away with scarce a breath in between the chunks of useless chatter, quickly steered to where I was from, what I was doing in the city, and how I had no furniture. As glamorous as a second-hand mattress on the floor may sound, it tends to gradually tilt ones’ posture forward, backwards, or sideways after a time. And though many of my clothes frequently find residence on my floor anyways, the lack of the option to fold (or Roll and Shove, my preferred method) and put away at will was really starting to get on my nerves. More than anything, the lack of couch in the apartment was a major problem. Couches are essential recovery locales for those of us who suffer from chronic hangovers. ‘What a coincidence’, said he (insert hot accent). ‘I have a few couches that I need to get rid of’. Ding Ding. We have a winner. How serendipitous.
Though MC Squared was overstaffed already at time, I left with a firm guarantee to be phoned at the first opportunity of anything opening up. This was satisfactory since the issue of the couches gave me a convenient pretense to stop by at a later date by which time, said he, he would be able to arrange to borrow a van from a friend. Keep in mind that though I say pretense, I really did want those couches. I had plans for those couches. I returned home daily and noticed the vacancy of the living room and cursed the yoga mat which ended up as default lounging equipment. I dreamt of upholstery. I actually couldn’t decide what I wanted more, the man, or the couches. Perhaps the man, on the couches. That would be perfect.
A week or so later, Dale and I had set a firm date for me to come to his apartment for a viewing of the couches. It turned out to be quite a nice, older building. Archways, terrace, couches. They were perfect. One was dark red leather. The other was navy velour, the plushy deathtrap kind that are so comfortable that they easily distract from whatever else one is doing and induce one into a nap or nap-like state. And it separated- excellent for spatial concepts.
Once I snapped out of my couch reverie I noticed that I was being offered a beer. Never one to refuse such an offer, and more than willing in this instance to allow myself to be taken advantage of, we moved the party out onto his terrace, facing the back of the other side of the building, and above a parking lot- though partially private due to well-planted and overgrown trees. Following the first beer there was another, and then, a few hours later, following the first six-pack, we went out and got another. The couches were forgotten for the moment, our chairs were inching closer together, and the both of us were feeling very friendly.

( to be continued…)

conundrum redefined..

In Uncategorized on 09/06/2006 at 3:34 pm

which do YOU see..?

thanks nadia 🙂


In Uncategorized on 09/06/2006 at 3:27 pm

umm.. we’ll take the fourth from left, although they all look kinda..ripe to us 🙂

thanks nadia:)

the long and short of it…

In bblonde on 09/04/2006 at 12:24 pm

What do Tom, Verne, and Immanuel have in common..?
Recently while perusing National Bureau of Economic Research (yes my morning read right after the Cosmo fix) I ran smack into this sentence On average, taller people earn more because they are smarter” Wow there stop. Normally this type of stuff goes right into the trash, except this one just happens to be penned by two very brilliant minds at Princeton, Anne Case and Christina Paxson. Complete text here for anyone interested. Of course it has always been evident that at least in the political arena short candidates are disadvantaged. Quantitative studies of U.S. Senators and Governors have shown they are on average 2-4 inches taller than the U.S. population at large. Of the 43 U.S. Presidents, only five have been more than an inch below average height and of the 54 US presidential elections only 13 have been won by the shorter candidate.
but… and it’s a big ‘but’, Immanuel Kant, merely the most influential thinker of modern Europe and the last major philosopher of the Age of Enlightenment, was only 4’11”. And napoleonic complexes aside, let’s not forget Hollywood power brokers like Tom Cruise (5′ 7″) or Michael J. Fox (5′ 4″) Dustin Hoffman (5′ 6″) Dudley Moore (5′ 2 “) Al Pacino (5′ 5 1/2″) Elijah Wood (5’6”) and not a hollywood player but still my favorite,Verne Troyer (2′ 8″) aka minyme;). Why do I have the sneaking suspicion is that there is probably much more fertile ground to be covered researching penis size correlation to power brokering ratio ; ie. more power you seek bigger dick you are…? hmm… more to come on this subject definitely :))

Anne Case is a Professor of Economics and Public Affairs at the Woodrow Wilson School of Public and International Affairs and the Economics Department at Princeton University.
Christina Paxson is Professor of Economics and Public Affairs Director, Center for Health and Wellbeing Princeton University

For Hire

In cocktales on 09/02/2006 at 8:45 pm

So after numerous half-assed attempts throughout the last year or so to find A) some sort of substantial relationship, and/or B) some sort of ‘real’ or ‘grown-up’ job, I have by some fortuitous mixture of fate and default re-committed myself to a life of wenching and whoredom. The former is defined by, at the very least, two phone calls and one occasion spent in mutual company involving no sex and at least one conversation, preferably not pertaining to whether the avocado is in fact a fruit or a nut . This occasion must be longer than five minutes. The latter is defined by, at the very least, one dollar per hour over the minimum salaried wage and responsibilities which exceed replacing garbage bags and smiling pretty for the customer. These last couple of months have been remarkable in that I have been able to combine my whoredom and my wenching by whoring my way through a string of wenching jobs. (Author’s note: I prefer to use the term ‘wenching’ rather than ‘serving’ partially because it is underused and partially because it more accurately connotes the stench and drudgery of workplace politics, spilled beer, and overly friendly bosses which most often typifies serving jobs) My most recent failure, or perhaps I should say success, having been entirely complicit in getting myself fired, was at an establishment that didn’t even have a liquor license, obviously a waste of time, though the other check points were firmly in place.
Said restaurant, which I will call JoJo’s (Any resemblance to any restaurant real or fictitious is purely coincidental, likewise for the pertinent personages) is the third in a triangle of restaurants of Central-American cuisine established by an impressive matriarchal figure, Yolanda, from the ground up. This location was in the opening stages and making the scary transition from counter-café to actual restaurant. So difficult was this transition that things like sterilizing dish-washers, food-safety manuals, and any sort of billing system were not in place by the time that I left, about one month following opening. Though some basics were lacking, as an interim job, it seemed like an alright place. This was due almost entirely to the fact that I was surrounded by young Latino men who spoke sweet things that I couldn’t understand and eyed me suggestively constantly, as well as the almost indecently flirtatious relationship I quickly developed with my boss, who I found attractive in an older-man, off-limits, authority figure kind of way. I should likely mention at this point that I find most men attractive in some categorical fashion or other. These factors made the general lack of any challenge whatsoever to the job tolerable since the atmosphere was fun, oversexed, and a major daily ego-stroke. However, it was a side effect that during my time there I almost always left work inconsolably horny and made some regretful decisions as to my sexual partners during those weeks. I blame it all on Jojo’s. More specifically, a couple of co-workers who occupied my daydreams of making out with them in the store room pressed against the ripened-to-freshness mangoes and in between the rows of burritos and enchiladas as I, in reality, continued to polish the glass beverage-display cases with renewed intensity and fervor.
(to be continued….)